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fresh-prince-of-denmark · 3 years

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Interpretation of V’s Mikoshi Poem Pt1: Life is Murder

Cyberpunk spoilers ahead:

Let’s talk about Cyberpunk’s literary references and what they mean for the story, coming from a former English professor/teacher.

Alt will read you one of two poems you cross the bridge to the Mikoshi depending on who is in control. Johnny is read an excerpt from Sailing to Byzantium by Yeats, while V is given an excerpt from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot. For now, let’s focus on V’s poem:

“Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question. . . .

Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"

Let us go and make our visit.”

Cool. Some English majors (derogatory) work at project red. So why should I care?

Well I’ll tell you:

First, a summary: In this story, the narrator is on an evening stroll with a woman he most likely has a romantic relationship with although the vibes are far from a romantic love sonnet. Interestingly enough, the first few lines of this poem have been cut from Alt’s reading; including the epigraph from Dante’s inferno, which translates to the following:

“If I but thought that my response were made

to one perhaps returning to the world,

this tongue of flame would cease to flicker.

But since, up from these depths, no one has yet

returned alive, if what I hear is true,

I answer without fear of being shamed.”

This missing piece from Alt’s poem can be read several ways; most of them drawing a parallel between the Blackwell and hell. In fact, Dante’s inferno has a lot of similarities to the story. One can make a comparison between Virgil and Alt, leaving a debate on who plays the roll of Beatrice (the one being saved) and Dante (the one doing the saving) between Johnny and V. I have to wonder at the writers choice to leave this portion out, as there’s a lot to be said here about who truly comes out alive: who’s flame will cease to flicker? V, for obvious reasons, does not return to the world of the living the same. She will not live much longer, and is dying despite being temporarily “saved.” However, if Johnny returns to the body, he is no longer the Johnny we know; arrogant, self-assured, and more than a little narcissistic. The will to fight seems to have died within him; he leaves Night City, presumably looking to start over. While V clearly changes him before Mikoshi, he is a broken and somber man after returning to life, a flickering flame of who he once was. There’s also a connection to be made about Johnny/V dying and returning to life, literally rising from hell. The next part of the missing introduction is as follows:

“Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;”

I can’t think of a better way to describe what is happening in Mikoshi aside from the line “Like a patient etherized upon a table.” Johnny and V, in this moment, are suspended in an almost dream-like state. In Eliot’s poem, the “treatment” this patient is awaiting is presumably an examination/reflection of the self, which will lead to the narrator making a major decision. In this scenario, V is being forced to make a very tough choice, one that will take a lot of reflection as they decide what (a few months) of their remaining life is worth.

On to the actual portion of the poem that Alt reads:

“Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent.”

While Prufrock is taking his lover on a romantic stroll, they are hardly walking through rose gardens. They are traveling through the unpleasant parts of a city, and he is noticing all the unsavory parts of his world. Obvious references to night city include one-night hotels (such as the no-tell motel, the Pista Sofia, or the hotel that Johnny and V stay at after the parade, which Johnny gripes about and asks ‘what kind of losers stay in a place like this?), and ‘the sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells,’ which is possibly a reference to the fact that food in Night City is real sketchy (odd things like synth-milk, which Takemura complains about throughout the game). The streets like a tedious argument works on several levels here; both the crime of night city’s streets, which is relentless and quite literally never-ending (V can’t walk two blocks without an assault in progress task spawning), and the socio-economic ecosystem that threatens self-combust at any point. There will always be conflict between gangs, between corpos, between Arasaka and Militech, and between the nomads and the Raffins/Wraiths. In one mission with Padre, you find out that Arasaka and Militech are on the verge of waging another war. None of this conflict is positive, and always ends in bloodshed, often of the innocent. One can argue themselves in circles trying to find a solution to NC’s problems, there is no win-win situation. It’s a bit of a damnned if you do, damnned if you don’t situation. This comes up in conversation with Takemura on his career with Arasaka, as well as several other missions that involve those who choose to work for corporations to survive. This is also a point of conflict between V and Johnny a multiple times, one that never gets an answer. A literal tedious argument, tedious because there are no ‘happy endings for all involved’ in Night City. The final lines of Alt’s reading have more to do with V/Johnny’s final choice:

“To lead you to an overwhelming question ...

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.”

All the unsavory things V has to do to survive, all the people that have died to get to Mikoshi, lead up to one ‘overwhelming’ question: who will live on? There are so many other questions that should be answered: what is beyond the Blackwall? Are Johnny and Alt real, or is the soul truly dead, and are they just a copy of the people they once were? What happens to the idea of God and the afterlife when you introduce the idea of Soulkiller? But much like in the poem, we don’t get these answers. In fact, we are barely given time to contemplate the question as we fight for survival. A decision must be made, despite not knowing or even having time to dwell on these answers. Similarly Johnny, when presented with these questions in several side quests, refuses to even entertain the question, much like the poem’s narrator.

The rest of the poem, which is not included in Alt’s reading, is full of allusions to the story. The “yellow fog,” which persists across the poem is full of cat-like imagery, conjuring the bakaneko, the spirit of misfortune that can bring people back to life that Takemura mentions (coincidence that V/Johnny can adopt a cat? Keeping death as a close companion? I think not). Prufrock spends the rest of the poem contemplating his question, talking himself in circles, and the only thing that changes is his age as time slips by. Just as he seems to be making progress, he talks himself back to square one and begins again. Much in the same way, Johnny and V go in the same circles. Their journey begins with their deaths, and to death they will both return no matter what. Nothing they did really mattered, the world remains the same, broken and unfair. As Prufrock later contemplates: “Do I dare/ Disturb the universe?…Would it have been worth while/ To have bitten off the matter with a smile,? To have squeezed the universe into a ball?” Johnny loses his life trying to strike against an unjust world, yet he is scarcely a memory to most residents of Night City, who do not have time to contemplate what is right and what is wrong; their focus must be on survival.

Interestingly enough, both the poem and Cyberpunk reference similar secondary materials. Prufrock references Lazarus and Hamlet as he contemplates how he will never lead an exciting existence. Lazarus, much like V/Johnny, famously rose from the dead. Hamlet is a reoccurring theme in the storyline; Prufrock, V/Johnny, and Hamlet all are faced having to inevitably make a very difficult decision, the latter two involving tragedy for all no matter what. It’s also up for debate whether Hamlet is turning mad, similar to how we can’t be sure how much Johnny is driving V “mad” by taking over their mind. Despite this comparison, V/Johnny are no Hamlet/Lazarus. They are Prufrock; their lives, and their deaths, are meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Despite their efforts, they will simply fade away until they remain only in the memories of those they left behind. The play is further referenced as Jackie’s grave reads “Goodnight, sweet Prince,” and in a deleted audio file Johnny tells V “Sleep well prince/princess” before taking control if V chooses to attack Arasaka with Rogues help. What makes this more interesting is when you look at the line in which Hamlet is mentioned:

“No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.”

The Fool, which is mentioned several times by Misty, represents V and Johnny, in the journey that is told by the major arcane in tarot. The beginning of a journey — of a cycle — while the Death card symbolizes the ending of one phase and the beginning of another. An often painful transformation into something new. The main theme of Eliot’s poem is cycles; he talks himself in circles, never making a choice, always ending up where he begins. Circles are mentioned once again by Kerry during his personal mission, when he talks about beginning a new cycle in his life. V/Johnny’s journey together begins with death, and so it must end that way for them; whether it is a physical death, or a death of the self. No matter what, V’s fate is inevitable; they will face death again head-on, just as they did at the beginning of their story. The chosen passages of this poem asserts this cycle — the first three words of Alt’s first and last sentence are the same:

“Let us go.”

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk v #v cyberpunk #arasaka #cp2077 #cp 2077 #cyberpunk2077 #cp project red #v #Alt Cunningham #cyberpunk spoilers #insufferable former English majors unite #please add your own thoughts to this #and thank you for coming to my dissertation defense #my posts #cyberpunk meta #cyberpunk 2077 meta

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killerkai33 · 3 years

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warnings: nothing really. Kinda sad is all. Oh and unedited and not necessarily super Canon.

V's life had quickly became a whirlwind of chaos in the past few months. She lost her only friend, died, resurrected, and gained a brain parasite that tried to beat the shit out of her. A hot parasite at that, he was a total dickhead but she would be lying if she said that she wasn't attached to him.

Thanks to Johnny literally being in her head, the two shared a bond that no one else could. They knew each other inside and out, and had gotten out of the stage of their time together in which they both felt the urge to kill each other. You might even say that V trusted Johnny now, their little trip to the hotel and his burial site had brought them closer together.

As she sat in Johnny's old Porsche, the dogtags he gave her clutched between her fingers, she thought back to what he said at the hotel. He said he would voluntarily be wiped if it was necessary for her to live, V still hadn't fully processed that. She didn't want Johnny to die, especially not for her. He said that he wanted Smasher dead at the very least, she planned on doing everything in her power to give him the revenge he sought. Against both Smasher and Arasaka, one thing she and Johnny had in common was their hate for Corps.

"Hey, Johnny," V's voice was unusually timid as she spoke out loud. Since she was in her vehicle she felt no need to communicate with him silently, this made the conversation feel more natural. She didn't take her eyes off the windshield when she heard the familiar glitches that signaled his presence, even though the car was not moving and they were sat in the middle of the badlands. A place Johnny wasn't overly fond of.

If the man was good at one thing, it was complaining.

He grumbled a response and waited for her to speak. "You asked me a few favors over our time together..." V felt the annoyance radiate off of him as she said this. He was most likely expecting her to want something impossible in return. "Well, I have one for you too," she took a deep breath, " When...if... we don't fix this- Fix me- will you visit Jackie for me? I know you didn't really know him, but besides you he's the person I was closest to. Maybe, you could check on Mama Welles sometimes too, to make sure she's doing okay without Jackie. You don't have to talk to her or anything, just-," V's mindless rambling was interrupted suddenly by Johnny.

"No."

V was admittedly surprised but before she could even think about saying something Johnny continued speaking. "No, we are not doing this V. I won't promise to do that because we're going to fix this, okay? You're going to be okay." The tone he spoke in left little room for arguing. That was the thing about Johnny, he had this way of speaking that could make you believe anything he said and give him whatever he wanted. Most people find that out the hard way.

A weak chuckle escaped her, "Yea, I hope so. We both know its a very real possibility that we don't though J, that I'm gonna die," it was a shitty thing to accept but it was true. There was no guarantee that V could be saved, despite their best efforts. " Look, just in case. Please? Even if you don't say you will, just store it away in that brain of yours." This argument persisted for several minutes before V sighed as Johnny's annoyance was on the verge of exploding into anger.

She had a feeling it was stronger for him than it was for her, but she could pick up light traces of his emotions through the connection. Though she didn't need that to know what he was feeling at the moment. She thought back to the first time she willingly allowed him to control their body. She didn't completely trust him at the time, but she was tired. Tired of dealing with the episodes caused by the relic and everything else going on around her.

He had technically lied to her, seeing as he did much more than talk to Rogue, but she didn't comment on it. He needed that night, even if he doesn't realize it or won't admit it. He needed to feel in control of himself for once.

To feel like a person again.

"I'm fucking scared Johnny," V's voice was practically a whisper at this point. It was true, she was terrified. Not of Johnny gaining her body, or even dying. She was scared of losing Johnny, she didn't want to be the reason he was wiped. After all this time, he deserved a second chance, even at the cost of her own life. He wouldn't allow that, not wanting to be like Arasaka and though he wouldn't admit it he didn't want to be the one to kill the only person who didn't hate his guts.

"I know," his voice was raspy and, for once, not completely monotone. There was an ache that could be heard, but more surprisingly, there was hope. He was going to do everything he could to save her. V gasped in surprise as she felt herself be lifted, it was difficult to maneuver but she assisted where she could and eventually found herself in Johnny's lap. They sat chest to chest and their eyes met, they stared at each other for a moment before V realized something. This was the safest she had felt in her entire life.

She didn't feel like this with anyone else she had ever met. V went limp, seemingly collapsing into Johnny's chest as she buried her head into his chest. After a moments hesitation, his arms wrapped around her and clutched her firmly. "You ain't going no where, got it? I got you Princess," Johnny held her tighter. She was reminded of the night she passed out in the parking lot, she thought she was dying. Johnny must have caught on to her thoughts that night and said something similar.

This was all very put of character for Johnny, but something about V made it impossible for him not to comfort her. Of course, he would later realize that this is what it feels like to care for some one. He liked Rogue and Alt, but it wasn't like this. He and V have been connected in more intimate ways than anyone he was with, even if it wasn't necessarily by choice. When he was alive it always felt like it was him against the world. With V around, he felt like he had someone wholeheartedly on his side for once.

The thing about living in Night City is that its a lonely life, they were all the other had now. Neither had any intentions of letting each other go, they were stuck with each other now.

V felt Johnny press a light kiss on her head, so light she almost didn't feel it. "I'm going to fix it. I promise V, you're going to get through this. Ill make sure of it, no matter what I have to do." They stayed there for hours that night, just holding each other.

Johnny kept his promise, V survived no matter the cost he had to pay. Her eyes were almost burning a hole through the stupid piece of tin she was staring at.

J.S. 2023

It wasn't supposed to end like this. They were both supposed to get out of this alive. She grit her teeth before slipping the jacket she wore off her shoulders. The red Samurai logo staring back at her, taunting her. She set it on the metal, beside of the inscription she had made what felt like centuries ago.

She lit the cigarette that had been dangling from her mouth before setting an unlit one on the grave in front of her. V stayed there until the filter of the cigarette was in danger of burning and put it out on the concrete. "See ya soon, J."

V made two promises to herself that night.

First of all, she was going to live. No matter what, Johnny gave everything to make sure she didn't die and that wasn't something to be wasted.

Second, she was going to make living hell for any corpo bitch she came across. For Johnny.

#johnny silverhand #keanu reeves #cyberpunk #cyberpunk samurai #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk v #johnny silverhand x v #johnny silverhand x reader #cyberpunk imagine #cyberpunk fanfic

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unkownknowledge · 3 years

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OC: CHAOS GOD OF THE VOID, GIOTA

story I'm still working on your requests don't worry, I just wanted to make a few character sheets since I'm not focused enough rn. I'll finish it when I take my meds though I promise.

And this isn't an oc for any show, rather a character from a multiversal mythos I'm making

also, an important term to understand this: 1 god year=5 billion years

_____________________

Description:

Giota is a very hot and cool Giota stop changing the text! Atleast change your style of writing so the reader can undead immediately Aw but wheres the fun GIOTA

Fine mister fun police, I'll write like this then. And I'll be cooler than you

Young man I wil... forget it, back on track:

Giota is a shapeshifting god of chaos, void, technological progress, freedom, and being a dramatic bitch.

Hey! I'm not a bitch!....maybe a little

When appearing before mortals he'll often take on the form the viewer imagines when they think of a god of chaos would appear as. Often times when the user knows the basic descriptions of Giota from the 'book of tales' will see him as a angel like statue of bones with numerous cracks, no face, and organ pipe wings.

When meeting with gods outside his domain or when he must meet mortals in a set form, he will take on simple, 10ft tall humanoid form with bone skin, a cracked mouth that cracks more when he speaks, two different colored eyes, and longer than floor length black hair. One of his eyes will be crying water that burns upwards, while the other cries fire that flows downwards. In this form he wears a black trenchcoat, green turtleneck, and purple dad pants.

What the fuck are dad pants?

You know, those usually brown pants that are kinda jeans but soft and actually comfortable.

YOU BITCH MY HUSBAND LIKES JEANS AND HIS PANTS ARE SOFT!

YOUR HUSBAND HAS MARSHMALLOW THIGHS! LITERALLY! OF COURSE HIS PANTS ARE SOFT!

Inside his own domain, or if he's feeling especially done with whatever poor bastard made him upset, Giota takes the form of an innocent ten year old child with soft white steel skin, mile long black hair made of silk, and black eyes made of diamonds. In this form he wears pajamas for to big for him, his mouth leads to a dark void, and he carries around two plushies: a bunny made of roses from his mom, and a plush of his adult form from his husband. Of course he becomes an adult if they do anything adult, so please don't start.

Regardless of his form, even when it's based on the perspective of others, he always wears a large knitted infinity scarf his husband made for whenever he wanted to hide away.

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Powers:

Cool ones

I mean, he's not wrong...

(I should make an ice themed character)

Giota, as a god, has numerous powers related to his domains.

powers of freedom:

inspiring presence- while most gods or beings of power inspire mortals and lesser beings of power to kneel down or bow, Giota’s presence inspires all beings to rise up, to do anything, to do whatever they want, to become the best they can be. this can be used to inspire allies to carry on. However Giota can also let this power run rampant, and free the mind of any shackles, and while this sounds good it really just means removing all morals and causing mass violence, and if he lets it run rampant while in the same dimension he lets it then all life will mutate into eldritch monstrosities of decadence and selfishness. According to him this is to show that balance must be kept between chaos and law.

the torch of liberty- among Giota’s duties as a god of freedom is to liberate the populations of ‘doomed realms’ that have been enslaved. essentially, if a planet in a universe is ruled purely by either law or chaos then the entire universe can be effected, in the case of law it can result in the entire universe becoming one collective conscious. while it’s not common that enslaved worlds occur, however when they do they are the most dangerous of law worlds. to combat worlds like this gods of freedom are given torches that free the minds of the enslaved and bring down holy fire upon the enslavers in the form of the collective will of all the freed people.

powers of technological progress:

cybernetic god-many god-years ago Giota was severely wounded by a rogue god of flesh and a rogue god of metal, to the point even he could not regenerate it. to stop him from dying a cult of his granted Giota cybernetic enhancements. these enhancements integrated into Giota’s flesh as it regenerated and became enhanced in turn by Giota’s divinity, and Giota’s divine power was enhanced then by the cybernetics, resulting in a self sustaining growth in power. while he gladly used this to stop the rogue gods, and once again to destroy an old one, he feels being that powerful would upset the balance of power, so he sealed it in a time lock in time with the seasons and time of day in the void. his power increases from mid day to mid night, and from the end of summer to the end of winter. in the minute of exactly midnight at the end of winter, Giota becomes, in both this multiverse and the old, the most powerful being to exist.

self evolving knowledge- because his position as a god of technology is artificial his powers in it are very weak, being able to only grant full sentience and sapience to machines. he can also create minor miracles of technology, such as summoning a clockwork toy(which he does often)

hey man did you really have to bring up the whole getting my ass kicked thing?

yes, now shut up before I bring up what you sing in the shower

....fucker....

powers of being dramatic:

yeah that wasn't a joke. Giota is the god of being over the top, stylish, and over all flair. in other words, being dramatic

personal sound track- he can cause any song he wants to play when he does anything.

lights, camera, ACTION!- whenever he wants, Giota can cause a bright, sparkling light to emit from his body or behind himself.

my favorite is that one bad bitch’s theme. what’s her name again?

Ragyo Kiyurin?

that's the fucker! terrible taste in morals, but damn does she know how to enter a room.

...can I put sigh when it’s supposed to be me sighing?

powers of the god of chaos

Chaotic existence- for Giota to even exist is, in and of itself, a paradox. he comes from a timeline that never existed, that was on a set path, yet he exist, and he changed the course of the timeline. when he became a chaos god he became a paradox within a paradox, he existed yet did not. to attempt to change any aspect of his being, to take in any part of his being, is to know that which is not there to know, to understand that which is not there, you have to be able to comprehend the very essence of nonexistence to even bare a hair of his getting in your mouth. such a thing easily drives all things that try insane, to the point that every part of their conscience believes that it does not exist.

overwhelming power-chaos gods are only once a multiverse, and with the title comes pure power. such power could turn an infant into an indestructible warrior, however since Giota was already at that level on a mortal scale, and already capable of taking on powerful gods, this power sets him among the highest echelons of divine might.

powers of the god of void

key to nonexistence- the god of the void is the only being who can open the bridge between that which exist and that which does not

rapid regeneration- the void god has an innate ability to regenerate from nearly all damage, even if they are ground to a fine paste. this regeneration is enhanced by the cybernetic enhancements.

speed of darkness- the void god has an innate speed that surpasses light, Giota’s already superhuman speed was enhanced by this.

spear of not- the void god is the sole being in existence and non existence who can wield the spear of not, a finely forged weapon. it is not special beyond being enchanted to withstand godly power and a ‘security lock’ enchantment, however it is still a very well made weapon.

blah blah blah, enough about what I was handed, tell them about my mortal abilities

as Giota just said, and as I’ve brought up before, Giota is extremely powerful even without his powers, he also used to be two other mortals that were less powerful. but over all these were his powers, which he still has.

leather skin- while it might appear or feel like something else, Giota’s skin is exactly like leather armor. this comes from how he was raised as a child to be a powerful warrior and his skin was tanned into hide and treated while it was still on him.

adamantine bone- Giota’s bones were also replaced by an adamantine skeleton when he was a child.

super sonic speeds- during his training as a child, he was taught to be able to surpass the sound barrier on foot.

superhuman strength- his training also trained his body to carry ten tons, however as a mortal he improved that strength to the point he could exert enough force to blast away entire cities by blinking. This power did not come easy.

flight- after training with some monks late in his life, Giota was able to walk on the air, essentially he could fly at the same speed as he could run.

agility- he was trained as a warrior and assassin, so Giota’s training included advanced maneuverability training, including wall running, sneaking across tripwires, etc.

weapon master- Giota is a master in all weapons and various forms of martial arts.

he also has reciev- hey man you good?

I-I’m fine! d-don’t write that I’m crying!

you...wanna talk about it?

…no...

is it about your mom?

…maybe...

alright take your time.

anyway Giota has a very useful piece of equipment, the cloak of maternity- despite it’s name, it’s actual a cloak that leads to a pocket dimension where Giota carries his weapons and toys. It is called the cloak of maternity because his adoptive mother gave him after he became a god-bounty hunter, she even designed it to help him hide away from people. it even has a designated snack pocket.

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BIO:

Giota was found by his adoptive mother after he destroyed his timeline, as punishment, or perhaps in an attempt to redeem him, she turned him back into a baby. something Giota happily accepted.

After this his life went on as a mortal’s would, only in the realm of divinity: he went to school, went into college, graduated, then entered the workforce. granted the workforce he entered was bounty hunting divine criminals. it was easy for him to get into, after all everything from his past life transferred over to this one, it wasn't long before he was hunting even the deadliest of criminals. while his mom was very supportive, it was still difficult for him to keep in contact with her as he did before moving out, and being a bounty hunter was hardly a sociable job. it wasn't long before Giota fell into depression, and then to drugs. for twenty three god years his life was an endless cycle of contract killing, payment, and wallowing in chemical joy. But at the end of all blinding lights, there is a welcoming darkness.

Giota had become the personal bounty hunter of the god of law and time: Ceerus. one day while leaving after receiving a contract, he met the god’s child, a boy his age named Dyalta.

It was thanks to Dyalta that Giota ever kicked drugs, or got out of depression, and thanks to Dyalta Giota managed to find happiness in anything other than a syringe.

Even the reason he found love.

rise to godhood

Giota became a god after an old god, named the Red slaughter, destroyed the entire universe. this was a catalyst for Giota, who had died previously, to return with his newly awakened god powers. I don't want to go into to much detail in this aspect as I intend to write it at some point.

_____________________

hey man you good yet?

a little bit. Dyalta came by and gave me some cookies.

that's good buddy, I’m gonna describe your personality ok?

alright.. I’m gonna go home now.

alright man, take care.

_____________________

personality

do note that this is a bit hard for me to do. I’m more used to just writing a character. I’ll just post two short stories here to try and get his personality across. I made them in school last year.

ok so after looking at it the second one is twelve pages long. so I’m gonna post that elsewhere on here. to give context: this is after a wedding between Dyalta and Giota was interrupted. if you’d like to see more about him then feel free to interact or request him.

elavator story

Giota shifted uncomfortably to make room for his soon to be father in law as the man stepped into the lift.

“Soooooo…” Giota pressed their floor “wonderful, um, siege we’re having.”

Ceerus just keeps his eyes on the door “sure.”

“So how's the uh, wife?”

Ceerus sighed “locked in a tower, that we are invading.”

“Mhm, yup.”

‘Maybe I should try calling him dad.’

“So what did you think of my swordsmanship d-dad.”

Ceerus visibly restrained himself “it was fine ten- Giota.”

The elevator stopped, probably because of security.

“Oh maker damnit,” Ceerus tries rewinding the shut off, but it doesn't work “and it’s godproofed!”

“This reminds of this one time me and Dyalta wen-”

Ceerus put his hand to Giota’s mouth “if you end this story in anything less than fully clothed I will end your fake hide.”

Giota scratches his head nervously “Well I didn't, but Dyalta lost his shirt and well,” Giota notice Ceerus drawing his blade “b-but it was for a sword fi- wait bad wording, it was for a-you know- assasination thing!”

Ceerus sighed and sheathed his sword “look, you dusting mongrel, I don’t like you, you pretend to like me, let’s just try and not kill each other and maybe by the end of this, I won’t flay your ass at the altar.”

Well atleast now they both agreed on something: this was going to be a long crusade.

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ok that's that! not a very good character sheet but hopefully it got enough across to be interesting. I’ll end this off with some quotes I want him to say but have never gotten the chance to write out:

“hey Ceerus how’s the kid? oh thats right! in my bed, waiting patiently.” following Ceerus being exceptionally annoying.

“you know something? I try to be nice, I always smile, always banter with my targets. you know, try and be friendly. but then some RED MOTHERFUCKER, POSSESSES MY HUSBAND, WAKING ME UP FROM ETERNAL SLUMBER, AND NOW I ONCE AGAIN HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE GOD’S MESSES!”

*crying into Dyalta* “and then he said my clothes were stupid,” *sobbing* “I tried really hard on these!”

“this multiverse, to us gods, is wet paper mache. so easy to break, one wrong move and POP,” Giota flexes his finger and causes an ocean to split open for a solid ten seconds, “the very fabric of reality is gone. and you. you insuferable MOTHER FUCKERS have the AUDACITY TO COME IN HERE, AND TEAR IT ALL TO SHREDS! well assholes, if this reality is paper mache to you, and I’m stronger than you, take a wild gues as to what you are to me.”

(tagging: @storytravelled, @3lectro-heart, @genshin-obsessed)

#tw drugs #oc

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stayextrafrosty · 3 years

Text

I’m Dying for a Taste of You

Summary: Alex Manes is a vampire hunter tasked with hunting down rogues who kill humans. His next target is Michael Guerin. Known to sometimes over-indulge at the blood balls and was placed at the most recent scene by witnesses. But this might be more than Alex bargained for. Top Michael. Bottom Alex. Alex POV. PLEASE READ WARNINGS

A/N: I just wanted an excuse to have the two of them flirt while a weapon is pressed between them. Because reasons. I’ve left this open for continuation but I want to finish my other AU before starting a whole new one. There are the beginnings of a plot but this truly is just porn. Cute ending though.

Warnings: Please be aware that the kinks featured in here get intense. Light masochism, biting, blood drinking, overstimulation, marking/claiming, Dom/sub, Predator/prey, possessive behavior. There are some soft moments but it is very much a rough and dirty sex fest. Read at your own discretion.

Read on AO3 // Masterlist

Alex was no stranger to the smell of blood but this place made even him want to gag. Scantily clad men and women wandered around shamelessly, blood dripping from various wounds on their body. More power to them he supposed but how anyone could enjoy being sucked within an inch of their life by a vampire was beyond him.

Blood balls were the equivalent of drug dens. Except these were technically legal. Alex looked back at the police officers positioned at the doors and around the room. No one was supposed to die here but someone clearly missed that memo.

He knew he was overdressed. As a donor at least. He wanted to cover as much of his skin as possible without drawing suspicion. He didn’t need his target sniffing him out before he had time to take the shot. Not to mention he needed to keep his gun concealed. There was also a retractable knife slid into the side of his boot.

He looked down into his glass, the whiskey inside colored red from the lights surrounding him. He hadn’t seen his target yet. Then again, maybe he was already here, back in one of the private rooms drinking and being sucked off by his next victim.

“Hey there. You must be new,” a sweet, feminine voice said. He looked up as the young woman sat across from him. Her corset pushed her boobs up in a way he was sure drove any straight or bi man crazy. Long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Tall, slender. She was beautiful. Or at least she was until he noticed the blood dribbling from the side of her lips.

“Sorry. I’m just observing today,” he said shyly, hoping it would get her to go away.

“Oh honey. Careful with that one. Remember where you are.” How could he forget. Her nails tapped on the table a couple times before she grinned at him, flashing her fangs. She made her way around the table to stand in front of him.

“Just a tip, the best way to know if you’re into this or not, is to jump right in. I’d be happy to go easy on you. Or, if I’m not your type… I know some sweet guys who would treat you right.”

His shoulders tensed. Not that this was a place where he should be nervous about being gay. Most vampires didn’t seem to care one way or another. The woman leaned in close, the smell of her perfume covering the blood pretty well.

“I also recommend leaving that gun tucked away,” she teased. His eyes darted around the room, checking to see if anyone heard her. But if she noticed, chances are the others did too. Was his cover blown before he even started the mission?

“Maybe you can help me then.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m looking for a rogue vampire. He’s been killing women he takes home from this place.” She hummed and looked around.

“Does this vampire have a name or are you throwing around baseless claims, hunter.” Her voice was still sweet but there was an edge now. The nails on her fingers could almost certainly rip his throat out before he had time to react.

“The suspect is named Michael Guerin. Do you know him?” She barked out a laugh.

“You must be delusional. Michael wouldn’t hurt anyone. In fact, no one at this club does that kind of thing. If they do, we dispose of them ourselves.” He was taken aback. The woman played with the edge of her corset.

“I recommend you get out of here. You won’t find what you’re looking for,” she said, crossing her arms. He clenched his fists and stood slowly.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

He turned and ran into a hard chest that didn’t budge. He gazed into golden brown eyes. A sharp jaw and a scruff that clearly hadn’t been shaved in days. A crown of curls sat atop his head and a lazy grin sat on his lips.

His shirt had the sleeves rolled up and buttons left undone. There was an unmistakable red stain covering the shirt. His slacks hung low, button and zipper left open. Alex wanted to drool at the sight. He mentally scolded himself. There was nothing attractive about a vampire.

“Someone looking for me?” His voice warmed Alex in places he knew it shouldn’t have. This was his target. “Should we go to my private room? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable on your first time,” he said, shamelessly looking Alex up and down. His cheeks warmed and he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Careful there brother. He’s a hunter,” the woman said.

“Thanks Izzy. I got this. I think that beautiful girl I saw you flirting with earlier is waiting.” Alex assumed she left. He couldn’t take his eyes of Michael. He must be using a charm of some sort. It was the only explanation. He was a professional damnit.

Alex shook his head and broke eye contact with him. Not all vampires could control minds that way but it was better safe than sorry.

“Please. Follow me,” Michael said, turning away from him. Alex’s head jerked up to watch him go. He shouldn’t follow. It was safer surrounded by people. But he was inviting him to be in close quarters, making it easier to kill him.

The two of them walked away from the slow throbbing music. They passed a couple. A man leaned over another, licking up the blood that had run down the other’s chest. The man being fed on was clearly into it. Their moans were vulgar and Alex turned away from them. How could anyone just do that in front of others?

Michael led him to a door, even going as far as to open it for him. He wanted to reach for his gun but pulling to early would compromise the mission. He had to wait until his guard was down. Vampires enter an intoxicated like state after feeding. That was his opening. If he had to spill a bit of blood to complete the mission then he would.

The door led to a long hall with several doors lining the walls all the way down. Michael walked down about halfway before stopping in front of another door. It had his name scrawled on a golden plaque.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to give me your gun mister hunter. I’m sure you can understand why. I’d hate to have to kill you before we get a chance to talk so best to just comply.” Alex met his stare for a brief moment before reaching inside his leather jacket to the holster for his gun.

He handed it over cautiously, praying that he didn’t just shoot him. Then again, Michael liked to drain his victims. There was never a single drop of spilled blood on the scene. Michael smiled and stepped inside the room. Alex followed him in and looked around.

The lighting in here was more normal though it still had a red tint. A loveseat sat to the side and a bed in the middle of the room, headboard pressed against a wall. Alex didn’t know what to do. The bed was too intimate. The loveseat reminded him too much of a casting couch from porn.

Michael fiddled with glasses at a small bar filled with various hard liquor and wine. He set the gun down next to an open bottle of bourbon. He must have been pretty confident to think that Alex couldn’t get it back from there.

“Well don’t just stand there. The bed and couch are cleaned between visitors.” Michael handed him a glass. He wasn’t going to drink it.

“I just have some questions for you. It wont take long,” he said.

“The first thing you say to me is a promise that I won’t get to enjoy this for long? Tell me, do you like to torture men?” Alex rolled his eyes but as hard as he tried, his flirting was getting to him.

“I just want to know if you’ve seen this girl,” he pulled the folded photo from his pocket and handed it to Michael. He looked at it for a moment and then shook his head.

“Can’t say that I have. Then again I don’t keep track of every person that comes here. And some guests opt to wear masks if you hadn’t noticed.” He had noticed. Which made this even harder. But this man had to be the killer. He was placed at multiple scenes by witnesses.

“How often do you leave with your food for the night,” he said, letting his disgust sneak through.

“Oh, I see. I’m a suspect.” Michael let out a heavy sigh, not seeming bothered by his comment in the slightest. He seemed more disappointed than defensive.

“Just answer the question,” Alex ordered. Michael’s nose twitched. He was moving into dangerous territory. This man could easily kill him if he wasn’t prepared. He shouldn’t be trying to piss him off but he couldn’t stop himself.

“For your information. We have rules.” He stepped closer. “We don’t leave with the donors. They all leave first.” Another step. “And we stay behind.” He was just a few inches away. “It’s also frowned upon to seek out donors outside of blood balls.” Alex’s breath hitched in his throat as he leaned in. Michael cursed under his breath and let out a heavy sigh. The tips of his fangs reflected the light.

“I don’t think you know how good you smell,” he muttered. Alex felt his cheeks flush. He tried backing up but his legs hit the loveseat, making him stumble back on it instead. Michael hovered over him, placing his hands on either side of his head. Alex couldn’t sink any farther into the couch.

Michael placed a knee between his legs on the couch, leaning into him. His eyes showed hunger and lust. Alex tried to squash down his own excitement. It was fucked up. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He should be repulsed. But his body just wouldn’t listen.

Not wanting to ruin his jacket (at least that’s what he told himself) he shrugged it off and tossed it to the side. His heart raced when Michael groaned and ran his tongue over his teeth.

“I knew you liked teasing. I promise to be gentle.” Alex gripped the couch as his head moved to the crook of his neck. He tried to stay still but he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and pull him closer. Michael’s breath tickled his neck. “You can ask me to stop,” he said, voice shaking with need.

He wanted to. He didn’t want to.

This man was a murderer and he needed to end this before he was the next victim. Alex stamped down his desire and shoved Michael back. He wished he could have appreciated the surprise on his face longer.

He grabbed the knife in his boot, flicking the blade open. He tackled the vampire to the ground, straddling his hips, knife pressed to his neck. Michael just laughed and watched him.

“Now that you have me like this what exactly do you intend to do?”

“You will die here. You didn’t show mercy to those girls and I refuse to show mercy to you!” He pressed the blade into his skin, drawing a line of blood. This was it. All he had to do was pull and he would die. At least long enough to put a bullet in his head.

So why did he fucking hesitate?

“One second too long hunter.”

He was flung back. Or rather carried by Michael. His back hit the wall, knocking the air from his lungs. His hand wrapped firmly around his neck. Michael snarled at him, fangs on full display for Alex to see. He twisted the knife from his grip.

“Kill me if you want! There’ll just be more,” Alex threatened. Michael traced the point of the knife down Alex’s face, never pressing hard enough to draw blood. He shook his head.

“I don’t want to kill you. It would be a waste of a beautiful face.” he responded. His eyes flicked down. “Your body is far better suited for pleasure.” He knew he was blushing. What was this game they were playing? He dragged the knife over his neck and down his chest. His muscles tensed and he hated the way his cock responded. This had to be a spell.

“You don’t know shit about me! It’s not real pleasure if you have to put someone under a spell.” Michael’s eye twitched with annoyance. He pulled the knife away and released his grip on his throat.

What the hell?

“I don’t use that shit. It’s better if they actually want it.” He paused and shook his head. “I didn’t hurt those girls either. But you’re going to believe what you want.”

Michael turned away from him and moved back to where he had set the gun down. He picked it up after retracting the blade of the knife. He walked back to stand in front of Alex, holding out both weapons in front of him.

“Just leave hunter.” He took the gun and knife from him, wide eyed. They never taught them what to do when the vampire gives the weapons back. Especially not with a face that looked so crushed. Michael was back to pouring himself another drink

“Alex,” he found himself saying. Michael’s head turned slightly.

“What?”

“My name is Alex. So you can stop calling me ‘Hunter.’”

“Why tell me? We’re never going to see each other again,” he said with a humorless laugh.

“Well that would be a shame,” Alex joked back without thinking.

He wanted to eat his words. For a second he forgot he was dealing with a vampire. He didn’t want to flirt with him. But the way the muscles in his back flexed at his words made it hard to regret. He watched his hands grip the bar, knuckles turning white.

“Leave Alex. Or I might do something you don’t want.”

Alex should leave. He knows it. But that look was so lost. So broken. And so familiar. He’d seen that look on himself in the mirror. He dropped his weapons on the couch, watching Michael’s shoulders jump at the sudden noise.

He took slow cautious steps toward the vampire, watching his breathing grow more erratic with every step.

“Please, don’t come any closer,” he begged. Alex stopped. He was close enough to touch him but didn’t want to upset him further. “I told you that you smelled good. That was an extreme understatement.” Alex stood there quietly for a moment, heart racing.

“What do I smell like,” he asked quietly. Michael let out a strained whine.

“Like fucking heaven. Vanilla, leather, alcohol and about a million other things. I can hear your heart racing you know. I’m scared that if I were to taste you, it would never be enough.” Alex swallowed.

“Why?” Michael spun around and stepped into his personal space, their noses nearly touching. His fangs were fully extended

“Because I can tell. You’re blood would be like top shelf drugs. There’s other vamps out there that can smell you and are pissed they can’t have you. Don’t let any vampire have you, understand? Claiming would be inevitable.”

He had only heard the most basic information about a vampires claim. They usually did it with another vampire but sometimes they would claim a human. It was the equivalent of marriage. He didn’t know much about the actual process.

“I understand.”

Michael stepped back again, running his hands over his face, probably trying to make his fangs go away. Alex knew that wasn’t easy. Once they had been pushed that far, it was either feed or starve until you can distract yourself from it. Like an even worse form of blue balls.

The thing was. If Alex left right now, Michael would go back out there and find some other donor to satisfy him. The thought made him clench his fists. Why was he jealous? It wasn’t like Michael was his. He didn’t want anyone to drink his blood. Even if it was someone as beautiful as Michael.

Alex turned away from him to grab his jacket and weapons. They would never see each other again after tonight. He would keep looking into the deaths of the girls. But he knew for certain it wasn’t Michael. He picked up his jacket and held it on his arm. He looked down at the knife. Then the gun. Then the knife again. He dropped his jacket.

He picked up the blade and flicked it open.

Am I really going to do this?

Yes. He was. He pressed the blade to the pad of his hand. He sliced.

The knife was flung out of his hand and he was pressed against the wall once again. Michael’s eyes were filled with fury and hunger. Heat shot straight down to his groin.

“What the fuck are you doing? I just said—”

“Drink.” Blood dripped down his arm. Michael’s eyes were wide and desperate.

“Alex,” he groaned.

He pushed his hand closer to his face. Michael just turned away. Fighting every natural instinct he should have. Alex pulled his hand back, pressing his own mouth to his wound. His blood was warm and tasted coppery. Though he knew it would be different for Michael.

Michael gasped like he was in pain. Maybe he was. Either way he didn’t hold Alex down hard enough to restrict his movements. He lifted his non-bleeding hand to turn Michael toward him again. Their eyes met briefly. Alex leaned in slowly, wanting to give him the option to back out.

The blood on his lips should have repulsed him. Yet he was finding that none of this was repulsing if it was Michael. Their mouths pressed together. Michael tried to keep his tongue from licking at the blood on his mouth but it was no use.

A shudder ran through Michael. Then he was yanking Alex flush against him, tongue driving past his lips to taste his own. Alex whimpered as his fangs grazed over his bottom lip. Suddenly he was laying on the bed, Michael positioned between his legs and hovering over him.

“I’m sorry,” he said desperately. He leaned to lick up the blood that had dripped and Alex’s hips rolled of their own accord. Michael groaned, pressing his hips against Alex in return.

Michael sealed his mouth over the cut, tongue running over the shallow wound and sucking gently. His teeth scraped but never pierced skin. Alex pushed his shirt off one shoulder and Michael yanked his arm out and the other followed. He tossed it somewhere in the room and moaned when Alex ran his hand over his torso.

He watched Michael in awe. It looked like he was kissing his hand. It was beautiful.

After a minute or so, Michael pulled away, a drop of blood still on his lips. Alex leaned up to kiss him again, wrapping an arm around his neck. His hands found the hem of his t-shirt and pulled up. They broke apart to toss it away as well.

Their skin moved against one another so easily, like they were made for this. For each other.

Michael broke the kiss again, resting his forehead against Alex’s. His teeth still hadn’t retracted. Alex, stroked his face softly. Then he turned his head to the side, exposing his neck.

“Fuck Alex. I said don’t let anyone have you. That includes me,” he said, tracing his fingers over his pulse point. His mouth may as well have been watering.

“But you need it don’t you?” Alex glanced back at him, angling his head further, encouraging him. Michael pressed his mouth against his neck, licking slowly. He kissed and sucked but never bit him. Alex rolled his hips again.

“I can find another donor. I won’t hurt you,” Michael pleaded. His voice was strained. It was taking everything he had to resist. A stab of pain in his heart. He shoved Michael back and grabbed his face, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“I don’t want you to find another donor.” His eyes flashed red, bloodlust taking over him. Alex leaned in close, pressing a hard, fast kiss to his mouth. He wasn’t afraid. This beast could kill him but he wasn’t afraid. He dragged his lips down Michael’s jaw and neck until he got to his pulse point. Then he bit.

Alex was yanked fully onto the bed, arms pinned above him. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. Pure power rolled off Michael in waves. Alex knew the dangers of triggering bloodlust but he did it anyway. He wanted it more than anything. Wanted Michael to just take what he needed. But he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, Michael wouldn’t hurt him either.

“You want this, Hunter? Fine. But we do it my way.” He laughed, burying his face against his neck, teeth scratching gently. Alex’s jeans were too tight and he wanted nothing more than to have them ripped off of him. Literally. “Never thought I’d see the day a hunter would beg for it like this,” he teased.

“Shut up and kiss me before I change my mind,” he ordered. Michael just shook his head, leaning close.

“Bossy, bossy.” He kissed him again. All the vampires he had interacted with until now had been almost cool to the touch. But Michael… he was as warm as Alex. Maybe it was the bloodlust or the desire but fuck if he didn’t love it.

He dug his nails into his back, pulling him in. Other guys he had been with hadn’t been into that but vampires were different. They lived for the pain. Or rather, as he was learning, the line between pain and pleasure.

Michael moaned and nipped at his bottom lip. This time though, he let his fang catch, letting a drop of blood form before licking it away. His body shuddered at the taste. Alex didn’t know how he could be turned on but if he went to hell for the things he was feeling right now, then it would all be worth it.

Michael released his arms, dragging his hands down his body to the waistband of his jeans. His nimble fingers undid the button and zipper, yanking them down quickly. He broke the kiss again, making Alex whimper from the loss of contact.

“Patient hunter. I know you can be.” The nickname was no longer filled with suspicion and annoyance. Rather it sent another shot of need to his hard dick.

Michael went to pull his jeans completely off but stopped short of his knee. Alex froze. In all the tension and fighting, he had completely forgotten about his missing leg. He had never been so gone to forget that. What was this man doing to him? He looked down at Michael, worried this would make him stop all together.

“On or off?” It was such a simple question. But the fact that he had asked, while still very much in bloodlust had Alex relaxing back against the bed again.

“I can move better with it on. But if you want it off so you can have your wicked way with me…” Michael laughed and pressed his head against Alex’s thigh, nuzzling him.

“If you’ll let me, I’ll take care of you,” he assured. Alex nodded and sat up, beginning the process of removing the prosthetic. Michael moved to a different part of his body. He crawled around behind Alex and was kissing his shoulders, hands roaming all over his biceps and torso.

Alex tried to not get distracted but damn that mouth. His tongue darted out every now and then, wetting his skin. When he finally got it off along with the sock, Michael took it from him gently, setting it on the floor.

He resumed his attention on his shoulders and neck. Alex relaxed against him, whimpering sounds slipping from his mouth. Michael had found his pulse point again and was paying special focus on that one spot. His hands wandered down to his underwear and the very noticeable bulge. Alex groaned when he cupped him through the fabric. Michael didn’t tease long before he had pulled him out of the constricting material, rubbing him slowly.

“Fuck,” Alex sighed out. He felt Michael’s grin on his neck. Alex reached behind him, tangling his fingers in the beautiful curls, pressing his mouth over his artery. This pulled a moan from Michael.

“I’m dying for a taste of you. Please, can I have you,” he begged. Alex felt his teeth again and his cock jumped in anticipation.

“Yes,” he breathed out.

Michael didn’t go straight in like he thought he would. He pulled away from his neck, a tight control on his movements. He readjusted so that he sat behind Alex, legs on either side, body pressed flush against Alex’s. His slacks did nothing to hide his obvious arousal and it pressed against Alex’s lower back.

“Lean back against me and relax as much as you can,” he ordered gently. His hand continued stroking him, though it was more a second thought. Alex did as he was told, running his hands over what he could reach of Michael’s arms.

Michael’s free hand held his jaw gently, tilting his head to the side. He locked his lips over the spot again but still didn’t bite. He sucked and massaged with his tongue, serving only to work Alex up, making him thrust into the hand still wrapped around his cock. When he was satisfied, he pulled away, speaking low next to Alex’s ear.

“This might hurt at first. But it’ll get better. Trust me.” And he did. Alex didn’t know why, but he did.

Michael licked his neck again. Desire coiled in his stomach. A light pinch, then a throbbing pain. He gasped as Michael’s teeth sunk into him. His first instinct was to yank himself away but the warmth spreading throughout his body called for a different reaction.

His hand found its way into Michael’s curls again, holding him in place. His eyes fluttered shut, getting lost in the feeling of having Michael attached to his neck. He felt more than heard him groan. His hips jerked up into his hand again.

The dizziness set in quick, as though he had been drugged. Every part of his body felt like a nerve ending and all he wanted was Michael’s hands everywhere. The hand wrapped around his cock stroked with more purpose. Alex moaned loudly, not caring if anyone heard. Maybe even wanting people to hear.

He could feel Michael’s tongue licking at his neck where the blood dripped. His hips stuttered, struggling to keep up with the pace Michael set. Alex cursed and tugged on his hair. Desire twisted in his stomach and every muscle in his body flexed.

His orgasm hit harder than he expected. His back arched away from Michael though he was held in place. White stripes spurt over his torso and Michael’s hand. His body shuddered as he kept working him, overstimulating to the point of pain.

“Fuck! Michael…” he gasped out. He felt Michael detach from his throat. He pressed his tongue to the wounds, slowing the bleeding. He released his cock, running his hands up over his torso and through the cum. Alex whimpered at the touches. Every nerve in his body screamed for more while simultaneously making him want to run away for a bit of relief.

The waves kept rolling through his body, as though he hadn’t come down from his orgasm. He dug his fingers into Michael’s head and twisted his other hand into the sheets. The small moans only seemed to urge Michael on. He ran his hands over every part of Alex he could reach. He pressed gentle kisses to his neck.

“Shh… it’ll pass. Just relax,” he whispered to him.

“What… did you… do…” Alex panted out as his cock attempted to reharden.

“It’s my venom. I use it to take away the pain.”

Vampire venom. Sold on the black market as a party drug. When used in excess, it can put someone out for almost a day. In small doses, an aphrodisiac. When injected straight into the bloodstream…

“Fuck I feel everything… it’s too much, damnit!”

“It’ll wear off in a couple minutes. I’ll let you go until then.” Michael released him. He moved fluidly, not even brushing against Alex as he got off the bed. Alex scratched at his skin. He reached in the direction of the vampire. His fingers brushed against strong abs.

He refocused his eyes and took in the beautiful sight of him. His slacks still hung low and open. Enough that Alex could tell he didn’t have any underwear on. His muscles tensed under his fingers. He dragged his gaze up his body and finally landed on his face. Blood dripped from his lips and his pupils were dilated. His teeth had retracted so they only looked slightly longer than normal.

Alex grabbed his wrist, pulling him back onto the bed and on top of him. Michael let his surprise show when Alex grabbed him and kissed him. He hesitated at first but soon he was kissing Alex with all of his pent up need.

Alex grabbed his slacks, yanking them down to free his cock. He needed Michael inside him. Prep be damned.

“Fuck me. I need you to fuck me,” he pleaded, trying to pull him closer. He kicked off his own underwear in the process. Michael groaned and kissed him again. Alex felt the prick of his teeth.

“Damnit,” he cursed, pulling away from the kiss and hiding his face. Alex had caught the briefest glimpse of his teeth. Alex reached up to pull the hand away from his mouth. The teeth were already back. “I knew you would be a fucking addiction. I’ve had you and now... It doesn’t help when you say things that make me want to claim you,” he growled as he nuzzled against his shoulder. Alex’s heart flipped. He knew it shouldn’t have but this man turned out to be an addiction for him too.

“I need you Michael,” he mumbled again, taking his hand and dragging it down his body. His cock was half hard again. He was ready. Michael felt this and gave a low laugh.

“Who am I to deny you, hunter?” Michael was gone for less than a second before he was settling between Alex’s thighs, a bottle of lube in his hand.

Michael kissed his thighs as he coated two fingers with lube. Alex tried to keep as still as possible but the venom still working its way through his system had him thrusting toward wherever Michael touched him.

Michael rubbed around his puckered hole, the cool temperature of the lube a startling contrast to his own body. He pushed himself up on his elbows so he could watch Michael. The sweat that had formed on his neck rolled down his chest.

“Fuck, you smell even sweeter down here. But I feel like you’ll be pissed if I mark you up too much,” he said, nuzzling the soft inside of his thigh. He pressed a finger inside him, moving slowly. Teasing.

Alex let out a strained moan, the sound catching in his throat. He had to know what he was doing. How drawing this out drove him so crazy. He’d always been a patient person but with Michael, it wasn’t fast enough. He grabbed Michael’s hair, forcing him to look up at him.

“Mark me up as much as you want. But move your damn fingers faster or I might kill you,” he threatened. A sinful smirk grew on his face.

“You really know how to get a guy going,” he teased back. Alex would have responded but the finger that had been teasing him curved up, pressing against his prostate. His head rolled back as he released Michael’s hair and a second finger pushed in with the first.

The damned things fucked him open as he felt Michael’s tongue on his thigh. A quick nip then the sharp pinch of his teeth. The pain was hardly there compared to the first bite. The warmth that had been subsiding roared back to an inferno. His brain didn’t know what to focus on.

Michael decided for him as he scissored his fingers and began pushing a third in. He massaged the muscles, rubbing against Alex’s prostate more with every thrust. He was close again. Twice in less than ten minutes. It had to be a record. For him at least.

“Gunna… come…” He mumbled out. His hips moved with the thrusting of his fingers, forcing them deeper. Michael groaned and lifted the leg he was attached to over his shoulder, opening Alex up and giving him a better angle.

Michael seemed to bite down harder, sending a sting of pain through him. The not unwelcome feeling made his cock jump. He panted, reaching down to tangle his fingers in Michael’s hair again. He cursed as the fingers buried inside him spread him open. They twisted and curled to press against all the right places.

It was the press of a fourth finger that sent him spiraling over the edge again. His vision went white as it pushed in with the others. A choked sob ripped from his throat as his hips jerked, adding to the mess covering his torso. Alex fell to the bed, back arching as he gripped the sheets and Michael’s hair.

He felt Michael detach himself from his thigh, licking at the wounds to stop the bleeding. He pulled his fingers out of Alex’s ass slowly, careful to not press against any more sensitive areas. Alex’s head was spinning. Was it the orgasm or the loss of blood?

His hand fell from Michael’s hair as he crawled up his body, hovering over him. Alex’s half lidded eyes let him take in the beautiful man. He looked every bit like a predator deciding how to kill its prey. The blood that ran down his jaw and neck only made Alex want him more. He belonged to this man now. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind.

Michael leaned in close, nuzzled the side of his neck that he hadn’t bit. Alex whimpered as his head rolled to the side. He would let this man kill him if he wanted. Michael exhaled a laugh, pressing soft kisses to his jaw and over his cheek. A gentle finger turned Alex’s head back to face him. Michael kissed him gently.

“No more. Don’t need you passing out from blood loss.” He brushed a piece of hair off Alex’s forehead, smiling sweetly. “You ok?”

Alex didn’t know if he could give an answer. He felt more than ok but also very obviously not thinking clearly. His body burned from the venom but he found that it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t desperate for more but Michael’s hands on his body were a welcome feeling rather than a painful one.

“I think so. What did you do,” he asked slowly when he found his words again.

“I took back some of the venom. While another vampire might be able to handle going a third round right away, I’m well aware you’re just a human,” he joked, rolling off and propping himself up on his elbow.

Alex looked over at him in all his naked glory. He was still rock hard and Alex felt bad that he hadn’t gotten off yet.

“You saying I’m not as good as another vampire,” he teased half-heartedly. Michael rolled his eyes and leaned in, speaking low against his ear.

“You far surpass any vampire. But if you were one… I could fuck you all night.” His heart hammered in his chest. Michael’s fingers traced patterns over his arm and torso, placing featherlight kisses to the spot under his ear and his jaw.

“You’re saying you want to turn me?” Michael froze in his movements, his body tensing.

“Careful Alex. Even suggesting it - especially when I’m high on you - the temptation is there. The idea of having you with me forever… fuck I want it. But you don’t deserve that kind of life.”

His heart skipped a beat. The idea didn’t exactly make him cringe or feel disgusted. Anything to keep this man next to him. His brain wasn’t in a right state and he knew it. As much as he wanted to believe it was.

He didn’t respond to the words. Just turned to face the vampire. He pushed him to his back slowly, pressing kisses to his collarbone and moving down his torso. Michael sighed happily, gently running his hand through Alex’s hair.

He nipped at the muscles on his sides, earning him a mixture of laughs and quiet moans. Alex wrapped his hand around his hard cock, rubbing slowly as he kissed his abs and down to his hips.

“Fuck Alex,” he breathed out. He felt himself grin. He moved and licked the head of his cock. Michael groaned and rolled his hips slightly. Alex took him into his mouth, using his hand to control how deep he went. The weight was heavy on his tongue and the salty taste made him moan. He hadn’t given head in a long time and he was remembering why he loved it so much. Then again, maybe it was just Michael.

Alex moved his tongue to massage the length of him. Michael rocked his hips slowly, never rushing him, just petting his head softly. He occasionally pulled but never hard. Alex relaxed his jaw, taking in more of him every downstroke. The head eventually hit the back of his throat. He held him there for a moment, loving the feel of him throbbing in his mouth.

Alex looked up at Michael through his eyelashes. He groaned and his hips jerked, making Alex gag slightly.

“Your mouth is a sin, hunter. I don’t know how long I can keep from fucking it.” The words sent desire straight to his cock. Though he wasn’t quite ready to have Michael abusing his ass again, he could at least give him a good blowjob.

Alex moaned around his cock, removing the hand wrapped around the base to run over his thighs. He dug his nails into the soft skin and scratched. Michael’s hips jerked again but he didn’t gag this time.

“You want me to fuck your mouth? Use you? Take what I want?” Alex groaned at the thought. That was exactly what he wanted. Michael pulled him off his cock. He released him with a wet pop and smirked at the vampire. He shook his head before climbing off the bed and standing at the edge.

“Lay down you damn brat.” Alex positioned himself on his stomach in front of him. He looked up at him, waiting for instructions. Michael ran a hand through his hair and down his face, looking at him almost lovingly.

“Tap my leg twice if it’s too much.” Alex nodded. “Words,” he ordered. Alex shuddered at the demanding tone.

“Ok.” Michael smiled and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his mouth. He pulled back slightly, still close enough for their lips to touch when he spoke.

“Now open your mouth and look at me the whole time.” Alex watched him as he stood up. He opened his mouth as ordered, waiting for any further requests. There were none as the fingers in his hair tugged gently and Michael was slipping his dick into his mouth.

Alex wanted to let his eyes close to focus on the feeling of him but he didn’t want to disobey him. Somehow he thought he might regret it. Michael moaned and started rocking his hips, slowly at first. He did the same as Alex had done earlier, working himself all the way in as to not choke him. Though Alex wouldn’t have minded it.

Michael hit the back of his throat and he shuddered at the feeling. His fingers tightened in his hair and he thrust his hips forward. Michael moaned and did it again. Curses tumbled from his lips as he fucked into his mouth. Alex groaned around him, causing his hips to stutter in their rhythm. Alex’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Look at me.” The order was practically growled at him. His eyes popped open and Michael forced his cock deep, triggering his gag reflex again. He gripped Michael’s thighs, attempting to control his thrusts. Unsuccessfully.

Michael thrust into him hard and fast. His own cock was starting to feel neglected and he rubbed himself against the sheets, looking for friction. Michael laughed and smirked above him, never faltering in his movements

“Is your cock hard already? You’re so fucking good for me. I don’t know how I’ll ever let you go. Maybe I won’t.” Alex moaned again, rocking his own hips. Michael panted above him, watching him the whole time.

Alex glanced down at his slightly elongated canines. They weren’t like before but Alex knew he was craving something. He met his gaze again and Michael growled placing a hand over his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Alex didn’t know what he saw but he didn’t have time to dwell. Michael’s thrusts were losing their pattern, getting deeper and harder.

Then he was calling out. Moaning loudly and shoving himself to the back of Alex’s throat. Hot spurts coated his mouth as he swallowed as best he could. The throbbing against his tongue had his own hips picking up speed. He was past the point of caring that he was dry humping the bed like a teenager.

Michael pulled away and was hauling Alex up to his knees, crushing his mouth to his. His tongue darted out to taste himself. Michael wrapped his arms around his waist, keeping most of his weight off his legs. Alex groaned at the pressure of his cock being trapped between them, pressing against Michael’s abs.

“You’re so sexy... So responsive… Drives me crazy,” he punctuated each phrase with a kiss. Alex took his face in his hands, running his fingers over the stubble. He pressed his forehead against Michael’s, just breathing him in. He smelled like rain. He ran his thumb over his lips, and when Michael’s mouth opened, slipped one inside.

He brushed it over his tongue and back out. He did it again, this time pausing to catch his thumb over one fang. Michael took in a shaky breath, as though this was the most intimate thing they had done since meeting.

Alex could no longer imagine his life without Michael in it. He refused to have this be the only time they saw each other. Despite all his training to kill people like him. He was beginning to think it was all a lie. What had these people really done? Just because they drank blood from willing doners? Sure some of them killed people and they should be held to the laws of the government, just like anyone else. But to generalize a whole group? That sounded too familiar.

The pad of his thumb caught on the point of his tooth, drawing blood. He hissed, more out of surprise than pain. But Michael didn’t see it that way. He took Alex’s hand and pulled it away from his mouth, holding it to his chest.

“Sorry. You shouldn’t mess with those. I don’t want to hurt you unnecessarily.” Alex smiled and shook his head. He tugged his hand out of Michael’s and pressed his thumb to his lip, just as he did earlier with his palm.

He kissed him softly. Michael whimpered as he licked at his lip. Alex found himself being lifted then placed on his back on the bed. Michael had settled between his thighs and he could feel him poking his hole. Michael bent his legs back to have easier access.

“I need to be inside you before I do something stupid,” he said with barely contained restraint.

“Stupid like what,” Alex couldn’t help but ask.

Michael leaned over him, kissing and nuzzling his marked neck. Alex turned his head as though it was instinct now. He couldn’t stop it even if he tried. Michael moaned quietly.

“You’re making it really hard not to claim you.” Alex wrapped his arms around his neck. Some part of his brain thought through his next words but it certainly wasn’t the rational part.

“Then do it.”

Michael jerked back from him, an almost terrified look on his face. But even that couldn’t hide the joy dancing in his eyes. He shook his head.

“Alex. You don’t know what you’re saying.” Alex blinked and sat up, running his hands over Michael’s torso and shoulders.

“Maybe. But it feels right, doesn’t it?” He leaned forward, pressing kisses to his chest. Michael groaned softly then pushed him back down to the bed, bending his knees back

“It’s the venom talking. If you still feel that way after I fuck you, then I’ll consider listening.” Michael pressed himself against his ass again. He grabbed the lube bottle again and coated his dick.

He used the excess on his fingers to slip them back into his hole. One finger, then two, then three, making sure he was still ready. Alex moaned but knew not to get too used to it. Michael pulled his fingers out and guided his cock to replace them.

He pressed forward slowly. Alex’s back arched as he stretched around him, marveling at the fact that just the head could make him feel so good. He heard Michael curse from above him as he tried to go slowly. Alex’s fingers twisted into the sheets.

Michael thrust forward firmly but not rough. Alex groaned and tried to move his hips toward him but Michael held him in place. He pushed again and the head of his cock rubbed against his prostate, making him whimper and moan.

“I’m fine, Michael. Fuck me,” he pleaded. Michael trembled as his hips thrust forward roughly. Alex yelped in surprise. He felt so full and his cock leaked with precum.

“Do you have any idea how good you look right now? Spread open on my cock, leaking, begging me to fuck you.” Alex moaned when he thrust forward as he spoke. Everything faded to the back of his mind except for Michael and the way his body moved against him.

His thrusts picked up speed and he grunted with the force he used. Alex could hardly think about anything other than the way he pounded into him. He tried to watch Michael above him but every thrust was sending shockwaves of need through his body. His eyes fell closed as he got lost in the feeling.

Little moans slipped out every time Michael sank into him again. The headboard of the bed bumped against the wall. Alex felt a hand wrap around his throat, fingers carefully avoiding the bite. He opened his eyes to Michael staring at him a small smirk on his face. He lifted his hand to cover Michael’s, squeezing his fingers around his neck.

“You are so fucking perfect, Alex. How has no one snatched you up yet,” he said, leaning forward as he squeezed the sides of his neck. Not giving him time to respond, Michael kissed him with an open mouth. The dirty sound of them separating made Alex whine. “You are mine now. Do you understand?”

Alex normally hated this kind of entitlement. He always insisted that he didn’t belong to anyone. But something about it coming from Michael’s mouth made him want it more. These were obvious red flags but he couldn’t help himself. He moaned against Michael’s mouth.

“Yours,” he gasped out.

After a few more hard thrusts, Michael pulled out, though Alex didn’t have time to complain. He flipped him over and pulled him up on his hands and knees. He pressed down on his shoulders, forcing him down on his forearms.

He spread his ass and slid into him again, not bothering to go slow. Alex buried his face in the mattress in an effort to muffle his moans. Michael grabbed his hair and pulled him back up.

“Don’t you dare. I want to hear you. I want the whole place to hear you.” Alex shivered and his own cock jumped. Michael fucked him ruthlessly though he was almost sure he was still holding back. The desire that coiled inside him was ready to snap.

“Michael,” he moaned out, only managing his name. Then he was being pulled up so his back was against his chest. Michael wrapped one had around his cock and stroked. The other was in front of his lips, bleeding from a small bite on the heel of his hand. The same place Alex had cut his own.

Alex pressed his lips to the wound, licking at the blood. He should have been disgusted but again he wasn’t. Michael pressed his lips against the spot he had bit earlier, grunting out his words.

“Tell me you want this. That you want me to claim you.” His voice was pleading. The rational part of his brain told him to say no. But every other part of him screamed yes.

“Please. Claim me,” he whimpered out.

Michael’s teeth were sinking into him before he even finished talking. It wasn’t as intense as before but there was a dull pain. Then the warmth was spreading again. So much hotter than before and taking over every part of him. Michael fucked him hard and he could feel every groove and twitch of the cock inside him.

Alex’s third orgasm rocked through him, making him call out Michael’s name repeatedly. He came all over the sheets but his body wouldn’t stop burning. Michael detached himself from his neck and pushed him forward again. He seemed to let himself go, slamming into him at an abusive rate. Alex’s cock tried to come again but there was nothing left as it twitched helplessly. All he could do was moan and take whatever he gave.

With one last deep thrust, Michael cursed and came inside him. He ground his hips against him, using Alex to milk his cock. He rocked his hips gently a few extra times before pulling out. Alex’s legs shook and he felt Michael trialing kisses over his spine.

He let himself down slowly, laying on his side and panting hard. The burn had turned into a dull smolder and was quickly fading. Michael curled around him, leaving kisses wherever he could reach.

“Are you ok,” he asked after a moment. His mind was starting to clear. What had just happened? He lifted is fingers to run over the bite mark on his neck. At first, a panic started to build, but it was overtaken by comfort.

“Yea. I’m just… processing.” They were silent for a couple minutes.

“You regret it,” he said, a sad certainty haunting his voice. Alex felt him start to pull away. He turned toward him immediately grabbing his hand and holding it to his cheek.

“No. I don’t regret it. The whole thing was just—”

“Intense,” Michael finished for him. Alex nodded. He glanced down at his mouth. Before he could think better of it, he kissed him. Their first non-desperate, lust filled kiss. Michael held him gently and Alex ran his fingers through the curls. They broke apart after a moment.

“I suppose now would be a bad time to make you promise not to kill me, hunter,” Michael joked. Alex snorted and ran his hands over his arms, feeling the muscle.

“I promise.” He paused. “What did you do to me exactly?” Michael sighed and propped himself up on his elbow. He ran his fingers over the mark on his neck.

“They don’t teach you that in training? Man, the academy is sure going downhill.” Alex rolled his eyes. He wanted a real answer.

“Michael,” he scolded gently. He sighed again, running his hand through Alex’s hair.

“Basically, my blood will heal you if taken alone. But I also injected you with my venom. Well over the amount needed to cause a blackout, mind you. But with my blood in your system, it forms a bond instead.” Alex nodded, covering Michael’s hand with his own. He smiled and leaned in close, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“No other vampire will dare to touch you unless they want to deal with me. I can keep you safe.” Alex chuckled as the vampire planted kisses all over his face and down his neck, eventually landing on the mark.

“I hardly know you,” Alex pointed out.

“But this feels right. And I can’t wait to get to know all of you,” Michael responded, lifting his head and gazing down at him with the softest expression Alex had ever seen. He pulled him in again, kissing him lovingly.

Alex was essentially married to this man. A man he was supposed to hate but didn’t. He knew nothing about him except that this wasn’t a mistake. That maybe he was finally making the right choices.

Alex ended up falling asleep. He didn’t know how long. Just that when he woke up, he was covered in clean blankets and Michael was right next to him.

#malex fanfiction #malex fic #roswell new mexico fic #malex #michael guerin/alex manes #roswell new mexico

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 7

<- Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 ->

Summary: I gave myself a stomach ache writing this one 🙃

2,961 words

Thirty-two days. Nine surgeries. Twenty blood transfusions.

Sometimes it seemed like just yesterday when everything was going right—you and Frederick were so happy together, his books were selling, your career was flourishing, and he had just asked you to marry him. Sometimes, it felt like a lifetime ago. A state of being so foreign, you wondered if it had even been real, or if you were remembering someone else’s life.

Seasons turned. Cherry blossoms were starting to bloom in the parks around Maryland, and each gust of cool wind carried with it their sweet pink fragrance. The spring air vibrated and sang with life renewed. But where you were headed, the air was stagnant, beige, and sterile.

As the automatic sliding glass doors drew you into the hospital, away from the sun, a piece of your heart withered like a flower. It sank deeper when you considered how the unhappy hours you whiled away in those sterile halls were nothing compared to what Frederick had to endure. He didn’t have the luxury of being able to leave.

Physically, he was beginning to show signs of real improvement. The pneumonia had completely cleared up, and he was starting to receive permanent transplants from the cutting-edge, lab-grown skin created from his own cells. Most of his body was still wrapped up in gauze, but a few places had only received second-degree burns, and those patches were almost back to normal. For the first time since the attack, his odds of not dying were higher than his odds of dying.

Mentally was a different story. His moods grew progressively more sour. With none of his true nemeses at hand to take out his bitterness on, that burden fell upon his nurses, doctors, and upon you—and it was beginning to weigh heavily. At first you didn’t want to see the rift that was forming, even as he cut your visiting hours short in an angry huff, and had fewer and fewer kind words for you. You shoved every fear and frustration into a box at the back of your mind so you could keep smiling. He was just in pain, you kept telling yourself. He just needed time.

You held onto the hope that as he got better, your relationship would return to what it had been before. But he was getting better, and the rift grew wider.

“We’ll still want to wait at least six months to do the procedure, until your infection risk has dropped to baseline levels for a healthy adult, but we’re putting you on the transplant waiting list now,” the doctor explained. She was one of his regular surgeons who had been with him since day one. She wore a white lab coat over blue scrubs, and hid behind a clipboard as she spoke. You liked the that she needed to use the file as a shield—it made her relatable. Always friendly, and clearly a skilled surgeon, but uncomfortable with the heavy emotional talking to patients, especially to Dr. Frederick Chilton, who was always in a bad mood, and always ready with a scathing remark.

But today he had nothing to say. No critique on the hospital’s competence. No casual observations with hidden barbs. Just a silent nod of acknowledgment before turning his head to gaze out the window at the fresh spring flowers, framed by the sea of fake ones you had bought.

Francis Dolarhyde, the Red Dragon, had bitten Frederick’s mouth with such extreme ferocity there was not enough connective muscle left to reconstruct new lips from Frederick’s own tissue. The only option for him to look normal again would be a face transplant—donated facial muscle, skin, and hair from a cadaver—although the doctor explained that the procedure was risky. After taking the transplant, Frederick would be put on immunosurpressant drugs for the rest of his life to prevent rejection, which meant every flu season, or even a coworker with a cold, could turn deadly without careful precaution. But to Frederick, it was worth the risk. He couldn’t bear spending his life being stared at. He couldn’t even stand you looking at the black hole that was his face.

Yet what the doctor explained about the procedure added weight after weight to Frederick’s chest until he felt crushed by despair.

The donated tissue had to be a very close match, or his antibodies would reject the new lips. Unlike receiving a heart or a kidney, his new skin had to be an aesthetic match as well. It could not be from too old a donor, or the skin would lack the proper elasticity. And, unfortunately, most organ donors were not comfortable donating external organs—it ruins the open-casket wake.

So, he could be waiting on a match for a very long time.

You thanked the clipboard-wielding doctor when Frederick remained sulking, not bothering to look up as she left. He adjusted himself slightly to follow a flash of movement—a bird—out the window, and winced as it tugged his unyielding scar tissue. Something tore under his armpit, but he didn’t yelp in pain—he was used to this level of it by now—but his eyes watered.

“At least you can sit up a little bit now. That’s great, isn’t it?” you said in an attempt to cheer him up.

He scoffed, and made no immediate reply.

Years, was all he kept thinking. It could take up to three years to find a match, possibly longer, the doctor said.

“Up to three years or longer,” he growled sarcastically. “She does realize that means nothing? It means any time, or never.”

“I know...”

“But thank god at least I can sit,” he spat bitterly. “A little.”

You were taken aback by his sharp rebuke and fell silent, a cavernous gulf between you though you sat right beside his bed. As you recovered from the sting, however, his words made you smile. He had always been churlish, but recently all of the spirit had been eroded away from his petty attitudes, leaving him defeated and mean. It was nice to hear his churlishness take on a spark of sarcastic sass.

“Don’t lose hope, darling,” you said in an overly-sweet patronizing cadence. “One day you’ll have enough movement back to flip her off.”

He paused, eyes flicking over to you curiously. You had been downtrodden for weeks, too, and he hadn’t expected a joke. He chuckled appreciatively. You wished the good moments lasted longer these days.

It wasn’t as though his life had ended, even if his full cosmetic recovery would take a little longer than he hoped, and even if he was bedridden for several more months. It was that sharp mind and wit that made you fall in love with him, and he still had that. He could keep you entertained for hours discussing some arcane piece of trivia or sharing lurid gossip. Since he was cut off from his normal sources of scuttlebutt, you kept him updated on all the latest rumors you’d learned over dinner with Jack Crawford—about the shitstorm he’d brought down on himself at the FBI when Will Graham went rogue, how Alana and her wife fled the country (but you heard they might be in Cuba), Freddie Lounds being sued again. He always enjoyed hearing about other people’s misfortunes, but today it just made him jealous that you’d been spending time with Jack.

“You have both recently lost a spouse. What comfort you must take in each other,” he insinuated.

“I haven’t lost you, Frederick.”

You went into that sentence thinking you were convincing him that you loved him, but as it closed, you realized you were desperate to convince yourself he wasn’t gone. The more you tried to hold him close, the more you felt him pulling away, and felt a creeping dread that even if he got better, you would lose him. Everything you tried to say to reassure him only made him feel worse, and you wondered if it was your fault. Someone more capable, more empathetic, would know the right things to say. You were a failure. He deserved more.

His professional life, too, hadn’t ended. His injury would barely be a bump in the road to his writing career if he wasn’t so stubborn and prideful. The publisher offered to send a ghostwriter to finish The Dragon Slayer, for which they greedily anticipated a significant boost in sales, considering the author’s headline-making personal involvement in the Red Dragon’s end. Frederick, however, refused to be interviewed by “some insipid amateur.” He claimed they would not understand the nuances of psychology required, and stood firm on the grounds of “artistic integrity,” but the truth was, he did not want anybody else to see him.

His face had not made it into the papers, despite several attempts by Freddie Lounds to sneak into the hospital with a hidden camera, and he did not want any more of the world than absolutely necessary to know the extent of what the Dragon had done to him. He did not want to see the shock in the writer’s eyes at seeing his disgusting lipless teeth. He did not want a stranger to see him inevitably start drooling the longer he spoke—and he hated repeating himself to people who could not understand his impaired diction.

No. Publishing The Dragon Slayer would have to wait, though the possibility of another author beating him to the punch bothered him nearly as much as his missing lips. After an entire month recuperating, he thought he would at least be able to type again, but he could barely move his gauze-mittened fingers.

The world had not forgotten him, evidenced by the occasional fan-mail the publisher forwarded to him. You would bring them in and read them—a lot of get-well-soons, and entreaties to hear his side of the Francis Dolarhyde story. A lot of them were from professionals and students in the psychiatric field, pointing out errors or suggesting contradictory theories. Those were the most fun to read, because Frederick would come alive with indignation, debating with the letter as if its sender could hear him, sometimes making you send a response, seething with superiority as he dictated.

In those brief moments, it was like having the old Frederick back. Then a nurse would come in and need to run a test, or feed him, or something else that embarrassed him back into his shell of anger. Or he would grow too animated and rip one of his grafts, and his zeal for argument would end precipitously with a scream, and a surgeon.

As you shuffled a handful of addressed envelopes and started reading through the latest batch of strangers wishing him a healthy recovery, you were struck by a thought.

“Why haven’t I met your family?”

The wind caught in his throat. His scabbed-over nostrils flared before he answered, “I doubt that is what the letter reads.”

“They never visit, even when… even when you could have died. My parents even flew in that first week, when they heard. They helped me with the flowers. Why do your fans send more condolences than your family?”

Gritting ones teeth does not come easily when ones teeth are constantly bared by default, but Frederick grit his teeth. “My mother is old. She can hardly be expected to travel.”

A plausible answer, but not the full story. His discomfort with the subject only spurred your curiosity. All the time you’d been together, you had simply accepted Frederick as an individual, with no need for a childhood backstory or a group of others sharing his features and last name to complete him. You’d gathered, in snippets, that their relationship was not the best, and were satisfied to leave it alone. But he nearly died. The nurse who asked you about his next of kin looked so confused when you had no one you could contact, and it made you feel foolish for never having asked.

“It’s just, we’re going to be married.”

“So?” he said, a hard, mocking edge to his voice.

“So, if I’m going to be part of your family, isn’t it weird that I’ve never met them?”

Instead of answering directly, he snarled, “Look somewhere else.”

“I wasn’t staring!”

“Look. Somewhere. Else.”

You huffed, and sat back in your uncomfortable plastic chair whose unpadded seat bruised your butt after countless hours, crossing your arms. The box full of anger was overstuffed. You shoved its contents down like clothing in a suitcase to squeeze one more sting of hurt inside, but it began to overflow. “I swear I don’t stare at your face any more than I used to,” you muttered aloud what was supposed to remain a thought, “but now every interaction needs to be a carefully calculated balance between not looking at you enough to feel gawked at, and not not-looking enough to make you feel like I’m averting my eyes from your horrible face.” At the word “horrible,” you wiggled your fingers and wavered your voice the way the vampire running a children’s haunted house would say the word “spooky.”

“I am sorry my suffering is so inconvenient for you,” he said in clipped, cold syllables, and you knew you’d pushed him too far.

“I’m just saying, you know I don’t care about your face. You’re acting the same way as when you got shot, and you got over that. You know I still think you’re beautiful. Can’t you give me some credit and just stop freaking out?”

Being stuck in a hospital bed with limited range of motion, he had few resources with which to express anger, but his chest rose and fell and his breath hissed like steam through his nose. “You...” he seethed. “You never care about the pain I suffer, do you? You, in your fantasy world where you accept my injuries and make it all better—you have no idea what it is like to be violated. To have your body ripped apart! It is not a thing one ‘gets over.’ Beautiful? That is rich coming from one who would not know how to tuck in a shirt without my guidance. It must be lovely in whatever quaint children’s storybook your mind inhabits, but in the real world, appearance matters. It matters to me. Your fetish does not stop every sane individual from seeing ugliness. You believe I should be delighted to have a partner who calls ugliness beauty and trivializes my grief? I should have had you analyzed years ago—my judgment was compromised by my relationship with you. I could not see. Your attachment increases with my physical deterioration. You prefer me broken.”

“That… that isn’t true! How dare—”

“You could barely tolerate me before Abel Gideon took my kidney. I was shot in the face and suddenly you professed your love. What shall it be this time? Ah, yes—marriage. You must be elated.” He rolled the words over his tongue in that distinctively upper-class way that was almost musical, yet bone-cuttingly brutal.

“Stop. This had nothing to do with it—you proposed to me!”

His eyes had been flashing with energy behind the bandages as you argued, but all the anger in them vanished like a message written in steam on a bathroom mirror. They took on a dull, blank glaze.

“Then I take it back,” he said. You wished you believed he meant the accusation. His head shifted toward you, but his dull stare seemed to look right through you to the door. “The engagement is over.”

Your throat dried up. “You don’t mean that,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I will not be with one who gains pleasure from my mutilation. Get out of my room. There are some amputees over in the rehabilitation ward; go explore your fetishes elsewhere.”

He couldn’t be serious, and yet there was no hint of sarcasm or hyperbole in his flat tone. He meant it. You were surprised to find that you weren’t sad. Your hands began trembling uncontrollably, the tiny convulsions working their way from your extremities to your shoulders, tightly clenching in your gut, but it wasn’t sadness. The overfilled box tore open at the seams, exploding its pressurized contents, and weeks of frustration shattered against the walls and cascaded out over the floor.

“Fine!” you stood up from the hated plastic chair so sharply it scraped across the laminate floor and tipped over backward. “I can’t put up with a second more of this, anyway! I can’t keep walking on eggshells waiting for you to snap—if this is the way it’s going to be from now on, then marrying you would be a nightmare.”

If you had seen him flinch as if your words had physically wounded him, then you might have stopped shouting. A surge of pity might have overwhelmed you, and you might have broken down sobbing. He might not have been able to go through with it, then. Seeing you blubbering with heavy, hot tears rolling down your face, he might have said he was sorry, like he wished he could have said if only he were not so much like his father.

But you were too angry to look at him, and you didn’t see him flinch.

So a moment later when your back was in the doorway, instead of I’m sorry, he said, “Keep the ring. Sell it, and get a new apartment. Do not come back.”

“Fuck you!”

#Frederick Chilton x reader #frederick chilton #Raúl Esparza #hannibal #angst #my writing #and now as a reward I finally get to read beccabarba's Chilton fic :D

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years

Note

What do you think the Animorphs would be like playing D&D? Not "the Animorphs in a D&D world", but the Animorphs actually sitting down and having a campaign of D&D. Like the classes/races they'd pick, their play styles, wacky shenanigans (because we all know it would happen).

[Credit to Cates for 100% of the character builds, and most of the lore, in this AU. In case you were wondering, I’m the Jake-style “never read the manual” chaotic-dumbass bard of our campaign; she’s the Marco-style “uses the rules exactly as much or little as needed” DM.]

It was decided almost right away that one on the team had any alignment. As DM, Marco attempted to start there, only to have Ax begin questioning whether the manual’s explanations of “good” and “evil” truly captured human ethics on a grand scale. Tobias claimed that Ax was looking at it all wrong, that the moralities were only default behavior types within the game, and that within this particular context morality didn’t matter. Cassie got very concerned about the idea of context-dependent morality, Rachel declared that the book was stupid and short-sighted for claiming that destroying things was always bad, Jake quietly asked for the fourth or fifth time if this game was actually a good idea…

“Fine!” Marco announced. “You’re all amoral characters. Happy?”

“‘Amoral’ implies that we’re immoral, doesn’t it?” Cassie asked. “Or that we exist outside the spectrum of moralities?”

“Just…” Marco rolled his eyes. “Everyone leave that spot on your character sheet blank, okay? If it ever comes up, we’ll deal with it on a case-by-case basis.”

“Yes,” Ax said, “although you never did answer my question about the implied ethical structure of this universe.”

After that, character creation went fairly smoothly. Kind of.

“Why does Dennis need a backstory, again?” Jake asked, looking down at his sheet.

“Dennis?” Marco said. “Dennis?

“You already said I wasn’t allowed to use ‘Dylan’ or ‘Brad’, so…’”

“C’mon man, this is D’nD. There are no Dennises in medieval fantasy epics.”

“Fine.” Jake crossed out and rewrote the name at the top of his character sheet. “Why does Keith need a backstory?”

“To explain his motivation.”

“You just said that the whole time we’re going to be chased around by orcs and whatnot. Isn’t not dying enough motivation?”

“You really don’t understand this game, do you?” Rachel said.

“I really don’t understand this game,” Jake agreed.

“My character’s a dragonborn rogue named Joan, and she’s the greatest gymnast of all time.” Rachel added a Dexterity marker to her sheet with a flourish.

“I thought I was a dragonborn,” Jake said. “Is that allowed?”

“Yeah, we can have as many dragonborns as you all want.” Marco shrugged. “We just can’t have multiple bards. And since you called dibs on that class, and Rachel wants to be a rogue, we’re fine.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jake said. “I just want to help out the team. Or, uh, Keith does?”

“Great.”

“So that’s my backstory, right? Being a bard?”

“Yes,” Rachel said, at the same time Marco said, “No!”

In the end, Marco declared that if neither Rachel nor Jake could come up with a proper backstory, he was making their characters cousins. Tobias, who had a better flair for the romantic, declared that said cousins were from an internationally feared family of highwaymen.

“So does that get us any extra skills, coming from a family of pirates?” Rachel asked.

“Maybe it’d explain how good your character is at gymnastics,” Jake said. “Because of riggings and all.”

“Highwaymen.” Marco looked up from where he was trying to salvage Keith’s stats from the hopeless tangle of Jake’s incorrect math. “Tobias said you guys are highwaymen, not pirates.”

“What are pirates but highwaymen of the sea?” Tobias asked, tilting his head in thought.

“Just put us down as jewel thieves.” Rachel made a note on her own sheet. “Jewel thieves of diverse methodology. Wherever jewels can be found, there we are with threats of violence to take them away.”

“By the way, why is Ax now a tiefling?” Tobias asked Marco.

“I told Marco I have no preference for my class and race,” Ax said. “And the word is most pleasant, tea-fling. Ffflllling.”

“They’re blue and have tails.” Marco smirked at Tobias. “It’s perfect!”

Rachel and Jake might’ve been vague on the idea of backstory, but Ax was quite definite.

“I am Eldrias the tiefling, fffflllling, paladin. She was raised by cows,” he announced.

“Don’t you mean raised by wolves?” Jake said. “Isn’t that a thing, raised by wolves?”

“Uh-huh,” Marco said, “since your land-pirates make perfect sense.”

“Wolves are beautiful animals, but they pale in comparison to cows,” Ax said. “Among other things, wolves’ meat is not so succulent and does not pair nearly as well with french fries.”

“Okay then,” Jake said, “raised by cows. Got it.”

Becoming a barbarian was Cassie’s idea. She spun through the manual in a rapid burst of pages, brushing gentle fingertips over the beautifully rendered illustrations, and then pressed it shut. “Barbarian,” she said. “That’s the one that can protect the team the best, right? So I’ll be a barbarian.”

Marco laughed. “All right then. Barbarian it is. Anything else in mind, for this barbarian of yours?”

Cassie tapped a finger against her lower lip, fluttering through the first several pages of the manual once again. “I could make my character a big, tall guy, right?”

“Sure.”

“But I want pointy ears.” She grinned at the rest of the table, somewhat sheepish.

“Half-elf barbarian, then?”

“Half-elf barbarian.” Cassie looked down at the sheet in front of her. “He can be named Reisgalan Von Schwartzel of the Morsgalath Half-Elves, Lord of the Plains and Wielder of…” She glanced around. “What’s that thing with the spiky ball on a stick?”

“Mace,” Rachel provided.

“Mace is that spray you use on bears and muggers,” Jake said.

“And it’s also a spiky ball on a stick.” Marco glanced at Cassie’s sheet. “You have a backstory for Reisgalan Von Whatshisface?”

“Hmmmm. Can I be widowed and have a tragically dead prince I must avenge?”

“Is it me?” Jake smiled hopefully.

“What?” Cassie frowned at him. “No. That’d be horrible.” She looked over at Marco. “Uh, can my character be a guy and also have a dead husband? Is that allowed?”

“Yeah, sure,” Marco said. “I’m the ruler of this universe, so I say it’s fine. And Tobias is the designated rules lawyer, so he’ll probably have some reason that it’s not.”

“I am not rules-lawyering!”

Marco looked at Ax’s character sheet, and then pointedly back up at Tobias. “Ax, how did you end up as not just a paladin, but a paladin that’s even more overpowered than the standard build?”

“Paladins are allowed.” Tobias shrugged. “It’s right there in the manual.”

“Ax, how you have splint armor?” Marco demanded.

“Paladins can wear Heavy armor,” Tobias sing-songed.

Marco growled.

Ax squinted at his character sheet. “Tobias says when I get to Level Three, I will take the Oath of Vengeance and take a Vow of Enmity. I will know the spells Thunderous Smite, Command, and Detect Magic.”

Marco’s face was turning an interesting shade of red.

“Oh, and Eldrias the paladin is taking Great Weapon as her Fighting Style.” Tobias wasn’t bothering to hide his smirk. “It’s all perfectly legal.”

Ax frowned at Marco. “Banging your head against the table with that level of force may have an adverse effect on your brain’s ability to function.”

“I’m not rules-lawyering for selfish gain,” Tobias said loftily, looking over Marco’s prone form. “And besides, Ax is new at this. He needs all the help he can get.”

“You find yourselves in a magical land.” Marco made a wild gesture in the air. It was probably meant to look dramatic and mysterious. “A land known as Falicornia.”

“Marco sucks at naming things,” Rachel whispered loudly.

“Rachel sucks at listening,” Marco whispered more loudly.

“You were saying?” Jake asked.

“This magical land is under threat from the dread god Cthulu! You must stop him through using the Philosopher’s Stone, which is powerful but cannot be used except by those who do not wish to use it. It contains many powerful temptations for the bearer. You must journey across the land, facing many dangers, to bring it to the only magical mirror that can destroy it before Cthulu has the chance to rise from that mirror and take over the world.”

Cassie raised her hand.

“Yes?” Marco said.

“Why does Cthulu want to take over the world?” she asked. “Does he need it for something?”

Marco sighed. “He wants to take over because he’s Cthulu. Any other questions?”

“First question: did you steal more of this plot from The Lord of the Rings, or Harry Potter?” Rachel said immediately. “Second question—” She turned to Ax. “Have we showed you those movies?”

“He’s reading the books first,” Tobias said.

“I’m reading the books first,” Ax agreed.

“You were saying about Cthulu,” Jake said to Marco.

“Yes. He wants to take over because he’s Cthulu,” Marco glared at Rachel. “Just because.“

“Actually,” Tobias said, “the original version of Cthulu was kind of like the Silver Surfer of Norse Mythology, and his motivation—”

“He wants to take over because he’s Cthulu.” Marco took a deep breath. “Anyway. Moving on.”

“Okay, you’re here.” Marco pointed to the G.I. Joe figure sitting in the middle of their somewhat crudely drawn map. “The goblins are…” One after another, he set four white pawns from his mom’s chess set around the G.I. Joe that represented Jake, forming a half-circle that separated him from Ax’s Smurf, Cassie’s My Little Pony miniature, and Tobias’s Precious Moments angel figurine. “Rachel is, uh…” He set the teddy bear pencil topper several inches back, between two goblin-pawns. “There. So.” Marco looked up at Jake. “You’re under attack. You’re up first in initiative order. What’re you going to do?”

Jake frowned, surveying the scene in front of him. “I have magic, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, so I’ll use magic to turn myself into a bird, and then—”

“Yeah, no.”

“Then I’ll turn my teammates into birds, and they can—”

“You cannot turn yourself into a bird, you cannot turn anyone else into a bird, no one is turning into a bird or any other animal at any point in this game.” Marco glanced over at Tobias. “No offense.”

“Oh, I totally agree,” Tobias said. “A Level One bard performing an animal shapes transmutation? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Anyway.” Marco pointed at Jake’s G.I. Joe figurine. “Assuming we’re sticking to handheld weapons, what else do you want to do?”

“I… shoot the goblin?” Jake suggested. “With my…” He flipped over his character sheet, squinting at his own handwriting. “With my board-sword.”

“Pretty sure you meant ‘broadsword,’” Rachel said. “Okay, Jake killed the goblin, now what?”

Cassie peered over Jake’s shoulder. “It could just be a sword made out of boards, you don’t know.”

“Jake only has thirteen out of sixty odds of killing the goblin on one go,” Marco said.

Tobias flipped open his own manual to the entry on goblins. “Where are you getting these numbers from?”

Marco selected two dice from the pile, handing them both to Jake. “Oh, I just figure that if the goblin’s got an armor class of seven and five HP, then Jake’s got a thirteen-in-twenty chance of scoring a hit and then a two-in-six chance of it being deadly, given his hit dice. So if you reduce twenty-six over one-twenty down it’s thirteen in sixty. Like, point-two-one-seven out of one. Simple math.” He gestured at Jake. “Roll those.”

“You and I have very different definitions of the word ‘simple.’” Jake looked up. “Uh, ten and the other one says four?”

“You grievously injured but did not kill the goblin,” Marco said graciously. “Now it’s the turn for this leftmost goblin, who is going to run and stick a sword through Rachel…” He rolled, and winced. “That’s fifteen to hit, and two damage?”

“What’s that mean for my little rogue?” Rachel waved her pencil topper at him.

“You got stabbed,” Marco said.

“Uh-huh.” Rachel picked up her pen and sheet. “Where?”

Marco shrugged. “The leg, let’s say. Uh, upper thigh?”

“Mm-hmm.” She wrote that down.

“Okay, then.” Marco glanced at his sheet. “Next in initiative order is—”

“I cast psionic blast as a Level One spell, which would cause additional damage to fiends or the undead. Are they undead goblins?” Tobias asked.

Marco rolled his eyes. “Nope.”

“Then they each suffer three points of damage and do not have the opportunity to make saving throws for the next minute and a half,” Tobias said. “That’s my first spell slot today.”

“Okay.” Marco tipped over one of the goblin pawns. “That one’s dead. Cassie?”

“That one’s threatening Ax?” She pointed at the pawn within the same square as the Smurf figurine.

“Yep.”

She nodded. “Then I smash its head in with my mace.” She rolled. “Eight to hit, eight damage?”

“Oh yeah, you just annihilated that one.”

“Good, good, so now can I mace the one that attacked Rachel?”

“Cool your jets.” Marco held up both hands. “You don’t get to do multiple hulk-smashes in one round until several levels up from here.”

Cassie wilted a little. “Okay. But I want to run over next to that one to be ready to mace it soon.”

“All right, center goblin is going to try and swing his big old greatsword at Cassie as an attack of opportunity…” Marco rolled. “And that’s a miss. Rachel, you’re up.”

“I’m unconscious,” Rachel said.

Marco gave her a blank look. “No you’re not.”

“Yes she is,” Ax said. “You just allowed that goblin— gob-blin? Goo-blin? —to stab her.”

“I did not allow— The dice—” Marco took a deep breath. “Rachel, you only took two points of damage. Go ahead and make a turn.”

“Okay, you clearly said…” Rachel glanced at her own notes. “That the goblin stuck its sword through my upper thigh. And apparently these are pretty big swords. No way in hell that misses the artery, not if I’m only about human-sized at the time. You also said that the goblin has its sword back, which means it pulled the sword out, which means that by now I have definitely lost enough blood to be unconscious. It’s just basic logic.”

Marco opened his mouth halfway. “That’s not how damage functions in this game,” he said at last.

“No, she’s right,” Jake said. “She wouldn’t necessarily be dead from blood loss by now, but on the super-narrow chance she’s still conscious, she’s not going to have the, like, grip strength to be shooting people with arrows or anything. That’s just how getting stabbed works.”

“Actually…” Tobias looked up from where he was sorting his flash cards of wizard spells. “In combat time, each turn is six seconds. So it hasn’t been five minutes of game-time. It’s been less than three seconds.”

“So this goblin managed to stick its sword all the way through me, pull it loose, and then get back into position to make a different attack in less than a second?” Rachel said. “And I don’t need to take a second or two to react to having been stabbed?”

“Yes!” Tobias said.

“This game is not closely aligned with the timing and functions of real combat,” Ax pointed out.

Marco let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a shriek. “No shit, Sherlock! Can we please just play by the rules?”

“I’m just saying it’s not realistic,” Rachel muttered. “You get run through the leg with a sword, you bleed to death. That’s how it goes.”

“Would you please shoot someone already?” Marco said.

“If you insist.”

At Level Two, Tobias’s gnome wizard joined the School of Divination for exactly one game. “He’s rules-lawyering things that haven’t even happened yet,” Marco cried, throwing out his hands like this was the greatest injustice ever visited upon humanity. At which point Tobias decided that discretion was the better part of valor and switched to the School of Evocation. Marco’s eye stopped twitching.

“No, no, no.” Marco leaned over to look at Jake’s roll. “You add your charisma modifier to your attack roll, and then your strength modifier to your damage roll.”

“So he adds twelve to his roll?” Cassie looked at her own sheet. “I add seventeen to my roll?”

“Modifier. Not the whole stat. Mod-if-i-er.” Marco groaned loudly. “Is Tobias the only one who even tried to read the manual?”

“C’mon, man.” Jake shrugged, grinning. “When have you ever known me to do the assigned reading?”

“I have Tobias here to summarize the manual for me,” Rachel pointed out. “Why bother?”

“I did attempt to read the manual. Man. Well. It was not the most boring human book ever written, but it was very repetitive.” Ax glanced around at all of them. “Not to say that all human books are bad, even if they are all repetitive,” he added quickly. “Take the books of Harry Potter, which are acceptable in addition to being repetitive.”

“‘Acceptable’?” Tobias shook his head. “‘Repetitive’? You, sir, are wounding my entire species — one of my species — Just don’t diss the Potter.”

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ professor,” Ax intoned.

Laughing, Tobias leaned over to bump their shoulders together. “I take it back. I love you, Ax-man. Never change.”

“Anyway,” Cassie said, “we elected Tobias party leader, so he’s the only one who really needs to know how to play, right?”

“‘Elected’ is a pretty strong word for it. The way I remember it, I was like…” Marco put on a deeper voice, “‘Who wants to be party leader?’ and Jake yelled ‘NOT IT’ so loud that he probably startled pigeons in the next county over. And then Tobias was the first one to recover from the shock long enough to volunteer.”

“I didn’t yell it, I said it,” Jake mumbled. “Said it enthusiastically.”

“And you’re wrong. We did nose-goes.” Rachel tapped her own nose to demonstrate. “Tobias lost.”

Ax’s eyes widened. “So you and Cassie covering your noses was a primitive selection procedure in the manner of duck-duck-goose? I thought we were all simply being polite by hiding our hideous human orifices from one another.”

“Anyway,” Tobias said, “as party leader, I’m declaring that we can whine about noses — and bipedalism — at a later time. For now, let’s play.”

“Ah, yes.” Ax looked down at the dice, and then back up at Marco. “Who was attacking whom, again?”

Marco stared around the board, and then back at the dice. “Like I remember that now!”

It was a small miracle that they all kept showing up after that first week. Tobias and Marco were the only ones with both the skill and the enthusiasm to be any good at the game. Cassie and Rachel lacked the necessary motivation: Cassie tended to get lost in long conversations with NPCs and never advanced the plot at all, whereas Rachel was likely to start climbing the walls with impatience after half an hour of sitting still. Ax and Jake were both reasonably enthusiastic but terrible: Jake paid no attention at all to the math, and Ax paid too much. They had one set of dice between the six of them, if one was generous and called rolling a d6 twice the same as rolling a d12. (It wasn’t, but Marco’s and Ax’s attempts to explain this always made everyone else’s eyes glaze over.)

Seriously, though, Marco knew perfectly well why they kept showing up. And it had nothing to do with everyone getting on board with Tobias’s super-geeky idea. They’d tried Dungeons and Dragons, and they hadn’t actually started liking it.

It had nothing to do with the storyline. Or the dice. Or the characters. They weren’t here for swords or goblins. They didn’t drop everything to spend four hours a week in each other’s company because they liked the game.

Duh.

Of course, even their love for each other could be tested, at times, by their sheer incompetence as players.

“We’re still in the undercave?” Jake groaned, looking at the game board. “We’ve been down here for like six weeks!”

“Yeah, ‘cause we’re stuck.” Rachel glared around the table. “Because we keep trying to fight the ooze monster and then almost dying. Because we suck at this game.”

“Still say there should’ve been illithids,” Tobias muttered. “We’re in the cave of the illithids, but instead we’ve got apocalyptic ooze where there isn’t supposed to be any. That’s why we’re stuck.”

Marco sighed into his hands. “For the last time, man, we’re not having any stupid mind flayers in this game. There is a way out, I promise you, if you guys would just stop and figure it out.”

“I stab the ooze?” Cassie suggested.

“You take fourteen acid damage and permanently blunt your sword.” Marco didn’t bother to look up. “Just like last time.”

“Ugh.” Cassie wrote down her new HP. “At least I ruled out repeated stabbing as a way out?”

“Okay, okay.” Jake stared at the game board, yet again failing to take the this map not to scale memo. “We can figure this out. Is it a cave kind of like those caves under Leeran?”

Marco lifted his head, tossing his hair out of his face. “I got schlooped back to Earth before you guys got to see those, remember?”

“They were very beautiful,” Ax said, “and also full of toxic eels. So perhaps Prince Jake’s comparison is apt.”

“The real toxic eel is the friends we made along the way.” Rachel tilted her chair back, picking at her manicure. “Think we should just call it a day?”

“No, no, Jake’s right.” Cassie stared at the board. “I believe in us.”

“It was kinda cool in the Leeran caves, so sorry you missed it,” Jake said to Marco. “I was dead and missed the Battle of Trafalgar, though, so it all balances out?”

“The Battle of Trafalgar was not cool at all.” Marco rolled his eyes. “It was a battle. It was gross and loud and bloody. Is no one going to try anything else?”

“I pull out my rope and my flint, I set the rope on fire, we all die of smoke inhalation,” Rachel drawled. “There, I got us out of the cave.”

“And into the afterlife,” Ax said solemnly. “If, indeed, this game has an afterlife. It was designed by humans, so I assume… Soom. That it must.”

“Look, if we could just fight the mind flayer instead,” Tobias said, “there are clear strategies in place for how to fend off psychic attacks, and even if a few of us end up as mind-witnesses we could still use a handful of different spells—” He swung his copy of the manual around to face Marco, pointing to a spot low on the open page. “If you’ll just look at what the book says…”

Marco slammed the book shut, hard.

Tobias had to yank his hand back to avoid smashed fingers. “Watch it!” he snapped.

“Guys,” Jake said. “Let’s—”

“Rule. Zero.” Marco flattened a hand on top of the closed book. “I’m the DM here, and I get to say that there are no mind flayers and definitely no mind witnesses, because I say so. I’m the Ellimist of this little universe, and you don’t get a counter-argument.”

Rachel snorted loudly. “Bad comparison. Tobias argues with the real Ellimist all the time.”

“Only when he’s doing something stupid.” Tobias was looking at Marco, not at her. “Or breaking the rules of his own game.”

“Tobias…” Jake inhaled slowly, massaging the bridge of his nose. “It’s just a game, okay? Marco… We are kinda stuck, dude, no offense. Couldn’t we at least try to fight whatever it is Tobias wants, see if that gets us out of here?”

Marco pushed to his feet, face flushed. “I’m running this game, because you people decided I should. And I don’t give a fuck how much Bird-Boy complains, this game is not going to involve anyone getting psychically mind-controlled. It will not feature alien tadpoles that crawl inside people’s brains and take over their bodies.” He swept a hand across the board. “There will be no illithids, there will be no brain golems, there will be no controllers—”

Marco snapped his mouth shut.

There was a long silence. Tobias stared at the floor.

“Mind-witnesses,” Marco said at last. “I meant mind-witnesses.”

THUNK.

Figurines and dice scattered everywhere. The play-dough lump of ooze flattened underneath the second game board Cassie had just dropped on top of the first.

“Anyway,” she said, giving everyone an embarrassed smile. “How about we switch to Monopoly for a while?”

“I call being the little dog piece,” Rachel said, pulling the box open.

“I’m sorry,” Tobias whispered to Marco, as Ax began clattering through the pieces and asking Jake questions. “I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah.” Marco pulled the bank toward him and counting out notes. “Same here, man. Uh, y’know. Sorry I…”

“We’re cool. We’re cool?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Does this highly successful roll mean I have first chance to stab Income Tax with my—” Ax squinted at his game piece “—car? So I’ll be attempting to inflict damage on Income Tax by running it over?”

“Many have tried that strategy,” Rachel intoned. “None have succeeded so far.”

“You know that your beloved manual lists exactly the same stats for hawks, eagles, and owls, right?” Marco asked, grinning evilly.

“What? No.” Tobias frantically flipped toward the back of the book.

“Anyway, is he right?” Cassie asked as Tobias searched. “Are we all supposed to be dead right now?”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Marco said. “Yes, the explosion would have done a lot of damage to all of you—”

“Thanks, Jake,” Rachel snarked.

Jake sighed loudly. “How was I supposed to know you had to throw the hand grenade after you pulled the pin?”

“You mean the part where Ax and Tobias were both yelling ‘toss it, toss it,’ and you were like ‘no, I’m gonna do an investigation check first’?” she said. “And then we all died?”

“Actually, I believe Cassie was raging at the time when the ceiling fell on us all,” Ax said. “Therefore, her damage would be halved.”

“Hell yeah!” Cassie laughed. “So it’s just…” She peered at Marco’s roll and winced. “Everyone else… in the entire party… who automatically failed a death check. Right, Tobias?”

“No,” Marco said loudly, “because Jake cast Teleportation Circle and got you all out of there before the ceiling fell.”

“But Tobias believes that that would be allowing too many actions on a single turn. Uurn. Earn,” Ax said. “And that Jake wouldn’t have time to set up the circle even if he did have a bonus action left.”

“For fuck’s sake, do you want to end on a total party kill?” Marco demanded.

Rachel smiled sweetly. “It’s not a TPK if Cassie’s still alive.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Oh, in that case—”

“Oh my god, you’re right!” Tobias sounded outraged.

“Am I dead?” Rachel pouted. “Just when this stupid game was starting to grow on me.”

“No, not that.” Tobias stabbed a finger on the page. “It says right here. ‘For hawk, see: eagle.’ It fucking classifies hawks as a fucking subspecies of eagle!”

“What were you just saying about us following the manual at the expense of our lives?” Marco said smugly.

Tobias stared in betrayed horror at the page for another second. And then he tossed the entire book clear over his shoulder and out of the room. It clattered loudly in the hall.

“So as I was saying, Jake cast Teleportation Circle,” Marco said. “And teleported you all out of there.”

“So we’re… not dead?” Cassie asked.

“Given the nature of teleportation, perhaps we are both dead and not, existing in the gap between states,” Ax said. “Like when our consciousness was trapped in z-space, and yet our matter remained on Earth. Or we exist in multiple universes at once, some in which we have died and some in which we yet live.”

“Yeah, cool, Schrödinger’s party,” Rachel said. “Blah, blah. Anyway, I’m gonna punch Jake in the arm for being a dumbass. In-game and out-of-game.”

“Good luck with that.” Marco cackled his evil DM cackle. “The only universe I care about is the one where the whole lot of you give me an initiative roll. Because I didn’t say Jake teleported you to a safe location, just a different one.”

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dragonswithjetpacks · 3 years

Text

Theurgist

Chapter Four: The Shadow of Anger

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary: That surge was quickly squashed as a dark shadow swarmed her mind again. It clouded her thoughts. It struck down any empathy she might have felt. And replaced it with hate. The shadow rippled, revealing another grasp of icy fingers, bending her will to bring her to her knees with guilt. Ferelith fought it. She refused to give in to the mind meld, refused to be its thrall.

Notes: So quick note about Ferelith. She is a very prideful person. Even what some might call a know-it-all. Very eloquent and charismatic, even when she shouldn't be. Of course, it does sometimes lean in her favor. There is also a very temperamental side to Ferelith. A stubborn and dangerous one. She is selfish. Very selfish. And greedy. She will be angry until she has her way. Also, I am notorious for writing long fight scenes. So I shortened this one up so it didn’t up with another 10k words. This is mostly game retell with Ferelith’s personal feelings. And a few little fun quips in dialogue. Not my favorite chapter or my best writing.

Read here on Ao3.

One day. It had only been one sodding day. Ferelith lay on her back blinking into the purple sky as the sun rose over the horizon. She lay listening to the river, the birds, the trees swaying in the wind, the sound of shifting bodies as the others began to wake. Astarion- who had been awake with her for several hours now- remained incredibly quiet the rest of the night, much to her surprise. But he had learned quickly that Ferelith, although approachable, was not so easy to converse with. Especially after ending their last conversation as awkward as they had. She wasn’t sure how long he had been gone when he did leave the camp. She didn’t care, but she wondered if he had taken his rest at some point. After all, they would need their strength to make it through the day. She rose to her feet, stretching her arms high above her head before heading toward the water to freshen her face. It was cold, but at least it was clean. She dipped her hands into it, splashing it up onto her cheeks when the sound of footsteps over rocks were heard behind her.

“What were you two talking about?” Shadowheart asked, kneeling down to feel the water for herself.

“Who?” Ferelith asked, running her hands around her neck.

“You and our rogue companion,” she barely looked up. “I heard you two chatting last night.”

“Nothing,” she shook her head. “Just about the camp.”

“I see,” she stated, but it felt as if she were looking for something specific. “I would be careful with who you confide in.”

Ferelith flung the remaining water from her hands. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about when it comes to who I confide in.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s a very short list,” she grinned.

“Good,” she said while rising onto her feet. “Let’s just hope we rapidly find a healer.”

“Once we’ve reached the temple, we could get on higher ground. Take a look at what we should expect from the wilderness and if there’s a village nearby.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” she crossed her arms.

“It also would be wise,” another voice approached from the fire, now smoking as it had been doused, “to check the wreckage for any more supplies. We’ve about gone through any rations we’ve found. Unless anyone has a knack for hunting.”

The two woman looked to Gale first, then to each other, frowning with disappointment. All three of them looked in unison at the rogue waiting by the fire, kicking dirt as he was already impatient. He had a set of knives on his persons, but no bow. Ferelith recalled the fishermen she found at the docks. There were poles there they could use to fish, if need be. She was certain their supplies had already been ransacked. Not only by herself, but possibly by the bandits Gale had mentioned before.

“Say, Astarion,” Gale piped up as he made his way back to fire pit. “You wouldn’t happen to have any experience with hunting would you?”

Astarion’s face dropped, his eyes scanning over his comrades. “Why?”

“We’re a bit short on food. Not a lot of options to choose from here, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh,” he straightened himself. “Well yes, of course. I have been known to hunt. For sport.”

“Were you any good at it?” Shadowheart muttered under her breath.

“I don’t think it matters if I’m the only shot we have at killing something for food,” he sneered at her. “But if you must know, yes. I am quite good at it.”

“Then we just need to find a bow,” Ferelith concluded, crossing her arms. “And we could always grab the fishing poles from the docks when we go to search for more supplies. Let’s gather our things, then. The earlier we get started, the better.”

The party of four stood at the top of the hill looking down into the wreckage of the nautiloid. Most of the fires were out, but the coals were still hot and spitting smoke into the air. Ferelith scanned the area below, seeing broken chairs, burned steps, and a few carcasses, but nothing useful. There was a large doubt that there would be nothing worth using beneath the ash, but they would have to cross the debris, regardless. They descended into the mass of it, listening to the framework creak above them when the wind blew. It seemed just as empty and eerie as before.

“I don’t even know what to look for,” Ferelith said, kicking over burnt rubble on the ground.

“What’s that?” Gale said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder to alert her.

Ferelith looked up, and the other two had his attention as well. They stood quietly looking further back into the destruction of the ship. Ahead, there were three villagers digging at what seemed like a large heap that had fallen from the ship. They were covered in soot and ash like they had been sorting through it for awhile. One of them was yelling, commanding the others, frantically flailing his arms as he did. The elves squinted to focus, using their better sight to get a closer look.

“Is that-?” Astarion lowered his brow.

“Shit,” Ferelith pushed past Gale, marching toward the group of villagers.

“Somethings wrong,” Shadowheart said, realizing now what they saw by the flash of it’s gray skin. “They should be trying to get away if they had any sense.”

“Ferelith,” the wizard called after her. “Ferelith, we should be careful.”

She didn’t care. The rage inside her had already swarmed. Astarion was at her heels, Shadowheart close behind. Gale trailed them, treading carefully and observing more from a distance. As Ferelith got closer, the human man was sent into a full panic. There was a large cut on his hand from where he had carelessly moved the debris. He looked up to address them as the approached, but the others continued to dig. They scratched and clawed at the heap in front of them, as if their own lives were at stake. Beneath a very large piece of the ship was a mind flayer. Too weak to move. But not too weak to control them.

“Stop it,” Ferelith reached out to touch the back of a dwarf.

“My daughter!” the human man shouted at her, causing her to step back. “She’s under there. Please!”

“That’s not your daughter,” she snapped, wrinkles forming at her nose as she growled at him. “Step aside.”

“You… monster…” the look of pure horror on his face only made her fury worse.

She looked down, the creature- the mind flayer- its hold on them was too strong. It’s yellow eyes watched Ferelith, observing what she would do as if it were a test to her own nature. Something triggered a memory from the dark streets back in Baldur’s Gate. A hand outstretched, waving as this one did now. It created a cold feeling like ice covered fingers piercing her skull. And those yellow eyes were just the same as before, menacing and fierce. It reminded her of the screams from her patron inside. That he somehow had been affected. She tightened her fists. It was the very same being that had taken her.

“You’ll die for this,” she said lowly and she knew it understood.

“She’s already dying!” the man yelled and as he did, the other two fishermen began to rise to their feet. “You… you did this. You want to kill her!”

The three of them drew their weapons. But the commoners stood no chance. A blast of energy fired from the palm of Ferelith’s already charged hands into the man’s chin, sending him backwards across the wreckage. Shadowheart swung her mace, striking down a halfling who was ready to attack, but unable to defend. And Astarion had cut his blades across the dwarf, who gurgled helplessly to the floor. Gale crossed his arms with a disappointing sigh.

“I feel like this could have gone better,” he said solemnly shaking his head.

Ferelith stepped over the mound with the mind flayer beneath, her hand out and filled with more energy for another blast. However, a convulsion inside her caused her stop. Her hand came to her chest, and she slowly turned. The mind flayer was now curling it’s fingers towards her. She could feel her mind bending, twisting, melding with those who attacked her. She felt a moment of fear, just as they did. It wanted to use that fear to force her to attack her comrades. Except, this time was nothing like the attack in the alleyway. She was better prepared. Stronger. Determined. Her mind was a fortress and she pushed back the fear with all the anger inside her.

“There is no place for you here, you wretch.”

The tone she used caused Shadowheart to look at the others. Her voice held all the ferocity of something fowl. It came from a place they did understand. And how could they? Ferelith’s mind was home to something dark. And it was now empty, leaving a vacant space that this thing was trying to fill. This space was something she made specifically for someone else. Someone sacred. To try and take it left her violated.

Whatever it was Ferelith had done, it caused the mind flayer to shrink in it’s already shriveled state. Forgetting about the human behind her, she stepped onto the piece of the platform crushing the creature. The bond was severed and she could feel the others awakening. The dwarf was gone, but the other two were still with beating hearts. There was rustling behind her, causing her to turn with a readied spell.

“Wait!” the human sat up, his hand held out with a plea of mercy. “… where are we?”

She lowered her spell, but her guard was still firm. “You’re in the middle of a crashed ship.”

“Ship? I don’t… There was fire in the sky… and then…” he looked around, seeing the blood on the ground. “Oh Gods… Sonna… what happened to my friends?”

“This,” she pointed down below her feet. “You were protecting this.”

“Gods… I think you’re right,” he looked down at his own hands. “It called out from the wreckage. Sounded just like my daughter. But… she’s been dead for years. That thing got into our heads… drove us mad. We wrecked our boat just trying to get close to it. What do we do now?”

Gale watched as her shoulders hunched forward, her chin leaning out in a way the reminded him of a curious predator. There was a hint of something else when he watched her, like a brief flicker of a shadow, something like wavering smoke through a reflection of glass. Her anger had not subsided. And she was feeding off of it with every second.

“You?” she asked, her tone dropping and her voice quiet. “We don’t even know where we are. If it wasn’t for this abomination, we wouldn’t even be here.”

“You were in this thing?” his eyes widened. “To survive that only to land in this bloody wilderness. We’re in the middle of nowhere. The gods must have it out.”

Something shifted in Ferelith’s mind. The bond between them was not entirely broken. The man had felt it too. She spotted the realization the moment his face twisted. The fear had returned, but only by his own control.

“Wait… you… I can feel you,” he started to step backward. “Just like one of those things. You’re one of them!”

“What?” the growl in her voice returned. “I tried to save you. You attacked me.”

“There’s something in your head,” he shook his slowly. “Please… we’ll take our chances out here. Just… leave us be.”

The man went to leave, but she stopped him, stepping forward as her yellow eyes pierced his gaze. He flinched, catching his footing off balance. Ferelith took advantage and stepped over him as he crouched, cowering beneath her.

“The bow,” she said, holding our her hand.

“What?” he stammered, terrified to look up at her.

“Give me the bow. Take your friend. And run.”

The human looked at the weapon clutched tightly in his hand then back to Ferelith. He cast it down, scrambling to the halfling’s side as he struggled to throw her over his shoulder. The group of them watched him half carry, half drag her out, stopping only once he was a good hundred feet away to completely lift her into his arms. Ferelith bent over, snatching the bow from the ground, and tossed it to Astarion.

“Simpletons,” he said catching it effortlessly in one hand. “The beast is half dead and they still bowed to its whims.”

Ferelith said not a word as she looked over to the dwarf’s body. A crossbow lay at his un-moving fingertips. She reached down, taking it from his dead hands and began to storm back toward the squirming mind flayer. She rounded the rubble, standing directly in front of it. She wanted to see the fear in it’s eyes. And for a moment… she did. Then, she felt the swirling wield of pity. This helpless thing was reaching out for her, pleading with the entirety of it’s thoughts. She felt compelled to come to its aid with a sudden surge of compassion.

That surge was quickly squashed as a dark shadow swarmed her mind again. It clouded her thoughts. It struck down any empathy she might have felt. And replaced it with hate. The shadow rippled, revealing another grasp of icy fingers, bending her will to bring her to her knees with guilt. Ferelith fought it. She refused to give in to the mind meld, refused to be its thrall. The harder she fought, the weaker it became. Until eventually it’s clutch loosened and she felt it slip away. It’s eyes flashed once more, an indication that if this creature could display any emotions, it would be that of bitter resentment. Her hand grasped the base of the crossbow.

“Have you used one of those before?” Shadowheart asked.

Ferelith ignored her.

“Are you sure you-” Astarion began.

The bolt released with a pull of the trigger. It violently split the mind flayer’s face in two, digging into the ground and splattering blood up Ferelith’s body. The sound of impact made the others jump, not expecting such a loud and hasty action from her petite hands. She pressed her foot down on the remainder of its skull, pulling her arrow up from the dirt and reloading the chamber. She turned to her companions, filled with awe and struck cold during her display of rage.

“You’ve… got…” Gale pointed to his face.

Ferelith lifted the back of her hand, wiping the blood on her face. Some of it came off on her glove, but most just smeared across her cheek. She looked down at the back of her hand, examining the dark blood. It brought her thoughts to the tadpole. About how it had twisted in her head the more the mind flayer pulled. It was able to connect to the creature while her mind remained free. Perhaps that was the reason why she- why they were alive. The worm may not have had the ability to connect to their minds because there was already something there, something already bound to that space. The only reasoning Ferelith would have was her patron. As for the others, she didn’t know enough to create a strong theory. It all seemed too far fetched and coincidental.

“Let’s go,” she said, walking back over to the dwarf to rip off the holster.

His body made a loud thud, causing Gale to grimace and Astarion to chuckle as they followed behind her. The three trailing behind her remained silent. And a good distance away. None of them were brave enough to address the temper they had witnessed. Or that it was completely uncalled for. Astarion, specifically, seemed restless. Although he was the furthest behind, his eyes kept wandering to the back of her head. If he could just have one more peek into her memories of the night she was taken, he could have a bit more insight on what to expect. It wouldn’t put him at any sort of ease, but it would at least prepare him for… whatever it was that he just saw.

“Ferelith,” Gale said, trotting behind her when he had held his silence for too long. “I feel like we should talk about-”

“No.”

“You don’t think we should discuss what just happened?”

“Not at all.”

“Really? Because I think you just-”

“Gale,” she turned to face him, her face finally softened. “I don’t believe now is the time. If there’s something that needs to be discussed, can we wait until we camp?”

“Of course,” he nodded, but his eyes were still filled with concern. “I just need to know if you’re alright.”

Ferelith lowered her brow in confusion, her eyes shooting down with the understanding that this was the first time her comrades had witnessed her true nature. They had seen the shadow. Which only meant that if they could see it, must have meant her patron had returned. The voice still had not made itself known, however. And his presence was just a faint blip in the corner of her head. But something had drawn him out. The same thing that had drawn him to her. The rage. How typical.

“I’m fine,” she smiled at the thought. “Honestly, I’m sorry. I must have gotten carried away.”

Her eyes looked back over the others looking for the reactions but found they were all generally uninterested. It was quite the relief and surprise, as most who caught the first glimpse of her in that state would question her stability. It seemed her silence of the matter was welcomed.

“It’s quite alright,” Shadowheart shrugged. “If you weren’t going to do it, I was. I’m just glad you were capable.”

“And you’ve managed to secure not one, but two long ranged weapons,” Astarion pointed out from the back. “With an impressive display of intimidation.”

“Yes,” Gale tilted his shoulder upward. “That was quite the show. A lot of pent up anger, I’d say.”

“Well, it didn’t take much,” her eyes shifted. “It could be from a lack of food this morning. I’d like to get to that temple and see what sort of luxurious these bandits have been living in.”

“Do you think they’ll have wine?” the wizard jested beside her.

“Gods, I hope so.”

Ferelith, Shadowheart, and Gale sat against a large boulder, their backs pressed firmly against it. They glanced at one another, unable to speak lest they alarm their targets. Words were shared between facial expressions, however, and if there was anything they currently agreed upon, it was that they were tired of waiting. They had wasted enough time back at the wreckage and they wanted to at least scout the temple before nightfall. Astarion was not hastening their progress, however. And the moment he reappeared to bring them news, they all looked at him in frustration.

“Well?” Shadowheart lowered her brow.

“Two tieflings have someone captured,” he said, glancing over the rock in their direction.

“Do they look like bandits?” Ferelith questioned.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” her brow lowered as well.

Astarion turned his head to the two scowling women. “They looked like tieflings.”

Ferelith rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. “For complete wilderness we seem to be running into a lot of people.”

“The crash must have brought them all out,” Gale suggested.

“We can either go on, see what they’re about, or go back and around. Maybe there’s another way?” she looked to the cleric.

“Not a chance. We’ll push through here.”

“I agree,” Gale nodded. “Let’s go.”

The four of them lifted onto their feet, pacing around the rock and onto the trail in front of the clearing. It was a small ravine covered in rocks, a natural bridge hanging above them. Wrapped around it was a solid rope with a cage dangling from it, a clever and sturdy trap if they had ever seen one. Contained within it was a woman with yellowish green skin, adorned in gleaming silver armor and brandishing a frown of disgust. Her arms were crossed as she awaited her fate. And as Ferelith looked upon her, she recognized the woman as the very same from the ship.

“The thing’s dangerous,” one of the tieflings pleaded. “Leave it for the goblins to kill.”

“And if it escapes?” the other argued. “How will you- oh! We gave guests, it seems.”

“We’re just passing-” Gale began to speak to them as they grew near, but Ferelith became distracted by the pounding cold wave in her head.

She looked up, meeting the gaze of the gith in the cage. Her stare was focused as if she were sending shards of thoughts straight into her brain.

“You again... Get rid of them.”

Ferelith gave a slight wink to her the gith woman without realizing she had no inclination of what the gesture meant. She turned back to the tieflings, indulging in the conversation they were having with Gale. He began to describe their journey from the ship and how they had been stranded in the wild. They began to mention an encampment, somewhere there would be more supplies. But the woman was growing impatient. And Ferelith could feel her poking to get back into her head.

“Is this one of the gith that was attacking the ship?” Ferelith inquired, glancing back up to her former companion.

“We’re… we’re not sure,” they glanced at one another. “We were sent out to investigate that blast. And we found her here.”

“There might be more of them. And I’ve seen what they can do,” her fingers began to twitch as she began to consider a spell, but dropped them when it was not needed. “They’re fierce fighters. What do you intend to do with her?”

“We can’t seem to agree on that,” the male said, his eyes glancing up to his current problem.

“You could leave it to us,” Ferelith motioned to their party. “I believe we could handle her. We’ve fought through the ship to survive, after all.”

The woman rolled her eyes from above. Ferelith could still feel her intense stare, growing with intensity the longer the conversation went on.

“Are you sure?”the male tiefling lowered his brow.

“No,” Ferelith shook her head with a slight chuckle. “But I’m afraid we stand a better chance than two of you.”

The tieflings had a moment of hesitation, looking at one another. There was a sigh as there clearly was no correct course of action. Either the gith had to die or they had to leave it. Something about leaving the matter in strange hands was far more appealing than making the decision themselves.

“She’s right,” he finally said with a nod to his companion. “Let’s go.”

“Be careful out here. There’s goblin traps everywhere,” the tiefling woman said. “Perhaps we’ll see you back at camp.”

As they walked away, they both gave one final glance over their shoulder. Like two very suspicious individuals, Gale and Ferelith waved until they disappeared beyond the other side of the ravine.

“Is there a reason we’re dismissing the tieflings to deal with a githyanki?” Gale asked, leaning toward her as soon as they were out of ear shot.

“She helped me on the ship,” Ferelith replied quietly. “We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“What do you mean?” he looked at her curiously.

“We fought on the bridge together.”

“You were the one that sent us through the portal?”

“Yes. I. Am,” she nodded proudly.

“Impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s get her down then,” he stated nonchalantly.

They made their way over to the cage, looking up. Though the engineering put into the contraption was impressive, the make of it was still rather crude. It would be easy to take it down.

“Enough gawking,” she narrowed her eyes. “Get me down.”

“Say please,” Ferelith grinned.

The gith stepped away from the bars that surrounded her, crossing her arms with a spiteful gaze. “Never.”

Ferelith turned to the other members of her party, two of them humored by her sarcasm while Gale stared like a chiding parent. The warlock shrugged, taking the crossbow from her holster and carelessly aiming it upward. With barely a glance, she fired the bolt and down came the bottom of the trap. The gith woman tumbled out, catching herself on one knee as she slammed onto the earth.

“The tadpole hasn’t yet scrambled your senses,” she grumbled, rising to her feet. “Auspicious. But the longer we wait, the more it consumes. My people posses the cure for this infection. I must find a creche. You will join me.��

“Lies,” Shadowheart spat, coming forward without waiting for a response from anyone else. “Just get rid of her.”

“Hold on,” Ferelith held out her hand. “I didn’t kill Astarion when he tried to stab me, so I’m certainly not killing anyone for simply just existing.”

“He what?” Gale turned to glare at the rogue.

“Let’s not dwell on the past,” he said quietly while quickly shaking his head with a robust frown.

“I think we should consider this as an option,” she continued over their squabble. “What little options we have. Lae’zel, what is a creche?”

“It is many things: a hatchery, a training ground, a shelter. Githyanki protocol is clear: when infected with ghaik tadpole, we must report to a caretaker for purification.”

“I don’t trust her,” Shadowheart stated. “We’ve already got information on the camp the tieflings mentioned.”

“This camp,” the gith straightened herself. “That is where this Zorru is. He has seen my kin. We will go.”

“Then we can all go together.” Ferelith interrupted.

“A questioning compromise, but I accept,” she pressed her shoulders back with an observing eye. “You have made an ally from Creche K’lir. Few know such fortune. Call me Lae’zel.”

“Fool,” Shadowheart interrupted before Ferelith could speak. “No point in showing a mad dog kindness – it’ll still bite you in the end.”

“You’ve a sharp tongue, elf. Would that your mind prove its equal.”

“Half elf. I suppose the finer details are lost on a creature like you.”

“Right,” Ferelith sighed, her eyes gliding across the ground wondering what exactly she had done to deserve the cruel fate she was handed. “Now that we’re all acquainted… I believe now would be a great time to re-establish a better plan of action.”

“We’ll be here all night,” Gale mumbled to her, leaning forward in an attempt to intervene.

“Then perhaps… we should just head back to camp. And we can find supplies… and that wine… in the morning.”

#astarion #astarion x mc #medium burn #angst #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x ferelith #ferelith #ferelith moonshade #ferelith writing tag #dwjp writing tag #this one is about anger folks

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ds-ts-smut-fics · 3 years

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Far From Home [Chapter One]

Read on Ao3

Synopsis: When Logan, a human monk, comes across an unconscious tiefling in the forest, he nurses him back to health and they decide to travel together. Logan quickly realizes there's a reason Remus is on the road, and not one easily fixed.

Trigger warnings: NSFW, dnd typical violence, demonic possession, lmk if i missed anything!

Words: 5,379

A/N: There's some sex scenes in this fic, fair warning. Feel free to give suggestions on what to do, events, loot, etc! This is a completely homebrew world so no limits. They're currently at level 5. Claire is playing Logan, I'm playing Remus. Remus is a bard rogue.

Logan had never travelled so far between towns.

He’d been going for several days. There was nothing but fields of dying grass and thick clumps of trees. If memory served well, he was close to the Jubilex Thicket, thus not too far from a river he could wash up at. The sun was setting fast, though. If he didn’t find a place to camp soon, he’d be travelling in the dark.

In between the clopping of Juniper’s hooves, something slithered to the right of him. A rustle of leaves, a grunt of pain, and a thud.

The forest was too dark to see inside, but something rustled. Pulling up on the reins, he tries to see what's moving, hand sliding to his sword as he debates calling out to the dim area off to the side of the path. It could be an ambush, and that would not end well for me. On the other hand, it could be someone in need of aid.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

Something slithered away with a slorp sound, and the forest went still. Shivering, he pats Juniper's neck.

"That's not creepy or foreboding AT ALL…. I think we should continue on our way, maybe there's a clearing ahead."

Juniper shakes her head, moving towards where the sound was, making a soft sound. Frowning, Logan slides off, trying to see what she does.

"What is it, girl? You see something, hmm?"

Logan stared hard at the ground, where Juniper sniffed at, but he couldn’t for the life of him find anything. That was, until moonlight glinted off something on the ground— a sickle. Logan trailed his eyes to the hand wrapped loosely around the handle, up to what he quickly realized was a tiefling laying in the dirt. Deep black skin, shoulder-length hair that faded from green to black. He was covered in black clothes, a trenchcoat, hood, and a mask. With Logan’s human vision, it was no wonder he couldn’t see him.

"Oh dear heavens!" Dropping to his knees, he does a quick check for wounds, using some of his ki to heal him with a touch after moving the weapon as he doesn't want to get stabbed.

The man’s eyes snapped open— stark white and pupil-less. He sat up with a rush, then dropped one of his sickles to grip his head with a groan.

Shifting back a little to give space, he can't help but smile. "I promise, I mean no harm. My name is Logan, may I offer some water and rations? Once I make camp for the night I can attempt more healing. It is getting dark for me though, I nearly missed seeing you!"

He blinked and looked around, his eyes nearly glowing. His voice came out gravelly, painful to even listen to. “Uh… That- That’s okay. I have some. Thanks for the help.”

"You're welcome, I really must insist though, it wouldn't be right to leave you here. At least spend the night? I can build a fire for warmth, lend you a blanket?" Offering a hand, he hums softly, calloused fingers tan and marked with the practice of using the sword at his hip. "What do you say?"

The man hesitated. He grabbed Logan’s hand and hoisted himself up, then reached down to snatch his sickle. “I’m Remus. If you make a fire, I can set up a place to sleep.”

Remus didn’t have much on him. He clearly lived out of his backpack, a bedroll stuffed messily on top. His hooves were rough and scratched.

"Sounds like a deal, Remus! Oh, this here is Juniper, she led me to you." Helping him over, he looks Remus over. "Been out here for long?"

Remus smiled at Juniper awkwardly, then set his bag on the ground to pull out his bedroll. “So-so. Do you have a bedroll or anything?”

Tapping a bundle on Juniper, he nods, smiling a little as he turns to get a fire going for them. "I do. Want me to pass it over? I'll get her settled after I get a fire going."

“Yeah. Here.” Remus dug around in his bag for a minute, before taking out a paper-wrapped box. He tossed it to Logan. “Some meat you can cook. Do you eat meat?”

Catching it easily, he nods, the fire starting to crackle and glow merrily. "I'm not terribly picky so long as it's cooked. Did you hunt this?"

He tossed out his bedroll then grabbed Logan’s. “Yeah, this morning. Just glad it’s not going to waste.”

"Do you not eat meat then?" Tipping his head, he sets his pack down next to the box, turning to tend to Juniper.

“No, I just meant…” Remus laughed weakly and pulled off his trench coat, revealing a ripped up button-down in loose fabric. It hung off his shoulders and showed more of his chest than it covered. He pulled his mask down. He had delicate, round features, face covered in scars. “I almost died. It would’ve just rotted in my bag, you know?”

"Oh!" Blushing softly, he lets his eyes wander a bit, 'assessing the damage' on Remus. "You were quite injured, but I don't think you would have passed on. Shall I do another healing?" I knew I was more attracted to delicate males, but I am in trouble. He's so lovely!

He shook his head. “No, don’t waste it. I’ll feel better after getting some rest. Are you a cleric or something? How’d you… You know?”

"How'd I heal you? I'm a monk, I follow the traditions of the way of mercy. I used some of my energy to give you a little boost in health, and I can do so several more times before I rest if you have need?" Brushing out Juniper a little, he slides off her harness so she can graze.

“No, really, I’ll be fine. Thank you, though, that’s… Interesting.” He helped Logan skewer the meat over the fire, roasting it almost like he roasted marshmallows when he was younger. “Are you headed anywhere in particular?”

"Thank you." Turning the meat occasionally, he smiles. "I'm not really headed anywhere specific, are you?"

Remus hesitated, then nodded. “West. There’s a village on the coast I need to get to.”

"Would you object to some company? I was simply instructed to leave the monastery and assist others." Looking over at Remus, he smiles a little.

Remus pulled a sliver of meat from the fire and stuffed it into his mouth, showing off a row of sharp, fang-like teeth. Feral tiefling? Logan pondered.

Stick your hand in the fire!

“No,” Remus mumbled.

"Ah, excellent, then I shall accompany you to that village." Nodding, he hums. Feral or not, I did offer my assistance. He's dangerous but oddly cute.

Remus looked up in surprise, then bit back a curse. “I really don’t need any help,” he promised. “You don’t have to.”

"I don't, that's true. However, I did offer, and I truly don't have anything else to do. It would be a pleasure to accompany you if you'd like a road companion."

What, scared you’ll have to find a quick way to get rid of him? I know a fun way!

“Shut up,” Remus mumbled, then said louder, “Okay. Sure. I’ll take first watch, you get some sleep.”

He stood, then with a quick echo of fire? in his head, Remus swept his hand through the top of the flames and stepped away to find a good vantage place to take watch.

"Remus, wait! You're still recovering… If you won't let me heal you, at least let me take the first watch so you can rest and heal?" Logan frowns lightly, worried by the sporadic behavior of his new companion. Is he really okay?

Remus turned to him, pressing his now slightly-burnt hand to his skirt made of rags. “If I go to bed now, I won’t wake up on time for my shift, and I won’t be able to protect us as well. Let me ride the rest of my energy, then I’ll get some sleep. Promise.”

"Promise to wake me when your energy wanes?" Holding out his hand, he hums. "Let me heal you at least a little more as well, please?"

Remus hesitated, then sighed and took his hand. “It’s really a waste, but sure. And yes, I will wake you up.”

Taking his hand, he smiles softly, kissing the dark skin. "Mmm, thank you. It eases my mind to know you're more healed up to protect us."

Remus’ face turned bright red. “Uh… Th-thank you. Go to sleep, alright?”

Nodding, he winks, standing straight again and heading for where his bedroll is set up. "I will. I have some stretching to do first, but I'll be settling in. Thank you for watching the area, Remus."

Remus climbed up to a low-hanging branch and settled against the trunk, watching their little area.

You could always wait for him to sleep and take his stuff. His horse has taken a liking to you! She’d be easy to steal!

“I’m not doing that,” he mumbled.

Humming lowly as he works though some gentle stretches, Logan turns and clicks softly to Juniper, offering her a cube of sugar as he bids her goodnight. Remus went through his watch, enduring Adelaide’s taunts until he got tired, and finally let Remus settle into quiet.

He waited until he was about to fall off the branch from nodding off before he got down and shook Logan awake.

Waking easily, he smiles a little as it clicks who this is over him and he hums. "Remus… You waited a little longer than I thought. Did you want my warm bedroll? You look about ready to drop."

Remus blushed. “Uh… Sure. Let me just roll mine up.”

He reached for his cold one, only to land hard on his hands. He laughed it off and settled back on his knees, starting to roll it up.

Taking over the motion, Logan gently helps Remus onto his bedroll, settling his blanket around his shoulders. "Definite cue for you to rest. It'll help me wake up to get this all packed up."

Remus hesitated, but he really couldn’t help it. Logan’s blanket was warm against the freezing night air and it smelled like him. “Yeah… Okay.” He crawled around Logan to flop down onto the bedroll, kicking off his skirt and burying his face in the pillow.

Wrapping his cloak around himself more, Logan slides his hood up as he works, adding more wood to the fire. "You deserve a nice warm spot, Remus. Sleep well."

He mumbled something into the pillow, voice tight with embarrassment, and went to sleep.

Giving him a soft pat on the hair, Logan turns to making the camp set up organized, watching the edge of the light as the night passes. Hopefully he rests and heals up. I suppose I could try to sneak in another healing touch, but… He hasn't consented.

In the morning, the sun streamed through the trees and directly into Remus’ eyes, waking him up far earlier than he wanted. He pulled Logan’s blanket tighter around him and buried his face in the pillow.

Reaching over, Logan hums softly, trying to ease him back to sleep. "Shhh…."

Remus hummed at the hand in his hair and on his horns. “When d’you wanna get going?” He murmured.

"Not for a bit. It's just barely starting to lighten up." Stroking more, he smiles softly. "Not light enough for human eyes just yet."

He nodded, and started to respond, only to trail off sleepily. “M’kay,” he managed.

Rubbing over his horns, he smiles softly, getting out a little oil to rub into the chipped surface. "Sleep. I'm watching over you."

“What is that?” He mumbled.

"Oil made from pressed sunflower seeds. It helps skin and nails heal when they're dried out. I use it for when my hands are cracked from overwork. I. thought it might do your horns and hooves some good. May I?"

He blushed and peeked at Logan. “Sure. Not sure how much good it’ll do, but… Sure.” He poked his hooves out from under the blanket and presented his horns, which towered above his head. “Have you been this close all night?”

"I made a small circuit to walk every so often. As it's gotten lighter I can see further though, and you seemed to appreciate it when I was close." Stoking gently, he starts working in the oil with a soft cloth.

Remus hummed happily and stretched out his legs. “Was I talking in my sleep again?”

"A little… It wasn't a language that I know however. You did seem to settle more when I sat nearby. How are you feeling?"

“I’m good,” he mumbled. He sat up and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “We should start packing up camp. We’ve got a long way to go.”

Hand glowing a soft green, he hums. "Very well. So long as you're feeling okay." Finishing up the oiling, he nods. "As soon as we get a little food, sure."

“There should be a town about an hour from here, if you want to get something at a tavern.” He folded up the blanket and bedroll. “Otherwise I can hunt something.”

"Ah, I haven't really been out this way. That tavern sounds lovely." Helping out, he starts putting the fire out.

Remus pulled on his trench coat and mask, then shrugged on his backpack. “I can walk beside you and Juniper.”

"You sure? She can carry us both." Getting the bedrolls attached to her saddle, he hums, sliding on her tack once more.

“I don’t want to impose,” he mumbled.

Reaching over, Logan taps Remus on the nose softly. "It's not an imposition. I offered, if you're okay with either sitting behind me or in my arms in front, we can make faster time? She's faster than either of us."

“Faster sounds good,” he mumbled. “I can be in front if you can drive that way… I’ll keep a lookout for any threats.”

"Sounds good to me, that way you can be warmer too. You could do with some more intact clothes." Offering his arms, he winks. "May I lift you up?"

He blushed and hooked up his pack, then grabbed Logan’s arms.

Settling his own supplies in place, he grins and lifts Remus with a little bounce as he overestimates his weight. "Oh my, you're so light!"

He blushed. “Not- Not that light, no…”

Flexing a little, he grins. "Mmm, toned, definitely. But to my strength, you're light, my dear." Settling Remus in place, he finds a tree and uses it to swing up into the saddle behind Remus safely.

Remus held onto Juniper’s neck, face bright red at Logan’s closeness and warmth.

Grinning, he reaches over to take the reins. "You okay, Remus? You're clinging like… oh, what was that sea creature with all the arms?"

“An octopus? I’m fine.”

"That's it!" Shifting Remus up a little, he hums, easing him to lean back on his chest as he guides Juniper in a slow walk back towards the path. "Just relax?"

“Yeah… Not too much, though. I gotta keep a lookout.”

Logan’s chest was burning warm against Remus’ back, his arms closing him in. When was the last time he was so close to someone? He didn’t think ever.

"That's fair, but at least a little so you don't have to worry about tipping off like a wood plank?" Smiling a little, he chuckles. "Don't want to worry about you falling, hmm?"

“I won’t fall,” he blushed.

"Good…" Scanning the woods, he hums, clicking his tongue to guide Juniper into going a little faster. "Don't want to see you hurt again."

Remus laughed weakly. “Right.”

Letting his fingers stroke over Remus a little in the guise of keeping him steady, he hums. "You're cuter without your blood staining your skin… at least to me."

Remus felt weak. He babbled out something unintelligible, before managing, “Do you save a lot of boys from the brink of death?”

"Not recently… and none quite as cute certainly!" Grinning, he hums, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "It was nice to feel your pulse return under my fingers~!"

Remus leaned back against him, his heart racing. He was in the middle of trying to figure out how to respond when something caught his eye up ahead.

He sat straight up. “Is that a barricade?”

"Hmm? Is it? I could redirect… Or try and jump it. I don't think she'd like that though."

“Don’t. We need to turn around.”

“Stop the horse!” A man demanded from behind them.

"I think that's out…" Kicking Juniper into a gallop, he swerves them to the left, not seeing anyone there even as two crossbow bolts strike the dirt behind them. "Got any ranged weapons, hun?"

Remus snatched his short bow off his bag and knocked an arrow, watching carefully for any sign of movement.

“STOP THE HORSE OR WE’LL SHOOT ITS LEGS!”

"Shit!!" Trying to see where they are and if they're a threat, he leans back a little to give Remus room to shoot as he lets Juniper guide herself, eyes searching for any more bolts. "Where are they?!"

Two more arrows shot off, one narrowly missing Juniper’s ankle and the other flying wide overhead.

Remus’ eyes narrowed as he caught their hiding place. A breeze of fabric swept behind a boulder, a head poking above a dip of land. Two crossbows rested over the cliff.

Remus snatched one of his sickles and dove off Juniper, rolling a bit sloppy but getting to his feet unscathed. Just as he landed, the arrows shot from the cliff. One landed in Logan’s upper arm, the other in Juniper’s side.

Pulling up short with a curse, Logan slides off his horse, turning to place himself between the attackers and his horse. "We're stopped! Stop shooting!”

The bandits, four of them, jumped out of their hiding spots and came closer with their bows. They stood about twenty feet away.

“Drop your bags and you can go,” one commanded.

"What proof have I of that?" Logan frowns, straightening up and using himself as a distraction for Remus, one hand sliding towards his sword.

They all glanced between each other. One of them jerked their bow. “Just drop it! Let’s get this over with!”

“No.” Remus shot his bow and hit a bandit straight in the chest.

He stumbled back with a groan.

"Gary!" One of the bandits steps out 5 feet and shoots at Remus with a shout. Another sighs and decides to take a shot at Logan. "We gave you a chance…"

Logan sidesteps the bolt, stepping in to draw his sword and swing.

The blade sunk into the bandit’s neck, blood gushing forward. The bandit dropped dead.

Remus kicked the second bandit down and brought his sickle through the bandit’s shoulder.

"Very nice!" Whipping his sword to clear the blood, Logan grins.

Seeing how the battle is going the last uninjured bandit turns to flee.

Remus raised his bow and shot, one hoof planted on the bandit’s chest— it sunk into his back, and he fell.

He pressed his sickle to the fallen bandit’s neck. “Are there more of you? Where’s your base?”

Stuttering and stammering, the bandit shakes his head, unable to get a clear sentence out.

Remus pushed the sickle closer. “Answer me or I’ll kill you now and track down your base myself.”

Setting a hand on Remus' shoulder, Logan hums. "Best answer, he means it!"

Gulping, the bandit squeaks. "There's just two more! Up the…" He points up to where there's a clear view of the road coming towards the barricade.

Remus swung, digging the sickle halfway through the bandit’s neck. He turned and stormed forward, leaping over the barricade. There were some shouts, some slices, then Remus reappeared with blood marking his arms and chest. He stared at the ground carefully, walking slowly.

Logan hums, looking up from where he's tending to Juniper, having healed her but only wrapped his own arm. He comes over to Remus, offering a hand. "All set? How are you doing?"

“I’m fine. I’m going after their camp, though. I can meet you at the town.”

Humming softly, he frowns. "I'm coming with, just in case you need backup, or you can meet me at the river. I think we both could use a scrub up."

“I’m not stopping for a bath,” he laughed, stopping to glance at Logan. “They could rob or kill someone else in the next five minutes. Tracks going this way, if you’re coming you’re coming.”

Chuckling softly, he nods, leading Juniper along. "I'm coming, and I meant after the clean up we clean up, before we get to town, dear."

Remus took his other sickle from his bag and ran his hand through Juniper’s mane. “Alright,�� he whispered as he followed the tracks. “Uh… Thanks. Sorry for the…” He gestured to himself.

Reaching over, he taps Remus' nose, whispering back. "I'm just glad none of it's yours!"

He laughed quietly. “Really? You’d rather it be…?”

"Mercy where possible, but it should be acknowledged that it is not always possible. There's a reason that I carry a sword. I gave them an option, and they chose violence. I'd rather these few perish as opposed to however many they would harm or kill."

He nodded slowly. “How long have you been out here?”

"I left the monastery, hmm… I believe it was 8 days ago?" Pointing to a fork in the path, he hums, gesturing up.

Remus’ eyes widened. “Jesus. You… Do you have any adventuring experience?” Remus stopped and put a hand on Logan’s chest. “Are you sure you should be doing this?”

"I've been out on expeditions with my fellow monks. We are trained to be wanderers… and I have been on the road with my parents before I joined the order." Smiling, he takes Remus' hand, kissing it. "I am quite capable, my dear, but thank you."

Remus’ face turned bright red. He stumbled over his words for a moment, before taking his hand back and continuing along the tracks.

Grinning, he follows, watching for clues to where the camp is. While Logan didn’t find any tracks, the path they were on was not intentional, made from years of kicking away and flattening foliage. They trudged deep into the woods, silent and crouching the entire way.

Remus saw it before Logan did— Stilts of wood going between trees, a clear barrier. Remus narrowed his eyes and gestured for Logan to wait. Arching an eyebrow, Logan pauses, waiting to see how Remus procedes forward.

Remus misses seeing a wire settled near the ground as he moves forward, only feeling it when it presses against his ankle before it shifts quickly, slicing a little as it pulls a rope around his ankles and a net scoops him up into the trees.

“Fuck!” Remus hissed, scrambling around for his dagger.

There's some rustling in the area where the stilts lead up to, the trap having set off a silent alarm there as well.

Logan curses softly, heading to the area to see if there's a rope he can cut to help lower the net to the ground. "Calm yourself, don't thrash too much, you'll tangle yourself more!"

Remus slashed a hole in the net and it dropped him towards the ground, Logan darting forward to catch him, with a small smile.

"Got you, darling!"

He sets him down carefully, letting Remus get settled with the knife now properly stowed and brandishing his sickles as footsteps raced towards them.

Logan steps in front to shield him from the oncomers, sword out and ready to swing even as he's calling out to the people coming. "Prepare yourselves!"

Remus fought back the blush to focus. A bandit jumped out of the foliage and slashed at Remus with a scimitar, digging into his shoulder and wetting his coat.

Logan curses softly, touching Remus to heal him some with a ki. Stepping in prepares to attack the bandits at the next opportunity. One bandit with green hair kicked Remus away and took another slash, just barely missing. A half-orc stepped out of the foliage to Logan, bow held up. He shot, the arrow nicking Logan’s ear.

A half elf slices out at Logan with his scimitar, slicing into his side and making Logan shout out in pain. Remus growled and snatched his dagger only to throw it, sinking it straight into the half-elf’s eye and taking him down.

The last bandit pales a little, deciding to attack the taller human that they'd gotten a hit on rather than the scary looking black-horned demon, swinging wildly at Logan and missing terribly.

Logan turns, taking two swings at that cowardly bandit, hitting both times and making him choke on blood as he falls to the ground.

The half-orc in the trees shoots another bolt off, and it stuck into the tree above Logan’s head. Remus snarled and whipped around, throwing his hand out.

“You fucking coward!” He snapped, casting vicious mockery.

The bandit flinched and dropped his bow to hold his head, groaning.

"Want to do the honors of finishing the coward off, dear, or let him come down to face us?"

The half-orc reached for his scimitar, stumbling forward with a red face and narrowed eyes. Remus stormed forward and decapitated him with his sickle.

He sheathed them and groaned, holding his shoulder. “Fuck, that hurts.”

Logan frowns softly, reaching over to examine him, using a ki to heal him when he sees the damage.

“Goddamn,” Remus sighed, pressing his forehead to Logan’s shoulder. “How much of that do you got?”

Smiling a little, he gives Remus a gentle hug. "I can do that twice more today."

“I’ll try not to make you need it. I have a greater healing potion for emergencies, so don’t-”

“HEY!”

Remus froze.

“You pieces of shit done yet?!”

“Hide,” Remus snapped, crouching and diving into the foliage.

Freezing a moment longer than Remus, Logan makes for some bushes on the other side of the oath, having to take a moment to find one big enough to hide his bulky frame. Big footsteps fell along the ground.

A goliath bandit captain stepped around their camp, bushy eyebrows knitted into a deep frown. “Hello?” He grunted.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily, then snapped them open and sprinted out of hiding.

The goliath whipped around but Remus was faster, slashing the sickle along the goliath’s waist. The goliath hissed in pain, turning to Remus in surprise.

Stepping out, Logan attacks the goliath's back, slicing in deeply with a chuckle. The goliath stumbled away from them, face bright red.

“You killed my men?” He roared. “YOU KILLED MY MEN?”

He grabbed his great axe and charged Remus, his rage steering him wrong and missing wide. Remus jumped out of the way and brought the sickles down on his ankle, both missing.

“Fuck me!” Remus snapped.

"Maybe later, dear?" Logan can't help but quip as darts in to try a hit of his own, missing as well.

The goliath let out an unearthly cackle. “You murder my men and you can’t even get a hit in? Pathetic.”

He brought the greataxe down over Logan’s head. Logan ducked away but the axe still managed to slice through his robes and crack open his leg.

“Logan!” Remus narrowed his eyes, rage bubbling in his chest. He whispered menacing threats under his breath, Adelaide coming in with his own excitable suggestions.

The goliath looked around in panic, his eyes watering. He almost dropped his great axe, then shook himself out of it.

Grinning a little, Logan steadies himself, attacking once he's steady on his feet again with a wide grin, slicing into the goliath's arm. The goliath dripped blood, a steady trail along the ground. He was looking pretty beat up, but was still steady on his feet, grinning.

“You really think you two will walk out of here alive? A human, and a little devil? Defeating me?”

Remus braced his sickles. “I’ve killed more than you before.”

"Together we are stronger than alone!" Logan grins as he watches Remus move.

He glanced around the camp, taking in the mountains of supplies, the barrels and crates that clearly held corpses. He yelled angrily as Adelaide helped him hit, slicing his sickles into the goliath’s midsection. The goliath groaned and gagged as his stomach dropped blood and skin, dropping down to one knee.

Taking a step in, Logan swings twice, eyes hard. "You shall receive your just reward for the life you have lived here."

He looked back at Logan, eyes hard. With the realization that the two unlikely martyrs weren’t going to leave without killing him, a second wind rushed through him. He pushed himself to his feet. He slashed at Logan, opening a large cut in his chest and ripping away some of his robes.

Remus’ eyes landed on Logan, heaving for breath, limping. He rushed over and touched his face, black energy pooling around Remus’ hand and dispersing along Logan’s body.

Leaning into the touch a little, Logan smiles slightly as he steadies, dripping less blood as some of his injuries heal up. "Thank you, dear."

Turning back to the goliath, he frowns, stabbing him harshly. "I liked these robes. Blue is my favorite color."

The goliath howled in pain. He kicked Logan’s weapon away and turned to Remus. The greataxe lodged into Remus’ side. He doubled over as fire erupted along his side, sucking in a breath of pain.

“Fuck,” Remus choked out.

Adelaide’s laughter echoed in Remus’ head. Remus’ eyes glowed red, and purple flames surrounded the goliath.

When they melted away, the goliath laid on the ground, charred to a crisp.

"Wow…" Letting himself sit heavily, Logan laughs softly, a bit dizzy and mesmerized by the colors now that the danger has gone away.

Remus’ red, pupil-less eyes flicked to Logan. He grinned, blood staining his teeth. “You didn’t think I’d let him break my favourite toy, did you?”

Logan's eyes widened and he frowned. That was not Remus. From everything he’d learned from the monks… A demon was speaking to him. "Remus is not a toy. Release him please." Please don't make me fight him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He knows, Logan knows. Don’t make things worse. Please don’t make things worse.

“Don’t whine, darling, it’s unattractive.” Adelaide sighed and straightened up. That same black energy that healed Logan danced along Adelaide’s fingers, pressing it to his own forehead. Some of his wounds closed, but he still looked pretty beat up.

"Frankly, I don't care about being attractive to you. Remus' reaction is my concern. Who are you and why are you here…" Slowly pushing up, he retrieves his sword, using a ki to heal himself in case he has to fight this creature possessing Remus.

The demon laughed. He turned and headed back into the forest.

Where are you taking us?

“You were heading towards that village, weren’t you? We can have some fun. Don’t you miss it?”

Reaching for Remus' hand, Logan hums, gently commanding. "No."

Adelaide turned to him in surprise. “Sorry, was I talking to you? Or would you like to join?”

"I'm not sure what you're planning, but I have intuition that Remus doesn't agree with the plans. I'm standing up for his wishes. You can't just bully him like this." Keeping a firm grip on the dark arm, he straightens up to his full 6' 2" height and hardens his eyes.

A smirk curled over Adelaide’s lips. “And what will you do to stop me?” His voice echoed. “Remus likes it here.”

Stepping in, he hums, other hand sliding over the dark cheek, smearing a little blood. "Well… I'm willing to give Remus a kiss if he comes back. We had planned to wash up after clearing the bandits. I'm sure they have some clothes he could better outfit in."

Adelaide rested a hand on the side of Logan’s face. He pressed their foreheads together. “It’s cute how you think Remus has a choice in this,” he whispered.

His eyes rolled back and he fell.

#far from home #intrulogical #logan sanders #remus sanders

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felassan · 4 years

Text

Transcriptions of the info given in the “World Lore” area of the Keep:

(this is old stuff, not new, and is mostly posted for my reference. some bits weren’t worth including)

Seheron

Seheron is the largest island in Thedas, filled with jungle foliage and consistent fighting between the Tevinter Imperium and the Qunari. Both groups have laid claim to its borders, but Seheron currently sits under Qunari control. This has not brought calm, however. In DAI, Bull describes how the island still broils with conflict. Whether it be the rebellious Tal-Vashoth attacking their brethren, the Tevinter disrupting civil life, or the native Seheron stealth forces known as the Fog Warriors attacking either invading force, few who live on Seheron know peace.

Rivain

The Kingdom of Rivain was founded in -44. The First Qunari War began in earnest in 6:32 when Qunari ships arrive en masse in Seheron and northern Rivain.

Located to the northeast, Rivain occupies a peninsula and is surrounded by ocean that offers ample fish and coastal weather to its inhabitants. The culture is matriarchal, the people value material goods over currency, and belief in Andraste is less popular than both pantheism and the Qun. Rivain is the only nation in Thedas with a true Qunari settlement. To the south lies the island of Llomerryn, known as a home for bandits, raiders and merchants with goods that could never be sold in conventional shops.

Isabela is a notorious Rivaini raider and the captain of a pirate ship. She has a history with Zevran, as it turns out. She turns out to have been at least partially responsible for the presence of the stranded Qunari, and their subsequent attack. In the comics she joins King Alistair on his quest to find his father.

Duncan was a high-ranking Fereldan Grey Warden during the lead up to the Fifth Blight. While still a child, Duncan lost his parents and became a homeless urchin on the streets of Val Royeaux in Orlais. It was there he honed his skills as a rogue. Duncan recruited both Alistair and the HoF. Leading the Grey Wardens at Ostagar, Duncan fell victim to Loghain’s treachery, dying alongside his Grey Warden brothers and King Cailan.

The Anderfels

The Anderfels date back to -695. The Grey Wardens were founded at Weisshaupt in -305.

Located in the northwest corner of Thedas, this is a barren kingdom filled with desert, steppes and darkspawn. Highly religious, the nobility and the population here are among the most pious followers of the Chantry, with treason being seen as a lesser crime than backsliding into debauchery. The Grey Wardens are a powerful force here, holding as much power as the teryns or barons of other nations. The kingdom is also home to the strongest and most ancient of Warden strongholds, Weisshaupt Fortress, seat of the First Warden.

Anders is an apostate mage. Despite his gentle nature, he rages at the abuse of mages at the hands of the templars and Chantry. He allowed himself to be possessed by Justice, a spirit of the Fade who perfectly embodies his name. Emboldened to take action against those who would subdue his fellow mages, he blew up the Chantry, killing numerous clerics and innocent bystanders. This left Hawke to mete out mercy or a more permanent justice.

The Free Marches - Starkhaven

Largest and most opulent city in the Free Marches. The monarchy rule from estates crafted out of marble, enjoying the spacious streets and fine greenery surrounding their city. Before the events of DA2, the Circle of Magi tower here was razed, leading most of the city’s mages to seek shelter in the city of Kirkwall. The Inquisitor elects to help the acting monarch of Starkhaven either invade Kirkwall or help rebuild it.

The Free Marches - Kirkwall

Formed in -25, when Emerius, one of the last strongholds of the Imperium, falls in a slave rebellion and is renamed Kirkwall. The City Guard was founded in 7:60. In 9:21 Kirkwall leadership was ousted when Viscount Perrin Threnhold was overthrown by Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard. Marlowe Dumar was made the new viscount. In 9:30 the Hawke family fled the destruction of Lothering and travelled here, where they began indentured servitude in order to obtain enter the city. In 9:31 a Qunari dreadnought was shipwrecked nearby, stranding their Arishok and hundreds of soldiers in the city. They refused to leave until recovering the stolen Tome of Koslun. In 9:34 the Qunari were provoked into rising up in violence under the command of the Arishok. He beheaded Viscount Dumar in front of his nobles and seized control of the city. Hawke successfully drove the Qunari out in the First Battle of Kirkwall, and is named Champion by Meredith.

In the wake of the Qunari uprising, Kirkwall was left leaderless, and Meredith filled the void. She tightened control of the Kirkwall Circle. In 9:37 Anders destroyed the Chantry with the Grand Cleric still inside, inciting the Mage-Templar War that spreads throughout Thedas. The mages and templars battled in Kirkwall and Hawke led the push to stop them as they clashed. Meredith and the city’s First Enchanter Orsino are both killed. In 9:40, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, acting under the authority of the Divine, arrives in Kirkwall and interrogates Varric Tethras about Hawke.

Port city in the Free Marches. Built as a Tevinter mining town, it would become the center of the nation’s slave trade. While it has since been occupied by Orlesian forces, Kirkwall today stands as an independent city-state. This is a city of tension. The affluent citizens of Hightown live at odds with the Commoners of Lowtown. And the domineering templars maintain a stranglehold on the city’s mages. After a series of murders and assassinations in DA2, the tension exploded into a mage rebellion that engulfs Kirkwall, and eventually all of Thedas, in DAI.

Varric Tethras is a surface dwarf, rogue, charmer, fixer, storyteller, occasional con-artist, spymaster and information broker. He’s the type that knows everybody - though none are closer to him than his trusted crossbow Bianca. He joins Hawke in a war against either the mages or the templars - it doesn’t matter which, so long as he’s with Hawke. He joins the Inquisitor as a key party member. He leads the Inquisition to Hawke, and helps disrupt Corypheus’ supply of red lyrium. After the final conflict, he returns to Kirkwall to help with the reconstruction of the city while penning a new novel.

Arishok is not a personal name but a title for the leader of the Qunari military, one of the three pillars of their culture. While the title has been traded among several generals, one of the most famous is the Arishok who attempted a coup of Kirkwall. Stranded after a storm destroyed his ship, the Arishok took residence in Kirkwall, searching for a sacred Qunari relic. After seeing the debauchery there first hand, he decided he must cleanse it, ordering his soldiers to execute the Viscount. After a confrontation with Hawke, the Qunari left the city.

Marlowe Dumar was the Viscount of Kirkwall at the time of DA2. Juggling the templars’ impositions for continued dominance, the mages’ demands for more freedom, and the ever-growing Qunari threat, Marlowe could hardly be said to be in control of his city-state. After his son Seamus was executed by fanatics for converting to the Qun, he lost any will he had to lead Kirkwall. He met his end at the hands of the Arishok during the Qunari coup, his hread and crown bowled down his own throne room steps.

Meredith Stannard was Kirkwall’s fiery Knight-Commander of the Templar Order. She was supported by Grand Cleric Elthina, and enjoyed free rein as the commander of Kirkwall’s dominating military force. When Anders blew up the city-state’s Chantry, killing Elthina, Meredith invoked the Rite of Annulment, allowing the templars to wipe out all mages in Kirkwall to restore order. The mages resisted. Succumbing during the conflict to overexposure of the red lyrium implanted in her sword, Meredith went mad, leading Hawke to cease her rampage. Upon defeat, she crystallized into a statue of red lyrium, which is now featured in the Black Emporium as a curiosity of sorts.

Being First Enchanter of the Circle of Mages in Kirkwall makes Orsino the leader of the city’s mages. As such, he is frequently in direct conflict with the city’s templars, led by Meredith. As the mages began to rebel, the templars tightened their grip, and Orsino was led to consider drastic measures. When the tension exploded into all-out war, he forwent his conscience and turned to blood magic, transforming himself into an abomination that Hawke was forced to put down.

The Hawkes are a family beset by numerous tragedies. Malcolm Hawke and Leandra Amell eloped, fleeing Leandra’s family in Kirkwall who opposed their marriage, and raised three children. Malcolm perished before the events of the Fifth Blight, which drove the family from Ferelden back to Leandra’s home of Kirkwall. During their flight, one of the children was killed by darkspawn. Arriving in Kirkwall, Leandra found her brother Gamlen to have gambled away the family’s estate. It was left to the eldest child to regain that fortune and restore their name.

The Free Marches - Vimmark Mountains

In -191 intelligent darkspawn capable of advanced thought and speech were discovered. The Warden Sashamiri captured Corypheus, who was said to be the greatest of these darkspawn. By -181, the Wardens had spent years studying Corypheus in captivity. This had taught them little as his influence penetrated the minds of even the most powerful mages. The Wardens imprisoned him and sealed him away deep in the Vimmark Mountains, concealing his existence. In 9:37 (although history is vague on when exactly this occurred) Hawke entered the Warden prison and attempted to destroy Corypheus.

These mountains sit to the north of the Free Marches, situated along the shore of the Waking Sea. At their feet rest the cities of Kirkwall and Markham. The mountain wilderness is beset with all manner of beast and peril. Orlesian nobles make sport of hunting the poisonous wyverns indigenous to the area, and darkspawn linger in the desert. But the most dangerous of all is a criminal held in the Grey Warden prison: Corypheus, said to be one of the mages to journey to the Golden City in the Ancient Age, who returned as the first darkspawn.

Once held deep within the Grey Warden prison there lay an ancient evil: a Tevinter magister from an ancient era who sought the power of the old gods and returned as one of the first darkspawn. He title as Conductor of Silence long forgotten, he is now known only as Corypheus. Freed of his prison, he seeks to restore the power of the Tevinter Empire and bring Thedas’ inhabitants under the control of the one he believes to be the first true god - himself.

The Free Marches - Chateau Haine

The famed Chateau Haine was built in the western Vimmark mountains by Lord Norbert de La Haine in 4:90. He used it to stage numerous failed invasions of Marcher states. In 5:21, darkspawn all but devastated the Free Marches, and Chateau Haine became Fortress Haine, a makeshift Warden garrison. A refuge known as the Retreat was dug into the mountain. At the most dire point of the Fourth Blight, hundreds of fleeing Kirkwall and Cumberland residents called the Retreat home.

A converted fortress situated in the Free Marches, Chateau Haine - originally known as Fortress Haine - is a vacation destination for local Orlesian nobility. Seasonal wyvern hunts are held by its owner, Duke Prosper de Montfort, where guests can enjoy the chateau’s amenities, complete with a man-made cavern, underground lake and the Vaults - an underground treasury filled with Montfort’s extensive fortune. Hawke infiltrated Chateau Haine to recover a lost relic.

Orlais

Orlais was formed in -3 when Kordillus Drakon united the tribes of the Heartlands and was crowned Emperor of the new nation. In the same year he formalized the Cult of the Maker, creating the Chantry. In 2:10 Divine Renata I called for the beginning of a holy war against the elves. This became known as the Exalted March of the Dales. In 9:04, Celene, the future Empress, was born. In 9:20 she took power and Empress Celene I ascended to the throne. Soon after this in the same year, Ferelden and Orlais officially made peace. In 9:34, Revered Mother Dorothea was elected and named Divine Justinia V. In 9:38, unrest brewed in Orlais as Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons stirred dissent against the reigning Empress. In 9:40, following the conflict at the White Spire, Lord Seeker Lambert cancelled the Nevarran Accord, severing ties between the Seekers and the Chantry. At this time allegiances between Seekers and templars were split - some still supported the Divine. The Lord Seeker also declared the Cicles of Magi dissolved and the future of mages in Thedas became uncertain. He later went missing, presumed dead.

Orlais is a country in southwest Thedas. It currently stands as the most powerful human nation that nurtured the most powerful religion: the Chantry. Given its expansionist tendencies, Orlais’ relationship with the neighboring Tevinter and Ferelden kingdoms is tenuous at best. Orlais’ culture is known for its excess. But the opulent fashion, elaborate masks and cosmetics applied with abandon are more than vanities, playing an important part in the political games central to day-to-day life. And the architecture is equally resplendent: the Grand Cathedral, University of Orlais and the White Spire make the capital of Val Royeaux a particularly breathtaking sight.

After inheriting the Orlesian throne at 16, Empress Celene I led a cultural revival of arts and education in her country. Orlais has never known such prosperity - or peace - as it has under her rule. She is considered the most powerful woman in Thedas. A plot to assassinate Celene brings the Inquisition face-to-face with the Orlesian royal, leaving the Inquisitor to either protect her seat on the throne, or usher in a new ruler of Orlais with her death. In the War of the Lions, Celene’s cousin Gaspard challenged her right to the throne.

Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons was in line for the throne of Orlais since birth until he was outmaneuvered by his cousin Celene. While she remains on the throne, he continues to vie for his rightful seat through a combination of manipulation and subterfuge, sparking the War of the Lions. The Inquisitor meets with Gaspard at the Orlesian royal ball held at Halamshiral Palace. There, Gaspard entreats the Inquisition to help him depose Celene so that he may take her place as ruler.

Andraste is a central figure of the Chantry, a prophet who was said to be the bride of the Maker, born in what is now Ferelden. She waged war on the kingdom of Tevinter, whom Andraste claimed had turned from the one true god to worship of the Old Gods. Betrayed by her husband, she was burned at the stake. However, her impact had already been made. She was extremely influential, both religiously and politically. Her teachings would lead to the creation of the Chantry, whose followers have led much of Thedas to believe in the Maker.

Maferath was the husband of the prophet Andraste, who together led armies against the Tevinter Imperium in the ancient era. He ultimately betrayed his wife, allowing the Imperium to capture and execute her. It is said he did this because he was jealous of Andraste’s betrothal to the Maker, though many believe he only wanted to rule the lands that Andraste had captured. His kingdom stretched over Orlais, Nevarra and Ferelden, but his rule would not last long. When Tevinter converted to Andrastianism, Maferath’s betrayal was revealed. His kingdom dissolved and he was killed by his own sons.

Mother Dorothea was a Revered Mother of the Chantry who became close with Leliana, inspiring Leliana to devote herself to the faith. Dorothea was later elected to become the new Divine, taking the name Justinia V. A progressive Divine, she saw fit to order Leliana and Cassandra - named Left and Right Hands of the Divine respectively - to reform the Inquisition, hoping to expand the freedoms of mages. While she was killed in the blast that opened the Breach, Justinia - or was it? - later returns in spectral form to help the Inquisitor escape the Fade.

Orlais - Val Royeaux

Andraste was executed in -170 after being betrayed by her husband at one of the city-state of Nevarra, one of their strongholds. She was brought to Minrathous and executed by the Imperium. The Grand Cathedral was built in 2:99. In 9:22, the Grand Cathedral was set upon by dragons during a ten-year gathering of Chantry faithful. A young Seeker named Cassandra Pentaghast foiled what was revealed to be a conspiracy to kill Divine Beatrix III. She was named Hand of the Divine. In 9:40 Empress Celene was called out of Val Royeaux after news of an elven rebellion in Halamshiral. The move is thought to have been orchestrated by Gaspard. Celene’s absence fueled rumors of her death or capture. In 9:40 a violent uprising at the White Spire - a Circle tower in Val Royeaux - left many senior mages dead. The uprising was apparently supported by the Divine through her agents, including the bard Leliana.

The capital of Orlais and home to the Chantry and the busiest port in Thedas. Not only is it the largest city in the Orlesian empire, it’s also by far its most cosmopolitan. The saying goes that “sooner or later, everyone passes through the Sun Gates”, many of whom are students coming from across Thedas coming to attend classes at the University of Orlais. The White Spire, Grand Cathedral and Imperial Palace also join Val Royeaux’s impressive cadre of architecture. The Inquisitor journeyed to Val Royeaux to ingratiate the Inquisition with the Chantry.

The White Spire is a massive Circle tower in Val Royeaux. It also serves as the seat of templar authority for the Chantry, some of whom have taken to calling the tower the “Sword of the Maker”, as its colossal facade - visible from anywhere within Val Royeaux - bears semblance to a blade thrust skyward. The bowels of the tower, a maze of dungeons known as “The Pit”, stretch deep down into the earth. The White Spire was the setting for the split between the Chantry and the templars, initiated by Lord Seeker Lambert.

The Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux is the physical center of the Chantry and the home of the Divine, leader of the Andrastian faithful. The cathedral is walled off from the rest of the city, but its gates are open throughout the day, silently admitting hosts of pilgrims into the giant courtyard dominated by the golden statue of Emperor Drakon the Great, who built the temple to facilitate the beginnings of the Chantry. Its sprawling construction culminates in the Temple of the Divine, where the Divine and the Holy Brazier reside. The Grand Cathedral has endured many battles, and is considered one of the most magnificent structures in all Thedas.

Leliana is a woman of many faces - fitting for a spy and former assassin. In DAO she appeared as a devoted sister of the Chantry. But after helping to end the Fifth Blight, she returns to her life of subterfuge - this time as the Left Hand of the Divine in service to the Chantry. Leliana is only seen working behind the curtain in DA2. She later plays a major role as advisor and spymaster for the Inquisition. Using her intelligence and reconnaissance, she may help bring the rebel mages to the Inquisitor’s side.

As a Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast serves to thwart any threat to the Chantry, pledging her utmost loyalty to the Divine alone. She had extensive training to become a stern warrior of the faith. She pursued Hawke - known to be a central figure in the growing conflict between the mages and the templars - leading her to interrogate Varric about Hawke’s whereabouts. Later the Breach opens after an unseen enemy murders Divine Justinia V. Cassandra becomes one of the first members of the Inquisition, knowing their pursuit to close the Breach will lead to the Divine’s murderer.

Divine Beatrix III was a former leader of the Chantry. She was the target of an assassination plot orchestrated by her expected successor, the Grand Cleric Callista. A young Cassandra thwarted the attempt, and Beatrix rewarded her with the title of right hand of the Divine. Beatrix lived to an old age, succumbing to senility before passing on the throne in 9:34, three years after the end of the Fifth Blight.

Orlais - Adamant Fortress

In 9:40 an apparent cure to Tranquility was discovered in Adamant Fortress.

Adamant is a fortress founded by the Grey Wardens on the edge of the Abyssal Rift in southwestern Orlais. Constructed by dwarves during the Second Blight to guard against darkspawn surfacing from the Rift, its metal ramparts and walls of dark jetstone are as intimidating as any weapon. The fortress was overrun by demons when the mage Pharamond conducted experiments with the Veil. Later it once again played host to the Grey Wardens, who the Inquisitor had to rout to reach one of Corypheus’ conspirators.

Orlais - The Dales

In -165 Maferath gave the Dales to the elves as a new homeland, for the service in their battle against the Imperium. The Long Walk began as a massive influx of elves settled the region. In 2:20 Dalish elven settlements were uprooted as the Dales fell.

The Dales is a vast, verdant region in southeast Orlais with a history steeped in both the joyous tears of refugees and battle-spilled blood. Thedas’ elves were given the Dales as a home and lived there for three centuries until they were chased out by the Chantry during the Exalted Marches. Today, the scars from that battle remain across the Exalted Plains, its dead are buried in the Emerald Graves, and the abandoned elven capital of Halamshiral serves as a seasonal destination for Orlesian nobility. However, the weather-worn elven stone relics remain in its forests, ever watching.

Orzammar

In -1170 the first Paragons were elected - the Orzammar Proving Grounds were then expanded to encompass Grand Provings, previously held in Kal-Sharok. The best warriors of these provings became the first of Orzammar’s Paragons. Stonehammer built a hall to house huge statues in their honor. In 9:30 there was conflict in Orzammar after the death of King Endrin Aeducan. He died of grief over the loss of his oldest and middle children, leaving only his youngest child, Bhelen, to inherit the throne. The conflict broke out over succession when Lord Pyral Harrowmont accused Bhelen of fratricide.

Buried deep beneath the Frostback Mountains lies the city of Orzammar: the dwarven capital and one of the last remaining great thaigs. Hewn from rock, its architecture is a sight to behold as the peoples’ quarters rise up towards the cavern roof, with royalty living near the very ceiling. The dwarves of Orzammar are separated by caste, with the nobility followed by warriors, who are followed by the smiths, then the artisans, with the casteless at the very bottom. To be born into a caste is to live it throughout your days, unless one should leave the city for the surface world - for those dwarves have abandoned the stone, and are the lowest of them all.

Bhelen Aeducan is a noble dwarf of Orzammar, once considered the least of King Endrin’s children. He proves to be much more devious than he initially appears. He stood to gain the throne, and it was up to the Warden to decide if he was fit to rule or if his position should be taken by the man King Endrin elected over his own son. If he was not elected, he revolted and was killed. If he was crowned, he dissolved the Assembly so that he could rule alone, but opened up trade to foreign kingdoms and improved the lives of casteless dwarves.

A genius dwarf of exemplary smithing ability, Branka was named Paragon among her people - so valuable she surpasses the caste system, the first in four centuries - for her inventions. However, before the events of the Fifth Blight, Branka went in search of an ancient dwarven artifact and disappeared. The Warden discovered Branka attempting to recover the Anvil of the Void, used to turn dwarves into golemns. She had long since gone insane, sacrificing her followers to the traps that kept her from the anvil, and the Warden had to choose whether to assist or stop her.

The Deep Roads

In -380 the darkspawn multiplied and attacked en masse, concentrating first on the underground Deep Roads used by the dwarves. As the dwarven thaigs fell, the darkspawn used the Deep Roads to reach the edges of the Imperium. They surfaced and chaos ensued. In -248 Paragon Caridin vanished, taking the secret of golems’ construction with him. The secret stayed buried for ages. In 5:24 darkspawn continued to attack the Deep Roads, but nobody except the Wardens seemed to care that they infested the Roads all the way to Orzammar. In 9:14, underneath Ferelden, the intelligent darkspawn known as the Architect attempted to unearth and kill the remaining Old Gods and taint the entire surface world. His efforts were thwarted by King Maric and a band of Wardens. In 9:28 Paragon Branka ventured into the Deep Roads to begin the search for the Anvil of the Void. In 9:31 Hawke ventured into the Deep Roads with brothers Varric and Bartrand Tethras after being released from servitude and helping to fund the expedition. This Deep Roads Expedition at Kirkwall discovered an ancient thaig that pre-dated the First Blight. Inside is lyrium that glows red. An idol made of the strange lyrium was recovered.

The Deep Roads are a system of underground tunnels built long ago by the dwarves, connecting the once-populous thaigs beneath all corners of Thedas. Centuries of planning are demonstrated in their construction: the geometry of their walls, the Paragon statues that watch over travelers, and the flow of lava keeping the tunnels lit and warm. Following the First Blight, the Deep Roads were overrun with darkspawn. The city of Orzammar sealed off any entrances to the tunnels, leaving the darkspawn to conquer all thaigs save Kal-Sharok. Though brave travelers still use them, these roads that once belonged to the dwarves now belong to the darkspawn.

Paragon Caridin was a dwarf from an ancient era. After discovering how to craft golems using the Anvil of the Void, he was named Paragon among his people. However, he disappeared, along with the secrets of golem construction. He re-emerged a thousand years later, now a golem himself. It is revealed that casteless dwarves, prisoners and political enemies were being turned into golems against their will. When Caridin stood up to the king’s abuse of the Anvil, Caridin himself was turned into a golem. Caridin asked the Warden to destroy the Anvil before any more harm may come to the innocent.

The Architect is a darkspawn emissary. Contrary to normal darkspawn emissaries - who ensure loyalty among darkspawn ranks to the Archdemon during Blights - the Architect seeks to sever ties to the Archdemons, bestowing free will upon the darkspawn horde. His efforts resulted in a civil war among the awakened darkspawn, which the Hero of Ferelden had to quell. It is later revealed that, though unintentional, the Architect was responsible for corrupting one of the Old Gods, resulting in the Fifth Blight.

Bartrand Tethras is a noble dwarf of Orzammar who was relegated to the surface with his family. Addicted to amassing wealth, Bartrand would work every angle for money and power, even if it killed him. Hawke accompanied Bartrand and his brother Varric into the Deep Roads. Upon discovering a statue of red lyrium, Bartrand betrayed Varric and Hawke, leaving them to die. When Hawke later caught up to the deserter, Bartrand had gone mad with lyrium poisoning, leaving Varric to choose: commit his brother to a sanitarium, or put him out of his madness.

Amgarrak

In -4600 the elves are believed to have made first contact with the dwarves. In 9:31 Amgarrak was overrun by twisted creatures known as Harvesters after failed attempts to recreate Caridin’s golen research.

Amgarrak is an abandoned thaig located in the Deep Roads. Dedicated to rediscovering the mysteries of golem construction - an art that disappeared with its creator, Caridin - its rulers sought to increase their wealth by manufacturing and selling golems. However, Amgarrak fell silent, and the thaig today stands completely silent. The Warden ventured into the city, tracing the trail of an expedition that had hoped to discover the research into golemn production, and instead found an unspeakable horror, which they had to destroy in order to have any hope of escape.

General & Ferelden

Ferelden founded in 5:82.

Roughly in -8400, Arlathan was founded some three thousand years before the arrival of humans on the continent. The date of this is so far removed from recorded history that it is difficult to pinpoint in Chantry years. Records claim the first humans arrive in Thedas around -3900. This is disputed by scholars, who ask where humans came from and why they left. Around -2850 elves are said to have first noticed their quickening, ending their immortality and frightening them into withdrawal from human contact. This is thought by many to be mere legend. In -2800 the first human mages appeared, as at this time the Old Gods are said to have begun whispering to humanity from the Golden City. They taught the Dreamers of the Neromenian tribes magic. Power shifted, and those Dreamers became both kings and priests among their people. In -1815 the Alamarri living near Lake Calenhad broke away, becoming/forming the Avvar tribe. The two groups warred with each other for centuries. In -1700, the Neromenian tribes split to form four kingdoms: Tevinter, Neromenian, Barindur and Qarinus. In -1595 blood magic was first practised when Thalsian, also known as the First Priest of Dumat, became the first known human to wield it. He claimed to learn the art after personally communicating with Dumat, an Old God.

In -1195, Darinius united Tevinter and Qarinus, forming the mighty Tevinter Imperium. He declared himself the first Archon. In -981 tensions between Tevinter and the elves turned to open war. The Imperium besieged Arlathan. In -975, the years-long seige of Arlathan ended when Tevinter is said to have sunk the city into the ground using blood magic. The surviving elves were enslaved. In -395, in secret, a group of the most powerful Tevinter magisters opened a gate into the Golden City, entering it physically. They were cast violently back into the physical world twisted and corrupted as the first darkspawn. In -203 the prophet Andraste was born in Ferelden. The exactly year of her date is hotly contested by scholars. In -187 Andraste married Maferath, an Alamarri chieftain. In -186 she began preaching of a new creator, whom she called the Maker. The more she said, the more her following grew. Maferath used her teachings to unite the Alamarri clans under his authority. In -170 her loyal disciple Havard collected her ashes and carried them back to Ferelden. In -135 her ashes disappeared, revealed ages later to have been stored away at the Temple of Sacred Ashes in Haven. In -130 Andraste’s disciples created the Chant of Light, collecting her teachings into hymns.

In -100 the original Inquisition was founded, a loose association of Andrastian hard-liners who hunted heretics and mages in the name of the Maker. In -30 the city-state of Antiva expanded to become a nation. In -11 the Cult of the Maker continued to spread and gain popularity in the south. One of Andraste’s most fervent followers was the young king of Orlais, Kordillus Drakon. In 1:05 the Second Blight began in the Anderfels after the Old God Zazikel awoke. In 1:20 the Chantry and the Inquisition signed the Nevarran Accord. Senior members of the Inquisition formed the Seekers of Truth. As part of the Accord the Circle of Magi was created/formed. Mages were now formally allowed to practise magic under the close watch of the Chantry. With the creation of the Circle, the Templar Order was formed to police magic use. In 1:33 the Grey Wardens converted to the Chantry. In 1:95 the Second Blight ended when the last battle was fought at Starkhaven. In 2:20 Divine Renata I ordered the establishment of the first elven alienages. Many elves instead became nomads. In 3:00 Flemeth is said to have been born in the Fereldan village of Highever. In 3:10 the Old God Toth awoke, spurring the Third Blight. In 3:25 the Third Blight ended when Toth was destroyed after the armies of Orlais and Tevinter met in Hunter Fell to join the Grey Wardens for the last battle.

In 5:10 the Grey Wardens signed treaties with the various teryns in Ferelden. They were welcomed into Ferelden and entered the land in a permanent fashion. They built a fortress in Denerim as well as several small outposts to watch for signs of darkspawn. In 5:12 the Fourth Blight began with the awakening of the Old God Andoral. In 5:22 Garahel united armies to march against the darkspawn. He gathered Wardens from Orlais and the Anderfels, then marched to Starkhaven, where he organized an alliance between the leaders of the Free Marches. The united army then marched north under the griffon banner. Many griffons were killed during the Fourth Blight. By 5:25, their numbers decimated, they soon died out and became extinct. In 5:42 Calenhad Theirin was crowned King in Denerim, uniting the long-warring tribes of Ferelden under a single banner. By 6:15 dragons had been hunted to near-extinction thanks to methods pioneered by the Pentaghast family of Nevarra. The Pentaghasts became known across the continent as legendary dragon hunters.

In 6:30 the Qunari landed in massive numbers on Par Vollen and handily conquered it, unbeknownst to the rest of the continent. In 7:05, after losing the Fereldan throne to her cousin Arland, Sophia Dryden joined the Grey Wardens and rose to the rank of Warden-Commander in Ferelden. In 7:84 the Qunari War ended after a meeting between the Qunari and envoys from all Thedosian nations except Tevinter was called at Llomerryn. The Llomerryn Accords were signed, ushering in an uneasy peace. In 8:24 Fereldan King Vanedrin Theirin was killed by Orlesian invaders. Calenhad’s sword, Nemetos, was lost. In 8:25 young King Brandel, Vanedrin’s son, was unable to unite the kingdom beneath him, and Ferelden became plunged into a mire of blood and battle. In 8:96 Brandel’s daughter, the “Rebel Queen” Moira, was assassinated. Orlesian forces leveraged her death to tighten their grip on Ferelden. Her son Maric escaped. In 8:98, the Fereldan rebels, led by the young King Maric, took the isolated port town of Gwaren, their first major victory since the death of Queen Moira.

In 8:99 at the Battle of West Hill, the Fereldan army was devastated by Orlesian forces. Survivors retreated to Gwaren. Maric was presumed dead. Also this year dragons re-emerged first in Antiva, having been believed to have been hunted into extinction. They devastated rural Orlais and Nevarra. Repeated attempts to cull their numbers resulted in heavy casualties. Later, with the aid of the Legion of the Dead, King Maric emerged from the Deep Roads under Gwaren. At the Battle of River Dane, Fereldan rebels comanded by Loghain Mac Tir turned the tide against their Orlesian occupiers. Crown prince of Ferelden Cailan was born in 9:05 to Maric and Queen Rowan. In 9:10 King Maric allowed the Grey Wardens to return to Ferelden after two ages of exile for their failed coup attempt. In 9:25 Cailan married Anora. In 9:30 a senior Fereldan Warden named Duncan recruits Alistair and others to put down the impending Blight. Among his recruits was the future Hero of Ferelden. The Fifth Blight ended in 9:31 when a united Ferelden, led by the Hero, slays Urthemiel at the Battle of Denerim. Later the Architect freed an intelligent broodmother called the Mother from the call of the Old Gods. She went insane and attempted to undo his work. A new breed of talking darkspawn emerged. Some pledged allegiance to the Mother and some followed the Architect.

The geographically diverse nation of Ferelden in southeast Thedas is known for its verdant fields in the Hinterlands, primeval Brecilian Forest and intimidating Frostback Mountains. Considered relatively primitive by other nations, having only begun to civilize in the last few centuries, Ferelden has often been beset by invaders seeking to conquer the kingdom. But having stood up even to the Fifth Blight, Ferelden has proven itself a nation not easily conquered. In DAI, its monarchy saw fit to grant rebel mages asylum within its borders. However, the templars pursued the mages, bringing war to the Hinterlands.

While he appeared as an ash wraith in DAO, protecting the urn of Andraste’s ashes, in life Havard was a warrior and friend to her husband. Havard is known as one of the first of Andraste’s disciples. Following Maferath’s betrayal of Andraste, Havard disowned the man he once called friend. He recovered Andraste’s ashes following her execution at the stake, and returned them to her Alamarri homeland.

Flemeth: Sorcerer. Dragon. Abomination. Immortal. There are many words to describe Flemeth, known as the storied Witch of the Wilds, mother of Morrigan. Most are tales told to scare children, but there may be motes of truth in each. Flemeth makes several appearances, always on the fringes, working towards some unknown goal. Morrigan describes her as one to be feared, whose true power is unknown. Is she a human? Demon? Or perhaps something more?

Sophia Dryden was the commander of the Grey Warden forces at Soldier’s Peak during the Storm Age. After instigating a rebellion, the kingdom of Ferelden wiped out the wardens at the fortress, and the Dryden name became synonymous with treason. 200 years after the rebellion was quelled, the Hero of Ferelden journeyed to Soldier’s Peak to find ghosts of the deceased reenacting their final battle. Sophia lived, possessed by a demon summoned during the skirmish, and it was up to the Warden whether she continued on as a puppet or if the demon was to be permanently exorcized.

King Maric was the hero king who reclaimed Ferelden from the Orlesian forces early in the Dragon Age. He was the father of Cailan and Alistair, and the close friend of Loghain, his trusted military advisor. His rule ended when he disappeared at sea in 9:25, 5 years before the Fifth Blight. Despite persisting rumors that Maric was still arrive, his son Cailan inherited the throne. Alistair later put those rumors to bed.

Friend to Maric, father to Queen Anora, and a high-ranking general, Loghain Mac Tir was a revered war hero who helped free Ferelden from Orlesian occupation. However, he disgraced himself at the Battle of Ostagar by ordering his troops to retreat, resulting in the death of his daughter’s husband King Cailan. The Warden chose whether to execute Loghain or allow him to join the Wardens. If allowed to live, he will make appearances in subsequent games in the series.

Before she was Queen, Rowan Guerrin fought alongside Maric Theirin and Loghain Mac Tir in the war to reclaim Ferelden from Orlesian occupation. Betrothed to Maric, she became Queen when Maric took the throne. Maric and Rowan had one child together, Cailan, who inherited the throne after Maric went missing at sea. Rowan died of an illness when Cailan was still very young. Rowan was known for her relationship with both Maric and Loghain, and for her battle prowess.

Cailan Theirin was the half-brother of Alistair and king of Ferelden. He was husband to Anora, General Loghain Mac Tir’s daughter. An honorable (if naive) king, Cailan saw the Fifth Blight as a chance to bring glory to his reign, and led Ferelden’s army to fight the darkspawn at the Battle of Ostagar. When Loghain treacherously ordered the reinforcements under his command to retreat without entering the battle, Cailan - alongside almost all of Ferelden’s Grey Wardens - was killed.

Anora Mac Tir/Theirin: Wife of King Cailan Theirin and also the daughter of Teryn Loghain Mac Tir, a general whose treachery at the battle of Ostagar led to the death of her husband. Stalwart and shrewd, she takes her husband’s place as ruler of Ferelden, a role she is more than capable of filling. Accused of treason, captured by her father’s lieutenant and then rescued by the Warden, Anora helps the Hero depose her father. She may then be reinstated as ruler and make appearances in subsequent games.

Alistair Theirin is a young Grey Warden. Swift with both his tongue and his sword, he proved to be a key member of the Hero’s party, especially after discovering he is the bastard son of King Maric, putting him in line for the throne. He can either choose to pursue or abandon his nobility. He later goes in search of his father.

Ferelden - Ostagar

In 9:30 the Battle of Ostagar ended in devastation when it was lost when Loghain quit the field, leaving the assembled Wardens trapped behind darkspawn lines. The Wardens, with the exception of Alistair and the future Hero, were slaughtered.

Ostagar is a fortress on the southern edge of Ferelden, bordering on the Korcari Wilds. It represents the farthest point of encroachment by the Tevinter Imperium into the barbarian lands of the southeast, and was once one of the most important defensive holdings south of the Waking Sea. It was abandoned four centuries ago and has since fallen into disrepair. It served as the final battleground of King Cailan, the Grey Warden Duncan and a number of Fereldan soldiers who fall to the darkspawn horde in an attempt to halt the Fifth Blight, forever known as the Battle of Ostagar.

Ferelden - Korcari Wilds

The Fifth Blight began here in 9:30 after the Architect attempted to make a disciple of the Old God Urthemiel.

The Korcari Wilds are a dangerous, uncharted region in southern Ferelden, a wasteland that spawned the Fifth Blight in 9:30. The perpetual mist that surrounds the wilds is rumored to be a curse, and upon entering its twisted woods, few would argue this to be untrue. Dangerous beasts and Dalish elves call the wilds home, but none are considered more menacing than Flemeth, a Witch of the Wilds. She and her long line of daughters were said to have lived in the Wilds for decades before the Fifth Blight.

Morrigan is a powerful witch from the Korcari Wilds. She works towards her enigmatic goals from behind the scenes. She fears her mother Flemeth, the fabled Witch of the Wilds, whom she believes intends to steal Morrigan’s body to remain forever young. Thus Morrigan seeks out power to escape her mother’s influence. She served as a primary member of the Hero’s party and then pursues the eluvians - elven mirrors that can transport people beyond the Fade - and vanishes, but not before hinting that great change is coming to the world. She later returns having found a place of power within the Orlesian court.

Ferelden - Denerim

Sacked by the Orlesian Empire in 8:44. The Empire then claimed victory and drove King Brandel into hiding. In 9:08 Queen Rowan died. In 9:10 Alistair, a future hero of the Fifth Blight, was born in Ferelden. In 9:25 King Maric was presumed dead at sea and his son Cailan was crowned King.

Capital of Ferelden. Known across Thedas as the birthplace of Andraste. The reality of the city is far less pious: brothels line the dirty streets while the population is often left to take the law into their own hands - if they weren’t the ones already committing the crime, that is. A person’s standing can be gathered by how close they live to Fort Drakon, the building around which the city was built. The interior, where the streets are cobblestone, is home to the elite, while the outer edges are occupied by the lower classes.

Ferelden - Fort Drakon

In 9:00 Maric succeeded at driving the Orlesian occupying force out. He killed the usurper King Meghren in a duel atop Fort Drakon.

A fort with a spire that appears to caress the clouds, Fort Drakon is the tallest and oldest structure within Ferelden’s capital, Denerim. Built as a Tevinter outpost, the collapse of the Imperium let the fortress fall into Fereldan hands. Denerim formed around the building and it now serves as the city’s centerpiece. The final battle between the Hero and the Archdemon in the Fifth Blight took place atop Fort Drakon’s spire. The rooftop also served as the battleground between King Maric and the usurper King Meghren, as they duelled for control of Ferelden.

Ferelden - Soldier’s Peak

In 7:05, Arland was a tyrant. Banns approached Sophia, asking her to intercede. She agreed and attempted a coup against her cousin. Arland banned Wardens from Ferelden and killed Sophia at Soldier’s Peak.

Build decades after the Second Blight as an HQ for Warden forces. Prior to its construction, Wardens had lived in the castles of nobility with spare quarters. The erection of the fortress provided a dedicated environment for Wardens to live and train. However, following a Warden rebellion in which their forces were wiped out, Soldier’s Peak has since fallen into disuse. The Hero journeyed to the fortress and found it to be filled with demons and ghosts of Wardens long dead, repeatedly living out their final battle.

Ferelden - Dragonbone Wastes

In 9:31 the Mother was slain here by the Hero, now the nation’s Warden-Commander. In 9:32 rumors arose of someone resembling Morrigan, a hero of the Fifth Blight, alive in the Wastes. The Hero investigated.

The Dragonbone Wastes of southern Thedas are littered with the bones of long-dead dragons. Drakes and dragonlings stalk the remains, and even high dragons can be encountered, should one be so unfortunate. Centuries ago, the Tevinter Imperium believed the bones of dragons to hold magical properties and built numerous structures - now abandoned - to gather the remains. Following the events of the Fifth Blight, a darkspawn broodmother roosted in the Wastes, birthing an army of grotesque children. She was routed by the Hero.

Kal’Hirol

In -255 Paragon Caridin created the first golem in an effort to fight the darkspawn scourge. The dwarves of Orzammar reclaimed Kal’Hirol thaig in 9:31.

Kal’Hirol was one of the great thaigs of the dwarven kingdom. Monumental strides in dwarven smithing - such as improving golems and researching how to store and handle lyrium - brought immense wealth to the city, though it would later fall to the darkspawn. The Hero journeyed here to destroy a nest of broodmothers and learned about a noble sacrifice made be some of its populace during the darkspawn invasion. Kal’Hirol is eventually cleared of darkspawn and reclaimed by the dwarves in 9:31.

#dragon age #bioware #video games #alistair theirin #cassandra pentaghast #fav warden #my lady paladin #morrigan #queen of my heart #all stuff contained on the wiki and previously told to us in the games books etc #but I just wanted to have all the stuff from that section of the Keep in one place #especially since clicking around the various mini-menus in the map icons gets kind of annoying #ref stuff #cut for length ofc

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years

Text

Book Four: War (Gladiolus x Reader) Chapter Twenty

It wasn't long before Noctis was separated from Gladio and Ignis due to the wrecked train on the tracks. It also only took Ardyn a few minutes to begin taunting him. He gripped (Y/n)'s sword tightly as he insulted the chancellor before continuing to proceed forward. He reaches another wrecked train car when daemons began swarming him. He sliced down a few and created an opening for him to run.

Noctis manages to make it into a now derelict building where he stops to catch his breath. After a moment, he drops to one knee, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out something clenched in his fist. He slowly opens his palm to reveal the Ring of Lucii. His hands begin to shake as he stares at it and he grunts rapidly, as though wracked with pain. He unsteadily slides the ring onto his finger, roaring in pain and his eyes briefly glowing red as he succeeds in this struggle. Catching his breath once again, Noctis stares at the ring of his ancestors, flexes his hand, and rises from his knees. "The time has come."

Switching between the Ring and War's sword, Noctis destroyed any daemons that targeted him. He made his way towards Zegnautus Keep. He eventually found the elevator leading to the Keep. However, daemons poured out of the lift when the doors opened.

Once killing the enemies, Noctis boarded the elevator and rides it up to Zegnautus Keep. When he stepped off the elevator, he heard Ardyn taunting him again. He tried his best to ignore the chancellor as he walked the halls of the Keep.

When rounding one corner, he spots Ardyn at the other end of the hall walking away from a downed magitek trooper. He quickly hid once seeing the lifeless machine stand, taking a zombie-like posture. He sneaks by the rogue axeman, only to stumble into more further down the hallway.

After some time, Noctis starts to see and hear Prompto. Every time he tried to help his best friend, he was greeted by a lifeless magitek. The prince realized Ardyn was playing more tricks on him and he was becoming frustrated.

Using the keycard he recently upgraded, Noctis takes the elevator to an upper level and proceeds across a bridge leading to the central lift. He carefully made his way across a catwalk towards a control panel for the central elevator. He tried to use his upgraded keycard, but it didn't work. "Gotta find a way to make it move."

"Try this."

Noctis was startled by the voice and spun around, coming face to face with Death. He stared into her golden eyes for a few seconds before looking down at what she was offering him. It was another keycard. "Well, uh...thanks." Using the generator keycard, he was able to activate the control panel and give power to the elevator.

The two begin to make their way back across the catwalk towards the central elevator. They didn't make it far before a gargantua daemon suddenly lands on the platform just beyond the end of the catwalk. "The hell?" Noctis glared at the enemy.

Death went to summon her scythe the moment the gargantua raises its sword. She went to attack the daemon, but the daemon brings its sword down and shatters the catwalk. The Horseman and Noctis fall into the depths of Zegnautus Keep.

As they fell, Noctis gripped (Y/n)'s blade tightly. He focused on what she taught him and wrapped an arm around Death's waist before tossing the blade. He warped the moment the sword embedded into the wall, taking the girl with him. They both looked up to see how far they fell. "Damn..." Noctis cursed.

Death looked down. "There's still quite a fall left."

The boy also looked down and grimaced at the sight. He thought for a few seconds until he steeled himself and prepared to warp a second time. "Hold on," he told the girl before yanked the blade out of the wall. Adjusting their position, he tossed the blade downward. It lodged itself into the ground and the familiar sensation of warping filled his being.

Warping to the bottom of the central shaft, Noctis sighed in relief and released Death. "You okay?"

"I'm fine all thanks to you." She looked around, noticing the large pile of debris and the bodies of imperial troopers. When seeing a familiar figure among the dead, she frowned. "Oh, no..."

Noctis followed her gaze and spotted the body of Ravus. What else caught his attention was the deceased man's severed mechanical arm still clinging to the haft of the late King Regis' sword. The blade stands impaled in the floor beside Ravus' corpse. Noctis gazes at the dead high commander in silent sadness.

After a moment, he reaches out toward the haft of his father's sword. At his touch, Ravus' severed arm falls to land on the first son of Tenebrae's chest. Noctis pulls his hand back from the weapon, taking a moment to first kneel beside Ravus and look upon his face a final time. Finally, the prince stands and grasps his father's royal arm, pulling it free.

Death walked over to War's blade and did the same. She gazed sorrowfully at the black and crimson weapon. Noctis peered over at her before making his way over. "We'll get (Y/n) back."

She smiled at him. "I know we will." She switched out her scythe, deciding to use her sister's sword. "Let's get moving. We have to find your friends."

Joining forces, Noctis and Death make their way through Zegnautus Keep. They continued to listen to Ardyn taunt them both over the loudspeaker. At one point, the sable-haired girl summoned War's blade and impaled the loudspeaker, silencing the man for a short while. She sighed contently. "Finally, some peace and quiet."

"Until we come across another loudspeaker," Noctis said.

"Then I'll destroy that one, too."

He smirked at her reply before returning his focus to searching for the others.

Deeper into Zegnautus Keep, they were soon being stalked by the foras daemon. The duo kept on their toes while proceeding forward. They fell into a few of Ardyn's traps, but there was one they walked right into that proved to be difficult to escape. Translucent, electrified doors close at either end of the hallway and begin closing in on Noctis and Death. The magitek troopers on the floor rose and set their sights on the duo.

"Didn't see that coming!" Noctis snarled.

"A little pain never hurt anyone. On you go. Hurry. While you dawdle, people are dying," Ardyn said.

"We've really gone and done it now."

Death summoned (Y/n)'s blade and killed the magiteks. "We're not giving up."

Ignis' voice suddenly calls out from the other end of the hallway in the direction Noctis and Death had been going. "Noct? Is that you?"

"Hey! Noct! Can you hear us?" Gladio asked.

"Ignis, Gladio!" The prince shouted.

"Where are you?" The tactician inquired.

Gladio is able to see through the doors at the other end of the hallway. He takes notice of Noctis' and Death's situation. The doors have almost finished closing in on them. He went to search for a way to save the two, but he stopped when seeing the Horseman create a hole in one of the doors. She gritted her teeth when feeling the electricity course through her body, but she fought through the pain and absorbed it. Weakly, she lowers the blade as Noctis leaps through the hole she created. She followed him, crumpling on the floor beside him. She breathed heavily, her body healing itself.

Noctis places a hand on her shoulder. "Thanks for the save."

She managed a small smile. "Consider it payback for saving me from that fall earlier."

He stood up, helping the Horseman to her feet. He then looked over at Ignis and Gladio. "How'd you guys get here?"

"After we were separated, we received "help" from the usual suspect," Ignis stated.

"That bastard's playing with us. But at least we're together," Gladio said.

"All but two of us."

Just then, Ardyn's voice rung out from the loudspeaker. "Reunited with your retainers at last. How very touching. Must be a fine feeling, having friends. Look how happy you are! I pray you find your dear Prompto soon. And you mustn't forget the lovely (Y/n). It's impolite to keep a lady waiting."

Gladio glared at the loudspeaker at hearing the chancellor mention the girl. "Damn bastard."

"Once we find Prompto, we'll search for War. She doesn't have much time left," Death said.

"Then let's hurry."

She smirked at the trio. "I've a feeling someone else is going to find him before us."

"What?" Noctis asked.

"Famine," Ignis answered.

"Speaking of her..." Death's voice trailed off when she could sense her sister's location. "Follow me."

Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio followed the girl through the hallways of the Keep. They followed her to an elevator, where they headed up to the cell block. There, they found Famine helping Prompto out of a cell. The three boys make their over to the sharpshooter.

"Hey, you alright?" Gladio asked.

"Are you hurt? Do you need help?" Ignis inquired.

"I'm fine," Prompto said as Famine released him. He stumble towards them and almost tripped, but Noctis caught him. "Thank you, Noct. Tell me. Were you worried about me?"

"Of course I was. What kind of question is that?" Noctis retorts.

Prompto managed to steady himself with his best friend's help. "Of course. That's why you came, like I believed you would."

"Prompto..."

"That's why I told myself I couldn't die. Not until I could see you and hear you tell me I'm not a fake—that I'm the real me."

"I'm sorry," Noctis muttered melancholically.

Prompto shook his head. "Don't be. Everything's alright now."

Once the two boys separated, Famine provided healing for the blonde. Seeing the minor cuts and bruises heal, she smiled at him. "There, all better."

Prompto smiled back at her. "Thank you."

"Well then, now that we're all together, our next move should be finding War," Death said.

"About that..." Noctis trailed off.

"We don't have weapons," Gladio said.

The sable-haired girl blinked in surprise. That's when she remembers Noctis only had her sister's sword with him earlier. "That is a problem..."

"I propose we search the area," Ignis suggested.

"It couldn't hurt," Famine said.

"Then let's look around," Noctis stated.

The group make their way back toward the central area of this level of Zegnautus Keep after rescuing Prompto. It wasn't long before Ignis stopped them. "Noct, do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Noctis asked, looking toward his advisor.

"I've heard this sound before—on the train, just before your weapons failed you. It's nearby, and it may hold the key to restoring your power." The six of them make their way across the catwalk leading to the central area of this level of the Keep. They come to a halt in front of a room sealed with large metal doors. "It's here," Ignis said.

Noctis approaches the metal doors in the center of the enormous room. "This thing?" He places his hand against one of the doors and tried to open it, but both were tightly sealed. "Door's locked."

"It's coming from within. Is there no way through?" Ignis questioned.

"There's a way," Prompto solemnly said. All eyes were on him as he hesitantly steps up to the door's scanner and raises the back of his right wrist to it. As the doors slide open, he resumes speaking while staring off into the room, unable to make eye contact with the others. "So, MTs... They've got those codeprints...just like I do."

"Do they? Never looked," Noctis said, unfazed.

"Yeah... So, as it turns out...I'm one of them. Not exactly something I could tell people growing up in Lucis." Prompto is fighting back tears, but continues speaking. "Still... You guys are like...the only friends I've ever known. I just hope that things can stay the way they were."

"Whatever. Who cares where you were born?"

"I don't see you turning against us. Not now, or ever," Ignis stated.

"Thanks, guys. Still...I can't change where I came from. What I am," Prompto mumbled.

"Since when does where you come from matter to you?" Noctis asked. "You never once treated me as a prince." He playfully punches Prompto's shoulder.

"He's got you there," Gladio chimed in.

"Never so much as a "Highness"," Ignis added.

"We're done here. C'mon, crown citizen," Noctis said.

Gladio steps over to Ignis to help guide him into the room. He gives Prompto's shoulder a friendly smack as they walk past. "You're one of us, right?"

Ignis stops and turns back towards the marksman. "Unless you'd rather not be."

Prompto smiles with a nod. Before following them, Famine walked up to him. She playfully nudges him in the side. "I bet that's a weight off your shoulders."

"I do feel a lot better," he confessed.

He and Famine follow the others into the room. Inside it, they find the emperor's abandoned clothing laying upon the throne. They also find a large bank of computers, which are the cause of Noctis' lost powers. Without hesitating, the raven-haired boy rams his father's sword through the machines.

"So...did it work?" Prompto asked.

"With the device down and out, Noct's power should be up and running," Ignis answered.

"Go on, try it," Gladio told Noctis.

"Alright. Moment of truth." Noctis holds out his hand and conjures a sword. Prompto claps in celebration.

"We're back, baby," Gladio smirked. "Now we can hunt down that damned monster."

Noctis nodded in agreement. "Let's roll."

The moment the group left the emperor's throne room, the gargantua daemon that caused Noctis and Death to fall earlier lands on the platform in front of them. It's quickly joined by other daemons, who begin manifesting. "Not you again," Noctis groaned.

"New friend?" Prompto inquired.

"You really need to pick 'em better," Gladio chuckled.

Before the boys could even summon their weapons, Famine casted a powerful lightning spell. Myriads of lightning bolts manifested from thin air and struck the daemons. Many of the weaker ones perished from the spell while the fewer strong ones remained. The golden-haired girl stepped forward in front of the group as the remaining enemies recovered from the spell. "I'll handle these guys. You all need to find War. She's running out of time."

"But..." Prompto began.

She sent a smile his way. "I'll be fine."

Gladio lowered his hand. "Where do we even begin?"

"The last I saw the dullahan it was wandering around the lower levels of the Keep. Start there. I'll meet up with you all once I've dealt with these guys."

"Be careful," the sharpshooter said.

"Let's go." Noctis led everyone but Famine out of the enormous room. They returned to the elevator and immediately ride it to the lower levels of Zegnautus Keep.

As the lift carried them down, Gladio felt an intense burning sensation in his pocket. He winced from the extreme heat and quickly took out what the cause was. It was the summoning orb. The shield was unable to hold it any longer and accidentally dropped it. "Damn..." He tried to pick it up, but Death stopped him.

"Wait," she held up her hand. Squatting down, she watched the orb closely as it began rolling around.

Prompto lifted his foot to allow the orb to roll by. "What's going on?"

"It's going crazy," Noctis commented when the orb picked up speed.

"It's never done that before," Gladio said.

The closer the elevator got to the lower levels, the faster the orb rolled around. Death promptly caught it as the lift door slid open. She wasn't bothered by the burning sensation, her minor injuries healing within seconds. "War's using what strength she has left to call upon the orb." She stepped off, the light the scarlet orb was emitting growing brighter. "We're on the right track."

"Does this mean we're gonna use it like a tracking device?" Prompto questioned.

Death smirked. "Exactly. Follow me, everyone."

Noctis, Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis followed Death through the halls of the lower level of Zegnautus Keep. She held up the orb, watching it closely whenever they turned a corner or passed a room. Whenever they stumbled across splitting paths, she would hold the orb up higher. She walked a little ways down each path to see the orb's reaction. The path she always chose was the one where the orb's light would intensify.

Eventually, Death led them into a large hangar-like room. She quickly pushed everyone behind a large pile of wooden crates when she smelt a foul odor. She noticed the orb's light vanished, it no longer being hot to the touch. She handed it back to Gladio, who put it back into his pocket.

Peering out from behind the crates, Death scanned the hangar. Her golden eyes bounced around until she saw a black puddle materialize in the middle of the hangar. Her eyes narrowed when the dullahan emerged from the inky substance. Its body was much larger and the armor it once adorned now was gone.

Gladio has also been peeking out from their hiding spot. He glared daggers at the grotesque monster. Raising his hand, he went to summon his greatsword. Death saw this and promptly stopped him. "Don't even think about it," she whispered.

"Why?" The brute growled. "We're here to kill it, aren't we? It's got its damn head with it. It'll be easy."

"I know you want to get War back, but running out there and attacking blindly is careless. You won't be risking not only our lives, but War's as well. She's inside that thing. If you swing wildly, you risk hurting her. In her current weakened state, heavy injuries to her body won't heal and she will die."

Prompto swallowed the lump in his throat. "(Y/n)'s inside that thing...?"

Gladio lowered his hand. He desperately wanted (Y/n) back safe and sound. "Fine. What's your plan?"

She was grateful he listened to her. "All right. Listen closely..."

#ffxv #ffxv x reader #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv x reader #gladiolus amicitia #gladiolus x reader #gladio x reader

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Note

Criminal minds (could include Supernatural) Headcanons on how they would deal with the zombie apocalypse. The team after Elle left. Spencer x Reader. LOVE YOU

Ok, so I will be focusing on the ‘main’ team, because a. I haven’t watched far enough to meet the wonder that is Agent Alvez, and b. because I feel like I know these characters better. So, it’ll be Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, Garcia, Spencer and You! Plus, the origin story of discovering the virus.

Headcanon - Criminal Minds Zombie Apocalypse (feat. Spencer Reid x Reader)

So, first off, no one would know the zombie apocalypse was coming. I mean, no one ever does in these sort of scenarios, not really. In fact, the first inkling the BAU would get of the impending apocalypse is on a case.

A strange series of events had led to multiple victims dying overnight in Tampa, Florida (because of course this shit would start in Florida), and the team had been called in to try and give a profile. Multiple people have passed away peacefully after admitting themselves to hospital after being bitten, feeling nausea and light headedness before suddenly dying.

So, the team fly down on the jet, and you sleep on Spencer’s shoulder the whole way down because it’s an early start and you two are best buds, so of course he lets you sleep on his shoulder.

And Hotch is taking the awake team members through the information they have, which is not much at all. In fact, the only thing they really have going for them is the autopsy of several victims show the same set of human teeth had bitten into victims.

So, you all get there, at the hospital, and Garcia’s on the phone, spouting off rumours from reporters covering the case. And she’s like, sounding kind of scared? Reading these reports is freaking her out, and Hotch asks what’s bothering her as you all enter the hospital, the police department opting to meet the BAU there.

And Garcia’s like, “Oh, nothing sir... I’m freaking myself out over nothing. I just watched a few too many zombie movies over Halloween.”

And Morgan laughs, “What, you thinking we have a rogue zombie on our hands Garcia?”

You all have a giggle at it, and Hotch sends you, Spencer and Prentiss down to the morgue to examine the dead bodies while he, Rossi, JJ and Morgan interview the few surviving victims.

So you head down, and Spencer is suggesting that the team come to a movie night with him, a horror movie special on serial killers.

He’s still in the Halloween mood.

And before Prentiss can politely refuse, or politely you can excitedly agree, the elevator doors open and you are in the basement of this hospital.

The first thing that hits you is the smell.

Rotting flesh, blood, puss, all the things that collect and amount in the stench of death.

It’s so strong that you and Prentiss cover your noses and mouths with your tops. Spencer doesn’t, because he’s weird and doesn’t process the odour of death like a normal human.

You head out first, the lights overhead beginning to flicker.

The further you go in, the more aware of your gun you become. While the area around the elevator was fine, the place begins to look more and more like a slasher flick - the entire floor is trashed, medical carts toppled over, hospital beds haphazardly strewn across the corridors.

Prentiss and Reid follow behind, stopping when you do at the morgue door.

The morgue door with a window splattered in blood.

“Hotch, we’ve got a situation down here.” Prentiss would radio in, but silence in return. You were below ground, signal is patchy at best.

And out of nowhere would come a clatter, sending all three of you to raise your guns and aim. Spencer down the left hall, Prentiss the right, and you at the door.

“FBI!” You would yell, taking a second before opening the morgue door slowly.

The room looks like a bomb site, the coroner is slumped over by the operating table, blood pooling around her.

You rush in, holstering your gun and checking the woman for a pulse. Spencer would follow in, checking the room for the killer, but come up empty. You move your hand away, sighing as you seemed to have arrived too late.

But the doctor’s eyes open. Only, the entire eye is glazed over, like a glass eyes, and white liquid is running from the corners.

“Doctor are you-”

Before you could offer assistance, the doctor jumps on you with inhuman strength, pinning you to the ground and trying to bite you. Snarling, rabid, the doctor starts trying to claw your clothes off, get to skin.

And a gun shot rings out.

Reid stands a few feet away, the end of his gun smoking as the doctor slumps to your side, dead. Reid had shot her in the head.

Prentiss comes rushing in, and looks at the scene. You go to explain she was rabid, but Prentiss’ eyes are fearful, and she points to the body.

“Where’s the blood?”

The doctor wasn’t bleeding from her head. In fact, what began to slowly drip out of the bullet hole was a black ooze.

Reid pulls you to your feet, and the three of you decide the best next step is to get the fuck out of there.

Whether any of you meant to or not, you break into a jog, heading back towards the elevator. Low moans and growls come from behind doors surrounding you, and even though you wanted to stop, you teammates urged you to keep going.

Upon arriving at the elevator, you all hear a yell, and you snap your head towards it. Just down the hallway, a man who looks rather like one of your deceased had begun limping towards you, his pace picking up as Prentiss frantically pressed for the elevator.

The moment you saw the same glass eyes, you raised your gun and shot him in the head, the body slumping to the floor.

The elevator finally opened, and you clambered in with Spencer and Emily, all of you breathing heavy.

Spencer immediately turns you to face him and starts checking your visible skin.

“What are you doing?”

“Did she manage to break the skin when she attacked you?” He asks, moving down to your legs and checking your ankles.

“Spencer-”

“DID SHE?” He asked again, and you were taken aback. Reid had never shouted at you before, in all your time at the BAU.

“No.”

The three of you head upon to the quarantine floor, where the rest of the team are, the elevator doors opening to the sound of gunshots.

JJ and Rossi are stood back to back, firing at unknown targets, while Morgan and Hotch rushed towards the elevator with a few doctors and nurses following.

“JJ, ROSSI, LET’S MOVE!” Morgan yells, and after a few more shots the rest of the team are in the elevator with you and a few members of meidcal staff.

“What the fuck is going on?” JJ asks, finally catching her breath as the elevator heads to the ground floor.

“I think Garica was right.” Spencer says, his free hand clutching yours. “As improbable as it may be, I think we’re at point zero of the apocalypse.”

So, after the BAU discovered the virus, they all head back to Quantico, JJ making an emergency statement to all media outlets that a “contagious disease had been discovered in Florida, and everyone must stay in their homes.”

Of course, people didn’t listen. (wear your masks, people)

The virus spread like wildfire, and within a week, every single state had cases of infected.

At first, the BAU were asked to assist the CDC, just in case this was an attack of biological warfare in case there was an unsub to be found. A lot of people didn’t want to accept the truth that this was, quite simply...

Zombies.

Rossi demanded that the entire team and families move into his mansion/compound. It wasn’t an offer, it was an order, and he was fearing for the lives of his family.

The most important thing to point out in this scenario is that none of the BAU are dumb enough to get infected. These people were smart enough to loot the Quantico arsenal, get their ammo sorted, even bring along Garcia’s computer system to ensure peak performance from the team.

And for the first year, doomsday prepper Rossi with his tonnes of dried pasta in a back room and more amatriciana sauce than you thought possible would be feeding a family of eleven: JJ and Hotch brought along the family.

Morgan, Prentiss, and you would be geared up for 24/7 border defence. You were lucky to have a millionaire co-worker with a house behind a wall, because your perimeter patrol became a lot easier.

Barbed wire and everything.

Spencer became a doctor of infectious diseases in a month of reading, and began an effort to find a cure, with the help of Garcia, doctors across the globe, and video calls.

Hotch and JJ would be helping manage panic, corresponding with the White House until there was no reply, and trying to keep Henry and Jack oblivious to the whole thing.

But, eventually, food runs out.

After fourteen months in the compound, food had finally become scarce in the middle of winter, and the compound walls could only hold back a hoard for so long.

And, what’s more, the internet finally stopped fucking working.

After a month of deliberating and Rossi managing to make beans on toast taste like fine Italian dining, you finally had to move on from the home.

Reid’s contacts from the outside made clear that were three safe zones across the US, and that planes were taking survivors to uninfected countries after screenings.

At this point, North and Central America were near completely infected, along with large portions of Asia, Europe and Africa.

When the team finally goes on the move, it’s with the intention of getting to a safe zone and leaving, fast. Not only was there a need to save one another because of how close your work had brought you all,

But Jack and Henry deserved to live.

Out on the road, the teams works much like the BAU would have: Hotch is the de-facto leader with Rossi as his second. They were decision finalizers and motivators on harder days.

Spencer was the in-house expert on the disease and sat nav. His eidetic memory served well on remembering which routes to take and avoid, locating areas of low-zombie concentration, and spouting dinosaur facts to keep Jack and Henry happy.

JJ became the group mom, and Garcia the fun aunt. Despite the constant fear, the pair would always be there and ready to assist in times of emergency.

Will and Morgan were the brawn, focused on killing anything that moved, whether it be foe or food. Both more serious than the rest of the team, they realise the weight of the situation and are driven by the need to not let family die.

Prentiss is the lookout. More nimble than the rest of the team, and thoroughly capable with a gun, she spends a lot of time climbing trees, looking for possible hoards on their way, and spends a lot of time sat at the fire, hunkered over and burning wood until the fire brushes her fingers. She’s probably the most in denial about the whole thing, her logical mind can’t process it fully.

And you, you are the risk taker. When all was said and done, the one running into the fight armed with a machete and a need to save your friends was you. A part of you knows it might get you killed, but until you reached the safe zone, you were the team’s infantry, first line of defence, and you were killing zombies left right and fucking centre.

So, the first safe zone was in Illinois.

From Rossi’s house, it was about a month away. And as winter turned into spring, you finally reached the state.

Only to find the entire safe zone had been infected, and you were entering a zombie swarm.

Now, I’m not saying you are the stupidest out of the group, not by any means, but you 100% risked your own life too many fucking times in Illinois.

And, whether it was the beauty of zombie ooze spattered over your trousers or the look of certainty in your eyes as you were faced with an infected hungry for your flesh as you shot it point blank in the head, Spencer suddenly became very protective of you, his best friend.

Also, side note, the clothing. I feel like it would be pretty standard post-apocalyptic stuff, leather jackets and jeans and big boots (all of which Garcia would despise wearing and bedazzled whenever possible), but there is two looks that would top everything else:

One, Spencer would ditch the sweater vest and be rocking the dress shirt and leather jacket look. Stubble and hair mad and *drools*

Two, ROSSI IN A GILET

Also, bearded Hotch.

Back to you and Spencer though, his protectiveness over you would become a problem. The next safe zone is in New Mexico, and with another month and a half of you running off to kill zombies ahead of him, Spencer starts to get angry at you for being so reckless.

It’s only when the team managed to fill up a stationed pickup truck at a gas station and drive it halfway through Kansas before the battery died that Spencer reached his breaking point though.

As you all settled in a farm house for the evening, shocked to find food that wasn’t expired in the cupboards, and Rossi began cooking your first enjoyable meal in months, you decided to step out for some air, check that the neighbouring barn was still free of zombies.

You armed yourself with an axe, not expecting any danger, and headed out. Unbeknownst to you, Spencer followed. He knew it would be safer if her joined, just to make sure you didn’t get hurt.

So, here you are, with an axe in one hand and a torch in the other, walking over to the dilapidated barn that looks like something from a movie: big and red with white on the beams. You crack open the door, and whistle as you head in. It’s quiet, and you don’t like the quiet, but you knew you were safe. Will and Morgan had checked the barn an hour ago, and you really came out for a breath of manure filled air and a chance to process Illinois properly.

But then a hand grabbed your axe, throwing it to the far side of the barn, and you were pinned down by a rogue zombie.

This one was aged. Usually, you would find zombies freshly bitten or a few months into infection, but this guy? His flesh was almost completely gone from the right side of his face, the right eyes black instead of glazed over. So close to you, he reeked, every ragged breath he blew in your face made you want to vomit. His hand had closed around your throat, and you knew.

This is where you die.

You closed your eyes, just silently praying he killed you instead of changing you, when the weight disappeared from your neck and body. Your eyes snapped open, only to watch in horror as the zombie went after Spencer, who saved your life once more:

He took your axe and swung it straight into the zombie’s head, practically splitting the creature in two.

Without a word, he walked over and lifted you into his arms, carrying you back to the farmhouse, sitting you on the porch steps. He didn’t say anything, just sitting beside you, looking up at the stars.

“Why do you do this to me?” He would ask quietly, causing you to look over. His eyes are still on the stars.

“What do you mean Spence?”

“I don’t want to watch you die, Y/N.”

“Spence I-“

“No! I don’t get why every chance you get, you’re in the middle of danger! What am I meant to do when you get infected? Huh? Are you really going to make me kill you?! I love you, Y/N!” He would almost yell it, but before he goes on you would kiss him, shutting him up.

Inside, the team would hear everything, and as they tried their best to give you two privacy, Henry and Jack were having none of it.

“Auntie Y/N and Uncle Spencer kissed.” Henry would whisper after running to the window to spy on the pair of you.

“It’s about time.” Jack would mutter, slurping up a strand of spaghetti, causing the entire table to burst out in laughter. You and Spencer would return to the dinner table both a little flushed, Morgan wiggling eyebrows and Garcia trying her best to hold back giggles.

That night, as the pair of you sat with your family, all trying to escape and return to some form of normality, Spencer would take your hand. Only this time, it meant more.

Whatever lay ahead, you would face it together.

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #headcanon #zombie apocalypse #request #we love spencer reid

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