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bloodycassian · 3 years

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FIRE AND ICE PART ONE - Reader / Cassian / Azriel

Reader is in an intense relationship with Cassian. Will Azriel be the one to soothe her away from him?

This is a part of an ongoing series I will tag under # fire and ice on my page

The flying had been difficult over the middle, and required several stops to rest your wings. The now cursed mountain was putting off some terrible winds. Cassian - ever watchful - always called for the breaks, making sure to check in every few minutes over the roaring wind. When the hail came, he practically smothered you trying to protect your wings with his shield.

"I'm fine!" You shouted over the pelting, angling low and picking up speed. Hail was the worst condition to fly in. Snow was alright, Illyrian wings were built for it. But hail would weigh you down in a heartbeat. In Illyria Hail was known as the rain of death by many.

The small clearing you landed in was bordered by enormous boulders that led to a deep cave. You rushed inside, Cassian in tow. The pines swayed in the terse winds, hissing loudly outside. "We'll be here a while." You sighed, stretching your wings out behind you. They strained, sore and stiff from the last days of travel. You knew it would be worse by tomorrow without a warm bath to soothe them.

You thought about the mission - the reason you were here in the first place. The recon that Azriel was too busy to do. You wondered if it was really him wanting to be alone for a while with some peace and quiet in the house without having to hear you and Cassian arguing.

Your stomach rumbled, and Cassian got to work making the fire quickly.

"Have some." He set his bowl of porridge next to you, still steaming. You shook your head, sipping from your own serving. He didn't touch it again. Frustration budded in your stomach. He was babying you. You tried to stifle the shame, but it was unbearable to have him being so upfront about the protecting. His habits came from when you first met him. The flashbacks were unwelcome. They threw you back into being the animal you'd once been.

He knew the glare your face rested to. He recalled it with ease from the first time he'd met you. That angry bitter being that holed up in a cave just like the one you sat in now.

A skinny unclipped female held her sword steadily at her side. He stared with the same curiosity his brothers shared. She struck at Azriel's shadows, making them recoil. Rhys hummed in approval. "This may be good for both of us." He said in that swaggering way he used with all his potential allies.

Curiosity among panic gripped your features. And Cassian knew you were hooked on the idea of not having to scrap for food - or live in a cave anymore.

A roaring erupted from outside the cave. Cassian shot up, leaving your body exposed to the cold night air. His siphons summoned a vicious looking sword at his side. They were the only light source besides the coals of the small dying fire at your feet. They did not crackle. They only dimly glowed, and you knew they would be out by morning.

He listened, his ears straining to hear any sort of danger outside. "We shouldn't be here." He said, voice gruff. He relaxed slightly when the trickle of rain outside slowed. You watched his back slowly ease of tension. You wondered if you had both imagined the sound.

The night passed without another sound besides the coming and going of rain.

The next morning, you didnt bother stoking the fire. Cassian was already awake and geared up. Ready to leave. He stilled when he exited the cave. The empty area outside was covered in blood. Your stomach turned at the smell of it. Dark chunks coated the trunks of trees. "What did this?" You asked, noting how Cassian clutched the sword at his side.

"I dont know. You stay here, let me fly over first." His wings unfurled, and he made to take off. He tossed a siphon to you. He paused at the sound of it thumping against the forest floor.

"I can fly over too. Let's just go together." You flexed your wings, sighing at the first stretch of the day. There was a pop from behind you. Cassian's head whipped to the dark figure creeping up, far too swiftly to be anything natural.

He struck, gone from your vision in a second. His siphons were blinding. You pulled your sword out and readied for whatever threat he had attacked. He rolled with the impact against a dark tendon that spired from the forest directly at him. The other figure was coming stright at you. Far too quickly for you to bring your sword out against. You managed a kick at the snake's head, to no avail.

Then, it was pulling at you. Your legs went from under you. It drug you back to the dark forest, through the bloodied ground. The snake's maw gouged at your calves, and hissed at you as you kicked and struggled away. You scrambled for your dagger, driving it deep into the beasts' scaled side. It released. You kicked away, hands shaking. Adrenaline made things move slowly. then, Cassian was above you. His sword cut the squealing head of the dark serpent from its body. The other half of it lay in the clearing, its head sputtering and trying to regrow its body.

You didnt have time to recover. He hauled you from the forest floor, and took off. His shield broke through the boughs of trees, snapping entire branches and leaving an exit behind. The snake far below writhed and grew.

His shoulder to your middle squeezed the air from your lungs. You wheezed and tried to fight him off. The forest below you widened and grew smaller. The small red stain on the forest floor became incomprehensible against the green and tan of the scenery. He flew high, and fast. "You were almost a part of that bloody mess." He growled, not letting you go even though your wings stretched, aching to fly yourself.

"But I wasnt, let go." You bit out.

He didnt. He just held you tighter. Your adrenaline spiked further. "Let. Go." You growled, smacking his back between his wings. He shouted in pain and finally released you. "Do not go back there." His voice was sharp, commanding. As if he was speaking to an Illyrian solider. You stared him down. He knew that look. That long warning glare that you gave. He changed his tone. "We need to leave, call the mission a bust."

"One mis-step is going to make you abandon the entire mission?" You scoffed, banking far away from him. He was on your heels in an instant. "Azriel needs us." You eyed the cold black shadow that the snake was against the warm tones of the ground. Its dark blood left a stain behind. You wanted to end it. Cut it piece to piece was the only way it would truly die. With Cassian only beheading it, it would surely grow twice as large now. And terrorize others.

"You're right. He needs us alive." He called back, not letting you out of his wingspan.

Again, he stayed silent. "You're really going home because of this?"

"You are too. Let's go." He swooped lower than you, and grabbed your hand. You could tell it was supposed to be sweet - a gesture. But the anger flipped a switch inside you. You snapped your hand away from his and pulled high up into the air, far away from him. Still, he followed.

Rage ignited, fueling your belly with heat and venom that you spat at him. "You don't order me Cassian. I'm not An Illyrian rank." You desperately wanted to continue the mission. For Az, for Rhys, for your own pride. For Cassian to stop seeing you as a weak Illyrian who never got to stretch their wings.

"No, but I'd hope that you would leave with me. For me. I won't go without you." His voice was tender, and it made your heart weak. It made tears sting your eyes at how vulnerable he thought you were. The dismissal burned low in your gut. Replacing that fire that he had started. He held a hand out to you, the siphon atop it glowing brightly with power.

"Dont make me make you." His voice was soft, but laced with that threatening aura you'd only ever heard when he was talking battle plans with his brothers. Your blood boiled.

You didn't take it as you flew away, far ahead of him. You let the fury burn in your wings, enjoying the relief flying so fast brought to your coiled muscles. You arrived back home within half the time it had taken you to get to Autumn. You sighed at the relief of the cool familiar winds and smells of Velaris.

#reader x cassian #cassian x reader #azriel x reader #reader x azriel #acotar fic #az fic #cas fic #cassian fic #fire and ice fic

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seanbeansimp59 · 3 years

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Foreigner’s God

Pairing: Zeus x reader Type: S M U T. This is smut. 100% complete smut. Hold on to your butts. Summary: You meet a strange man on top of the Empire State Building who claims to be a god. Warnings: THERE IS SEX GUYS. I’M SERIOUS. Word Count: 3.5k

Notes: Okay, so this is my first time completing and publishing a smut fic, so I’m sorry if it’s a bit too something. I wrote this for @yerevasunclair just to get some Zeus thirst out of my system. I hope you enjoy!

Storm clouds rumbled high above the climbing towers of New York City, blotting out the stars. The air was electric, the night full of promise, and the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building seemed as good a place as any to watch the storm play out. Shoes thudding against the metal floor, I made my way to the edge of the platform, leaning on the railing to gaze across the sea of flickering lights as the din of honking cars floating up high into the sky. Just another night in New York City, I thought to myself.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The voice jerked me from my reverie, and I turned to see a man in a suit standing off to my left, watching the mayhem below us. I hadn’t even heard him come up on me.

“Chaotic, more like,” I replied, looking back to the city.

“Yes, but beautiful. Sometimes even the most disordered things can be simply magnificent.” His voice sounded like honey, deep and soothing, and I found myself to be quite intrigued.

“True enough,” I conceded with a smile. “Beautiful chaos—that’s New York for you.”

“You’re not from here, are you?” He turned his gaze to me, and I felt my knees weaken. His eyes bored into me with such intensity that my stomach turned a somersault. God I could get lost in his eyes, if only he’d let me.

“How do you know?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. “Call it intuition.”

“Intuition it is, then,” I chuckled. “You must tell me, who are you, oh wise and intuitive one?” It was more than a little teasing and I wondered how he would react.

This time, his lips split into a full grin and he took a step towards me. “Forgive me for failing to introduce myself. I am Zeus, king of the gods, lord of the lightning and storms above.” He took my hand in his big one and brought it delicately to his lips, sending shivers through my body. “At your service.”

“Zeus?” I was no stranger to Greek mythology, but I was loathe to believe them. They were fairytales, bedtime stories, light reading material even, but certainly not truth. Maybe his parents were odd and named him after a god, but that didn’t explain the rest of his introduction. King of the gods, lord of the lightning and storms above, he’d said. Why would someone introduce himself like that? I was skeptical, to say the least.

My hand still brushed against his mouth when he spoke. “Yes, I am Zeus. And you are?”

Gathering myself, I responded. “Y/n. I’m y/n, although I’m afraid I don’t have the grandiose title that you do. Where’d you come up with that anyway? Your parents Greek mythology nerds or something?”

To my surprise, he looked a bit offended. “My parents are Kronos and Rhea, makers of the Earth.”

I scanned his face, looking for the slight twitch of a smile or a twinkle in his eye to indicate he was joking, but to my shock, he was dead serious.

“So, you’re actually Zeus. Like, old guy with white hair, fathered Hercules, carries a lightning bolt Zeus.” I looked him over with a raise of my eyebrow. “No offense, but you don’t look like you’re several thousand years old.”

“You don’t believe me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “I mean you no offense, sir, but it’s a bit difficult to believe. Greek myths are, well, myths. They’re just some old Greek guys trying to come up with an explanation for how the world got here. I mean really, birthed from your father’s head? That’s not even remotely how anatomy works.” I smiled and withdrew my hand. “It’s a cool name and all, just forgive me if I’m not a believer.”

He cocked his head slightly and quirked his eyebrow. “Could I make you believe?”

That caught me off guard. I wasn’t certain what kind of drugs this guy was on, but he seemed deadset on convincing me, so I figured what the hell, I’d give him a shot. Didn’t hurt anything, right? Besides, his presence was positively intoxicating. For some reason, I felt like I couldn’t leave, even if I wanted to go.

“I mean, you can try?”

He perked up a bit and took my hand again, leading me to a different corner of the platform. His eyes seemed to spark with excitement, and he winked at me. “Watch this.”

I shrugged my shoulders and crossed my arms. If you’d told me that at exactly 11:14 pm this evening, I’d be standing on the Empire State Building with some Greek god wannabe as he tried to prove his godship, I would have laughed at you. However, at exactly 11:14 pm on this night, I was standing on the Empire State Building watching a guy named Zeus try to prove he could control the storm. Life is absolutely insane, I thought to myself with a chuckle. At least it was interesting.

He let go of my hand and turned to face the storm clouds, extending his hands to the skies. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and roared a single word into the blackness. “Hupakoé!”

Instantly, a loud clap of thunder shook the building, ringing in my ears and rumbling in my bones. I barely heard him shout again as another thunderclap shattered the air around me and a streak of lightning split the sky like a knife. “Entole, ouranós zóopoieó!” The clouds opened and rain began to pour forth, pelting the platform and leaving me soaked. Wind began to whistle through the metal grates, causing them to rattle and clatter in a terrifying racket. In the middle of the mayhem stood Zeus, head tilted back to the skies, rain washing over him, body seeming to pulse as lightning danced around him. He was alive and reveling in the power of this moment, and I was completely in awe, any and all doubts gone from my mind. This was Zeus, king of the gods, lord of the lightning and storms above, and I trembled before him.

“Pauó.”

The storm ceased its fury just as quickly as it had begun. The thunder growled lightly, and the lightning faded, the rain calming to a drizzle and the wind to a whisper. Wordlessly, he turned to me, his eyes slowly coming to meet mine as a smug smile crept over his face. A few steps brought him to stand before me, his hand cupping my face as he brushed the pad of his thumb over my rain-wet lips. “Do you believe me now?”

I couldn’t find the words to speak, so I simply nodded. His honeyed voice made me weak in the knees and his intense gaze made heat pool in my belly. I was putty in his hands, and he was fully aware.

“Who am I?” His voice was rough and husky, threatening to undo me.

I wet my lips and spoke, hearing my voice trembling. “You are Zeus, king of the gods, lord of the lightning and the storms above.”

“And as a god, am I not deserving of worship?”

My heartbeat sped up and my body began to throb at the meaning behind his words. “Only the most devout, my king.”

“Whose duty is it to worship, my dear?” His hand slid to my hair, tangling a bit among the dripping strands.

“It is the duty of the believer.”

Slowly, he leaned forward until his lips just barely brushed my own, his forehead pressing to mine as he closed his eyes.

“Then kneel.”

And so, I did.

His hand helped guide me to my knees, powerful fingers weaving into my hair as I knelt before him. With his other hand, he began to unfasten the buckle of his belt and I helped him undo its bindings. The pants of his suit were already tight around his bulge and I nuzzled my cheek against his hardness. Deftly, my fingers undid the button and the zipper, smiling when I heard the low growl bloom in his chest and felt it echo in my throbbing sex. He was magnificent, gazing at me with a look of fond adoration. He was a god I would gladly worship.

I hooked my thumbs under the waistband of his pants and pulled, bringing them below his bulge in a single movement. My heartbeat thrummed in my ears and pulsed in my veins as I ran a cupped hand over him through the light fabric before pulling his undergarments down alongside his pants.

“Like what you see, love?” His voice was a deep, breathy rumble against my ears and the hand in my hair pulled my head up to look into his eyes.

My eyes were wide as I met his gaze. “Like what I see?” I licked my lips and looked back at his erection. “I am in awe, my king.”

“Then show me, darling. Show your king how much you adore him.”

Soundlessly, I wet my lips, flicking my tongue out to taste the tip of his cock. It was velvet and salty, and the musk of his arousal flooded my senses. My eyes flitted up to his, and I began to pepper the head with little kisses and kitten licks, bringing soft noises of approval and pleasure from his lips. Pulling back, I spit into my palm, wrapping my fingers around his shaft and pumping him as I took the head of his cock into my mouth. His hand tightened again, clenching roughly as he whispered my name like a song. Quickly growing tired of my tenderness, his hips rutted forward into my mouth, but I pulled my head off, pressing a gentle kiss to his thigh.

“My king, should my worship not be slow and reverent?” I kissed his shaft, feather-light. “You are deserving of only the sweetest praise, yes?”

He growled lowly and nodded, loosening his grip on my head. “Slowly then, darling. Worship your king.”

Those words sent shivers all the way to my groin. Turning my attention back to him, I continued to work my hand on his shaft, twisting lightly as I moved. My tongue trailed up the underside of his length, laving a wide, wet path up his girth. His cock twitched as I came to rest on the tip, cupping it with my tongue, sliding back and forth ever so slowly before taking the length of him into my mouth. He replied in tandem, his hands flexing in my hair, murmuring little words of praise to me. “Y/n,” he crooned, tilting his head back in ecstasy as I bobbed my head, hollowing my cheeks around him and dragging my lips up and down his shaft.

With a little pop, I pulled him from my mouth, grinning up at him before diving down again, taking him hungrily into my throat and gagging slightly as I pushed him deeper. He gave a little cry of surprise and pleasure, a moan of “yes, that’s good” as I moved my head on him before pulling back, a thick strand of saliva hanging between my lips and his cock. Licking my lips, my gaze wandered up to meet his, half-lidded with unbearable lust.

“Up,” he commanded.

I rose so quickly I nearly fell, and no sooner had I stood than his hand was around my waist and his mouth was crashing against my own. Our hands were roaming frantically, over his back, up my shirt, into his hair, grabbing my breast. His teeth nipped at my lip and I whined, opening my mouth slightly to feel his tongue caressing my own. I never wanted to stop kissing him, tasting his lips, getting drunk on his mouth, but eventually he pulled back, leaving both of us panting for breath. Without hesitation, his mouth began to move down my neck, licking and kissing and nipping and sucking, and I felt him smiling at the noises that left my reddened lips.

“Zeus,” I breathed as he sucked a bruise against my skin. The name was a prayer on my lips, filthy and broken, but a prayer, nonetheless. For one night, I’d gladly be a pagan of old, down on my knees to worship this foreigner’s god, crying his name to the skies he controlled and singing his praise as he took my offering. And Hera be damned, she could have my soul if she wanted. Feeling those hands gripping my ass and his mouth biting sharply at my collarbones was enough to make me accept any punishment she would give. Zeus was mine for the moment, and it was my sacred duty to worship him with everything I was. He demanded a sacrifice, and I was all-too willing to fall upon his altar and offer my body to slake his need.

Powerful hands were sliding to the front of my body, dragging my pants down around my knees and practically tearing my panties to rest alongside them. A sharp breath caught in my throat as his fingers found my clit and then his mouth found mine again, fingers starting a lilting melody between my thighs. God, he was incredible, I thought hazily as he sucked on the tip of my tongue. He felt divine, his fingertips dancing over me for what felt like forever, but then he was pulling back, and his fingers were against my lips and I heard his voice commanding, “Suck.”

I obeyed, sucking them into my mouth and slicking them with my saliva, tongue sliding around them and licking them deviously as he watched me with piercing eyes. Once he was satisfied with their wetness, he pulled them from my lips and slid them between my legs, parting my soaking folds with ease.

“A little wet, are you love?” he questioned, rubbing the pad of his finger against my entrance.

“Soaked.”

Zeus chuckled wordlessly and quickly pressed two fingers into me, curling them slightly and smiling as my body arched. He built a steady rhythm, his free hand moving to work my clit again as he pumped his fingers into my heat. A third finger joined the first two, pressing against my walls, and I moaned aloud. I was a mess in his arms, shaking and whimpering as I clung to him for dear life, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“Zeus please!” I cried as he pressed his fingers deeper, curling and finding a sweet spot that made my legs buckle.

“Please what, little one?” His voice was hot against my ear, tickling it and leaving me squirming.

“I need you.”

He clicked his tongue lightly and his hands slowed. “You need me?”

My reply was more of a choked sob than anything coherent.

“I suppose you are ready now.” Deliberately, he pulled his fingers from me, and my stomach twisted with need as he brought his hand to his mouth and sucked my juices from his fingers. “You certainly taste ripe enough for a harvest.”

“Please,” I repeated, head too hazy to say anything else.

Laughing, he kissed my mouth lightly. “Very well then,” he growled, moving behind me and pressing the head of his cock against my dripping heat. “I am a merciful god-” his hands clutched my waist, “-and seeing as you’ve prayed so sweetly, I am happy to answer your pleas.”

With one fluid movement, he filled me. There was no place where I ended and he began, spreading me open and claiming my soul. My hands clenched and I cried his name, body electrified as he held inside of me. Slowly, he began to pump a steady rhythm into me, his hips rocking back and forth, and I was losing myself in the feeling of his cock inside me and his hands kneading my breasts and his mouth planting sloppy, wet kisses along my neck up to my ear. I’d never considered myself to be religious, but if this were the worship the gods demanded, I would gladly be a priestess.

Without warning, his hands gripped my hips and he turned me so that I was facing him, my leg slung around his waist. One hand slid to grasp the back of my neck, and he began to move again, rolling his hips into my heat, his eyes never leaving mine. His other hand eased between my legs, finding my swollen clit easily and beginning to rub it in time with his thrusts as my leg pulled him deeper each time. Electricity surged through my body, my eyes screwing shut as he wrenched cry after cry from my throat.

I never wanted to stop falling apart in the arms of this god. Every slam of his hips brought me closer, each rub of his thumb against my aching bud sending shocks of pleasure through my trembling body. Blindly, I grabbed his face and kissed him, feeling myself falling farther and faster, my hands digging into his hair, my cries muffled by his mouth. A rough snap of his hips and a fevered rub of his thumb against my clit and my head flew back as everything exploded inside of me, white-hot and searing as I screamed his name to the sky.

His thrusts became more erratic as my climax pulsed around him, his hands gripping my body tightly. A few more stuttered pumps and he was coming, hot seed rushing into me as he let out a wordless roar, a thunderclap matching him as he finished.

We stayed there for a moment, struggling to catch our respective breaths as his hands roamed over my skin, tracing little circles on my body. His eyes were half-closed, mouth barely grazing my neck, cock still twitching inside of me. Finally, with a heave he pulled himself from me, cupping my face with his hand and brushing the pad of his thumb, still sticky with my cum, across my cheek. “We should do this again sometime.”

“I think your wife will kill me,” I retorted, though I couldn’t ignore the thrill that raced through my body at his touch.

He chuckled and shook his head, drawing back. “She doesn’t find out unless I want her to. Trust me, you’ll be safe.”

If the myths were true, then there were plenty of women who had been killed or turned into something unnatural that begged to differ, but I let it go for the moment. “Well, like you said Mr. Intuition, I’m not from around here. I’m leaving this weekend.”

“Distance isn’t a problem. I’m the king of the gods, darling, I can find you.”

“Not creepy at all, Your Highness,” I chuckled. “Just, do consider the fact that I wouldn’t like to live the rest of my life as a cow, or a bear, or a weasel, or anything other than a human.”

He laughed aloud, leaving my stomach in knots. “Don’t worry, she won’t touch you. That’s my job.” And he winked—of course he winked.

“If you insist, my king.” I returned his gesture, pulling my pants back up and adjusting my hair. “I’m bound by nature to worship, so I haven’t really got a choice, have I?”

“Not really, but I’d prefer it be your choice. Submission is so much sweeter.” Quickly, he gathered himself, drawing his pants up again and straightening his shirt. “I’ve got to get going, love, but it’s been great. Keep your eyes open, I’ll see you around.” And without another word, the god of the skies turned from me and strode broadly across the platform, vanishing into the elevator.

I shook my head in disbelief. Did any of that really happen? A quick glance at my reflection in the window told me that he had indeed been there. Bruises and bite marks littered my skin, my hair was a mess, and my makeup was running from the rain and the sweat. Yes, it had all been real; every gasp, every thrust, every kiss, every scream was all completely real. I guess I would get to live with that now.

On shaky legs, I made my way to the elevator and pressed the button, waiting as it clanked its way down to me. I felt electrified and positively glorious, despite the lingering dread of Hera’s wrath. Right now, it didn’t matter. I felt alive in more ways than I knew possible. Zeus had claimed me for his own, even just for a matter of minutes, and the memory of his piercing gaze kept me locked in the high.

The elevator arrived and I stepped inside, seeing a man in a wheelchair sitting there already. Far from embarrassed, I dipped my head in greeting, standing across from him as the old machinery descended noisily down the shaft. When we finally reached the ground floor, I nearly danced out of the doors, sashaying across the lobby with a wide grin on my face. However, my reverie was interrupted by a sudden, blood-chilling thought, and I turned to face the elevator as recognition swept through me.

Zeus had taken the elevator up from the 102nd floor.

#sean bean #zeus #percy jackson and the lightning thief #and then ALONG CAME ZEUS #smut fic #can i tag that anymore?#will tumblr kill me?#s #m #u #t #zeus is a fuckboy #zeus is a dick #zeus is a dick with a nice dick #sean bean as zeus is the only valid answer

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siren1song · 4 years

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So ya know how I was feeling really angry yesterday? I wrote this to cope with that.

Taglist: @acanvasofabillionsuns, @emo-disaster, @greenninjagal-blog, @jungle321jungle, @sleepy-sides, @gattonero17, @izzynuggets, @another-sandersidesblog, @nonbinary-royaltea, @strawberryjellystuff, @hickory-dickory-doc-k, @remusownsmyuwus, @logic-with-a-pinch-of-deceit, @demidork84, @gr3ml1n-loser

Coming Unglued

Virgil didn't like getting angry. Hated what it did to him when he did get heated. Usually he tried to keep better control of himself and his emotions. Tried not to let his magic grab hold of his emotions and do whatever it pleased in response to them.

But occasions like this when someone was threatening the safety of someone he loved? He really couldn't care less. Didn't give a single damn that while storming into prison lightning seemed to arc off his heels with every lift of his foot. There wasn't a single fuck in him when he waved his hand at an attacking prison guard and a strong gust of wind threw him into the stone wall.

The thing about Virgil when he was angry, his storm magic was most prominent. Lightning and wind and rain were all at his fingertips when he was furious enough to lose his ability to care about hurting people.

He'd probably regret it later, but right now when he had a man wrongly imprisoned for crimes he didn't commit to save from slaughter the only thing Virgil regretted was not taking action sooner.

"Someone alert the ward!"

Virgil snarled, reaching a hand out towards the first guard that tried to run off and yanking backwards, wind following the action and forcing the man on his back. Before he could get back up, anger flared in his chest and lightning surged from the air and snapped against the man's chest, the smell of burnt flesh filling the air as the fabric of his clothes caught fire.

Another guard ran off, but before Virgil could stop him the other guards surrounded him.

"Stop! You're under ar-"

The guard who called the initial order to get the warden was cut off by Virgil throwing his hand in his direction and lightning shooting from his fingertips.

He stood his ground, though he screamed at the agony of the burning electricity enveloping him.

More guards approached him, and Virgil let out an angry growl as their own shadows shot to wrap around their ankles, making several come to a sudden stop and a few fall to their knees.

“He’s a dark mage!”

Virgil really isn’t. He’s just angry, and trying to get to the man he loved and get him out of prison just because he was accused of dark magic for being a scientist.

Logan didn’t even have any magic. Not like Virgil did.

A guard swung his sword at him, and he jerked back. Not fast enough though, there was still a cut going from his shoulder to his chest. Blood stained his clothes, cotton fabric soaking and clinging to his skin.

He let out an angry, pained scream and a gust of wind tangled with shadows burst from him, scattering the men surrounding him and sending them to the ground.

With everyone on the ground, some bleeding due to impact with his hardened shadows, others regaining their breath, Virgil took advantage of the distraction and continued his way into the prison.

The second he was inside, truly inside underground where the cells were, deafening silence crushed Virgil. His chest felt tight and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t let himself panic now. There was still a lover to get out of here.

“Logan?” Virgil called, his voice strained, shaking as he struggled to keep up his anger, keep the one thing that was preventing him from running out of steam, from feeling the pain in his shoulder, from panicking at the enclosing stone walls.

There was no answer. He was further in, and Virgil would have to go even further.

“Fuck everyone’s paranoia over magic,” he growled.

Though his voice was angry, his steps were uneven and lightning no longer arced off his feet.

Until he found Logan’s cell, and Logan was bruised and bloody and barely able to hold his head up when he called for him.

Virgil’s anger flared, but he tamped it down long enough to shape a shadow into a lockpick and start working on the cell door.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, Lo. I promise.”

“Oh, you promise, do you? Careful not to say things you can’t follow through on.”

Virgil stiffened, turning to face the prison warden and snarling when he saw the face of a man he had hated since childhood.

“Oh, Virgil! It’s you. I should have recognized the empty promise and reckless magic,” Nathim said, cruel smile twisting his face into something ugly.

“Nathim. You of all people know better than Logan being a mage,” he snarled, his anger mounting up into fury until his voice started doubling on itself.

The man sighed, pulling his arms from behind his back as he held a ball of dark light in his hand.

Virgil struggled to stay in place. Recognizing the ball as plague magic he’d used on his mother when Virgil refused to go with him. If that magic touched him or Logan they’d immediately collapse sick with the plague that Nathim was slowly unleashing on the town.

“Oh I know. I just… missed you I supposed. I figured I’d bring you by for a visit.”

Shooting to his feet, Virgil snarled. Lightning and wind and shadows started swirling around him, but when Logan let out a pained groan, he forced himself to calm down enough for his magic to pull away from him.

“That’s right, Virge. Calm down that magic you clearly still haven’t learned to control so you won’t hurt Logan.”

Nathim seemed to relish in Virgil’s struggle to restrain himself so he wouldn’t hurt his lover.

...That didn’t necessarily mean Virgil couldn’t do anything though.

“Why the hell have you popped up now? It’s been six years since your last pathetic attempt at getting me to join whatever rule the country plot you had cooked up,” Virgil asked, flexing his fists as he glared at the dark mage.

Nathim sighed, staring at the plague magic he held in his hand and playing with the ball of dark light.

“Like I said, I missed you Virgil. Surely you recognize how powerful you are? You could do great things with the kind of magic you have.”

Virgil scoffed, digging his nails into his palms to keep a tight control on his magic.

“And I told you when you first made that argument I don’t care. I’d rather live my life quietly, Nathim. Stop fucking that up.”

“Oh, I’m the one who’s ruining your dreams of a quiet life? You killed two men on your way in here, Virgil. If you even want to think about safety after that you’ll have to leave the town entirely, and even then I’m sure the king wouldn’t want such a dangerous magic user running free.”

Virgil inhaled sharply at that, the reminder of why he hated getting angry like frozen water running down his spine. His control on his magic wavered, but one look at the knowing grin on Nathim’s face ignited his rage again.

“Get fucked, Nate,” he snapped, and then a shadow he’d been working on strengthening and feeding lightning into during the whole conversation struck forward, shooting through Nathim’s chest.

The plague magic in his hand abruptly went out, and Virgil felt a sick satisfaction in seeing the surprise on Nathim’s face as he looked at the shadow.

Virgil’s shadows were never tangible enough to pierce through so much flesh and bone, at most they could do the damage of a dull blade. But he’d fed lightning into that one, so the sight of Nathim collapsing from electricity coursing through his insides was not a surprising one.

He wasn’t sure if Nathim was dead, but at the moment he didn’t care. Virgil just wanted to get Logan out of the cell and work on bringing him somewhere safe.

There was a healer his mom used to be friends with before she died. Virgil remembered playing with his son on their visits, and they lived just outside the kingdom. If he didn’t stop to rest, he might be able to make it to see Patton and his father in two or three days.

As Virgil got the cell door open and crouched next to Logan so he could pick him up carefully, he figured that one thing Nathim got right was that he would be on the run for a long time.

He didn’t care though. Not right now when he had to get Logan to the healer and make sure he was okay.

“Virgil?” Logan groaned, and Virgil shushed him, giving his lover a small smile.

“Get some sleep, Lo. I’ve gotta get you to a healer, we’ll be there in no time.”

Logan hummed and nestled himself into Virgil’s chest.

God he loved this man. Let’s just hope he’d still love him, when he finds out what Virgil did to get him out of there.

(If Virgil had the ability to look into the future, he’d see that Logan would never stop loving him, no matter what.)

#casper writes #ts virgil #ts logan #analogical #mentions of patton #magic au #virgil has storm and shadow magic #nathim is an oc pls dont tag him as deceit or a shorts character #ANYWAY HI IM PROUD OF THIS I THINK #i mean its got cliche bad guy tropes galore #but do i care? not at all #sldkufhgkdjrh

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whumpthisway · 4 years

Text

Mercy

Fae & fae hunter oneshot whump fic

This is a fanfic for ‘Cursed’, but it’s got two original characters and can be read without any knowledge of ‘Cursed’. Also, if you are watching ‘Cursed’, this has no spoilers for anything that happens after ep.1 :)

Link here to read this on AO3.

Warnings: Graphic violence, Stoning, Fear of death, Cracked rib, Discrimination and massacre of a fantasy race

As they’d attacked, some fae stood and fought and some scattered into the forests, into river boats, into the long grass or crops; running and hiding wherever they could.

Rodon stood gasping, the blood on his lips staining his teeth. The fae he’d killed was collapsed on her knees at his feet like she was begging him, her forehead to the floor. Rodon swallowed the blood in his mouth, blood from the fae’s arterial spray, and forced himself to move around her as the clamour of the fight went on around him.

A tall, lithe fae darted past, breaking from the cover of the fae’s huts and making for the woods at incredible pace. The male had hooves instead of feet, which sprayed up clods of earth as he disappeared into the trees. But Rodon was high on death and righteous revenge and he took off after the fae at a sprint, his bloody sword clenched tight in his fist and his Red Paladin robes flapping against his legs.

The fae ran like someone who knew the land, but Rodon had stamina born of stubborn determination. He had decided that every single fae would get what they deserved and God strike him down if he didn’t accomplish that.

The fae’s hooves made him faster by far than Rodon on hard ground, but the woods were slick with the previous night’s rain and the fae skidded with a panicked yell on the mud-covered ground. He stayed upright, just about, but it didn’t take much for Rodon to catch up with him.

With a cry of victory, Rodon threw himself forwards, snatching the collar of the fae’s green tunic and yanking him back hard enough that he heard the fabric tear at the same time the fae choked.

Slamming down on top of the fae to pin him, Rodon brought his sword up with both hands, only for the fae to kick out violently with a scream. The fae’s hoof hit Rodon’s thigh and skidded off, but Rodon saw white and yelled out at the sharp, awful agony of it. If the fae’s hoof had hit Rodon’s leg squarely, Rodon thought the force would’ve broken the bone. As it was, Rodon couldn’t move for the shocked pain of it and grabbed his thigh with a bitten back snarl.

The fae tried to scramble backwards and away from him but, fuelled by animalistic pain and fury, Rodon lurched forwards to grab the fae by his coiled braid and slammed him face-first into the rutted ground. He stayed out of the way of the fae’s kicking legs, his thigh throbbing, and brought his sword back, intending to drive it deep into the fae’s side.

But the fae twisted suddenly sideways and grabbed the sword blade with his bare hands.

“Stop!” he screamed, mud plastered to his cheek. “Please!” Blood ran down his arms in rivulets from where Rodon’s sword sliced into the fae’s palms and Rodon stared at him in shock, the fae’s wild, wide eyes staring back at him. No-one’d ever just grabbed the blade of his sword like that, like cutting up their hands was nothing.

Rodon yanked his sword back and the fae released it with a yelp, clutching their mangled hands to their chest as they stared up at Rodon, visibly shaking. Flexing his tight shoulders, Rodon tightened his grip on his sword and tensed.

But he never got the chance to stab it forwards. The fae’s uncanny brown-red eyes went unfocused and then something hit Rodon on the back, making him flinch.

Grunting, he whipped around fast enough to see a small stone drop to the ground. He could feel the slight ache in his shoulder where it’d landed, but scanning the low bracken, Rodon couldn’t see who’d thrown it.

He looked warily back at the fallen fae, but he was lying collapsed in the mud, staring at Rodon in shock or fear.

Another stone hit Rodon, this time in the back of the head.

“Fuck!” He lurched to look around him, but there was no-one. “Come out! Fucking cowardly fae scum!”

Rodon stilled, staring at the ground with his mouth open. A stone, larger this time, rose off the forest floor right in front of him.

“No,” Rodon muttered.

The stone shot towards him and hit him in the stomach hard enough to make him stagger backwards. More stones and rocks and pebbles started to rise and Rodon cried out as they pelted him, trying to cover his head.

“Stop!” he turned to yell at the fae. “Stop it!”

A big stone his jaw and he coughed on blood, another striking his knee and he folded to the floor, arms clamped around his head as stones and rocks hit him like a swung mallet, the jagged ones cutting like arrowheads.

“STOP!” His sword had fallen out of his hands and he pressed his head between his knees. A fist-sized stone thwacked into his side and his rib audibly cracked, before the sound of the rocks hitting him was drowned out by his screaming.

The pain put Rodon close to unconsciousness, so that it was a while before he heard the soft, “No, no, no,” being repeated between sobs somewhere nearby.

Stones were no longer hitting him, he realised dizzily, gasped out a groan of pain before he tried to lift himself up to kneeling.

The pain in his side and his head and every inch of him made him retch, and he braced one arm on the ground to stay upright, the other arm curled protectively around his ribs. Lifting his head, he found the fae close by and he tensed, looking around for his sword.

But the fae wasn’t even aware of him, but had his head in his hands as he rocked back and forth, chanting, “No,” over and over, like a mantra or a plea.

Rodon still wanted his sword in his hand and he tried to reach for it, only for a groan to spill out of him at the horrific pain in his side and chest.

The fae’s head shot up and Rodon froze. They stared at each other.

“You could’ve killed me,” Rodon’s voice cracked, his lips with tacky with blood; his own this time.

“I’m sorry!” the fae blurted. He was shaking violently, and didn’t look older than twenty. Just a youth, a youth with hellish ocre eyes, the Devil’s hooves in place of human feet, and the power to stone a man to death with his mind.

But he hadn’t. He’d stopped before Rodon had been killed and Rodon didn’t understand it. The fae were evil. They killed for the love of it, they killed over the smallest slight, and they wilfully killed innocents. They were enemies of men and of God. This fae may be a youth, but fae were born with a bloodthirst like that of wolves. So then, why wasn’t Rodon dead?

“You were going to k-kill me,” the fae choked out. Rodon stared at the fae, his arm curled around his side and his shallow breaths making him flinch on every inhale. “You burned all our homes, y- you’re killing us.”

“You deserve it,” Rodon snarled.

Every stone around Rodon rose six inches into the air, and Rodon’s skin turned to ice as he threw his arms over his head, screwing his eyes shut as he braced for pain, more pain.

“We haven’t done anything wrong,” the fae sounded shaky but certain and very slowly, Rodon lifted his head.

The stones sank slowly down again as the fae buried his head in his elbow and cried. This time when Rodon went slowly for his sword, the fae didn’t notice, even as Rodon hissed in pain.

It was only when he staggered unsteadily to his feet that the fae looked up and his eyes went large. His lips were parted but he couldn’t seem to speak as he stared up at Rodon. Rodon’s sword was in his hand, and there was a fae lad, weak and defenceless in front of him, and yet Rodon did nothing. He couldn’t make himself raise his sword arm. Why had the fae spared him? Why?

“Did you run out of, of magic? Of power?”

The fae squinted in confusion. “What-?”

Rodon glared at him, his sword shifting at his side. “Why didn’t you kill me?” he demanded. “Did the magic exhaust you, is that it, boy?”

The fae’s shock and fear slid into a frown. Rodon flinched as the stones lifted again, every single one in a fifty yard radius or more, and Rodon swallowed thickly. Clearly the fae’s powers weren’t exhausted at all.

“Why then?” Rodon croaked.

The stones dropped with a thud that Rodon felt through his boots. The fae shrugged and was silent.

A distant shout from behind them, back towards the fae village, made Rodon start and the fae jolt and jump up. Though he was young, he was taller than Rodon when standing and Rodon leaned warily back.

“Tell me why!” he snapped. “You’re weak, that’s it? You’re sick at the sight of blood?” A fae who couldn’t stand blood? It made no sense.

The fae backed up a step, and then another, his gaze moving behind Rodon. Rodon glanced around and saw the familiar red of his Paladin brothers’ robes. For once, he didn’t welcome their arrival.

The fae’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I… didn’t want to kill anyone,” he whispered, before he turned and ran.

Maybe it was pain, his cracked rib, but this time Rodon just watched him go. The fae cut through the bracken and disappear deeper into the woods, heading south, and he felt uncertainty for the first time since his two younger brothers had been killed. The young fae had taken mercy on him when he could so easily have stoned Rodon to death.

By the time his Paladin brothers pulled up close to him, pain had driven Rodon to his knees and the fae was far gone.

“Which way’d it go?” one demanded of him.

Rodon raised his arm to the north and watched his brothers ride hard after a fae that’d gone in the opposite direction.

As he rode away on a borrowed horse, Rodon didn’t allow himself to look back, as if he could put what’d happened out of his mind for good. But his injuries throbbed in time with his heart, and Rodon knew that he now owed a life debt to the fae, and he wouldn’t be able to forget that.

hope u liked, lmk what you thought! :D

#whump #cursed fanfic #cursed 2020 #cursed netflix #fic #mine #violence tw #stoning tw #stoned tw #fear of death tw #magical whump #magic whump #fae whump #fae #nonhuman whump

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kingspavvn · 4 years

Text

* sinclair / @enpcssant !

THINLY-VEILED RAGE ALL but simmers off of zaiden’s tall , rigid frame in boiling waves , thick with a self-inflicted fury that remains almost palpable in the air ; the brooding clouds hanging heavily upon his shoulders are all but smothering as the death dealer flexes his leather-gloved hands at his sides. the ambient sounds of new york city -- from the shrill screech of tires scraping against the asphalt to the muted skittering of rat’s claws against the dingy sides of the numerous trashcans littering the pavement -- feel far more deafening than ever , booming through his ear drums & burrowing into his chest until the assault of sensations leaves him growling in frustration. ❝ dammit , ❞ zaiden curses loudly without warning , lashing out suddenly to drive a booted foot into one of the metal canisters ; the trashcan is sent hurtling through the narrow alleyway , clattering loudly as garbage scatters in the humid breeze sweeping past the pair. the volatility bubbling just beneath the paper-thin surface is white-hot , causing zaiden’s fists to shake angrily at his sides as a frustrated snarl rips from his throat.

while the naked eye may easily misconstrue the vampire’s sudden fury as nothing short of misdirected rage , someone as attuned to zaiden’s mannerisms as sinclair can easily see through the delicate facade that is cracking so rapidly at the edges. the anger he feels is nothing short of a dangerous, self-destructive product of aleksander’s disappointment. centuries of being the elder vampire’s right hand weapon had morphed zaiden into less of a human & more into an extension of his iron-fisted rule. his personhood had been destroyed over six hundred years ago and in its place existed a hollow shell of a man , a creature that existed as nothing more than a loaded gun expected to carry out the will of the powers above him -- and even so , zaiden had failed. failure tasted bitter on his tongue , forcing him to fight back the sudden urge to retch & gag as it chokes what little divinity is left in his veins.

he swallows back the bile rising in his throat , effectively silencing the frustrated growl that is sure to swallow ; zaiden doesn’t dare look back , doesn’t bother to make eye contact with his work partner. he’s being painfully avoidant , hissing a string of german swears under his breath as he angrily kicks the metal lid where it is on the ground. he goes still only when there’s nothing else at his feet -- and as motionless seizes his limbs , the first few flecks of rain begin to fall from the sky. within seconds , the sky begins to weep as a thick sheet of rain finally comes, battering down upon the pair. zaiden doesn’t bother moving , allowing the rainwater to leave dark locks slick against his forehead & seeps deep into his bones. he swallows again , adam’s apple bobbing as he does.

❝ i lost the scent. ❞ he sounds tired , boneless , defeated -- and suddenly , all the rage within him falls silent as his shoulders sag. he feels pathetic , useless -- like nothing he does meets the expectations thrust upon him. zaiden refuses to look at him , to look into clair’s eyes to see what may be reflected back at him. instead , he grits his teeth in an attempt at biting back the sensation of heated frustration that creeps through him. ❝ goddammit -- can i do fucking anything right ? ❞ the pain that tears through the anger in his voice forces his words to waver -- and for the first time in what feels like an eternity , zaiden feels himself ready to shatter.

#( iii. ) int. / wolves come out of the woodwork.#( iv. ) start. / leaches come from out of the dark.#owo!

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sylvanfreckles · 4 years

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For the Greater Good (Whumptober 2020)

Day nine, a little short and a little weird. Trying to get back on schedule after a difficult week.

Summary: “And it’s my job to protect you! So would you stop trying to throw your life away and just let me?”

* * *

“Down!” Dean shoved Sam to the ground and opened fire on the mercenaries that came around the corner.

Sam half-crawled into cover, tugging the control panel for the complex's electrical system with him. “Once the timer is set we're gonna have thirty seconds to clear the building,” he called over his shoulder.

It should have been an easy task. Break into high-security building, rescue captive humans, destroy computer systems. These guys were hunters gone rogue, taking in runaways under the pretense of giving them a home and a purpose only to experiment on them with monster DNA. Trying to create the perfect soldier.

But they'd gone too far. Most the kids hadn't survived the experiment, and the few they could save were outside with Cas as the angel tried to stabilize them. Now that they had been found out, the rogue hunters and their mercenaries were scrambling to evacuate as much of the equipment and data as they could. They had one shot to destroy the whole thing before these guys started over somewhere else.

Jack slid across the floor, face covered in soot and dirt. “I connected the tanks like you said,” he told Sam, a little breathlessly.

“Great,” Sam tried to smile, but had to focus on the wiring work in front of him. He had to set it up to detonate remotely so they wouldn't be caught in the blast, but they couldn't give it much time or the mercenaries might disable the detonator.

“Phone!” Sam called, snagging Dean's phone out of the air almost on reflex. He stripped off the back cover and connected wires between the battery port and headphone jack, which would cause the spark they needed to set off the timer. “That's it, let's go!”

Sam tugged Jack to his feet and bolted for the door, one hand on the kid's back to keep him doubled over. Dean was behind them, still covering them, taking potshots at anyone who stuck their head around a doorway. “Come on!” He snagged Jack's arm and tugged him along, sprinting down the rough corridor to the set of stairs. “When you setting it off?”

“Next landing,” Sam panted behind him. They'd been doing way too much running today. “Then we have thirty seconds to-”

“To get outside, yeah, I know,” Dean shot back. “All right, move it, come on,” he paused on the landing, shoving Jack ahead of them down the hall a little way. “Sammy?”

Sam nodded and dialed Dean's phone. He waited, knowing the first ring would signal the connection to the bomb...but the call went straight to voicemail. He stared at his brother in shock, then redialed.

“What's wrong?” Jack asked.

“I-I dunno,” Sam shook the phone, as though that would help the connection. “It's not going through.”

Dean swore and dug his fingers into his hair. Jack, face serene, squeezed between them to head back down the stairs. “I'll take care of it.”

“The hell you will,” Dean snapped, yanking the kid back. “What are you talking about?”

Jack stared up at him with wide, sad eyes. “I have a lot to make up for.”

“No, Jack, we'll figure something else out,” Sam replied. “We have the grenade launcher, right?”

“There isn't enough time,” Jack said. “It's all right, Sam. This is all right.”

“This isn't how we settle things,” Dean announced. He held up his fist, cocking an eyebrow at Sam.

“Dude, no, we are not gonna rock-paper-scissors for who sets off the bomb!”

“We don't have time to draw straws, Sammy!” Dean shook his head. “It's only fair.

Sam stared in disbelief, but Jack held a fist out like Dean. “It's only fair,” he repeated.

Dean smiled and rested his free hand on Jack's shoulder...then struck him in the face with his closed fist so that the kid went down like a sack of bricks.

“Dean!” Sam caught Jack on the way down, hefting the kid up, dismayed to see his nose already gushing blood.

“No time, Sammy,” Dean rested one hand on Sam's arm briefly. “Get him out of here.”

“Dean!” Sam could only stare as his brother pelted back down the stairs, into the hail of gunfire, to activate the detonator himself. He wouldn't be able to get out in time, he'd go down with the building itself. Tears were already filling Sam's eyes as he hoisted Jack over his shoulder and sprinted down the long hall to the emergency exit, where Cas had taken all the captives out.

The sun was incongruously bright for the tragedy that was about to unfold. Sam stumbled into the light, bending over his knees to drop Jack onto the ground.

“Sam?” Cas was at his side in an instant, holding him up, staring between Sam and Jack in bewilderment. “What happened? Where's Dean?”

“He's...” Sam gestured to the building behind him. He couldn't get the words out, couldn't say it. Dean had stayed behind, had thrown himself down on the line so the rest of them could escape.

Cas stared down the long hall, as still as a stone. “Dean,” he growled out, and Sam looked up in surprised to see that there was fury rather than grief contorting the angel's face.

Then Cas was gone, a swirl of trench coat vanishing down the corridor into the heart of the building.

* * *

Dean ducked from cover to cover down the hall, picking off a couple of the gunmen who had followed them toward the exit. Maybe he didn't have Sammy's technical proficiency, but he could twist a couple of wires together and duck for cover. This wasn't how he'd wanted it to end—he'd been thinking cold beer and warm sand—but some of those kids hadn't even been sixteen yet. If he had to go out like this, taking the sons of bitches that were torturing and killing children wasn't a bad way to do it.

He rolled through the doorway to the control room, rising up to one knee to fire into the men gathered around Sam's detonation device. They disconnected the phone, and now he saw the timer Sam had rigged up on the floor as well.

Okay. No time to duck for cover.

“Dean!”

“Get out of here, Cas!” he bellowed as he dove for the wires. Sure, the explosion probably wouldn't harm an angel, but digging back out of the rubble would be a bitch.

He grabbed the detonation wires, kicked another man in the face, and curled around himself as he touched the wires together. Deeper in the building, the giant nitrogen tanks that kept the monsters in stasis began to blow, one after the other. The floor was shaking beneath him and the men were yelling and running in panic, but he knew there was no more time.

Dean had to wonder if Billie had seen this one coming.

Then, suddenly, Cas was bending over him, pulling Dean up and against his own body, tucking the hunter's head beneath his chin. There was a shimmer in the air around them, and the half-visible shadows of giant, skeletal wings arched out and above and around them.

He stared up, eyes wide, as plaster and beams rained down while the walls and ceiling collapsed, only to be repelled within an inch of the faint barrier above them. Cas was holding him with almost bruising strength, surrounding him with physical and metaphysical protection.

Dean held on as the building shook itself apart, unable to tear his eyes from the shadowy arches of Cas's wings. They looked ragged and twisted, but in that moment in the shelter of his best friend's wings he had never felt more protected.

“Cas?” he whispered, almost reverent, as the debris piled up around them, leaving an small pocket of air were Cas's wings were sheltering them.

Cas made a low sound in his throat that was almost a growl. Then, with a flex of his mangled wings the rubble around them exploded outward like they were the epicenter of another bomb. Fallen beams and machinery had twisted into impossible shapes due to the angel's power, fires had been blown out in an instant, and all around them was the eerie silence of the earth after a thunderstorm.

Their clothes weren't even dusty.

Dean tried to push away from Cas so he could stand up, but the angel merely tightened his grip. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” Cas ground out.

“What?” He tried to look up at his friend, but Cas still had him tucked in so tightly he couldn't see more than the angel's collarbone. “You know we had to blow this place, Cas.”

“But why you?”

Dean snorted. “Did you think I was gonna let the kid do it?”

“Why didn't you wait for me?”

Further arguments died on Dean's tongue. Cas's voice was still tight with anger, his body practically vibrating with rage. “We were running out of time,” he managed to protest weakly.

“I would have been fast enough to detonate the explosives, and I would not have been harmed when the building collapsed,” Cas replied. This close Dean could feel the angel's shaky inhale, and he realized that Cas wasn't furious...he was distressed.

“I wasn't thinking, man, I'm sorry,” Dean gently patted at one of Cas's arms. “I just had to stop Jack before he threw his life away. I just...it's my job, right? Gotta protect Jack and Sammy, and...and those kids.”

“And it's my job to protect you!” Cas said, pulling away from Dean to look him in the eye. “So would you stop trying to throw your life away and just let me?”

There were tears in Cas's eyes. Dean rested one hand on his friend's shoulder but just couldn't find the words to say. “I don't....” He closed his eyes and lowered his head, unable to look at the pain in Cas's face any longer. “I'll try,” Dean finally offered weakly.

Cas's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. “Thank you.”

#Whumptober 2020 #no 9 #for the greater good #run!#supernatural #fic #fanfic #explosions #angst #castiel and dean #whumptober2020

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scarlettswxtch · 5 years

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Darkest Side of Me | 2

Characters: Bucky x Reader / Steve x Reader

Summary: You’re recruited as a new Avenger with powers unlike any other. With a tragic past blurred from birth, who will be at your side when you realise who you truly are?

Word count: 2,400

A/N: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL POST. Lol. So sorry to anyone who wondered what happened but please let me know if you enjoy the Bucky and Steve thing or if you’d prefer a Bucky x Reader only fic. I apologise for any spelling mistakes in advance.

On another note, I’m terrible at summaries 😬. It’s changed from my first one if you remember it, just felt like it didn’t describe it well enough. Hope you guys enjoy anyway!! (P.S. I’m SUPER sorry for the late posting I’ve been so busy). Message me if you’d like to be on the tag list :)

Warnings: This fanfiction is M Rated, and the men (really only Steve and Bucky) will all be dominant guys, if you’re into that sorta thing. So..beware cause some chapters may be smutty ;)

DARKEST SIDE OF ME

PART 1

You woke as the sun rises like a canopy of gold, bright amid the blue, bidding the stars to take their nightly rest. As darkness surrenders, every colour changes from tinges of charcoal to a vibrancy.

A third cup of coffee was now nestled perfectly into your hands as you stood outside the compound’s kitchen balcony. The avenger’s facility was truly impeccable with its finely trimmed grass fields and blue coastal views. When you had returned from your encounter with Bucky, you sat in bed restlessly, wondering what was so magnetic about him. After millennia of being alive, encountering countless beings, human and alien alike, none of them had made you feel such a strong state of wonder as that damned soldier. There was something about him - his gaze, how it so daringly held yours, the way his presence could make your heart skip, mind wonder. It was ridiculous. He was a stranger you had met merely 24 hours ago. Yet, it was intriguing, made you want to know more. It was seldom someone made you feel this way and you wondered what the fates were trying to tell you.

You closed your eyes to the lullaby of the ocean, breathing in its poignant salty breath, sighing in silent content. Quiet mornings were your most cherished part of the day.

“Mornin’.” You hear behind you. Startled, you whirl around and almost spill your coffee everywhere. A splash of it lands on the floor and thankfully not on you. You’d think a goddess would have a little more grace than this, you think to yourself and scowl at the now brown spot on an otherwise perfectly pristine floor.

Your eyes turn to meet a lovely pair of wonderfully azure orbs now shining with amusement. You gather yourself, your scowl deepening...which apparently only adds to his amusement because he chuckles.

“Good morning, Captain.” You say, unimpressed with his humour. Inner you squealed at his sudden presence. Steve Rodgers was like a GQ model with all the charm in the world.

He sauntered over to your side, keeping a friendly, and (unfortunately) professional distance. “How you settling in?” He says, his eyes level to yours.

You didn’t miss his loose grey t-shirt, which quite frankly did nothing to hide his very obvious god-like build. The muscles of his biceps flexed with every slight movement and damn if you didn’t want to reach out and take your time tracing each ridge with your fingertips. Maybe even your tongue. You wouldn’t be opposed to either. Jesus Christ this guy was hot.

Your eyes snapped to his. If he noticed you checking him out, he gratefully didn’t show it. Although, you assumed he was used to swooning women. “Fine,” you said, your voice holding a hint of hoarseness that he didn’t miss. “Might take a little getting used to, but everyone seems great” you finished, with a smile.

Steve nodded and gave you a smile of his own. “Yeah it can be tough, first coupla days”.

“The whole welcome committee made me feel more at ease”

“Yeah, you stick around long enough they’ll start to feel like family” he said sympathetically, correctly guessing family was a sore spot for you.

Your eyes turned to him, unsurprised “You read my file.”

“Always do my homework on new recruits” he explained “Fury runs files through us before approval...it’s not often someone gets recommended for the team. When Fury found out about you, and what you could do, he wanted you on board ASAP. We didn’t protest.”

You raised a brow “So I got the Tony and Cap stamp of approval? I’m flattered”

He grins “No doubt your file is quite impressive, the team could definitely use someone like you on our side. Thor didn’t seem thrilled with the idea the idea, though. He protested to say the least.”

You chuckled, but there was nothing but bitterness behind it “Yes. I can imagine” He raised a brow and you looked away from him in memory. It didn’t go unnoticed that he wasn’t part of your welcome party last night. Odin disliked you for reasons unbeknownst - Thor and you were the best of friends, once upon a time. He took pity on you, swearing to convince his father to allow you refuge on Asgard. Days later, he returned with a wary look on his face, claiming to know ‘who you really are’. You never saw him again.

“Long story,” You told Steve.

His hand gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze and his next words were said like velvet, “If you ever need to talk, I have all the time in the world. Literally,” you appreciated Steve, he was like a beacon of safety and warmth. The kinda guy that would take your deepest, darkest secrets to the grave because he promised.

You smiled at him warmly. It was unlikely you’d take him up on that, but you were grateful for his sincerity. “I’ll keep that in mind” He simply nods in response.

Moments later, he sighs loudly before downing all his coffee, placing the cup on the table beside him and turning to you with a mischievous look in his eyes. “Wanna spar?” He asks, both hands on hips and lips tipped up in challenge. You raise a surprised eyebrow and he grins “What? Scared you’ll lose?”

You chuckle, appreciating the change of topic. “I see you didn’t do all your homework on me, Captain” you say, placing your unfinished coffee on the table. You levelled his challenging gaze with your own, “Both know I could beat you with my eyes closed” you retort, teasingly, and he smiles with wonderful curiosity.

“I did read your file. Thoroughly” he retorts, stepping closer to you. You suddenly felt very small against his ridiculously tall frame. “You’re enhanced. Healing powers, fast reflexes, better than any Soviet-trained assassin according to SHIELD” he stopped with pointed humour “although I’m sure Bucky and Natasha will contest that”, that made you scoff. “Besides, new recruits need training”

“I’m impressed. Although I think you’ll find your time as a popsicle has nothing on my literal thousand-year-old experience.” You said with a grin

“Oh, so that’s how we’re playing it?” He asked with a hearty laugh and right then you were certain no galaxy in the world could show you anything more pleasant.

“Hey, you started it Cap, I’m known for my retribution”

“I’m sure you’ll go easy on me” he adds.

You gave him a smirk “No promises”

~~~

“You okay down there, Cap?” You say, your voice trembling with humour.

Steve Rodgers looks up at you from the hard floor of the training room. Salty droplets flow down his face like soft summer rain, dripping onto the concrete as he sits to regain his breath.

He lets out a huffed breath and repeats your earlier words “I’m impressed”

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, eyes shining with obvious pride. You had just taken down the world’s favourite golden boy with nothing but a few fight moves. Needless to say, Cap had some good moves of his own and had almost got you down a few times. Then again, you are of a completely superior alien race, so you’d give him some credit.

“Well, not like Fury to employ any average gal- “you began, before a strong hand wrapped around your ankle and you were suddenly falling down, moments away from head butting the floor before strong hands wrapped around your waist, guiding you to land quite snug on Steve’s lap.

He gave you an amused look “You were saying?” Suddenly, you were very aware of his warm hands against your waist and you couldn’t think of a better feeling.

Actually...maybe you could...because right now your hands were resting on his chest and holy hell does it feel nice. All you wanted to do was rip off his shirt and set it ablaze. In fact, you wanted to march to his room and set all of his shirts ablaze. It would be a blessing to all humankind to watch Steve Rodgers walk around shirtless, all the time...24/7...would definitely add years onto someone’s life. Especially if they had their hands on him, just like this.

He squeezes you as if you gain your attention, his eyes twinkling with amusement because he had very obviously caught you checking out his chest. You blinked, sure enough your cheeks were now stained pink. Thank god mind reading wasn’t on his resume.

You cleared your throat “You distracted me, that’s cheating. Besides, I’m not using any of my abilities on you. Fair game and everything” you finish with a smirk.

“Thought you weren’t going easy on me?” He said teasingly.

“You could’ve let me fall and you didn’t.”

He grins “Yeah, I had a good reason”.

You raised a brow “And what would that be?”

You feel his hands softly squeeze your bare waist and your breath hitches. “Didn’t wanna ruin that pretty face of yours, darlin’” he says, and inner you sighs in upmost content. Well...damn. Safe to say Captain America could charm anyone’s pants off. You were just happy this time they were yours. His hands move lower, thumb now drawing circles against your back and you feel your mind wonder to places it shouldn’t. Gosh his eyes are nice, and you’d be damned if his face wasn’t even more beautiful up close. You were dazed, and if you weren’t mistaken, so was he because his eyes glazed over with a very familiar look of lust. Perhaps if you just leaned a little clo-

“Well don’t you two look cosy” you hear from the doorway and your head whips around to meet an icy cold stare. Bucky Barnes. What terrible timing.

You promptly lift yourself off Steve, almost giving yourself whiplash, hand shooting out to hold the bars of the ring. You clear your throat. “We were just sparring” you explain, and frown to yourself. Why did you feel the urge to justify yourself to this man?

He lifted an eyebrow “If that’s how you spar, doll, you’ll have the whole house lining up for a piece of that”

Your eyes narrow. Did he just -. Your mouth opens, but before you can reply he cuts you off: “Stark wants us at the conference room in 5. So, when you two love-birds are done ‘sparring’” he says, pointedly air-quoting the last word and your eyes narrow further “we’ll be waiting for you”. And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves.

You turned to Steve and your look of disbelief must’ve been evident on your face because he chuckles as he lifts himself off the floor. “Don’t mind him, he’s always grumpy.” He walks out of the ring, suddenly turning to you all Captain America like as if he didn’t just have you on his lap 2 minutes ago. “Get cleaned up”, he throws a towel at you “I’ll see you in the conference room in 3” and with that, he leaves, and you’re left wondering if all super soldiers are this perplexing.

~~~

The conference room was nice to say the least. Tony Stark did nothing half-way. You were watching him with all his authority and confidence, but your thoughts were a million miles away. Cap sat at the head of the table and you could see his lips form words your mind wasn’t quite registering. Probably not a great idea considering this was your first mission debriefing. Your thoughts were in fact on the man opposite you. His metal hand tapping restlessly on the table, you could tell he was paying as much attention as you were. You tilted your head in silent wonder and observed him with careful consideration. If the hard line on his lips and slight frown were anything to go by, something was bothering him, and you could tell.

He doesn’t look any less gorgeous when he’s annoyed, by the way. If anything, it added to the masculinity of his features; hard jaw clenching deliciously, eyes miraculously darker, that perpetual murderous look in his face magnetised by a million. Jesus Christ you felt like a teenager. Why are these stupid, gorgeous super soldiers taking up all your damned thoughts?

You didn’t know what it was about Steve either. His in-your-face all-star golden boy beauty was fucking gut wrenching. He was sweet, ever-so welcoming, he joked, had this calm, comforting aura that made you feel warm and lovely. Like you knew him all your life - as if he were your long-lost best friend your soul wanted to hold onto with every ounce of her being. Your eyes flickered to him and you watched as his mouth made yet more unheard words. Your interaction earlier had been unprecedented. Sure, you were attracted to him, but who wasn’t? Steve Rodgers is Adonis embodied and every woman knew it. He was blinding and warm like the sun.

And Bucky...he was different. The complete paradox of Steve. Bloody beautiful in all the rough ways. There was nothing in-your-face about him, no. He was mysterious, extraordinarily so. There was nothing light about him - just stormy, agonising beauty. You could tell he was that intense guy. The kind women would look at and want just because he looked dangerous. Just because they knew he’d give them the ride of their lives and probably break their heart on the way, but it didn’t matter cause that was part of the adventure. The guy that would wrap his hand around your throat and squeeze until you were on your knees, clawing for breath while telling him how every inch of you belonged to him. Then he’d fuck you bloody just to prove it.

You watched him with a calculated gaze. You had only brief interactions with him but every one of them felt like eternity between you and those icy blue whirlpools of his. There was much more to the Winter Solider than his cold, broody exterior and you wanted to dive deep inside that ocean of his mind and uncover them.

His eyes turned to you then. He had obviously felt you staring. He raised an annoyed brow in question, and you said nothing, just looked away in silent consideration.

Natasha poked your thigh from beside you and you turned to her, her green eyes held a mischievous glint as her eyes flickered to Steve, then Bucky, and then you in silent questioning. You rolled your eyes; she had clearly sensed your distraction and your very obvious staring at the two soldiers probably confirmed whatever thoughts she was having. Damn Widow always noticed everything. She smirked, mouthing “Later” and her eyes promised an incoming, post-brief interrogation. Metal note to nicely ask Natasha to debrief you on the debriefing too.

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the-darklings · 6 years

Text

i will build my empires on your ruins [i];

pairing: ares!connor x female!reader x hades!nines

summary: Because you do not bargain with Death without consequences.

word count: 5.8k+ (*sighs aggressively*)

warnings: this will be a pretty stripped back version of greek myths since I am focusing more on concepts/characters than the actual mythology. I also wanted this to be approachable to those who don’t know much about Greek Gods. Also, yes, I am aware that Hades is not the personification of “Death”. That’s Thanatos but for the sake of this story I’m totally blending the two. Other warnings will follow in future chapters. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

dedication: dedicating this one to my favourite, beautiful little demon who happily sins with me every day @ilikecheesecakeforbreakfast. Thank you for drawing me incredible art and making me laugh bae. I love you! And please feel better soon <33

———

The night you were born the sky howled its fury.

Heavy rain, wind and hail battered the tiny hut as your mother screamed to high heavens for mercy.

But there would be no mercy that night.

You were too early; too desperate to live, to fight.

After an entire night of pained wailing, you came into the world screaming your own fury at the darkness.

Your cries mixed with the storm and your father held you in his arms scrupulously.

“The Gods must be furious with you, little star, you fought them all off to come to us early,” he murmured lovingly against your flushed baby cheek.

He had no idea how right he was.

. . .

You were six when you realised you were just that little bit different from other children your age.

Where they harmed, you fixed.

Your hands sought out the things they hurt and mended them.

A baby bird who had fallen from its nest, a stray cat, a beaten dog.

Your heartfelt pity for them—a care—so you fixed, and you fixed, and you fixed.

You were eight when you nurtured your neighbour's horse back to health.

There was no secret, no magic involved, except a stubbornness which refused to leave as you stroked the horse’s mane soothingly.

“Do not go to the Lord of the Dead,” you insisted in a small whisper, darkness thick around the barn as you used the shaft of moonlight to stare the animal in the eye pleadingly. “Your Master still needs you, so you have to stay with him.”

Your neighbour thanked you profusely the next day, called you a dear and a sweet child who held the favour of the Gods. But it wasn't that, you knew that much. There was just you and your luck.

You were eleven when you healed your first human patient. Your own mother.

Twelve was the age when the village healer made you her apprentice. The older woman marvelled at your talent daily. She too believed magic to be involved despite your insistence that Gods were not entangled with you or your family.

She was the first to watch you hungrily, greedily, as yet another patient bowed their head in gratitude with tears in their eyes.

She would not be the last.

. . .

Life, as you knew it, was destroyed on a warm summer’s night.

“Please, please,” you begged, tears choking you as you grasped onto your mother’s lifeless hand. “Why? Why would you do this?”

The village healer stared at you with emotionless, pitiless smile. “Because we need to know. Do you not wish to know what you can do? What extent your gift goes to? Do you have any idea how blessed you are? Evidently, you cannot bring back the dead. Even loved ones. A pity...but maybe with a bit more encouragement…”

A sob tore through your chest as you cradled your mother’s cold, stiff hand in your own tightly. Your father’s glassy eyes stared at you from few steps away and you sobbed loudly, sickness welling in your stomach.

They could not be dead.

You healed things but—

Only while they were still alive, while they still had a will of their own to fight, and you simply had to encourage it. Protect the fragile flame flickering in a terrible storm.

No matter how much you pleaded or begged through your tears, your parents did not move.

Eternal stillness held their bodies down.

Their souls no longer belonged to this realm.

Or any realm but one.

“You will tell me how you did it,” the healer hissed harshly against your ear, jerking you away from your mother’s body by the hair. “What God did you trick into giving you this gift? Which one?”

A knife—oh Gods, she had a knife.

There was madness; bright, fervent madness burning in the healer’s eyes, and you knew that soon you too would be joining your parents in eternal slumber.

You wish it had been an accident.

You wish you could say that when the healer dragged you backwards, you did not kick her on purpose, did not grab her arm and tried to pull the knife away desperately.

You wish.

But the truth was much simpler.

Grief shook your hand when you slipped the knife—softly, quietly—into the healer’s still beating heart.

You cried loudly, and held her body close to yours while hatred and madness faded from her eyes along with her life.

The truth was simpler.

She took your parents—beloved, kind, endlessly gentle, parents.

So you took from her what she took from you.

Life.

You were fourteen when the world as you knew it ended.

You were fourteen when you learned that hands that heal can also destroy.

. . .

“Why are you helping me?” you asked uneasily, your lips quivering as you stared at your elderly neighbour.

The man hurriedly placed bundles of food and blankets on the horse—the same beautiful, black mare you had helped years ago—without a glance in your direction. Another few minutes passed in silence, and you were starting to grow anxious of his silence before he sharply pulled on the last strap, and turned to you.

“You must hurry, child,” he told you, a slight wheeze in his breath as he tugged you by the arm. “You must put as much distance as you can between this place and yourself before sunrise, do you understand?”

“Why?”

The man paused at the tight, controlled way you spat the word out—voice still hoarse from grief and pain—as your bloodshot eyes stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“Because I knew you since you were nothing more than a small babe,” the old man explained wearily, his weathered face strained, “And never once did I see a seed of hatred or darkness in your soul. The exact opposite in fact. I will not let them stone to death someone who cradled butterflies in their palm, and laid in fields of flowers talking to baby birds you were nurturing to health. You have a pure heart.”

A knife—blood—lifeless eyes and darkness—

“I—I do not,” you choked out, your throat muscles closing up as tears burned your vision. “I have done a terrible thing. Gods will never forgive me. I cannot be forgiven.”

The old man’s fingers brushed against your wet cheek, and there was such simple comfort in his awkward affection, it made tears come harder.

“Then, my dear child,” the man told you sympathetically, “You must find a way to repent. You kill your demons, or you tame them and use them as fuel.”

. . .

The world ended.

But you did not.

. . .

You were wanderess.

There was no home for you to go back to each night, no mother or father to kiss your head goodnight, no family or warmth.

When the food ran out, you stole.

But the guilt was so terrible you did not last long.

You made due where you could, and begged to help the villagers out when you couldn't.

Some rejected your help, others scorned you, but few let you help and repaid you in kind.

Mostly in food and shelter.

Often you took what you could, when you could, always praying to the Gods that tomorrow was kinder.

But you never stayed in one village for long.

Whenever you helped someone—saved their lives—their eyes always slid to you greedily. If you helped the sick, people always noticed. It was an eventuality you could not escape no matter how hard you tried.

Sometimes, folded deep in the shadows of the night, you wondered if it was because they could see the blood soaking your hands.

. . .

The world had ended.

But time still passed.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.

Time did not stand still; no matter how much you wished it would.

Months turned into years, and you prowled still.

There was no aim, no goal, just kindness.

That, and repentance.

. . .

“Please, you must help us.”

Your head perked up at the desperate sound of a deep baritone voice. When your eyes finally located the man who spoke, your lips parted in surprise. The man was humongous, muscular in a way you heard written only in the tales of old. Of mighty, powerful beings carved from pure destruction.

This man was built like a Titan.

And he was currently begging a robed man for help with heart-wrenching desperation.

“She is only little,” the giant spoke with surprising softness, “She is running a high fever. We’ve tried everything we can to help her but—”

“And I told you already, you have to pay,” the robed man shot back peevishly, eyes narrowed, and face scrunched up as if he was looking at something unpleasant. “I do not give out charity. Either you pay for my services or you go find yourself another healer—assuming you would even be able to find anyone else in this filthy excuse of a village.”

“We do not have money,” the giant argued weakly, his fingers flexing, “Can you not help her now, and I pay you back later? I can work for you. Whatever you need. Just please help the little one.”

The man folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes, and sneered, “No. Like I said, I do not give out charity. Not to nobles. And certainly not to some street urchins.”

And then he simply walked away without a backwards glance.

“I will help you,” you said softly from behind the giant.

His devastated expression eased and he turned to you, blinking as if surprised to see you there.

“Who—?”

“I will help you,” you said again, more urgently this time, “Take me to her, and I will do what I can.”

The man frowned, looking unsure, “I do not have money to give you,” he confessed. “I cannot repay you.”

Already shaking your head, you simply told him, “I do not need your money, sire, just a safe place to spend the night, and a slice of bread if you can spare it.”

There was such palpable relief in his eyes, your lips twitched slightly.

“My name is (Name).”

“Luther.”

. . .

The little one was in critical condition.

You brushed your hand against her clammy forehead, shushing her gently when she whined low in the throat; a petrified, tiny noise that made your heart ache.

The woman of the house—Kara, as she introduced herself hurriedly while she ushered you deeper into the hut—stood just beside you, her expression anxious.

“What is her name?” you asked, not looking away from the little one as you began removing your leather bag and taking out small pouches.

“Alice.”

Kara’s voice seemed to catch on the name, her voice meek and upset as she stared down at the little girl curled up in the blankets.

“Can you help her?” she asked tightly, terrified, “Please help her.”

“Is she your daughter?” you asked instead, swiftly laying a fresh cloth against Alice’s forehead. “Do you love her?”

Kara flinched before she exhaled, subtly glancing at Luther who lingered by the foot of the cot. “I—she’s not mine by blood but…”

Heartbreaking fear.

A fear of losing someone you—

“But you love her regardless,” you concluded softly, a faint smile tugging your mouth. “I will need your help then.”

Kara’s eyes shone brightly, fiercely, and something told you were going to like this woman very much.

“Anything.”

. . .

The next day, the fever still raged.

Alice went through bounds of sickness, shivering, and crying all in a wild cycle that repeated viciously. You helped as much as you could to ease her discomfort but it was not easy.

She was so small and so young. Nowhere near ready to battle such aggressive illness.

The fire had burned down to low embers as you cradled her tiny, burning fingers in your own, pressing them against your lips.

“Fight, little one,” you murmured gently, carefully brushing your thumb over every fragile knuckle in her tiny hand. “They need you. Do not go to the dark. Follow me home instead. There are those in this realm that love you desperately. They need you. Do not let the darkness take you. Come to the light, little one, come to the light. You have to fight.”

Kara and Luther slept restlessly side by side, Alice whimpered weakly, and you mouthed soft encouragements against her skin into early hours of the morning.

Some battles you won.

Some you lost.

But you had no intention of losing this one.

. . .

“Will she live?”

Your tired gaze moved to rest on Luther’s haggard face, and you sighed softly.

“The danger has passed for now,” you said cautiously, “While her fever finally broke she is still very much in danger of a relapse.”

“You are gifted.”

Something in your chest froze, guttered, and your lips drew into a tight line as you looked away.

“I am not.”

He gave you a long, searching look and you felt like he could see a lot more than you wanted him to. His gaze was warm, however, and there was a certain gentleness to the grip of his fingers when he laid them on yours, squeezing just once before pulling away.

“I awoke last night, even though you were unaware,” he revealed mildly. “You were cradling Alice’s hand in yours in complete darkness, urging her to stay. Like you could call her from Death’s grip by will alone. And today she is better. You are gifted. And you have my eternal gratitude for helping us.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

Same, automatic response.

“Perhaps not,” Luther agreed as you both watched Alice breathe deeply in her sleep. “But you deserve it.”

And you felt the simple warmth of those words settle against your heart.

. . .

They were a family.

When Alice woke up, Luther and Kara hugged her fiercely, lovingly, and held her close.

It reminded you of your family. Of your parents. How much you missed their love. How night after night you had wept into your open palms, smothering your grief like one would a dead thing.

It reminded you of the blood on your hands; stained, raw and ugly hands.

Of demons, guilt and the price of repentance.

So when they asked you to stay, a ‘no’ sat heavy on your tongue even though your heart—starving, ugly, traitorous heart—screamed and pleaded ‘yes’.

A tainted heart was a weak heart.

So you stayed.

. . .

“He used to beat her,” Kara revealed softly, but with a deep running rage buried in her words. You sat on the porch of the hut, both of you watching as Alice played with Luther; her childish, happy laughter warming your heart. “He beat her all the time and I—I could not let him. He was cruel. He was so cruel to those around him. So I took her and ran, praying to all the Gods above he would never find us. It was so hard at first but then we ran into Luther...it's been better since then. Easier. She's happy because we’re finally free.”

Free.

You basked in their kindness, their love for one another, and almost pretended you were a part of their unit.

But you were not.

You were nothing more than a temporary guest, and you would not make the mistake of thinking of them as your family.

Your family was dead.

. . .

“Will you stay with us forever (Name)?”

You pretended you did not notice how Luther lowered the water bucket with extra care, or how Kara paused in preparing dinner to hear your reply.

They had asked you to stay and you had stayed. But you never said for how long. You never expected to linger in the first place.

Fingers pausing in Alice’s hair, you smiled faintly at her innocent, curious expression. The braids you have woven into her hair looked beautiful, and you brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear affectionately.

Despite your best efforts, the trio had managed to crack your armour, if only a little.

“How long would you like me to stay, little one?” you asked quietly, your mouth twitching slightly at the determined yet soft expression on her young face.

“Forever.”

Humming, you tugged on her braid, “While I cannot promise forever, I can promise as long as my body and Gods allow it.”

“Well that’s forever then,” she spoke in a small voice. “Because you’re a goddess, and you will go back to the clouds one day. But for now we’re a family and it’s perfect.”

You wished it were that easy.

You wished you could go to the clouds, live with the Gods and leave all your worries and sins behind.

You wished you were something holy, and not wretched and broken instead.

. . .

A knock came just as the four of you were about to sit down for dinner.

When Luther opened the door, there was a frantic woman standing on the other side, a squirming bundle in her arms.

“Please,” she begged the moment the door cracked open. “Please help my son. I heard of a healer living here. Please help, please. He’s dying.”

The woman broke down crying as she held her baby close to her chest, her face red and splotchy while the child wailed in her embrace.

You had not told anyone you were a healer.

Kara’s gaze bore into you, clearly cautious but expectant too. Luther still stood in the doorway but there was a weight to his stare when he glanced your way as well.

This life—this affinity for healing—always managed to find you, and drag you back no matter how far you ran.

It had taken your family.

But it had also helped you find Kara, Alice and Luther.

Sighing, you closed your eyes briefly before nodding slowly, and saw obvious relief on both Luther’s and Kara’s faces.

“There is a spare space we don’t use at the back,” Kara said urgently, ushering the woman inside the hut. “You are more than welcome to use it.”

The woman followed, dazed and still weeping as Luther closed the door soundlessly behind her.

And if you had known then, what path this kindness would set you on, you never would have opened that door in the first place.

. . .

The boy screamed through the night as you held him.

You shushed, and hummed and whispered to him as he burned and burned in your arms.

Luther stayed to help. You told him he shouldn't, that it was dangerous—that whatever illness the child had was likely contagious, and the exact reason you told the mother to leave.

“You need my help (Name),” he said firmly, leaving no room for arguments as you both tend to the child. “So I will stay and help however I can.”

You wished you had told him ‘no’.

You wished you had not been so selfish for help, for companionship.

But you had allowed him to stay.

So in the end, perhaps, you had it coming.

. . .

The child scraped by.

After four days of barely sleeping and eating, of holding the child in your arms and sheltering him from the land of the dead, the boy finally started recovering.

The mother fell to her knees right in front of you and cried herself hoarse, praising you and thanking you, calling you a miracle in human skin.

The sight alone made you sick.

. . .

You slept for two days straight after that.

Kara woke you up occasionally, fed you broth and gave you water from the well to drink.

But sleep clawed you back into its domain, and you always followed willingly.

Two days later, you woke up to the sound of deep, rumbling cough coming from Luther’s lungs.

And it served as a good reminder.

Gods were not kind. They were wholeheartedly cruel.

. . .

The world as you knew it ended the second time on a cloudy summer’s night.

And it began with a visit from Death.

. . .

All you could see was Alice’s crying face.

All you could hear was Alice’s muffled sobs from the other side of the hut as you worked frantically.

There was a tremor in your hands that showed your own worry and fear. Kara wanted to help—eyes wide and pained—but you had stopped her, told her to stay with Alice who needed her comfort now more than ever.

Luther groaned harshly, his expression wan as he breathed heavily through his open mouth. His lungs seemed to crackle with every inhale, and you breathed harshly when you felt the too weak flutter of his pulse.

He was not going to make it.

He was going to die no matter what you did.

Some battles you won.

Some battles you lost.

There was a memory of blood—a knife—and no life in the eyes of a woman who haunted your nightmares to this day.

You lost your parents because you were too weak, too slow, too stupidly naive to see the danger.

You refused to lose anyone else. Refused to lose your gentle giant. Kara needed him. Alice needed him. You needed him.

He had given you a purpose—a life—when you had nothing, and you refused to part ways with him like this.

Death had already taken enough from you.

Your parents, your happy future, and all the lives you haven’t been able to save over the years.

Too much.

Gripping his hand stiffly in yours, you stared down at Luther’s pained face and gripped his fingers tighter in your own.

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed angrily, not quite sure where the bitterness was coming from. But all of a sudden you could feel it burning acutely in your chest, driving you wild. “You will not take him. You cannot take him. I refuse to give up anyone else. I refuse to. You will not take any more precious people from me. Do you hear me? I deny you the right to his life.”

Then, from copious, overbearing darkness of the room came a silk-like, cold whisper, “And who would dare to deny Death?”

You didn’t get a chance to scream as shadows wrapped and twisted around you, freezing the sound in your throat.

He stood in the corner of the room; in the darkest, most prominent stretch of black as low embers of the dying fire cast warm light on one side of his face.

Except, there was nothing warm about that face.

All sharp angles, and steep sloping valleys of lips, cheeks and jaw as his empty, arcane eyes took you in.

He made no sound when he stepped further into the room, the darkness rolling with him as his grey eyes scalded your skin and stripped you bare. There was such suffocating feeling of overwhelming power rolling off this creature wearing human skin that you could barely draw breath.

And you vaguely wondered how someone who looked like a noble—with his sleek black, high collar shirt and jacket, and casually folded arms—could make you want to run for the hills and never stop.

“W-Who?”

“You already know who I am,” he said sharply, eyes narrowing as he took another few steps closer, shadows bending and flowing in his wake. “Do not waste my time on pointless chatter, mortal.”

“Lord of the Dead.”

The title burned through your mind, and your heart fluttered in your chest when the man—God? Creature?—tilted his head gradually to one side.

Never in your life had you felt so small as you did at that moment the ruler of the Underworld openly judged you.

“And you are the girl who plays with shadows and death,” he noted icily, “I have heard much about you. You have become quite the nuisance in my realm.”

“I’m sorry?”

Eyes narrowing he did not move closer, but his voice was as sharp as a freshly sharpened blade, “I will be taking him now. He is mine, and I suggest you do not try and interfere again, mortal.”

“Spare him.”

You winced at the coldness of dark shadows scraping against your legs when those rushed words left your lips. The air seemed stripped of any traces of warmth while the being before you frowned minutely, expression contemptuous.

“Are you ordering me, mortal?”

Your reply was a hurried exhale of breath and syllables, “No, of course not. I am simply asking.”

Swallowing, you tried to straighten your spine, tried to stand taller and look him in the eye without fear. To show your resolve.

“Spare him.” There was a sliver of cold amusement on his face as his grey eyes glinted, “Are you bargaining with me then? I do not tolerate such blatant disrespect, especially from mortals.” The shadows around the room seemed to hiss their agreement, slithering down and around your ankles as if waiting for a command to devour you. “What has Death ever done for me but take, and take and take,” the words—foolishly brave words—slipped out before you could stop them, and you quickly added. “I know Death more intimately than anyone else. You are cruel, selfish and greedy. You owe me this much.” There was a flicker of something terrifying in those freezing depths as his eyes bore into you, and between one unsteady breath and the next, he was right in front of you. His imposing frame caged you in as raw, undiluted fear crawled through your heart and into the very marrows of your soul. You realised how big of a mistake you had made when Death bared his sharp teeth at you in a mockery of a smile. Shadows and ice caressed your skin gently as he leaned his face closer to yours. “Is that so?”

His breath was like winter’s night, destructive and biting as darkness danced against your cheek.

“What power do you have to bargain, mortal?” he mocked softly, and this close up you could see that his hair was not black like you initially thought it was. It was, in fact, the richest shade of dark brown you had ever seen as few loose strands brushed against his forehead. “None. I could kill you with a touch of my fingers. Are you not afraid?”

“I-I am petrified,” you admitted lowly, your voice quivering, “But he is my friend, and I would give anything to save him. You have the power t-to do so.”

The slow upwards turn of his mouth was like a blade being drawn from its sheath.

“Careful with your words, mortal,” he whispered coolly, eyebrows hiking upwards as slight sneer twisted his face. Clenching your fingers into fists, you swallowed shakily, not dropping his gaze as a tremor shook your knees.

There was a long moment his icy stare drilled into you without so much as a waver. “Anything?”

The word was breathed softly, brushing against your senses as you blinked harshly realising that his entire being seemed to have blended into the darkness again.

“W-What is your name?”

His gaze was an endless, uninhabited prison that captured you, and you could almost feel yourself being dragged to the Underworld with a single glance.

“And why would a mortal wish to know Death’s name?”

The sound of your wildly beating heart was drowning out everything else around you except for the silky words of the God in front of you.

“So I can finally give my nightmares a name,” you murmured unevenly, “So I may know what name I should curse in my sleep.”

Something constricted around your throat briefly and you gasped weakly. Darkness hummed around you both and the God in front of you sneered.

“Nightmares? You know nothing of nightmares, mortal,” he spoke pitilessly, his voice low as his silver gaze hardened. “Not yet.”

The hope in your chest cracked. “I—I will not let you take him.”

Grey eyes—cruel, and bottomless—almost reflected the absence of light in the room, and when he finally moved his gaze away, you felt wild panic seize you. Luther groaned painfully behind you, and your fingers blindly reached through the shadows.

You were fully aware of how foolish you were being when your fingers wrapped around his forearm, when you felt the hard muscles under his jacket ripple at the contact.

“Anything,” your terrified whisper cut through the terrible, icy displeasure suddenly lining Death’s tall frame. “I’m willing to give you whatever you want in exchange for his life.”

Alice.

Kara.

Luther was their family. They needed him.

But you had no family, no loved ones that relied on you, or needed you.

“You must find a way to repent. You kill your demons, or you tame them and use them as fuel.”

It would be a worthy sacrifice.

Finally, a chance to repent for taking a human life.

“Your soul.”

Deliberate, and sly, he spoke smoothly as he finally turned his glacial stare back on you.

“What?”

A flicker of irritation and impatience crossed his face before his expression smoothed again, “Underworld is a land of the dead. Healing and life do not come easily in my domain. My dark halls know your name, girl, oh how the tormented souls whisper of you. A mortal capable of pulling souls back to life. Your own soul will do nicely in my collection. A good reminder that no one cheats Death.”

“You want me dead?”

Something flitted across his expression as he turned to fully face you, eyes flickering down and then up absently, “I have other uses for you. Before your inevitable, pathetic end. When I summon you, you will answer. My will be your own, and as result, no harm will come to your human...companion. That I can guarantee you,” he articulated evenly, his voice soft but knowing.

Knowing—like you had already agreed, already signed your soul away.

“Y-You will not make me kill or harm anyone,” you forced through your dry tongue, fingers tightly gripping onto the material of your clothes. “No harm will come to my friends. And—”

Cold fingers tilted your chin up, and you gasped shallowly at the cold that sunk into your skin upon contact, “This is not a negotiation, little mortal,” his voice was sensual, almost amused, and you couldn't help but to think that maybe this was worse than wrath. “You will take any mercy I extend your way because you have no other choice. His life is in your hands.”

You pulled away baffled by the lack of anger on his face. You had grown up on tales of Gods who cursed and tormented mortals simply because they could.

God of the Underworld. Lord of the Dead.

For some reason you expected him to be the worst one.

“I do not have the entire night, mortal, I will tear his soul out right in front of your eyes if you’re having such a hard time deciding,” he informed dispassionately, darkness humming around him when he took a small step in Luther’s direction.

“No!” you jerked yourself forward, your knees creaking as you stumbled. “I will do it. Just—please...don’t take him away.”

The God in front of you stilled, his shadows stilling with him, and you couldn't read much from his sharp profile but something told you he did not stop because he was surprised by your words. Something else stopped him in his tracks.

“Then let us seal the deal.”

You stared at him unsurely, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. A slight, devious smirk tugged his lips when he noticed your ignorance. Darkness rippled and he was a step away yet again, reaching forward till you felt his cold thumb brush briefly against your trembling bottom lip.

“You have to mean it,” he stated seriously, his eyes like a stormy sky before the thunderstorm began. “If your heart is not true, if you do not mean it, I will know. And then death will be the least of your worries.”

Sweat trailed down your back, and you released a shuddering breath of pure fear, at the thought of—

Looking away, you tried to gather yourself, build up your strength and set your spine into a rigid, unyielding line. You licked your lips once, biting them briefly before you heaved a large gulp of air into your lungs. Your fingers balled up into fists, shaking a little as you closed your eyes, lips parting in—

It was as soft as a petal.

Delicate; cold brush of shadow, ice and pure night against your lips.

And then it was anything but.

It was a freezing, devouring thing that dragged you into the deepest depths of darkness with its intensity.

You groaned, lips parting in shock as his mouth seared against yours, his grip on the back of your head unyielding as he held you close.

Suddenly there was a sharp, burning sting against your lip and you whimpered, trying to jerk back but he held on tight, pulling you so close your bodies brushed against one another. He swallowed every noise to leave your lips greedily, and you shuddered against the burning cold feeling.

He was the one to pull away after another moment, unhurried and graceful, as his thumb swiped across his own mouth, licking the digit unhurriedly.

Your shaking fingers touched your stinging mouth, only to come away wet and red. Instinctively, your tongue brushed against your bleeding bottom lip as you stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

The God of Death raised his hand towards Luther without breaking your gaze, and scarcely twitched his fingers before they once again lowered to his side.

Luther calmed immediately, his laboured breaths smoothing out into an even rhythm.

“As per our agreement, your companion shall live,” God of the Underworld announced indifferently, face taut before a flicker of a smirk adorned his face.

“I’ve had a taste of you now (Name),” he said silkily, expression taunting and shrewd, “And I shall come back very soon to collect my dues.”

Tasting the metallic bite of your own blood against your tongue, you felt the blood in your veins freeze as he turned away from you dismissively, shadows already wrapping around him.

“One more thing before I go,” he began, darkness pausing with his voice when he turned slightly to glance at you from the corner of his eye. “Mortals have used many names for me, cursed me with an even greater amount of them. But you may call me Nines.”

And then he was gone.

Like a dream, a dark whisper.

If it wasn’t for the sting of your still bleeding lip, you would have thought the whole encounter was nothing more than a dream—a nightmare.

You turned towards Luther’s cot but only managed a step before your legs gave out and you collapsed on your knees, vomiting your meagre lunch all over the floor.

. . .

When life as you knew it ended for the third time—just two weeks after that fateful encounter—you were not surprised at all. You had been expecting it.

It began with a hardened face of a being that was not human, and a simple command:

“You have been summoned.”

“By whom?”

“The God of War.”

. . .

an: well done for making it to the end! I hope you guys now understand why this was as long as it was. I wanted to establish Reader’s character in a way that would justify/explain her reactions/actions/thoughts later on in the story. I also wanted to get through all the boring stuff so we could dive into the fun parts. As always your love is fuel for my starving demonic muse, and I thank you for your love, support and patience! <333

LOVELY BEANS I LOVE:

@fletaisthenewmeta @connorfixinghistie @mysticalkhfan @amydarleen @negative-blackbird @pandemoniumambassador @wiredhawkes @wolfwithabook @winterofherdiscontent @scribere-multum @simplyvictoria-93 @the-abyss-of-fandoms @ev3e @millenniumwhite @dragonfruitdingus @loosingmymindtothewalrus @imaginativedaydreams @winterierwriter @mameedoodles @shadaze93 @softwarexinstability @safaisok @nordicwoods @deviantramblings @super-flamin-hot-cheetos @bravado-raven @bryansdimples @anime-chickadee @torollakja @raja-in-demigodishness @trixibebe @kamrioui @but-who-saves-you @stlsmg @spookydragonprincess @ricewithfish @jaybirdss @yikes-buddy

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thedistantstorm · 5 years

Text

Phoenix Protocol 27

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

Previously

“I told you we couldn’t handle this!” Lilith says, not sparing a hand to pull Miyu up from the ground. Their two Ghosts shimmer out of sight quickly as more bullets rain down on them from countless Scorn around them.

Miyu shakes off the resurrection, flexes her fingers - they feel tight - and draws her hand canon. “Relax. Your Stormtrance cuts their numbers in half. We can do this.”

“We can’t if you’re dying all the time,” The Exo squeals furiously in reply, sending a current of Arc through a Raider who twitches as he dies on the marble stonework.

“I’m working on it,” Miyu calls back, willing herself not to anger. Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten so bold, she thinks, but shakes her head and carries on before Tamashii can comment that she should trust herself. She can feel the fluttery feeling in her gut that is indicative of his surprise. Under her breath, to her partner as she cocks her weapon and fires, she breathes, “We can do this. I know we can.”

His reply is a reassuring pressure in her chest, a comforting hum in her mind. I’ve got your back, it says, without any words.

She ducks out of the relative safety of the shielded area and goes to work.

Relatively speaking, the enemies themselves are not difficult to beat, even the shielded ones. It just takes a moment to thin the herd. Miyu doesn't mind it, her stances shifting from simpler to more complex forms designed for multiple enemies.

Her blade begins glowing yellow white.

Tamashii all but vibrates from that strange, phantom place inside her head when he realizes it. Miyu refuses to pay it any mind, lodging that glowing blade into a Chieftain after her second strike disables his shields. This is nothing, she thinks. This chamber is full of Light. She can do more.

He's about to remind her that anything that does not injure her is truly a development, but then there is screaming.

It's behind her.

The thing about this city, beyond her heritage, beyond the words of people like the Queen's Wrath and the Corsairs, is that there is something here that has only been spoken about in whispers. They speak of the Taken. Of the Queen's brother and the Techeuns who have been taken and saved (and taken and saved).

Kamala Rior was smart enough, when Miyu did not make that metaphysical connection like Reefborn did to their homeland, to mention something different.

'There are forces at play, Cousin,' She'd said. 'Forces that Queen Mara engages on a different level than the one you or I fight on. The Taken are being directed by someone else now. Someone with more cunning than their late king.'

Miyu is not foolish enough to think that she alone could stop Savathûn. But she does know that her run-ins with the Hive may allow her to glean information pertinent to stopping the Witch Queen that others may not. At worst, she is simply another adversary willing fight Savathûn’s forces.

The bellowing yowl of a Knight is out of place in this encounter full of Scorn. She whirls around in time to see Lilith grabbed by the skull, hanging limply from it's monstrous, skeletal grip. His crust-covered blade is raised, ready to sever her at the neck. Small, gauntlet covered hands scrape and scramble against the one squeezing her in its grip.

Miyu catches the edge of black on the Knight’s blade. She does not need to think. She reacts.

Her blade catches it perpendicularly, the Light-devouring blade squealing against her own. It no longer glows. Nothing and no one will take my Light, she thinks ruthlessly, shifting her feet to face the smaller Warlock and bringing her blade up in a blinding arc of solar energy.

It severs the Knight’s arm - the one holding Lilith - and gives Miyu the split second she needs to wrap an arm around the smaller woman before darting away with a leap and glide. His next swing catches nothing but air and he keens, a harrowing noise rending the air.

Miyu drops the girl on crystalline floor as gently as she can allow, her healing rift unfurling beneath her without a second thought. “Alright?”

“I-” The Exo attempts to lift her head, but her cracked helm drops back against the floor with a thud. “That wasn’t my best work.”

The older of them reaches down and pulls her up to a shaking sit. “If they have a black blade, they’ll snuff your Light out when they hit you. Same for your Ghost.”

“A Weapon of Sorrow?”

“Smart girl,” Miyu replies, as the sounds of disgusting clacking Scorn yield to the howl of the Knight once more. “That Knight still has his blade. Don’t engage with him. I’ve got it. If another spawns, call it out. Hopefully it was just a fluke.”

“I’m not a girl,” Lilith bites back defensively. “And we’re never going to charge this thing with enough Light to finish it on time.”

“That’s not our concern right now. We can always try again. We have to stop that Knight from leaving the chamber.” She hasn’t seen a Knight like that ambling around the Dreaming City yet. They can’t let it escape the Well. It’s too dangerous. If it can kill a Ghost or Guardian in a single swing, Miyu would hate to see what it could do to the Lightless Corsairs.

“But the loot,” The smaller of them whines.

Miyu lifts her with a singular fist balled in her battle-soiled robes and sets her on her feet. “This is not the time,” She snaps.

“Oh,” Lilith responds, suitably chastised. “Uh, right, sorry.”

The Awoken Warlock ducks through the ranks of Stalkers, her blade dancing behind her in sparks and fury. She throws a fireball of a grenade down behind her, to keep them from following after her to get to the Knight.

When the undead Fallen turn back, they’re met with glowing green eyes and a lightning storm.

Once she’s alone with the Knight tracking her every move, the arm he’d lost regrown thanks to his eerie ritual magic in the time it took her to refocus Lilith on the task at hand, Miyu allows herself a deep breath.

At her back, she can hear the static-laiden battle cry of her ally as she toasts the masses of Scorn. They aren’t the real threat here. This Knight is. She cannot allow a new Guardian - much less anyone who does not understand the true dangers the Hive pose - to enter into a battle with them and their Guardian-killer weapons so lightly.

Her knees bend and her grip on her sword tightens as she holds it out horizontally to parry the oncoming attack by the monstrous worm-host.

Their blades spark and burn, and the oily sensation of Darkness creeps down Miyu’s back when he scores her with his claws as she tries to dodge. When she rolls to a stop, pushing herself back up, she realizes that the Hive fighter is drawn to the Light her ally is producing.

It’s bright, Lilith’s light. It charges the air with a humid crackle. Her body is still glowing blue with it as she comes down from the heights of her Stormtrance. With a screeching cry, Miyu lowers her weapon to her side and lunges for him again, preparing a more powerful strike.

The Knight catches her blade mid-swing and sends it careening away, as if she is a pesky fly buzzing around him. His fist collides with her gut and knocks the wind out of her. She drops like a ton of bricks as the Knight pulls his sword from the ground where he’d dropped it to intercept her - apparently she wasn’t worthy of his blade, she thinks with hot embarrassment - and continues lumbering toward Lilith.

There is no time to find or retrieve her sword from wherever it’s been thrown. Miyu takes another deep breath, closes her eyes. She has to do something. Lilith might think otherwise, but she cannot fight off this enemy on her own. Especially not after the throngs of Scorn they’ve been dispatching. Not when one blow has the potential to snuff her light out entirely.

She has to be brighter, Miyu coaches herself, returning to her feet. She is his opponent.

First, she has to get between them. She breaks into a run, dodging an errant Chieftain and several Raiders newly spawned. She cuts to her right and whirls around, putting her back to Lilith’s startled cry and nervous optics.

Second, she has to get something to parry the blow. Her sword is long gone. A gun won’t beat this enemy and his blade. Even if she unloaded her full clip into his head, it would just barely crack the armored pating that shields his insides.

There is no time. She has to have something, and now. The Knight has raised his blade over his head, ready to bring it down. Lilith has stepped back, but now she’s infuriated the Knight. He’ll kill her if she does not react. And if he kills her, there’s no way Lilith would beat him with this many foes around, whether the Well is charged or not.

The fire of her Light answers her when she calls it to her hands. It’s heavy. Too heavy. There’s no way she can raise this sword against the Knight.

But…

Maybe she doesn’t have to. This sword, its weight… it’s familiar. She’s seen this sword before. A candle that becomes a bonfire, she thinks, feverishly fast. She does not need to hit him with this sword to protect Lilith.

She reverses her grip with lightning fast reflexes and plunges the greatsword into the ground at her feet. Golden light unfurls around her unlike any rift she’s ever cast before.

It’s so warm, Miyu thinks, vision fogging between blinks with tears.

The Knight recoils, dazed and salivating at the outburst of sunny, solar Light. His secondary hesitation is precisely the thing Tamashii needs to transmat her sword, Abide the Return, into her hands. The Light wells inside her, warm and true. Flames lick from the hilt in her hands to the tip of its blade.

When she strikes, she cleaves the Knight - sword and all - in two.

“What was that back there?”

Miyu cocks her head, blinking her bright eyes curiously. “What was what?”

“This is not the time!” Tamashii mock-snarls, albeit lightly, in a rendition of her previous agitation. “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you sound so… well, done. Your battle was well won, but it’s been a long time since you’ve been so take charge.”

“I didn’t-” The Warlock’s pale face flushes. “Did I sound like that?” Miyu groans, “She probably hates me now.”

Tamashii taps her cheek with a rounded fin. “Nah. I think that’s just what she needed. You can assert yourself, you know, Yu-mi. I’m proud of you for it. That was really well done.” He rolls end over end and turns back to face her. “Besides, she said she wants you to show her some of your sword moves next time. Let's get back to camp, I’ll heal your hands and-”

“Tamashii,” Miyu interrupts gently.

“Then you can eat and rest... What?”

She peels off her burnt gauntlets, tucking them into her sash. Her alabaster fingers flex. They do not shake. They are not burned. “My hands are fine.”

#destiny fanfiction #oc: miyu #miyu the sweet bean warlock #destiny stories #destiny ghost #the dreaming city #the blind well #collection: phoenix protocol #commander zavala #zavala x oc

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wardroidmajin · 5 years

Text

Shit. Shit. She’d never fought this hard before in her life. It took everything she had to keep ahead of Dabura’s blade and the demon king knew it. Her reflexive Ki blast cut through nothing but an afterimage-

Shit! Plum leapt and Dabura’s blast tore a neat gouge through the arena where she’d stood an instant prior. His voice behind her then as she rocketed upwards, mocking in her ear. “You are learning, at least.” She whipped around but her fist rebounded off the flat of her opponent’s blade and sent a searing pain shooting up her arm. She hissed, recoiling, swaying away from his swipes, catching one of the blows meant to decapitate her with her own ki blade. Her other hand struck forward to run him through but Dabura caught her by the wrist with a contemptuous snort. “I am insulted, child.” He glared down at her. “That you believe I would fall for such a novice feint”. Plum spat in his face and he snarled, tossing her towards the earth. The impact sent a plum of stone and earth into the sky and pain lanced through her as she struggled to her feet. She felt Fu clashing with his doppelganger across the arena, a dance of blades far more precise than her own. Neither gave an inch. She felt her mother, too, with all of her wonderful fury.

Plum’s eyes snapped open a second too late. Dabura hit her again. The blow would have crushed the skull of a weaker fighter and Plum screamed in agony as she was thrown into one of the rings of stone seats, crushing them into dust. She lay there for several long moments - something had to be broken. Her vision spun but she didn’t care - she had to find her. She had to- Several things happened all at once, then. It was like time flowed together, fast and slow. Fu - her Fu - fell, half of his neck gone. She didn’t hear herself scream, didn’t know she’d moved until her teeth found the others wrist and she crunched down. Mom was there, then, doing something and the world spiralled rapidly. - Don’t leave me, Fu. - I can fix this. I can fix this, hang on. Then suddenly he was gone and Mom was there and nothing else mattered- The explosion blinded her, tossed her back and rattled the entire arena. Vivi was gone then, engulfed in white and smoke. All at once her Ki vanished, snapped from existence. Plum fought to stand, fought to see - fought to anything. She couldn’t see, couldn’t feel- She was dead. She was dead. They’d taken her, they’d taken- Something snapped behind the Hybrid’s eyes. Plum screamed and the earth buckled and folded like water in the face of her fury. Her aura tore outwards in a twisted black-and-red, demonic and cruel. Her raven hair shone, beautiful and gold and her eyes a deep crimson. The arena was still, for a moment. All stopped to bare witness. She shimmered into nothing so fast that Dabura didn’t know she’d moved. She hit him from behind with a thunderous howl of loss and pain so guttural it almost tore her throat. His skull flexed beneath the impact and the king was thrown from the air like a missile She’d kill them. She’d kill all of them. Dabura’s impact tore a hole through the stone ring of the stadium and obscured him in a powdery smoke. “KA!” Her hands cupped back. Each syllable a scream. Ki gathered between her palms, brilliant and bright. “ME!” She watched the smoke begin to clear. She didn’t need her sight though - she felt Dabura was alive. Not like Vivi - not like her mother, not like the other Fu, not like- “HA!” She could scarcely understand her own power. Had she of been lucid, not overcome with rage and grief she might have understood what she’d become - but that was beyond her now. She’d wipe them all out - this entire place. It didn’t matter anymore. She had enough energy in this attack to do it. At least then she’d be with Mom.

“ME-!”

Dabura finally rose from his daze. He spluttered blood across his goatee as he shakily lifted his head. She saw, for the first time, fear. It made her feel good, for a brief moment. Better than she’d ever felt before in her entire life. And then it hit her - it was faint, but it was there. A Ki she could never forget, not in a million years. From now until the end she knew who it was. Vivi? But how- She couldn’t stop now, but that single flicker gave her focus. Lucidity, enough not to send this attack into the base of the arena and let it consume everything. “HA-!” The arena was white for a moment, such was the intensity. She couldn’t hear his scream but she felt Dabura enveloped in her fury and atomised to nothing like a drop of rain being taken into a raging sea. The kamehameha licked up the shielding surrounding the arena and Plum let it fade, her limbs quaking. The fight wasn’t done. It wasn’t over- not yet.

#drabble #(So this is during the final fight of the climax of the Plum/Vivi/Fu/Scaro arc we've dubbed Endgame)#(And is basically when Plum goes Super Saiyan and lots of cool stuff happens!)#(I'm glad I got to put it into words finally)#contonsharptooth

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ikesenhell · 6 years

Text

Rain

“The Taste Saga”: Part 18. Find all chapters here.

Mitsuhide’s letter arrived just before Oda Nobunaga’s. At the very top, where there might have once been a greeting, was a simple phrase: We found him.

With that, preparations for war began at full speed. Lines of supplies were organized, weapons stockpiled, horses made ready for combat. Kasugayama was a flurry of familiar activity. Much to Kenshin’s surprise and partial dismay, the Princess proved an invaluable asset for planning. Clearly, her former title of ‘Chatelaine’ was not strictly honorary. She knew her way around a castle and did so as attentively as she did everything else.

But the oncoming conflict also meant she would stay behind.

“Why?” She seemed honestly angry when he told her, clutching at his sleeves.

“A battlefield is no place for you,” he snapped back. “You’re safest here, within Kasugayama’s walls. Sasuke will stay with you and watch over the castle, as well as some trusted officers.”

“And both of you out there, for God knows how long, getting injured?” She knit her eyebrows together. “And I won’t even know?”

“You don’t like warfare. You said so yourself.”

“But I like the idea of not knowing if you and Mitsuhide are okay less!”

“You’re staying.” And the tone of his voice brooked no argument. She released his arms, bitterness and fear swirling in her eyes. What an impossible woman. He sighed and swept part of her hair behind her ear, cupping her chin. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m just...” A heavy exhale. “How long will you be gone?”

“I’d give it only a few days. We know where he lurks. It is simply a matter of springing the trap.”

He left with the army only a day later, one of her hair ribbons tied tight around his wrist. He couldn’t spare a glance behind him--what if the men saw and questioned his resolve?--but all the same, he felt her eyes on his back as they rode toward the forest, and he felt how Mitsuhide must every time he left. The ache was nearly intolerable.

Kasugayama was quiet without the two leaders and their vassals.

Sasuke and the Chatelaine kept themselves entertained. They played Go and swapped stories about awkward cultural misunderstandings, tried their hand at making a deck of cards and playing with them. It snowed again one night, and they walked in small, zen circles in the courtyard before devolving into a snowball fight. For the most part, she was left alone. Being without Kenshin there made her position tenuous, at best--but it seemed no one with designs on power had an interest in so thoroughly angering the God of War that they risked laying a hand on her.

Not at first.

Sasuke and she were taking tea in his room when someone rattled the screen frame.

“Come in,” he called, setting down his mug.

“My hands are full.” The man on the other side of the door rattled it again. Apparently he was using his foot. “Please come open it.”

Sasuke cast a single glance at the Chatelaine before rising, slipping the screen open. And--

“Oh my god!”

The samurai on the other side lunged mercilessly into the room, blade drawn, making for Sasuke’s stomach. Sasuke caught the sword hard across his chest and lurched back, drawing his own weapon and parrying. Shooting up from her seat, the Chatelaine screamed.

“Shut up!” The man smashed his arm into Sasuke’s face, flinging him across the room with unreal savagery. Completely winded, the ninja struggled to his feet, but another motion and the assailant drove his sword into his hand, pinning him to the floor. Quicker than anyone could react, he lurched forward and grabbed the Chatelaine, wrapping a sack over her head.

“Shout,” he hissed meaningfully at Sasuke, “And I kill her.”

Sasuke went utterly silent, holding his stomach on the floor and watching. Flinging her over his shoulder, the kidnapper left the room.

The Uesugi forces settled in next to the Oda camp as rain pattered gently over the soggy ground. Thick trees sheltered them, but the large leaves still shed heaven’s tears. Despite the gloom, things went as planned. It was impossible that the two sides would be perfectly cooperative, given their history, but as far as things went, it was relatively calm. Kenshin linked back up with the other warlords present at a meeting.

“Kenshin,” Nobunaga greeted him with an imperious expression, but Kenshin did not return the favor.

“Nobunaga.” He settled in before a low table next to Shingen, sharing shoulder space with Mitsuhide. At least he trusted one person’s counsel. “What is our strategy?”

“It seems the Abbot has taken up residence in a small hut near a cliff.” Ishida Mitsunari, who Kenshin had heard of but never met, pointed at a small map. “It’s well hidden and fortified. We aren’t sure of the other encampments, but there appear to be ‘outposts’ along the forest path in all directions.”

“Stir one,” Mitsuhide added, “And the word spreads like a fire.”

“Then we should just charge in as quickly as possible.” Masamune flexed his hands, his blue eye gleaming with a wild light. “They can’t warn Kennyo if none live.”

Ieyasu rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Kenshin took a long drink of tea only after watching Mitsuhide sip his own.

“I’m not.” Shingen dissented gently. “This should require the utmost discretion. Wouldn’t it be better for this to go in waves? As one of us target--”

The tent flap burst open, a soldier racing in. “My lords! A man on horseback approaches!”

“Whose colors does he wear?” Nobunaga was on his feet, heading for outside.

“None--and he appears to be injured!”

“What in the devil?” Ieyasu grumbled, heading out of the tent just behind his lord. Exchanging glances, Mitsuhide and Kenshin followed, making their way into the center of camp just to see Sasuke stagger off his horse, collapsing into Yukimura’s arms.

“Sasuke!” Kenshin shoved onlookers aside, kneeling next to the man. “Where is she?”

“Taken.” His arm was stuck to his stomach, one hand wrapped in heavy bandages that were long bled through. With a dull pang of fear, he realized blood was the sealant between the arm and his chest. “She was taken. One of the samurai from Kai sold her out. I’ve no idea of how many others were complicit for him to get away. I tracked him to the forest.”

“Stop talking.” Ieyasu shoved Kenshin and Yukimura roughly away, snatching a water skin off Masamune’s belt and pouring it liberally over Sasuke’s stomach. The ninja winced in pain, but did not cry out. “Someone bring me my medicine kit. If he keeps talking, it gets worse.”

“One of my men?” Shingen was pale. “Why would one of my men take her? She is one of us--”

“Shingen.” Kenshin was shaking, shaking with fear and fury and disbelief coalesced. Mitsuhide had been right. Sasuke wasn’t enough. He was a fool, an absolute fool for leaving her, and if she came to any harm, he didn’t know if he would kill Shingen, Sasuke, or himself first. “Shingen, if one of your men was responsible for taking her, I--”

“My lords!”

The warlords rounded on another messenger, this one looking even less happy with his position. With a shaking hand, he held out a letter.

“This was just delivered to our gate.”

“Shit.” Masamune muttered.

Mitsuhide snatched it from the man’s hand, uncharacteristically impatient. Without announcement, he unrolled the piece of dirty vellum and read it to himself.

“Well?” Kenshin snapped. “Well, what does it say?”

Usually the Kitsune was entirely unreadable. Usually, he was utterly calm. No doubt he had been in enough battlezones and double-crossed negotiations to merit it. But now--now he was quivering. Quietly, he slipped the pearl hair comb from the letter, handing it to Kenshin without ceremony.

“They have our Princess,” he answered, his voice low. “And for her safe return, they ask that Kenshin bring, to the edge of the southern forest, Nobunaga’s head.”

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hddnone · 7 years

Text

Code Name: Assemble Title: Let Me See You Strut Universe: Avengers Academy Rating: G Summary: Steve likes these modern workout clothes that Jan gives him. Mostly he really likes how Tony stares at his biceps in them. Check out the awesome art!

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Steve takes a last, clean breath before pushing open the doors to the Power Gym. The heavy, sweat-filled air in the gym clings to his skin and fills his lungs, and Steve suppresses a wince.

Especially in July, Steve prefers to do most of his workouts outside in the fresh air. Unfortunately he can’t do the weight lifting exercises he likes outside without some potential risk to the Academy grounds. Last time he asked Quake to shake loose different size boulders, they almost collapsed the basement of the Maverick dorm and Fury had threatened to put it on Steve’s record.

But fortunately Jan had helped him out with new workout clothes. While the gym air clings to his skin despite Tony’s improvements to the air-conditioning system, Steve rotates his shoulders which lets a breeze drift through his sleeveless shirt. At least it helps, Steve admits.

He heads over to the dumbbells and shakes out his arms. He jumps around a bit, and he gives even more credit to Jan. The basketball shorts she had given him - apparently for more than just playing basketball - had been off-putting at first, and he had sworn she had made them two sizes too large. But now he’s adjusting, and he likes the feeling as they swish around his legs and keep him cool, though he did roll them to his mid-thigh rather than dangle down below his knees like she told him they should. At least now they don’t feel like they’ll slide down his legs if he bends over.

Steve grabs a 50 pound dumbbell and starts doing halos as a warm-up. As he lifts one side the bell and circles his head, he notices Tony and Rhodey walk into the gym.

“Hey guys,” Steve greets with a smile, but doesn’t stop his workout.

Tony stops and stares, mouth open at Steve.

“Hey Steve,” Rhodey greets with a smile that Steve can’t quite place.

“Tony?” Steve asks as he pauses his circle.

“...Hey Cap!” Tony squeaks when Rhodey finally elbows him in the ribs. “You're... new clothes?”

“Yeah, Jan made them for me. She said I needed more modern workout gear, and I think she’s right. These are nice,” Steve says. And he can’t resist, because he can admit to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts that he loves the way Tony is staring at him, and so Steve sets down his dumbbell. He makes a show of shaking his arms out, as if he’s been working out for awhile, and then does a few arm stretches.

“Are you sure you don’t just want to show off your biceps?” Tony asks, a half-sneer on his face and crossing his arms.

But Steve sees the way that Tony focuses on his arms and hides a smile. Rhodey is much less successful at suppressing his. “Oh, do these do that?” Steve asks innocently. He raises his arms and flexes, and his super hearing catches the strangled sound that Tony makes.

“You can’t just do that!” Tony splutters. “Put those away, right now!”

Rhodey laughs, and Steve grins. Steve puts his dumbbells back with the rest, an idea growing in his mind, as Tony pouts.

“You know what, I just remembered that I have a thing...that I have to do...right now. Sorry, Rhodey, rain check,” Tony rushes out, backing toward the door.

“Nice try, genius,” Rhodey says as he snags Tony’s jacket. “You owe me a workout where I get to beat your ass at whatever circuit you choose.”

“Or,” Steve slips in as Tony starts to defend himself, “we could grab Sam, or Bucky, or someone to even up the numbers and we could go shoot some hoops? It’s too hot to be in here with such a nice day out.” Steve licks his lips as Tony and Rhodey share several facial expressions.

Jan had said basketball is what inspired his clothes, after all. And Tony is generally drawn to the treadmill and Steve can’t talk to him if he’s running on the other side of the gym. That, and the treadmills face the wrong way to be able to see the weightlifting area.

Then finally Tony’s eyes widen and Rhodey beams. “Sure!” Rhodey says, turning back to Steve. “That sounds like fun. I can let Tony off the hook for today.”

“Great! I’ll go find someone else. Meet you at the courts?” Steve says as he races out the door.

Steve convinces Sam to follow him to the courts, where Steve finds that he might’ve made a huge miscalculation.

“Ready to lose?” Tony asks, smug, as he turns to Steve with a bare chest. Tony’s jacket and shirt slung on the bench, and Tony's abs as well as the arc reactor take up all of Steve's vision.

Steve stares until Sam elbows him in the ribs. “No!” Steve manages to squeak.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Sam sighs.

#stony #stevextony #tonyxsteve #capimtrb2017 #megan writes things

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albusofecclesia · 5 years

Text

Drabble - The Things We Do For a Bit of Coin

((Notes:

An attempt at a hurt/comfort piece with a touch of fluff, while trying to keep it relatively ambiguous. I solemnly do not swear this.

Crossover Mission with Diablo III’s Reaper of Souls expansion content.

Also part of a post-game AU where everything is the same except Shanoa was able to release Dominus' hold on Albus.

95% of Shanoa's dialogue and actions were written by @shanoaofecclesia in past thread we attempted. Permission was given to touch-up and re-purpose her content for this drabble. What a stellar BFF I'm blessed with.<3))

Dark smoke from the lower district wafted into the heavens, choking out the night sky and any solace the stars may have brought to the Westmarch survivors; watching as flaming cascades of shooting hellfire crashed into what little remained of the burning streets. A cacophony of anguished cries and death rattles screeched into the night as every last human alive was silenced by the angel of death's fury.

From inside the chapel on the overlooking terrace, foreign aid contractors worked hurriedly to mend those brought in during the initial wave of darkness, and expected another onslaught of wounded. It was soon to be found that there would not be as many as they expected, for the city was all but reduced to rubble in the last attack. Anything left alive had been turned into a thrall to roam the streets with fallen angels and demonic brethren alike.

The main band of local heroes referred to as the Nephilim, were looked to by the panicking survivors and suddenly overwhelmed with hysterical pleas and cries, questions asking after what hope was left and what could be done against such a powerful adversary.

After serious council with countrymen and comrades alike, the Nephilim departed again to continue their quest to find and stop the wayward angel of death. But not before they outfitted some of the stronger volunteers with powerful items they had found on their journeys, bequeathing such protections to the brave few who would defend the last survivors in their absence.

Haggard and battle worn from a near-sleepless seven days of combat with demons and crazed angels, a rather relieved-looking Albus passed through the front gate of Ecclesia’s grounds. He sported light pieces of previously-owned ornate plate armor that had been given to him by his demon hunter comrades, the copper and steel glinting faintly as it was moderately tarnished due to excessive use and wear. The tarnish was mostly from his own excursion in Westmarch - and the remnants of demon blood, slimy ichor, and fates only knew what other manner of fowl juices, were plastered all over his armor and clothing.

Something had changed within him; newly raw and powerful, as if his guard had dropped completely away and the usual scholar persona was no more - the hunter side of him having taken over: primal, animalistic, unrestrained.

Rubbing at his chin that bore a few days worth of stubble on his exhausted face, he let out a sigh of relief at his return home. Crossing the grounds towards the dormitories, he threw open the front doors with more force than intended, a loud bang sounding as he entered the common room foyer.

Shanoa had been busy writing in a leather covered tome - a hobby she has developed during her combat partner’s absence, keeping records of everything she remembered so far and learned, a biography of sort. After her dealings with Dominus and Castle Dracula, Albus - in all his gratitude for her saving him - would not take no for an answer and had insisted that she had earned time off after saving the world. He would take on missions for a while to ensure they had enough money between them to continue to live comfortably. It was an insufferable pride thing for him, but she did welcome the respite that came with not having to fight every single hour of her waking life.

Thoughts lost in her tome, she’d raised her head and tilted it back as she heard the front doors slam open, summoning a crimson rapier into her grasp on instinct. While she could feel the other aura wasn’t that of an intruder, she did still jump in her seat when Albus warped from the doorway to appear across from her, and was even more surprised to see how different he looked.

“I’m home,” Albus announced unnecessarily after watching her jump a bit in her seat. The grey hood that covered his head did little to tame his even-more-so mussed hair, especially not after he pulled it down. The light was still in his eyes, for he hadn’t quite been broken by the horrors of the mission, but the icy blue had somehow darkened, aging him slightly. His voice was low, a touch on gruff side; matching his otherwise worn-out self. “… And after what I’ve witnessed, I cannot even begin to tell you how good it is to be here."

Shanoa closed her book quickly before getting up. “…Welcome home. I’m glad you’re back and safe.” She stated quietly, dispelling her rapier and setting the book on the coffee table. There was something off about him that gave her reason to pause. “I see you have a new outfit and armors? I thought you preferred your leathers.”

Nodding dubiously at her armor comment, Albus looked down at the light plate that he wore on his arms, legs and chest. "Quite, but look at this little glamour," he replied, then focused for a moment before fiery energy-tendriled 'wings' materialized behind him, giving off no heat from their soft orange light as they further accentuated the wing-shaped adornments on his shoulder armor. "My benefactors insisted that I would need sturdier armor…" A sigh as he focused on his armored hands as he flexed them a few times under his tired gaze. “Were they ever right. I might not be here otherwise. …The things we do for a bit of coin.”

Concern overtook Shanoa at that comment and she started to round the coffee table towards him. Albus held up a hand to silence any sound or movement she went to make in response, his gaze became serious with intent.

”-Nevermind that, I have something for you,“ Dropping his travel sack, it made a horrible impact sound as if a couple of huge rocks had hit the wooden flooring. Wincing as he knelt and undid the bag’s drawstring, he rooted around the contents of the bag with taloned hands, a dull ‘clink’ sounding as he grasped at something solid.

Shanoa blinked while looking down at her partner’s travel bag - it looked heavy at first glance, but the sound made it seem heavier. “What on earth do you have in there, rocks?” She teased, folding her arms and tapping her heel lightly on the floor.

Silent, Albus paused for the briefest of moments, glancing at her with light mischief in his eyes before looking off into distance as he focused on feeling between the objects in the dark bag.

“Come on, Albus, answer–"

After finding what he sought, he had turned and practically slammed down a huge chunk of rock on the table and stood, crossing his arms.

"-Oh. You did bring a rock with you.”

"Apparently that whole thing is a type of rare, unrefined ore.” Tired as all hell, he managed a triumphant smile and tone, glancing at the stone a moment, then back to her and giving a bit of a shrug. “Think your blacksmith would give us a decent finders fee for it?”

Shanoa chuckled faintly and flicked her hair off her shoulder. “I think Eugen could help you with that, just bring the ore with you when we’ll visit Wygol again.” She replied and closed her eyes.

“Then, might I formally request you escort me to Wygol soon? I have other things to trade with the villagers."

One of their two cats, Mister Thomas, mewed quietly as he skittered over, moving to brush against Albus’s legs in greeting. The simple act prompted a genuine smile, and the researcher gently reached down to pet the cat with the palm of one hand. However, one of the scents that permeated his armor must have been too much for the feline’s sensitive nose, for Thomas made a low warning mewl shortly after and turned his back on him. Watching the cat strut off, Albus shook his head and chuckled quietly.

“Perhaps it would be better to bathe first before we go to Wygol - it seems like Thomas is not pleased with your clothes’ scent at all.” Shanoa joked with a faint smile. "So, what tales do you have for me to listen to about your great quest?”

Albus sighed a bit, making a ‘hmph’ noise. “While I don’t blame you wanting to hear tales of my ‘adventures’, it was far from a joyous romp through the countryside. And it certainly put a lot of things into perspective. …My contacts had previously defeated a powerful demon lord some time ago, but the item that they had sealed their foe into had been stolen… and soon there were rumors of ‘rogue’ angels killing and ‘cleansing’ people in the larger cities in my contact‘s homeland. Very unsettling. In those lands, it is theorized that the people there carry both demon and angel blood in their veins. Really, it is an intriguing concept to consider…”

He tried not to become melancholy as he spoke, but it was obvious that as his thoughts wandered back to his mission he couldn’t help the darkness that flooded over his expression.

“As it were, I was requested to provide support in defending one of the strongholds where remaining survivors had fled to. …The carnage was terrible, I hope to never have to see something so vehemently disturbing ever again. …Legions of the dead littered the streets, there were angels and demons everywhere, battling each other as they fought a three way fight - all sides taking heavy casualties. No place was reported to be safe, and so for tireless nights I lent my aid to stand vigil over and work to secure the city’s trembling and fearful survivors.”

A long pause followed as he let out another sigh, closing his eyes and wincing slightly as he rubbed at one of his temples.

“And then there was the rain of fire on the second night… instantly destroying everything in the lower quarter." Another pause, and he forced himself to look her in the eyes as he spoke of some reassurance. “Thankfully, some very powerful warriors laboured just as tirelessly to transcend even death to set things right again. - I wasn’t needed to help with rebuilding, so here I am, and I think I’ll be staying home for quite some time… until we need money again, but I think we‘ll be set for a while.“ Again he glanced away briefly, then back at her. ”… I think that will suffice for story time for now. Have things been okay here in my absence? Any news worth sharing?“

Shanoa nodded occasionally while listening to his story, thinking that perhaps him not telling her about the mission until afterwards probably was the best idea - just listening to the story made her heart beat faster than usual. “Nothing to report here. I’m glad to see you here safe and without any physical scars, unless you hide them from me.”

“Well, I seriously doubt you're about to help me out of this armor and examine me for scars…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he stopped himself from making his ill attempt at humor sound any more crass than he had intended. It had sounded more innocent in his head. "Really, I'm fine in the bodily sense."

Shanoa stared at Albus as he joked, her eyes narrowing in concern. She did not understand at all what made him joke of what she said, but she was serious about what she said about the scars, just the thought he might be literally hiding something under his sleeve like a scar or a wound made her flinch. Without warning, she reached over and took a firm hold of his chin with one hand, tilting his head from one side to the other as she examined his neck and jawline for any new injuries. Though compliant with her examination, Albus observed her curiously, another weary smile worming its way across his mouth. She wouldn't find anything new to fuss over in his current state of dress.

Satisfied with her examination, Shanoa folded her arms lightly as she relaxed her stance a half-step away from him. “Rest as much as you need. I still receive the odd mission from the villagers, so we won’t be short on money for quite a while. …Wygol can wait for now, you should rest for a while. Even after my journey to the castle, I didn’t rush to the village straight after. But you already know that,”

With a nod, Albus rubbed at his temples again, becoming quite serious as he did so. “Perhaps… perhaps I should rest… there’s something I need to discuss with you, and I’d rather be 'all there’ when I do so. I mean… I’m covered in demon blood, slimy ichor, and goodness knows what other manner of fowl juices. Perhaps you're right, I need a bath and something to eat… before I go completely insane… "

“That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

Though Albus knew he wasn’t in the most pleasant of states to be around, he reached out to rest his hands on her shoulders, aware that the armor somewhat cold to the touch and though the ‘talons’ were blunted they were still capable of doing damage if he wasn’t careful. Taking in the sight of her, alive and well, savoring the relief that her presence brought him.

"…There were a few moments where I feared that I wouldn’t return - and all I could think of was that I might never see home, or, you again."

With such a sentiment uttered, Shanoa took it upon herself to reach over and wrap her arms around her partner to comfort and reassure him. "You're here now, and you're safe. Go and take a bath, wear something comfortable. I’ll prepare dinner tonight.”

“How comfortable? Because let me tell you this armor is pretty heavy.” Expecting a frown, he laughed quietly to himself and turned away to collect his travel pack, quipping 'a light snack will do' as he patted Shanoa on the shoulder while passing by on his way out of the room.

Rinsing his armor off and scrubbing himself clean took the better part of an hour, although at one point he had dozed off for a few minutes while soaking in the tub. After drying off and dressing lightly, Albus heard a faint knock at his door before it opened and he could hear Shanoa’s familiar footsteps, as well as the scampering of several sets of little feline feet.

"Great, you've brought the cavalry," He chuckled while still inside his half-bathroom, mentally envisioning where and how all of her cats would be exploring and positioning themselves in his usually-off-limits quarters. "Just another moment,"

Shanoa sighed quietly to herself, setting a tray with a simple setting of shareable foods; cheese, bread, sliced cured meats, and the odd bit of fruit she had garnished the platter with. Seating herself on the chaise by the window, she stared down at the food somewhat forlornly. Honestly, she was not the greatest chef - her memory loss caused her to forget many basic things and cooking skills were among these basics; she did not want to put more work and pressure on her partner, he had to rest after such an exhausting mission. And while a near hour had passed she had still found herself staring at the ingredients she had intended to use, with nothing coming to mind on how to best prepare them. With a frown, she had slammed a fist gently on the counter, cursing the damned Dominus glyphs under her breath. She knew he would appreciate anything she put together, but she had wanted to put effort into the meal. He'd sounded so tired… She wanted to help.

"Ah, perfect!" Albus beamed at the simple platter, rounding the other side of the chaise while toweling his hair off. Running a hand through to tame his locks into a somewhat acceptable mess he sat next to Shanoa and nodded his thanks. "You’re remarkable, as always."

She just continued to stare at the food, with something akin to visible contempt in her gaze.

"Something the matter?" He asked, slinging one arm lazily over the back of the chaise. Though exhausted and ready to drop, there were things that were more important than falling into a semi-coma-catnap at that moment. Something was bothering her.

“…N-no.” Shanoa muttered quietly and ran a hand through her hair slowly. “…I’m sorry…”

Ah, there she went again with being nearly as impossibly difficult as she claimed he tended to be. Turning in his seat, Albus reached out for her hands and held them tightly in his. Locking eyes with her, he offered a supportive smile and just looked at her silently for a few moments before speaking.

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” He whispered, letting out a soft sigh. His shoulders drooped a bit and he lowered his head, gave it a slow shake, and then looked back up at her. “Thank you for trying. I really appreciate the effort."

To further prove his sincerity, he reached over to the platter and helped himself to the food, soon putting an open-faced sandwich to his mouth with one hand, and offering Shanoa a piece of fruit with the other.

"We can make something tomorrow, together. How does that sound? Could be messy. Or argument-inducing. Or both.” A quiet laugh sounded from him as he continued to keep his eyes fixed on hers, not wanting to look away from his partner, as if doing so would be his last and final time.

Shanoa smiled faintly, accepting the few grapes that had been offered. Before she could say anything in response, several little furry interlopers made their way into their personal spaces, some begging for scraps, others merely curling up wherever they could manage. Albus shook his head at her in mock disappointment at her for letting all of her cats into his room so freely.

"Alright, if that's how it's going to be," He growled lowly in a joking manner, doing his best to scoop up as many of the cats, as well as Shanoa, into his arms before leaning back into his side of the chaise. Any felines he missed simply climbed back up and over once everyone else had settled into a very fuzzy cuddle puddle. Covered in cats and their cat lady, it didn't take long for him to fall asleep in such a safe and cozy atmosphere, and he did not feel the slightest bit guilty for selfishly clutching her so tightly.

Nestled comfortably against Albus’ chest, Shanoa thought to herself that it had been nearly a lifetime since he had last sought such close physical comfort from her. Yet considering everything he had been through, she could not begrudge his need to be near another human being. In their youth, he had always been quite hands-on with those he was close with.

She herself had been hesitant to be alone the first few nights after her defeat of Dracula, opting to sit up in the commons with warm tea and seated near the fire, never having to ask Albus to stay up with her for he had always offered before she could find the words. Admittedly, he had been asleep for most of it. Having either fallen asleep in his own chair while reading or seated near her on the couch, but it had been nice all the same to have someone close nearby during those long, dark nights.

Albus awoke a short time later, startled by vivid recollections of some of the sights he had unfortunately borne witness to during his mission abroad. Shuddering as he recalled the horrors, he buried his face into his hands, having unsettled some of the cats and waking his dozing partner.

“Even the sanctity of sleep has been taken from me…” He muttered, giving a heavy sigh. “If I truly do go mad... again, do me a favour and bludgeon me into unconsciousness.” A dark smirk formed on his face as he craned his neck to look at her in the dimming evening light, recalling something else just as terrible that they both had memory of. “You know, like the last time you were forced to do so.”

Concern awash on her sleepy features, Shanoa shook her head faintly at him. "No, you'll pull through this. Like the last time you had to."

Their big white cat, Frost, then decided to walk through their line of sight and proceed to try to groom Albus' hair. Despite the persian's resting miserable-face, it was the sweetest he had ever been to the scholar. Two of the other cats were tucked under arms and wherever they could fit around their humans, and the fourth had since sauntered off to who knew where - until the clattering of something falling in the study area.

"Perce, knock it off." Albus grumbled, looking over the top of the chaise to see the bengal cat wandering amongst the papers and artifacts on his desk.

"I think that was the point." Shanoa chuckled, pushing herself up enough to look at see what Percival had gotten himself into. "Mission accomplished."

"Yes, well… you didn't have to let them in here." He continued to mutter, frowning as he was nudged back down by a bossy Frost - who was not at all finished with taming the mussy mass of hair.

"They wanted to see you too. They were concerned."

Confidence was not instilled in him, but he opted to say nothing of it. Albus could endure the feline invasion force a little longer. Especially the grumpy old cat that still persisted in grooming the top of his head.

Shanoa seemed to weigh her next words carefully, shifting over to lay on her side between the back of the chaise and Albus's left side, nestling against him a bit less precariously as before.

"It's… worrying to see you like this." She admitted reaching across him to pet the grey fluff of Mister Thomas that had nested in the crook of Albus' right arm. "You've never faultered quite like this before, but I am certain you will pull through. You were there for me even after recovering from Dominus' hold on you, so if you need anything, please just ask."

Albus grew uncharacteristically humble and quiet as she spoke, his usual radiated pride and self-assurance quelled once more.

“You know," He began softly, looking at her pointedly for a moment before letting his gaze wander out into the falling darkness outside. "When we were children, nothing gave me more purpose than looking out for the timid young girl you once were. I wanted to be strong and dependable, for you brought about this desire to become a sort of knight in shining armor… that seemed to persist well into adulthood in some ways, didn‘t it?” A chuckle escaped from under his breath after his slight revelation on his stubbornness in looking out for her, and then remembered that he had been wearing not-so-shining armor hours earlier. “I have never stopped wanting the best for you, even now that you have since grown into a brave and strong warrior capable of taking care of herself. You are your own hero now, and I am so very proud of you for all you have accomplished." The arm he had around her squeezed once in emphasis, and the returning look in his eyes was that of complete adoration for both she herself and the things she was capable of. "You completed the mission we had been groomed for our whole lives; defeating the Dark Lord and saving humanity. And on a more personal note…you brought be back from the edge of oblivion. …If anything, you’ve been my protector. And for that, I… I owe you everything.”

"You owe me nothing, Albus." Shanoa replied softly, a little shy at the slew of compliments peppered into his ramblings. She hugged him tightly with her one free arm and smiled to herself. "We're here for each other, just like we always have been. I couldn't ask for more."

#drabbles #((rehashing an old thread))#ecclesian-crossovers #long post #((the dark bits are mostly in the prologue before the cut - it's rehashed a bit when Albus talks about it))#((thank you again bro-of-ecclesia - you're the best <3))#shanoaofecclesia

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cupnoodle-queen · 7 years

Text

CHASING SUNS: Chapter 8 Power

1,949 words MY BABY IS GETTING SO BAD ASS! I love rereading this chapter, so happy with the scenery. UGH. Also, I had serious song motivation for this one: Hard Time by Seinabo Sey was on repeat, such a good track. Tagging friends @blindbae @nifwrites @themissimmortal

Cam flexed gloved fingers over the hilts of two weighted short swords, turning them to catch the light, their intricate filigree designs worth marvelling. They were lighter than she expected, yet she could already tell her arms would be jelly after a long fight.

Gladio looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

“They aren’t very short.”

Her response was met with an eyeroll. “That’s because you are. Average height people have no problems with their size.”

“I am average height,” She protested, though would be lying if she denied having straightened her back a bit.

Gladio took a step closer to Cam until only inches separated them. Dangerously close; she could smell his shower gel. He looked down at her with a smirk. “So am I.”

She shoved him away, doing her best to ignore the sudden flutter at her hipbone. “To hell you are, I haven’t seen anyone your size around here.” Cam holstered the weapons and sighed, her breath a bit visible in the chill of morning air.

“Just something to get used to, I guess.”

Her first hunt with the swords was nothing to shake a stick at. Her wrists were weak, lacking the muscle and stability of seasoned swordsmen. Gladio had warned her they would be sore, but she didn’t complain. Change required pain, she thought, a temporary albeit necessary evil.

After her second hunt, cleaving her dominant sword down on the skull of a Bashura, she’d anticipated the soreness. It was there, lesser though. Icing them at the end of the day made it all worthwhile.

The third hunt was awkward. Flans are not meant for slicing and Cam took a beating, Gladio having to offer a shoulder as she hobbled their way back to his Jeep. The contact made her forget about the pain. It was a welcome reprieve.

It was only after countless hunts, when she’d stopped icing her wrists altogether as it wasn’t required, upgraded her swords to sharper ones, so many snapshots of the dead in her phone that she had to flick her finger to scroll past them all, did Gladio finally change up their almost daily routine. “We aren’t going hunting today.”

Cam laced up her new combat boots, the glint of metallic accents and shiny leather catching her eye. “Oh? What’s up?”

“I’m showing you how to duel.”

Her head shot up at him. “We are?”

“Yeah.” He worked a kink out of his neck and leaned against the Jeep. “Figure you’re used to those things enough to not take my arm off.”

“Wouldn’t want to mess up your tattoo.”

“Heh,” he chuckled dryily. “Paid decent gil for it, I’d rather keep it on my body.”

Right on que Steph slinked over like a jungle cat, skimming a milky hand across the muscled plains of his shoulders. “I’d rather be on your body, big guy.” she stopped in front of him and tilted his chin into a heavy kiss, her lips parted and devouring his mouth.

Another part of their daily routine was having to endure Steph’s petty attempts at getting a rise out of Cam, often succeeding but not to the point of Cam saying anything. She’d look off in another direction, fiddle with her fingerless gloves, tighten a strap on her chestpiece, anything to distract herself from the pang at her hip, stinging like barbed wire dragged across her skin.

After Steph had finished saying goodbye to Gladio, they headed out. The spot he chose was overlooking a massive gorge, the city of Lestallum on the other side. The residual light that spilled over the hub offered just enough to keep the daemons at bay while they sparred.

Cam stood before him, several paces away. “Now what?”

Gladio had his massive great sword drawn, casually rested over his shoulder. From hilt to tip the thing must have neared her size. Nervous tremors rolled off her in waves. His tone was casual.

“Attack me.”

Her eyes bulged. “No, I’d rather not be killed today.”

“Do you trust me?”

Cam hesitated. “Yes.”

“Attack me.”

His eyes looked up at her with steadfast determination. Ready for her.

With nothing to lose she drew her swords, inhaled, exhaled and charged forward, weapons poised to come crashing on him. Her heart screamed at her and the fire at her side shot pain to her core. This action went against her nature, against the path the Astrals mapped for them.

In a blink Gladio’s sword swung up and over his head, landing between her blades with a harsh CLANK. Cam could tell he wasn’t using his full strength otherwise she would be toast. He jutted the blade sideways and in some gesture that broke physics laws, pulled the swords from her grasp with a twist of his wrists. They flew from her grip and landed on the asphalt, clattering.

Cam froze, still trying to comprehend what happened. Gladio sighed. “Think it would be that easy?”

“One can hope, right?”

As Cam gathered her weapons off the ground, Gladio offered pointers and tactics. “Focus on your opponent’s body language. The side they relax their weapon on. Where they’re looking, ‘cause they’re tryin’ to figure you out as well.” He rested his sword back on his shoulder and paced to the side. “Never let them in your head. They do that and they get you off guard, you’re done for.”

Flicking her wrists and letting a kink out of her neck, Cam considered his advice. She studied his movements, how he carried himself; upon first glance it was even and strong, but with extra attention to detail, Cam could detect the slightest window of opportunity. There was a hesitation in his composure, as if he were struggling to keep his breathing rhythm steady. His shoulders seemed to dip, chest emptied of air. Vulnerable.

Cam readied herself, the little nod that Gladio gave her que. This time she did not charge him, opting instead to play the slow and stealthy card. Cat and mouse at it’s finest. Her eyes never left his, demanding his full attention, watching his moves from her peripherals. She was patient, eager to strike but at the same time hungry for the overtake so she circled and so did he, a slow stalk of amber alertness.

Finally, there. Cam was agile, her wrists long since accustomed to balancing the blades she wielded as she leaped forward towards her prey, her centric force directed without straying course. Her blade clipped the edge of his sword and he faltered; it was unexpected, startled. Her other blade met the opposite side and he flinched, though kept a firm hold on his weapon. Cam reeled back and struck again, this time he was ready for her and their blades bounced against each other's, the loud clanking harsh on Cam’s ears, metal against metal and almost sparking on contact.

The exchange lasted longer than Cam anticipated, the transfer of energy against their steel back and forth getting her blood pumping, adrenaline tapped and mainlined, sweat beading along the now scarring wound on her face. Every chance she got to make eye contact, she did. Not only did it light a fire in her, but it got him off guard for the slightest second.

As the days went by their dueling interactions lasted longer, each one pushing her further and honing her reflexes. It engrained itself in her everyday occurences, her balance improving, attention to detail skyrocketing. Her body was adapting as well, the clothes she wore on her back when she first arrived at HQ becoming baggy around her frame, the spare tire she carried most of her adult life melding into taut flesh over toned muscle. She dreamt of it, matching his blows with mirrored tactic and finesse to counter the movement. Soon enough she craved the thrill of competition more than that of the hunt. Soon enough she almost leapt from her bunk everyday, excited to push her limits.

Soon enough, the pain of Nolan’s absence was pacified, the void filled with the fight. With Gladio.

Try as she did to deny herself, she was letting her soulmate marking get the better of her judgement. She had the color of his irises memorized, the duration of his breaths timed to the millisecond, the little grin he gave when she lasted longer than the previous fight, how invested he was in her, how much he strived to better her. It made her better. It made her want to be better.

Not once had she succeeded in disarming him, though. He’d rendered her weaponless multiple times, but she held her own as she improved, their exchanges and clanking of blades back and forth the soundtrack of Cam’s life.

On one especially rainy evening, as they sparred like they had every night before, something shifted in Cam. A momentous quake in her mind, her lifeblood and essence. Her arms windmilled with speed and fury of a seasoned fighter towards Gladio, rain pelting against her already soaked-through armor, wet curls of her loosening ponytail splayed against her shoulders and neck. She was beautiful death and fury absolute. A machine. Terrifying.

For a fleeting moment Gladio’s heart stammered, watching the construct of lethality, a creature of his own creation before him, land blow after blow to his weapon’s edge. And then, he’d missed the chance to counter; Cam’s blades all but fused to his sword, a force he’d never imagined possible from the petite woman knocking it from his grasp, the great sword smacking against wet pavement.

Cam was starstruck. She hesitated, the rain cold refreshment on her screaming muscles, before she let out a body-rocking laugh. She’d finally succeeded in disarming her opponent, disarming GLADIO, the physically strongest person she’d ever met. She chuckled so hard her already exhausted lungs struggled to maintain airflow.

Barely a month ago she’d lost the love of her life, her home, her purpose, darkness of her own creation fogging her mind. But now, standing beneath the sheets of downpour, holding her weapons as an extension of her form and not foreign objects, having bested her opponent before her, she was a complete one-eighty of her former life.

Powerful. Confident.

Lethal.

Gladio smiled, seeing her full of life and overjoyed. He’d never heard a genuine laugh from her before, and it’s dulcet sweetness softened his shell. He was proud of his protege, the girl who’d turned up one day after setting his heart aflame years before, stoking the flames and rekindling the fire. Her skin glistened in the rain, the light from nearby Lestallum making her skin sparkle.

He was near her without even noticing, his body acting on impulse, fueled by the alignment of stars predetermined before their birth. Cam was frozen in place, their torsos barely touching as Gladio placed a hand on her waist, tugging it forward as his head lowered, lips parted, rain-drenched and needing hers. Though darkness existed around them his eyes were a light at the end of the tunnel, promises of warmth and happiness and-

Suddenly Gladio’s phone went off, interrupting their shared musings. He exhaled, backed away from Cam and answered the phone call, his voice sandpaper. “Yeah?”

Cam knew who it was without asking. It was always the same, his red-haired siren beckoning his return, ensuring he didn’t spend more time with Cam than her. Promises that she was his world like reciting a script.

It was dismal to listen to, so Cam would throw her weapons in the back seat of the Jeep, get in the passenger seat and watch him through the windshield, a silent film of answering repetitive questions and tired assurances.

She rubbed the sun at her hip, the blaze renewed.

#gladiolus amicitia #chasing suns #chapter 8 #gladio x female OC #ffxv fanfiction #ffxv #ffxv soulmate AU #gladio soulmate AU #angst #hurt #combat

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thatbloodycountess · 7 years

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Home: Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Thunder and Lightning

This is a longer chapter. Ideas have been pouring out of me, hence the constant posting of new chapters. I hope you enjoy it!

2,101 words

Vicious storm clouds shrouded the sky above Duscae, thunder rumbling so loud that it frightened human and beast alike. They managed to reach Wiz’s just before the storm hit and took the opportunity to have a meal. Noctis’ headaches still lingered and they didn’t know where the Imperials took the Regalia. All of them were still reeling from Ardyn’s revelation in the crater.

Celes is his daughter.

The Chancellor offered no further details, aside from referring to her as a “poor excuse”. While Gladio didn’t trust anything the man said or did, even he had to quell his suspicions about Celes after that. He couldn’t imagine being tormented by his father. Clarus Amicitia was a good man and loved his family deeply. He would’ve never intentionally harmed his children. He could handle a behemoth but would break if he saw Iris cry. Prompto had been unusually silent, even after they arrived at the chocobo post. The animals usually lifted his spirits but not this time. He perused the gift shop to keep himself busy but it was easy to see that it wasn’t working.

Ignis sat at their table in the café reading the paper with a cup of Ebony. Nifelheim continued to be front page news, which made it a bit easier to find out where they were headed. It seemed they had quieted down after the Archean’s disappearance. The nearby radio pretty much confirmed the information. Gentiana paid them a visit urging them to seek out the Fulgarian, who was the source of the storm. Hopefully they wouldn’t run into the Chancellor this time.

Prompto shook the chocobo snow globe and watched as the artificial snow fell around the scene inside before returning it to the shelf. Normally, being around the chocobos would lift his spirits but he couldn’t shake the sadness that seeped into his bones.

“Even if she is a poor excuse for one…”

He knew what it was like to not be wanted. He lived his entire life with it and he hated to hear that another person lived with it too. Now, she was probably locked up somewhere being subjected to horrible treatment and there wasn’t anything any of them could do about it. Well…not yet anyway. His phone buzzed from his pocket. Prompto found a text from Noctis.

“We’re heading out.”

Prompto headed for the exit of the gift shop but a display at the register caught his eye. The round wooden display was covered with keychains. There were chocobos, cactuar, carbuncle, and moogles in neat rows. Prompto quickly purchased one of the moogle keychains and left the shop to rejoin the others.

Gentiana’s words reverberated in Noctis’ head as they entered the wilderness to complete Ramuh’s trial. Rain pounded the area, soaking all of them through and through. The muddy terrain made traversing the area difficult and slowed them down but they persisted. Thunder rumbled overhead, threatening to send the Fulgarian’s fury down upon them. With each stone pillar found, Gentiana words guided them to another. Aside from the beasts indigenous to the area, they ran into little opposition.

Gladio stopped them before they turned the corner around one of the large cliffs surrounding them. He peered around the rock wall and gave the signal that all was well. Noctis led the way into the narrow pass, spotting what he hoped was the final stone pillar amongst thick vines and brush. He approached the pillar and pressed his palm to it. Purple lightning emitted from the pillar and filled the prince’s body. Noctis’ eyes glowed red as he withstood the impact. He felt the Fulgarian’s power pour into every part of him before the lightning dissipating. The red glow faded shortly after, returning his eyes to their usual blue. The covenant complete, he turned to his friends as the storm clouds receded revealing the light of day once more.

With that task complete, they could now focus on getting the Regalia back. They took the most direct route to the road to get their bearings. Ignis suspected that the vehicle was likely at one of the newly established Imperial bases in the region. It was easily reachable on foot and not too far from their current location. They began their trek across Duscae towards the base, eliminating any beasts they came across. Noctis’ headaches had subsided much to his relief, allowing him to focus on the task at hand.

They reached the base as dusk approached. A watchtower stood a few hundred feet away from the base. It was made of wood, not meal, leading them to believe that either hunters or ENERGIS staff built the tower and that the Imperials hadn’t gotten around to destroying it just yet. The tower was tall enough to allow them to see over the walls of the base to get an idea of what they were in for. Naturally, the place was swarming with MTs and other Magitek machinery. Sitting in a more secluded part of the base under heavy guard was the Regalia.

Ignis suggested they utilize the nearby haven to rest and formulate their plan. They would sneak into the base under the cover of darkness. That would be the easy part. Ignis would have to craft their strategy once inside. There was immense risk to start but they didn’t have any choice if they wanted to recover the Regalia. One false move and they would be overrun as they would be outnumbered. But Ignis Scientia didn’t earn his moniker as The Strategist for nothing. With a partial plan established, they waited patiently for nightfall.

Ignis led the way towards the base, finding a hole in a chain link fence. They crept through the hole and hurried as quickly and quietly as they could, taking refuge behind a group of wooden crates. Noctis moved to strike but Ignis silently raised his hand to stop him. The prince complied as his advisor quickly surveyed the area. There were a few large tanker trucks in the area that would provide decent cover.

He crouched down. “We need to clear these soldiers before we can proceed.”

“Leave it to me.”

Noctis disappeared in a haze of blue light, reappearing just before he plunged the blade of his sword into the back of an unsuspecting MTs neck. The solider collapsed in a heap as he took cover behind the closest truck. He looked to Ignis, who signaled the location of another in a nearby guard post. Noctis nodded and eliminated the MT near him as soon as its back was turned, catching a glimpse of the tower. He warped to the tower and took the sentry out before he could be spotted and immediately crouched down. There were four more soldiers patrolling that area alone. He signaled to Ignis that he would take care of it. He monitored their movements for a few moments. The attack had to be flawless in its execution. All four needed to be destroyed before they could sound the alarms.

He warped off the tower and decapitated the first and went after the second before the body could hit the ground. His blade sliced through the torso of the second and he immediately took out the third. The fourth had its back turned, making it easy to kill with a simple blade through the skull. He quickly rejoined the others and proceeded further into the base. Ignis spotted another guard post with a sentry on duty. Noctis warped to it and quickly took out the MT. He waited until the others moved further in, concealing themselves behind another tanker truck. Ignis moved to the rear and peered around the large fuel tank to stay in eyeshot of Noctis.

He surveyed the area, spotting the Regalia surrounded by just four MTs and immediately suspected a trap. They couldn’t just leave it. He quietly told Gladio and Prompto to be ready before signaling Noctis to go ahead and strike. Noctis warped from the guard post and destroyed the first MT. The alarms immediately went off as more MTs stormed the area. To make matters worse, a Magitek armored unit appeared and quickly opened fire.

“Noct!” Ignis shouted, pointing at a Gatling gun posted on a tower high off the ground.

The strategist fired off a round of Sagefire to cover Noctis as he warped to the tower. Prompto whipped out his autocrossbow and fired a spray of bolts at the enemy with Gladio focusing on the armored unit. Noctis turned the heavy artillery on the armored unit first, the bullets quickly piercing its defenses. Gladio swung at one of its legs doing significant damage but the blow didn’t bring it down. The armor fired a barrage of missiles at Ignis and Prompto but they managed to dodge at the last minute. Noctis didn’t relent in his attack, turning the bullets into the leg that Gladio swung at just moments before. It erupted into flames, bringing the marauder down to one knee.

Ignis used Sagefire once more to eliminate another cluster of MTs but cursed when more swooped in to take their place. They were being overrun and it was only a matter of time before they exhausted themselves. Noctis could see the writing on the wall from his vantage point and made a split decision. His eyes glowed red as he felt his power well up in his chest. Storm clouds moved in overhead with lightning that lit up the night sky. A towering figure, that of an old man, appeared before them and scooped up the prince in his grasp. With one wave of his staff, he brought the lightning down upon the MTs and the armored unit destroying them in a single blow. Ramuh set Noctis down onto the ground before vanishing as quickly as he appeared. Noctis fell to one knee to collect himself as the dust settled. Prompto’s eyes widened as a tall and imposing man heading their way. Dressed mostly in white, aside from a mechanical left arm, with platinum blonde hair his gaze was locked on the Prince of Lucis.

And he didn’t look pleased to see him.

“Noctis…it’s been far too long.”

The prince whirled around to find Ravus Nox Fleuret approaching them. The metal fingers of his left arm flexed as he withdrew his sword.

“I see you’ve achieved the Fulgarian’s blessing…with ignorance as to the consequences.”

He raised his blade to attack Noctis but Gladio intervened with his great sword but Ravus was at least a head taller and physically stronger than the shield. He knocked him back against the driver’s side of the Regalia as if he were nothing.

“A shield that can protect nothing. Useless.” Ravus sneered.

Gladio got to his feet and went to strike again, only to be met with the Ravus’ blade to his throat. Ignis took a step but then immediately thought better of it. Noctis tapped into his inherit power, his weapons materializing around him.

“And what about you?” he retorted. “Pledging your loyalty to the very people hunting your sister down?!”

“That’s enough!”

Ardyn sauntered up to the group as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Despite the Chancellor’s presence, Ravus kept his blade at Gladio’s throat.

“What do you want now?” Noctis demanded.

“Absolutely nothing.” he answered. “I’ve sent the army away and have no intention of asking for anything in return. See what a nice guy I am?”

“We don’t need anything from you.” Gladio glared at him.

He ignored the shield’s comment. “It seems we both have business with the elemental mistress. I do wish you safe travels, Your Majesty.”

Ravus withdrew his blade and left without another word.

“Where is Celes?” Prompto demanded.

Ardyn merely regarded the gunner with a chuckle before departing.

Ignis paid close attention to how the Regalia ran as they headed back towards Lestallum. Everything sounded fine meaning that the vehicle wasn’t tampered with. Gladio was still very much enraged over the encounter with Ravus while Noctis simply stared out his side of the vehicle. Prompto tried to busy himself with going through the photos on his camera.

Upon returning to the Leville, they found a hysterical Iris waiting for them. While they were away, Nifelheim soldiers appeared and detained them. Upon hearing that they were from Insomnia, due to an accidental slip of the tongue from Talcott, they interrogated them about Noctis. They tried to convince them they didn’t know where the prince was but things quickly turned violent. Jared stepped in to defend Iris and Talcott but ended up losing his life.

#final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv fanfiction #final fantasy oc #noctis lucis caelum #gladiolus amiticia #ignis scientia #prompto argentum #ravus nox fleuret #ardyn izunia #celes raye #home

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