#and whether or not there is any way for her to regain her sixth sense | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shootthemessenger · 3 years

Text

that song that we used to make love to [b.d.h.]

billie dean howard x fem!reader

requested: i’m begging for something sexy and/or sad with billie dean

disclaimer: strong language, sexual nature, smut/masturbation

Your bed had been calling you for hours now; coaxing you to peel the uncomfortable work uniform from your skin and crawl into the blankets where you were free to drown in your own thoughts without interruption.

When you finally did have the chance to crawl into bed, the sheets were cold from being untouched all day. The music that echoed softly from your headphones only encouraged you to pull them up and over your shoulders.

You settled on your back, eyes closed and phone discarded somewhere on the nightstand as you let the shuffle of songs soothe your aching head.

The beat of silence between songs only reminded you how empty the entire house felt now.

Billie had only been gone a few months; whether she was traveling the world or settled at Murder House with Constance, you weren’t sure.

Hell, for all you knew she could have been filling her bed with a few of the many fans she had accumulated from her tv show’s newfound fame.

You had little time to think, though, as an all-too-familiar melody began to echo into your head. You froze, trying hard to swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat.

By the time you began to fish blindly for your phone it was already too late, the song was into its fifth or sixth line and the sound of it was enough to rip the breath from your lungs but you craved the sort of hurt it brought you.

You started to be able to see her. The way she used to usher you into the room pawing and gripping at you like a lifeline. The way she used to knock over everything in her wake - lamps, vases, flowers - all to get you in the bedroom fast enough to fill her need for you.

You could almost feel the heavy feeling of her hovering over you, breath ghosting against your lips as she trailed kisses along your burning skin.

Before you knew it, your hand was wandering into the confinements of your underwear where you easily found your throbbing clit and pressed the pad of your finger against it.

A low moan ripped from your throat as your eyes screwed shut, imagining the way she used to touch you; feel you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you mimicked the usual ministrations of her fingers, delving deep inside yourself with the palm of your hand pressed firmly over your clit.

You could only picture her; the look in her eyes as she fucked you, the sight of her hand between your legs working with so much skill that you were almost sure she was using some kind of twisted magic on you.

“Billie,” you groaned, outloud to yourself. You were squirming and whithering now, chest heaving as you worked on yourself to the best of your ability. “Fuck,” you grunted.

You thighs twitched as you desperately chased the feeling you craved so bad. God, you wanted to hear her voice milking the orgasm out of you. You wanted her to whisper in your ear and scrape her teeth against your pulse point.

Cumming felt nearly impossible without her smell suffocating you, but still you tried. The stinging heat felt nearly too hard to reach as you rode your own fingers.

You were beginning to lose control and patience, disregarding any sense of dignity as moans of her name kept falling from your lips - over and over again.

A groan, just slightly louder than the music in your headphones caused you to shoot up from the bed. Your hand flew from between your legs to rip the music out of your ear.

“Billie?” You blushed profusely as you met her eyes. She was standing in the doorway of your bedroom, tightly clutching one of her many dresses in one hand and her house key in the other.

Neither of you knew what to say to the other; you sat in silence as she stared at you and you desperately tried to catch your breath.

“Get out!” You shrieked, tightly clutching the blankets to your chest. Despite being fully clothed, you felt exposed to her.

You knew you were caught when her eyes shifted to the headphones on the floor; you could still hear the song playing from them as it hummed just over the silence in the room.

You shifted your eyes to her and a smirk broke out across her face. You scoffed, “Stop looking at me like that.” You we’re still mad at her for leaving.

Billie didn’t speak, instead she moved to stand at the end of the bed. What was in her hands collectively clattered onto the floor as she let it all go.

“Did you miss me?” She already knew the answer to her question as she bent onto the bed and began crawling towards you after her shoes were discarded on the floor.

Your ears were hot as she moved to level your faces. You thought she was going to kiss you but she paused when her lips were inches from yours.

“Say it,” her voice was low and teasing. How you were supposed to talk louder than the heart pounding in your chest, you didn’t know.

Her confidence faultered as you whimpered out a strangled ‘I missed you’, something soft flickered in her features.

But just as fast as it had come, it had gone and replaced with a look of pure need. She lunged forward to connect your lips, not giving you time to breath before her hand clutched at your chest.

Without missing a beat, her hand replaced the emptiness between your legs. You moaned loudly, your own hand shooting up to tangle into your hair.

“Oh, pretty girl.” She praised, watching you throw your head back into the pillow as her fingers circled around your clit.

“Please, please, please!” You pleaded; to what? You had no clue. But you were far from in control as her finger pushed inside you and curled deliciously.

Strangled moans and cries filled the room. Billie watched between your thighs, admiring the way you took her fingers.

“I fucking missed you, sugar.” She mused, eyes flickering back to your face as you bucked your hips against her hand. “...missed you so much.” She mumbled, slipping a third finger inside you as you gripped onto the sheets for dear life.

“There she is,” You could have cum from her words alone. You had gotten the exact thing you had longed for this whole time. She was feeding it to you on a silver spoon.

“Billie!” She felt your hand tighten around her hair and her lips found yours.

Suddenly, she was soft and gentle. She was savoring the feeling of you and letting you feel every excruciatingly perfect inch of her fingers.

“Come for me, sweetheart.” She kissed your earlobe and then the pulsing vein on your neck. “Come on, babygirl.”

Her words sent you directly over the edge with a loud cry of her name and hand never ceasing its hold on her hair. She was quick to prise you, wiping away the sweat beading down your forehead.

There was a moment of pure bliss between the two of you, her smiling down at you and you struggling to regain any sense of control.

You began to speak through your heaving chest and Billie only shushed you, “Shhh, we’ll talk later. Rest, sugar.”

Taglist: @mssallymckenna , @proudnlittle , @coxmicbabygirl , @sapphicpaulsxn , @its-soph-xx , @fand0m-obsess3d-g33k , @paulsonix , @madamevirgo , @saucy-sapphic , @kikaykimkim , @billiedeansbottom , @d14n4ol

It’s almost 6 in the morning and I’m ✨ soft ✨

243 notes · View notes

onwesterlywinds · 3 years

Text

The Body Fragile Yields

Part of my Godhands series, set roughly in the year 1544 of the Sixth Astral Era - thirty-three years before Hydaelyn’s present-day, and thirteen years before Ala Mhigo’s fall.

Content warning for sexual assault and body horror.

GODHANDS IS NOW ON AO3! If you like it, send over some kudos!

Once, in the early days of her service to the crown and only some few moons after her father's death, Sigrid had been sent out to attend to Theodoric and Hrodric on a stroll through Queen Edila's gardens. Theodoric came across a dead marmot and at once took a stick to it. He poked it over and over again until its half-scavenged, half-decayed innards collapsed into themselves and spilled out over the earth. That single act of violence loosed a stench so foul that Hrodric went running; even Sigrid had to cover her face and recoil from it. That memory was one of the very few of her own that would overcome her once the vera root took hold, though it came more as a dream than a recollection: it seized her whether or not she wished it to, usually whenever Blackram seized her in kind.

***

"It's alright," Blackram whispered, again and again, as his blackened hand moved across her skin, as his body moved over top of her body. He could not reach her when she was like this, not truly, but her distress was an agony for how deeply it had taken root in him. If he could not soothe her, he would soothe himself, and he would speak to her as he did not ever need to when they were truly one.

Each time the primal's influence waned, they spent at least a week abed while they shook off the mantle of divinity and regained some semblance of their selves. It was a harrowing process made somewhat less so by the warmth of Sigrid's body lying next to his, and the persistence of their bond, and the knowledge that their suffering would soon be at an end.

***

His given name, she divined from their pervasive mental thread, was Grimms. It was not that he disliked the name for any reason; he simply doubted whether or not he was worthy of claiming it. Every woman and man who had spoken his name aloud had met a brutal end, and rarely ever by his own hand, as if the Undercity itself could expunge any trace of it on a whim. As such, he preferred Blackram, the title of his own making, at least until he could pass it on to a deserving heir.

***

Ashley. Their heir could only be Ashley, and yet this conviction invariably brought them pain twinned with pride. Sigrid would weep from it, no matter how much vera tonic she'd imbibed, and the prospect of Brynhilde's son as her son - their son - brought forth in him her visceral grief and guilt, as debilitating as their shared sickness. Of all he had done to secure the Undercity, to remake it on Sigrid's behalf, he could not yet fathom what it would mean to bring Ashley into their fold: in fulfilling his own destiny, in treating with the power of the gods, would he condemn his only scion to this same hell?

Only the Ascian would know.

***

Some days, when he needed solitude but ached for her closeness, Blackram would carry her on his arm to a spot deeper still than the catacombs: a placid saline lake where snowflies gathered to flit above the surface if the air was warm. While there, he would release her for some few moments to tend to his own musings, and she would run her toes along the smoothed rocks that comprised the banks until her last dregs of energy were spent and her legs would heed her no more.

It was akin to how the Saltery had found Blackram's mother so long ago, floating face-up and stone-cold in the shallows of Loch Seld. In life, the lot of them had called her a banshee - one of the beings that haunted the valleys with their wailing lamentations since long before the flood - and even as they hauled her corpse from the water, her hair and lips and lashes crusted with salt, they handled her with far more caution than reverence.

***

The Undercity was deep in the throes of winter, and only the salt of the lake kept it from freezing over so far beneath the earth; the snowflies were well into hibernation for the year and would not return for another few moons at best. The cold settled itself upon every ilm of stone like a fine shroud, brutal to bear without the warmth of their bed, and the bite in his boots intensified as Sigrid stretched out her own feet into the frigid, numbing depths.

Through it all, his dead hand ached worse than ever.

"You're late," drawled the red-masked figure.

***

No matter how deeply the vera root infringed upon her consciousness, no matter how low she had sunk into vague scenes from her memories or Blackram's, that voice had a way of cutting through the debility, the cold, the fear. Half the time it did not sound like Common, let alone any other language she had ever heard, and yet she understood it better than she understood her innermost thoughts.

She would have to simply lose herself, as she had learned to do while chained to the catacomb walls at this voice's behest, while lying futilely on her back, while Blackram whispered over and over that it was alright. She threw her head back to the cavern ceiling and a moan escaped her lips - the first sound she made in longer than she could remember.

***

He had grown used to the Ascian's dramatic entrances. Whoever they were and whatever their origin, they defied every law the Undercity imposed upon its denizens. The passage before him, now only a vague memory of Skalla, was the sort of place no living soul could traverse without leaving some trace of themselves - and yet there his benefactor stood, surveying the clawed tips of their gloves as dark currents from the void swirled around them.

"We've done it," Blackram declared. He was breathing heavily, as though he had run a malm while wracked with fever, all from the strain of having carried Sigrid to her point of rest in the pool. "We've summoned Zalera of our own flesh and survived."

The Ascian gave him an evident once-over from behind their blood-red mask and scoffed. "Albeit the worse for wear."

Blackram gritted his teeth but offered no retort. He would endure the weakness, endure the chills, endure his own dead hand until the primal was to be brought forth again. The only other choice was for him to lie down and die - and if he were to perish with so much left undone, then so too would Sigrid.

"We have fulfilled our end of our bargain, done as you instructed. But I would ask something different of you in exchange."

The Ascian's smile widened, ever the more unsettling for the fact that it was their only visible feature. "Oh?"

"I set my previous terms before Sigrid and I were joined - and now, there is much more at stake than the specifics of my past. I would inquire instead of the future."

"Hmph." They shrugged, rolling out their shoulders. "This could be your only chance for answers - to know of yourself, where you came from, how you came to be. You would deny yourself this knowledge forever?"

If this was a trial, a test of wills, he would overcome it. For Sigrid's sake. "I would."

"Suit yourself - though I must warn you that foresight is not a gift I possess. Nevertheless, I would not have your deeds be met with a reward you deem unfitting. Ask whatever you wish, and if it is within my knowing, I will grant you your answer."

For the briefest of moments, a glimmer of Skallan tilework, as blue as a clear morning, captivated his attention from somewhere off in the darkness. "If our heir should take up the mantle of Zalera in our stead," he began, and found that his question evaded him until only a fatalistic certainty remained. "...He will suffer as we have."

His benefactor did not move. They gave no sign that they were even breathing, let alone listening; when they spoke again, it was in a voice far softer, far more deadly, than any they had used before.

"That is something no one can say. What you have achieved thus far - the binding of two souls in service of a primal - is without precedent for your kind. Whether this mantle can be passed down to another will depend entirely on this boy, and perhaps on what he can learn from you."

And for the first time in longer than Blackram could remember, his gut clenched with stirrings of hope.

"Now, then. If that's all, you'd best return to your lady love. There's no telling what she could get up to unattended, even in her state."

Sigrid would be missing him; she was alone and cold and so distant in body and mind. But he was halfway to the primal's haunt, and he could use the last of his strength to make that journey alone, to gather what he needed with her none the wiser.

"Oh, and Blackram?"

The Ascian was at his flank in an instant, tucked into his blind spot faster than he could blink. He raised his arm to fend off an attack, only for the Ascian to whisper in his ear.

"Your success has also earned you this..."

They did not speak the next words aloud. His father's name fell into his thoughts as though it had been there all along.

***

The knife brought her back to herself. Her hand slipped to the stones at the pool's edge and touched its hilt, and she knew it at once as a gift from Rhalgr or Byregot or Brynhilde. Its blade was rusted along its edge but plenty sharp at the tip, sharp enough to pierce skin, perhaps rupture vital organs. For the first time in moons, she was reminded of her father - not a specific moment in which to lose herself, but the sound of him at work in their home's basement forge, then the smell of his sweat when he'd emerge at the end of the day. The memories stung her all the more for their vagueness, for the reprieve they could not grant her.

And she was alone. Blackram had yet to return for her, though she could sense some decisive purpose driving him deeper into the cavern, much deeper than his talk with the Ascian had required. The vera root was wearing off and her pulse was quickening, and the salt on her tongue tasted of Brynhilde.

She tucked the knife into the band that tied back her hair, though her arms ached to stretch them so, and she prayed the glint or press of it would not alert Blackram when he came to pick her up once more. When at last he reappeared, he lifted her across his unblemished left arm, steady against his shoulder. He whispered words she could not make out, adjusted her headband to cover her eyes, and the knife did not fall. She endured the familiar, troubled movements of his body as he walked them back up to their chambers in the catacombs, where a new horror beckoned.

A swath of red lay across the bedsheets, so violent in its scattering that she retched. She could smell the rot of flesh from him and from everywhere, as overpowering as ever. She backed away from the bed even as Blackram reached for her, shaking her head and trembling all over.

Get away from me. The words would not leave her, no matter how she screamed.

"Sigrid," he whispered. He held more of it in his blackened hand, its perfume overpowering; a bloom of-

Red lilies.

He reached for her but the knife was already in her hand. He reached for her and she stabbed outward until the lilies fell to the stone at their feet. He reached for her until he drew back with a hiss of pain, a shuddering gasp, a gush of blood flowing freely from his side.

He reached for her and held her fast about the waist, stanched his wound with her skin, pressed his dead hand to the base of her spine and bared his soul to hers.

Blackram, bastard son of Titus yae Galvus, summoned Zalera from their agony once more.

#Godhands #Sigrid Keane #Blackram #[SHRIEKS IN ALA MHIGO]

23 notes · View notes

tkc-info · 3 years

Text

Awakened And Sleepless

OCtober 2021 day 3 - duel

2011

“CC, shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Dad asked.

Cal shook her head vehemently. “No! I want to kill zombies with you.”

Dad always let her stay up a tiny bit after bedtime so that they could play video games together. They were currently playing BioShock 2, and Cal liked how one of the main characters was a little girl like herself. She didn’t understand why Dad would rather go who-knows-where.

“We’ll kill the zombies tomorrow.” Dad promised, kneeling down on the hallway to look her in the eye and ruffle her hair “Mum and I are going on a date, and that is very important because we’ve been very busy. Aunt Cora and Sam will stay with you.”

“Mum can kill the zombies with us.” Cal protested.

She liked her aunt Cora and her partner Sam, but neither people played video games. And there was nothing like snuggling against Dad’s chest as they watched the screen.

“I refuse to kill any zombies when I could be dining at a fancy restaurant.” Mum called out from the bathroom, where she was painting her face with boring makeup “I simply refuse. CC, honey, when you grow up you’ll understand how important it is to have a nice date amidst the turmoil of your job.” she then began complaining about the director of the museum she worked in.

As she did so, Dad grabbed Cal’s hand and guided her back to her bedroom. He made to get her to bed, but Cal attempted to stay awake one last time. “Shouldn’t I be awake to say hello to Aunt Cora and Sam?”

Dad quirked an eyebrow at her. “They will arrive a bit late.” Aunt Cora delivered babies, and Sam was a doctor. Cal knew they would arrive late. That’s why she had asked Dad whether she could greet them “For now, only Mrs Bates will be keeping an eye on you. Do you want to say hello to her?”

Cal shook her head. Mrs Bates was the Everitt’s widow neighbour; she was kind enough, but always insisted on pinching her cheek, and joked about Cal behaving more like a boy than a girl. Cal didn’t like to be told that she was like a boy simply for not liking most of what her female classmates did.

“No!”

Dad chuckled and ruffled her hair again. “Then go to sleep, CC. Here,” he took the Peter Pan stuffed doll Oliver had got her for her sixth birthday “take Peter. Mum will come in a moment.” he kissed her forehead “Night night.”

“Night night.” Cal hid her face with her sheets.

She did not want to sleep, and so would not sleep. Cal closed her eyes and kept very quiet and very still when Mum crept into her room to kiss her goodnight. For good measure, she didn’t dare breathe until the main entrance had clicked shut, and Mum and Dad had gone away.

Only then did she kick her sheets aside, roll out of bed, and leave her room. Cal had decided that —if she wasn’t going to kill zombies— she would at least do the best next thing: reading.

Mum and Dad didn’t want Cal’s books in her room because she would ‘stay up late reading’. Which was ridiculously; Cal knew how to manage her time. Be it as it may, they’d hid her precious books in their room, where Cal couldn’t go to in the dead of night. It was all very unfair, Cal thought, but now that her parents were away and she alone (until Aunt Cora and Sam arrived)…

Well, who could blame her?

There was only one bookshelf in her parents’s room. Cal was tall —three centimetres taller than Oliver!— but couldn’t hope to reach the upper shelf her current book was on. Instead, she had to resign herself to some Nathan Drake-moves.

“I wish Tinker Bell were here.” Cal grumbled. She wasn’t a very good climber, and pixie dust was dearly needed. Alas, Tinker Bell hadn’t liked Wendy much, so she probably didn’t want to aid Cal, either.

Cal almost fell twice, but finally was able to get her book and carefully climb down with it on her head. Mission success!

Just as her feet were back on the floor, the front door opened. Cal’s eyes widened: Aunt Cora and Sam were here. They had arrived way earlier than she’d expected. This was bad.

She scurried to her room, trying to make as little noise as possible. In her room, Cal slid her book under the pillow, and covered her whole body with the sheets. By some miracle, she had enough time to fake being asleep so that Aunt Cora couldn’t see what she’d been doing.

“CC, are you asleep?” came Aunt Cora’s low voice, in a murmur.

Cal wanted to say ‘yes’, but bit her lip in time not to.

Soft pads announced Sam’s entrance. “She’s sleeping, my love.” he said. As always, his voice was higher than his girlfriend’s.

“I just want to check whether she’s actually asleep. Are you actually asleep, CC?”

Once again, Cal had to keep herself from answering. She closed her eyes tighter, wishing very hard to be asleep just so that she could wake up when Aunt Cora and Sam went out.

When the couple finally did —long minutes later— Cal felt a strange sense of drowsiness. It felt like she was only half-sleepy.

Cal rubbed at her eyes with her fisted hands, then sat up to take her book. But had she really sat up? There still was a head resting on the pillow. Cal tried to sit up, but she was already sitting up.

Her heart began beating a little bit faster, and she promptly scrambled to turn on her book light. The lamp illuminated the face of a redheaded little girl hugging a Peter Pan doll and breathing evenly. It was Cal; but Cal could look down and also see herself sitting crosslegged on the bed —completely awake.

What was happening?

Pressure built at the back of Cal’s eyes, and tears promptly slid down her cheeks as fear took hold of her. She wanted to tell Aunt Cora and Sam, but when she crept into the living room they didn’t seem to see her. They didn’t care.

And Cal’s body began hurting so much she could hardly breathe, much less talk to get their attention. The only thing she could do was follow a desperate voice —instinct, she’d later come to learn— and crawl back to her room.

She was too scared to talk; couldn’t talk what with her tears and the pain that had lessened but not disappeared.

The voice that had told her to come to her room spoke again. That is you it said, pointing at the grimacing body laying on the bed and this is you, too. it continued, pointing at the body that kept Cal awake.

Cal did not want to have two bodies, and tried to tell herself this was all a dream. She was dreaming. She was dreaming. She was dreaming.

She was not dreaming.

Nothing had prepared her for splitting into two. Mum had told her kids like Cal grew very fast, and Aunt Cora that one day Cal would have to go to her clinic for something very important. But Aunt Cora had talked of Cal when she became thirteen or fourteen, not six. And Cal knew how kids her age should grow because Oliver had explained it to her at recess.

Kids weren’t supposed to grow a second body.

The only reference Cal had to something similar was Peter Pan and his shadow; but the body on her bed wasn’t night-black, and neither was it the one she could control. They were identical copies.

Cal tried to glue them together, still. She got on her bed, caught her sleeping body’s limp arms and tried to fuse them with her other body’s. To no avail: Cal wouldn’t have had more success trying to fuse with Oliver.

Fear was replaced by frustration and desperation. She tried again, again, and again. And nothing. Cal couldn’t have told how long she spent fighting with herself to become one with the sleeping form —just that she couldn’t achieve her goal.

It was like duelling with a statue. One body would give her all, and the other nothing. But still the former would win, always.

Cal wasn’t crying anymore. She doubted it was because she’d become braver, but rather because no more tears would fall. She tried to seize the opportunity and regain some semblance of normal breathing. Maybe she should try a different strategy?

Sitting at the sleeping body’s right, Cal closed her eyes and tried to fuse it with herself gently. She tried to coax it into the union.

At first, nothing occurred. But the feeling of semi-drowsiness she’d had when this mess started eventually returned. Cal could feel herself awake and sleepy at the same time; could feel both her bodies. She tried to push them together, bend them into submitting to her wishes.

Her sleeping body’s eyes fluttered open.

Just as Cal thought she’d succeeded, a wave of pain clouded her vision and loosened her hold on the bodies’s connection. It was the worst pain she’d ever felt, and knocked her out.

Into her sleeping body.

Finally whole, the pain subsided; Cal’s heart calmed down ever so slightly. She tried to get to sleep, but could‘t without feeling her body begin to split. So, she didn’t sleep. Instead, she only focused on remaining calm. Breathing in and breathing out. Breathing in and breathing out.

But Cal only reached five breaths before someone burst into the room and turned all the lights on.

“Good morning, CC!” Mum announced as she and Dad rushed to her bed “We’ve missed you so much.”

Cal blinked, barely processing Mum covering her in kisses.

“Princess, shouldn’t you let her wake up?” Dad asked.

Mum tsked. “Don’t be like that.” she told him, giving him a kiss, too. But this time on the mouth and long enough for Cal to understand what was going on.

Was it morning? How long had she been awake —or half-awake?

“Have I been dreaming?” Cal asked her parents once they drew back. Mum and Dad knew everything.

“Of course you’ve been dreaming.” Mum tucked a red lock behind her ear “That’s what people do when they sleep.”

Cal felt suddenly very uncomfortable. It had all been a dream, right? And yet the lingering pain in her head implied otherwise.

“Did you have a dream?” Dad asked her.

Tentatively, Cal nodded. “I had a nightmare.”

She tried to believe her words. Yes, what had happened tonight had been a nightmare. She was now out of it, and would have no trouble sleeping next time.

That’s what Cal told herself the day she awakened to the doppelgänger insignia. And the day after that one, and the subsequent months that followed it. It was only when she’d come to reluctant terms with her Split —and shame had made a secret out of it— that she wondered:

Why?

@oc-growth-and-development @wagnerthedragon @iloveallmyocs @littleturtle95

#the kinship chronicles #oc-tober

5 notes · View notes

awintersrose · 4 years

Note

235) Thunder Storm (for OroTsu/missing their Third?)

From this prompt list.

As the heavy wooden door clatters shut to the banquet hall, the inauguration ceremony is complete. Konoha’s best and brightest remain in attendance to celebrate the rise of the Sixth Hokage, Hatake Kakashi, but Tsunade instead finds her escape with a pilfered bottle of sake.

She makes for a surreptitious figure, running among shadowed paths and darkened alleys, skipping rooftops toward the forest, heading toward the one place she knows she won’t be sought out. That locale is just outside the village, and happens to be the new holding quarters of her former teammate - quaintly appointed the ‘New Otogakure.’

The last long stretch of the walk is lonely, it always is, and the scent of ozone hangs in the air. Tsunade recalls that it is meant to rain this night, and she absently considers that she could be caught in a downpour at any moment. Serves Shizune right for forcing her into this kimono.

It’s fortunate that she makes her way past the Jounin on duty just as the first raindrops begin to fall.

The facility is rather modern, which she knows suits Orochimaru well. It still surprises her that he has found a form of contentment here, but then again, there are a great many things that have surprised her of late.

A beeping sound accompanies the automatic doors as they open before her - she has scarcely had the chance to press a single button, but it seems she doesn’t need to. His eyes glimmer, cat-like in the halflight, as if he has been waiting for her.

“I could sense you on your way at a hundred-fifty paces, Hime. What brings you to my humble abode?” Orochimaru crosses his arms, then gazes at the bottle in her hand. “I take it the inaugural celebration was not to your taste? Come in, then.”

She follows his fluid steps down brightly-lit corridors, giving into the knowledge that his company is the only one she can stand on a night like tonight. Now that everything is finally at an end.

Now that her service is over.

They play cards and drink, and it’s obvious that the sake won’t be enough, it’s never enough. Her spirits are far lower tonight than they have been since the war ended. Tsunade should feel relieved to be passing along the hat, but by her own measure - her legacy came at far too high a cost.

“Did you hear me?” Orochimaru snaps his fingers to regain her attention as he lays his cards on the table. “I’m about to rob you blind, Hime.”

“What?” She sets her saucer down, peering and blinking bleary-eyed at her own hand. Perhaps he might be fooled into believing she can even read the suits and values at the moment.

“You’re not nearly drunk enough to be losing on purpose. What’s the matter?” he asks, head tilting to the side as he studies her.

He already knows her scent has been radiating discontent and her pulse has been erratic from the moment she crossed his threshold, but like him, Tsunade has never liked thunderstorms. Since her arrival, the skies opened up, and have poured forth pure wrath, barreling down upon the building with heavy force. The silence amplifies the sound, and it’s simple enough to blame her nerves on the environment, yet there is more. Because even he feels the edge of it.

Once they had comfort on nights like these. Too-warm, sun bright comfort, with laughter like booming thunder and the name to match, his arms big enough to fit them both in his embrace. Jiraiya.

Now there’s only an empty space where he should be, and the only thunder present is that which crashes amongst the clouds.

“Don’t you go crazy here like this?” she demands.

“Don’t I? Hime, I think the village established long ago that I am ‘crazy’, what a question,” he smirks, shuffling the cards.

“Stop that, you know what I mean. Alone in the silence, thinking about things.”

“What good is it to think about such things? I find my distractions. And I find them well,” he sighs. “I don’t know what the point in playing is anyway, it’s not as if I can win your money and use it… Not for anything I truly want.”

“Ugh, Oro - behave.”

“Hime, you know very well I have been the model of perfect decorum and plan to be exactly that for the extent of my time as such an honored guest of my homeland.” His words drip with honeyed venom, and his golden eyes flash with a bit of understated discontent, but she knows him well enough to know he means what he says.

“You only say so because you know good behavior will get you the privilege of the equipment and requisitions you desire.”

“Just so, Hime-dear. A reciprocal balance.” Orochimaru rises to walk towards a small cabinet, where he withdraws a dark bottle.

Tsunade’s eyes sharpen. “You old snake! I didn’t know you were hiding alcohol here.”

“I wasn’t. Suigetsu-kun pilfered it and left it here. It’s a decent quality umeshu - not your drink of choice, but one I find more palatable than your choice of sake. Who made the ordering decision for the ceremony, anyway? The quality was dreadful. You don’t care because you drink like a fish.”

“Shizune - cutting costs as usual. But that doesn’t matter - open the bottle and get over here.” Tsunade waves him over, just as a particularly close peal of thunder rolls and lightning flashes through the high-slitted excuses for windows. She practically jumps in the air.

“Hime…” Orochimaru approaches, abandoning their usual distance to sit a bit closer beside her as he works the bottle open.

By his movements, Tsunade realizes just how formal this aspect of their interactions has become. Not their words, no, those have never been formal - could never be formal at this point in their lives. But when was the last time they touched with true intention, let alone affection?

She supposes the avoidance was a safety measure at first, to appease the council and prying eyes. It’s not as if she couldn’t subdue him on her own if he really were a threat. Even so, feeling him closer, so close that the silk of his haori brushes her arm as he moves, makes her aware of an emptiness she thought she’d reigned in long ago.

Despite movements that are as graceful as a geisha serving a favorite customer, Orochimaru’s pour is generous and he pushes the cup into her hand. “Drink.”

As she takes the cup and quaffs the overly-sweet liquor, all she can think about is how his biting, corrosive chakra should have always been accompanied by the solar warmth of another.

That absence is eating away at her, has been eating away at her with every toast to each accomplishment, each success of her rule as Hokage, the Allied Shinobi Forces’ victory at war…

Her gambles always have a way of fucking her over in the end. All the idiot had to do was come home.

Orochimaru takes a sip of his own drink and turns golden eyes on her, dark lashes dipping low. “I miss him too, Hime.”

“How did you even…”

“Do you remember what we used to do when it would storm like this during monsoon season?” he swirls the small amount of umeshu in his cup, contemplating the amber hue of the liquid in the dim light.

“It didn’t matter because we were together.” Tsunade shifts back and pulls her knees to her chest just as a deafening thunderclap echoes through their hearing.

With the flash of accompanying lightning, the room is plunged into darkness as the power to the building goes out.

Perhaps it’s the reminiscence, perhaps it’s the proximity, but Orochimaru finds himself caught around the waist by arms stronger than iron as he blinks into the encroaching darkness. It should feel startling and foreign, but he’s always known Tsunade better than anyone else ever could. That includes the feel of her against his form, whether in joy, or sorrow, or fear.

After all these years, her skin still smells of vanilla bath oil, even if it’s laced with rice powder, cosmetics, and the tang of old sake rising from her pores. She’s been drinking more than usual at night, it seems. Anything to chase the memories away.

It’s not as if he can blame her.

The distant hum of a motor indicates the activation of a generator, and the eerie green of emergency lights flicker along the floor as mechanical bolts lock into place at all doorways. Emergency protocols - no one wants their pet prisoner escaping during the raucous chaos of a blackout. The sensor Jounin know exactly where he is and exactly where he won’t be going.

As if he would while here with Tsunade anyway. The sound however, startles her enough to make her utter a sound, her arms clamping around him even harder. It’s out of character for her, especially at their age.

Out of character or not - how could he deny her? His arms slip around her in turn, and she feels smaller against him that he remembers. Deceptively fragile.

This woman is anything but, at least not physically.

“Remember how we’d used to spend those days at his flat? He’d make that spiced hot chocolate his mother used to fix when we were kids, then try to make us laugh when the storms picked up?”

“If the power went out, he’d get lanterns and a flashlight and make dumb faces…” Her voice is tentative, as if afraid of the words it speaks, the images it conjures. “We’d have to get him to stop.”

“I was never cold when we were together like that.” Orochimaru settles his chin upon her shoulder, solidifying the embrace. It goes unsaid that he’s been cold for decades since.

Neither Jiraiya nor Tsunade ever knew the depth of who and what they'd always been to him, nor why their abandonment of Konoha destroyed an already fraying mind in the end. It took an age for Orochimaru to admit it to himself.

It was why he found his purpose in his work. It was why every attempt at a bond made elsewhere was an ephemeral thing, even when attempted with another who chased immortality.

For his clan, a mating bond, once established, was near impossible to break.

In another life, they might have been a family twined out of three matched souls. But he failed her when it mattered most, and the life lost also cost him any dream of a future. And so he paid a life for a life as he handed Tsunade her brother’s necklace. Eventually Jiraiya paid his own price in turn.

Now she's here in his arms, trembling in the dark with the ghosts of lost loves so near and all Orochimaru wants to do is chase that pain away. Isn't it too late?

It's never too late until you're dead. A jovial baritone echoes in his memory, so close that he could reach out and touch the heat of Jiraiya's presence.

Her lips taste like plum wine and sake, smeared lipstick and leftover spices from her shared meal at the ceremony. Kissing her may be a mistake, and certainly against many rules, but all pretense of good sense is out the window and melted away in the rain.

Good sense is a trifle he will leave the young to pursue; they’ve had their fill. The Densetsu no Sannin are relics of the past, forgotten and stricken from history, but the two that remain now stand reunited in the one place they have left to call their own.

That place has never had walls or a stone foundation. It lies between breaths and heartbeats, in the echoing desperation of Tsunade’s voice in his ear, pleading in nonsensical tongues. It is in the heat of her skin, scarred and soft and perfect as he kisses away the salt of her tears.

He can only see her in shadow and the second subtle glow that his senses lend him, of her chakra, her heat signature, both things that he would know anywhere no matter the surroundings. Her lacquered nails tear at clothing, eager to get to the flesh beneath, and they fall together, side by side on a makeshift bed consisting of her kimono and his discarded haori.

The raucous drumbeat of rain and crashing thunder accompany the rising hunger, the echo of the aching emptiness both seek to fill. What rises between them is not gentle, could never be; much like the storm outside, holding the potential for creation or destruction.

Lightning flashes, illuminating her in all her splendor as Tsunade meets him pleasure for pleasure, and Orochimaru is wholly overcome. Self control gives way to the long lost years of denial, of cravings locked behind steel bars of heartbreak and vengeance.

Decades have passed and she still has the power to render him undone.

He loses himself within the clutch of her body and too quickly, euphoria finds them with a furious violence that borders on pain. It’s nowhere near enough to quell the ache of old wounds torn asunder, the need awakened anew. Hardly a breath is caught between them before they are set to chasing the same high yet again as the storm rages outside, and Jiraiya’s spectre lingers in their hearts, their collective sense memory.

Peace may never be fully within their grasp, but a tenuous comfort is found in the afterglow, where Tsunade drinks down Orochimaru’s every gasping breath. The heat of his touch radiates over her flesh as if he’s marked her for keeps, their bodies still united.

The electricity kicks on and the dim lights flicker to full brightness, revealing the beauty of his form just as she pins him down to rest beneath her. What’s been lost is found again, however inconvenient it may be.

All she knows is that she refuses to let it go. They’ve earned this.

When storms come, they’ll weather them together - as it always should have been.

#orotsu #jiraorotsu #orochimaru #tsunade #naruto #naruto shippuden #my fanfics #hope you enjoyed it!#awintersrose #peepingtoad

56 notes · View notes

alolowrites · 4 years

Text

On The Run

Summary: Staying in one place was never a good idea. It was risky and only caused more problems for you. However, an exception was made for Minato—a city under Shinsou’s watch.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’m happy to share my sixth story for @bnhabookclub‘s Hero Camp Bingo event. This story is by far the longest fic I’ve ever wrote. The bingo prompt I used was “Pro Hero AU”. This story is also part of the club’s Weekly SFW Prompt and the prompt used was: “I think I’m in love with you, and that terrifies me.”

This story wiped me out. I think it’s because of the sheer length and the action scenes. However, I am very happy with this story. Hopefully you all enjoy it as well!

Please note that the reader is a villain and there is an itty-bit of angst...

Word Count: 4.6K+

“Well, well, well…”

You were slammed against the brick wall, letting out a painful groan. Unfortunately, it was drowned out by the rowdy bar filled with boisterous drunk men. A large shadow loomed over your hunched figure, the raggedy boots stomping closer to you. One hand seized your jaw and forcibly made you look up.

“If it ain’t Vanisher herself,” he sneered, his mouth reeking of low-quality vodka. You almost hurled when his nasty breath hit your nose. The wretched stench of someone’s vomit flowing from the dumpster smelled better. Two of his buddies stayed behind him, their snickers echoing down the dirty alleyway. “You’re a pain in the ass to find, y’know that?”

“What the hell do you want, Takeshi?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” His grip tightened, and you yelped; that’s going to leave a bruise. Takeshi’s face inched closer as you glared at the disgusting henchman. “Our boss wants all the money you stole from him. Down to the very last yen.”

“Aw! Is the old fella still holding a grudge on me?” You clicked your tongue like a disapproving parent. A playful glint flashed across your eyes. “I won that money fair and square. Not my fault he’s a sore loser.”

“You swindled him with those rigged poker cards!”

“A gal’s gotta survive in this world, my friend,” your voice was sickly sweet, but also dangerously cold. Takeshi growled as you cackled at his annoyed expression. “If that means playing a little dirty with suckers like him, then so be it. Now, if we’re done here—”

The air escaped from Takeshi’s lungs when your right knee landed a harsh blow in his groin. Without stopping, you snatched the arm holding you and twisted it with brute force; he howled, not seeing the swift kick that knocked him off balance. You needed to flee quick. As you dodged the other goons’ attacks, you immediately had a place in mind and extended your palm.

A golden circle started opening in the distance. Your legs were on fire like Ingenium, and your lips nearly tasted sweet freedom when a long, slimy tongue smacked your neck. You collapsed on the pavement, the bright circle fizzling away. An unsettling feeling brewed inside your head when you couldn’t move at all. Every muscle was numb despite your brain sending SOS signals to get up.

Fuck! I forgot about his paralyzing quirk.

Heavy footsteps shook the ground. You were rolled onto your back and panicked when Takeshi’s wild eyes shamelessly raked along your body. He dared to plop himself down, his sandbag like weight crushing you with no remorse. His chapped mouth stopped near your ear and snarled, “You ain’t goin’ nowhere. I know the boss wants ya’, but he’s just gonna have to wait until I have my way with you first.”

“Aye yo, Takeshi, guess what!”

“What?” He snapped his neck over his shoulder, annoyed at being interrupted. A dazed sensation overcame him, and he stayed motionless. You cursed to yourself when you realized who was responsible for this—Shinsou Hitoshi, aka Persona Hero: Mindjack.

“Get off her and walk toward me.”

Yup, it was definitely him. You tried wiggling your fingers or toes, but to no avail; you were deadweight and glared at the dark sky. If there was anything you hated more in the world, it was being a hopeless damsel in distress. A few minutes passed until you hear Shinsou’s light footsteps approach your pitiful state.

“Well, isn’t this a sight,” he snorted at your heated face.

“If I could flip you off, I would.”

“This is the thanks I get for saving your ass?” You averted your eyes, begrudgingly waving the imaginary white flag. Shinsou bit back a grin as he kneeled beside you, checking for any injuries. “But seriously, are you okay?”

“Why do you care?”

“I'm a hero. I make sure people are not hurt,” Shinsou answered sincerely. His hand lingered above your shoulder as violet eyes stared at you. The corner of his lips curved ever so slightly when he said, “Even if the person happens to be a villain like yourself, Vanisher.”

“Well, I’m fine. Just paralyzed.” Your muscles were still frozen. Shinsou hummed as he glanced at the three men sitting obediently by the dumpster. Their hands and feet were tied, Takeshi being the only one still in a daze. The other two guys were knocked out thanks to Shinsou’s precise attacks. You let out a relenting sigh, “Thanks for…saving me. Damn pig hit a new low for pulling that shit on me.”

“He’s a coward.” You were taken aback by the venom in Shinsou’s voice. Coincidently, your fingers and toes twitched, a small sign that you were regaining control again. “It seems that he’s done it before. I’ll make sure assholes like him are off the streets permanently.”

“For once, I actually support your heroic actions,” you grinned, your entire body waking up from the not-so-peaceful slumber. Pushing yourself off the floor, you rubbed the back of your neck and felt the tiny lump where Takeshi hit you. Shinsou offered his hand, and you suspiciously glanced at him. The underground hero gave you an exasperated look. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed it and Shinsou helped you stand up.

He turned away and reached for his phone. “I’m calling the police. You should get out of here.”

“Wait,” you stepped forward, a bit confused, “You’re not turning me in?”

“You were being attacked and used self-defense,” Shinsou shrugged as he made the call. A minute later, he hung up and went to tighten the knots on the ropes. You were skeptical, wondering if this was all a trap. When you didn’t leave, Shinsou sighed and peeked over his scarf. “Look, you had a rough night. Just this once, I’m giving you a pass. Don’t be an idiot by staying here until the cops come.”

“Hmph, fine.” You opened a portal behind you. The golden sparks lit up the dreary alleyway, and one leg stepped on the other side. You paused, staring at Shinsou and murmured, “I owe you one.”

Shinsou nodded.

You disappeared just as the police sirens rang down the streets.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Staying in one place was never a good idea. It was risky and only caused more problems for you based on past experiences. From a young age, you’ve learned to fend for yourself while on the streets. Sure it was exhausting looking over your shoulders, feet ready to bounce if the scene got too chaotic. But you sucked it up if it meant avoiding jail or facing Mr. Death himself.

Neither of them was in your deck of cards called life. And your life was undoubtedly precious, so why waste it away in a rotten jail cell or cramped coffin?

You arrived at Minato City roughly eight months ago, and it was the longest time you ever stayed in one spot. Usually, you dipped by the second month, but that wasn’t the case for Minato—a city under Shinsou’s watch.

The first time you crossed paths with him, it was ironically in a back alley nestled in between two rundown buildings. You preyed on a rich salaryman with an unmistakable narcissistic attitude; he was an easy target, and it didn’t take long to get him stumbling over his feet. After knocking him out cold, you rummaged through his belongings until you sensed a shadow lurking in the darkness.

Your eyes landed on the stranger’s bizarre getup. An air of mystery surrounded him thanks to his unruly scarf and metal mouth-mask. Stranger danger indeed, you mused while taking a step back; your survival instincts urged you to leave. The man quirked an eyebrow when he asked a question, and you foolishly answered it.

You walked forward despite your inner protests; it was as if you were under some weird spell—his quirk perhaps?—and you couldn’t break free. The stranger placed handcuffs on you and checked on the unconscious man. All your escape plans were useless until a miracle happened: an ashtray fell on your head. The glass shattered on the floor, and you let out an annoyed groan; you realized the mysterious spell was broken. Not wasting another second, you summoned a portal behind you.

“Neat trick, but I’m not a big fan of being someone else’s puppet!”

You disappeared before his scarf could capture you. The next day, you did some research on the guy and learned he was a pro hero named Mindjack, his actual name Shinsou Hitoshi. You blamed yourself for not brushing up on this information before arriving at Minato City, a rookie mistake indeed. He was trouble, and you barely escaped his grasp last night, yet you were intrigued by him. His quirk was unique, almost villain-like if he wasn’t such a goodie-two-shoes.

Since then, you had some run-ins with said hero, whether intentional or not.

At first, you kept your guard up around him. Shinsou taunted you to speak, but you hilariously whipped out a mini dry erase board in return; it amused him. He heard about you, an infamous thief named Vanisher who frequents the underground scene.

After two months of playing the cat-and-mouse game, you settled on befriending him; he grew on you with his deadpanned statements. One night you found Shinsou crouched on the roof’s edge, yawning as if he hadn’t slept in days. You smacked an energy bar on his head and shoved a black coffee in his hand with a perky smile. Shinsou was thrown off by your gesture, but threw a curt “thanks” your way.

It was an odd dynamic brewing between you both. Some nights Shinsou shared a quick bite with you, and other nights he tried, for the billionth time, to rein you in. For Shinsou, you weren’t a huge threat in his city, just an annoying thorn. He disapproved of your nightly shenanigans with a dry, “Stop stealing stuff from unconscious men.”

“Oh please, he’ll survive without his precious Rolex watch!”

You enjoyed the friendly banter, and you knew he did to by the mischievous glint in his eyes. Even his tone sounded playful, betraying the serious facade during his patrols. Of course, you trod the tightrope carefully with the lone hero. A small slip and you’ll fall. However, it was a risk you took every night for the last eight months. Besides, Shinsou was extraordinarily handsome, and the whole dark aura vibe suited him well.

He was the first reason why you decided to prolong your short stay in Minato City. The second reason was well—

“Hmmm,” you savored the gin cocktail, soaking in all the information with deep thought. The room was cramped and had poor ventilation. Your nose inhaled the musty odor lingering in the air, the stench making you silently groan. A single lightbulb hung above the round table and barely illuminated the man’s wrinkled face, partially hiding in the shadows.

“So…what do you say?” Mamba’s guttural voice broke the silence. Two grimy nails tapped the table as he watched your throat bob. You caught his tongue hungrily licking his lips. “Think you’re up for it?”

“A heist, huh?” You lowered your drink, and casually swung your arm behind the chair. “You sure your guys scoped out the place?”

“Down to the smallest detail.”

“Hmm…I want forty-five percent of the cut.”

He smirked, “As you wish. After all, you are valuable to us.”

“Well, don’t you know how to charm a lady,” you teased, crossing a leg over the other. “I’m in. I’ve been meaning to spruce up my dull routine. Conning rich suckers might be fun and all, but this heist sounds ten times better.”

Mamba signaled for his drink. Your glass cups clinked as the deal was officially closed. He shifted in his seat and drawled, “A pleasure having you on board, Vanisher. You’ll be in good hands with my men. I give you my word.”

“I’m sure I will.”

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“Ready to go?” Voltage gruffed from behind you. He was an enormous man who stood as tall as an electric tower. Tiny sparks bounced in his yellow eyes. The stoic man was the driver, and he lead you to the back of the van parked outside.

The plan was simple. Voltage will drive the van to an alley that was close enough to the bank. Someone from squad B would shut off the entire security system to avoid alerting the police. You will then summon a portal that connects to the vault. From there, two men will slip through and break the metal door. They’ll pack approximately 100 million yen in large duffle bags, throwing them back through the portal.

It sounded easy enough…after all, that was the plan for today.

“Really?” You huffed, annoyed at the henchman man-spreading on your right. His twin sat across from both of you with an unreadable expression. Voltage and his partner, Benzo, ignored your complaints. Casting a glare at your ‘teammate,’ you snapped your head to focus on the road. That’s when you noticed something strange.

Benzo discreetly pushed aside his coat to take out his gun. It was common knowledge for criminals like Mamba’s soldiers to arm themselves despite having quirks. However, why did Benzo have a tight grip on his weapon now? You narrowed your eyes when Voltage took a left turn instead of right, fueling your suspicions even more.

“The GPS broken, Voltage?”

Silence.

And then…an attack.

You dodged a crystal dagger that came from your right. Only his hand was crystallized and you twisted his arm, the henchman howling like an injured wolf. His twin lunged forward with the speed of a bullet train. Your back slammed against the van at the guy’s sheer force. With wide eyes, you felt his vice-like grip crush your throat. The air was being sucked right our your lungs, and your fingers frantically scratched his skin.

Not giving up, you delivered three harsh blows to his groin. He stumbled back, but refused to let go of you. A growl escaped your lips when you kicked his ribs; with his grip gone, you charged at him, striking a pressure point by his neck—he was out like a light.

Out of the blue, Man-spreader caught you in a chokehold. He was noticeably weaker due to the injured right arm, and you took advantage of this. Benzo, however, shifted his body in his seat while snarling, “Keep her still! I’m gonna knock her out with this sleeping bullet! Viper wants her alive!”

Viper?! Damn it!

You elbowed man-spreader’s chest without stopping; an intense head-butt was your final move. Hearing the gun click, you swiftly used the unconscious stone block as your human shield to avoid the bullet. Tossing the guy toward the front, you activated your portal and rolled down the street. There was no time to think of a safe place, just that you needed to get out that hellish van.

A few scratches marked your cheek. The sound of wheels screeching against the concrete forced you to leap on your feet and run. You didn’t have enough energy to summon another portal, the fight draining almost everything in your system. But you still had some power left, and you’ll use it as your last resort.

For now, you settled on running the hell out of the van’s sight. Voltage and Benzo were hunters who wouldn’t rest until you’re captured. But there was no way in hell you were facing Viper again. Damn old geezer was still holding onto a deep grudge with that poker game. You gritted your teeth, the metallic taste of blood overwhelming your mouth. This might be a problem you couldn’t easily vanish away from…but it didn’t hurt to try.

All the buildings blurred as your feet pounded against the pavement. You skidded around the corner, the van right on your tail. A shot rang from a distance and you hissed; the bullet grazed your thigh. When you glanced up, your mouth dropped as a blue truck pulled out into the street.

Your only warning was: “Get out of the way!”

The driver, plus his companions, scurried like frighten mice when they noticed the white van dashing down the road. You slipped underneath the vehicle, but wasted no time staying on the floor. A loud crash roared from behind. You never looked back and arrived at a busy pedestrian street, bulldozing through the crowd.

Where’s a good place to hide?!

A piercing shriek ruined the city’s peaceful scenery. You peeked over your shoulder and screamed when an electric whip hit the lamp-post. The sudden attack made you lose your footing. More people yelled and rushed away from the danger, ignoring you in the process.

“I had it with this stupid chase, Vanisher!” Another whip crushed the window from a residential building. Voltage charged up his arm, the electric sparks spazzing out of control. He had you in his sight. “You’re coming with me, dead or alive!”

“Oh yeah? How are you gonna do that?” That wasn’t me…

“Why you little—”

Shinsou grunted as he lashed out his binding cloth to ensnare his target. Voltage’s power weakened once in a trance state, and the pro hero tugged the villain to the broken road. Shinsou kept the man tied up with his scarf, realizing it was the only thing strong enough to keep him immobile. You struggled to sit up. Shinsou demanded someone to call the police as he rushed toward your injured body.

“Hey, don’t move,” Shinsou gently held you in place. There was a purple bruise forming around your neck and a little bit of blood trickling down your chin. Shinsou frowned at what he saw. “What the hell happened?”

“Just got some bad blood with a sore loser,” you flashed him a crooked grin, the pain finally settling in. A cry for help interrupted your conversation, and Shinsou’s head snapped up. The building was on fire; Shinsou let out a curse. He couldn’t wait for other pro heroes or the fire department to show up. With no choice, he carried you away from the danger zone. “H-hey, what are you doing?”

“Stay here!”

Shinsou ran into the flaming pits of hell. You slowly rose to your feet, swaying back and forth on the sidewalk. Right now was the perfect opportunity to flee the scene. There were no cops or other pro heroes around, and Voltage was brainwashed. Yet, the deadly flames bursting through the shattered window paralyzed you. The only thing on your mind was Shinosu risking his life to save those people without any backup.

Damnit! Ugh…just this once!

You summoned a portal and stepped inside. The black smoke clogged the apartment, making everything harder to see or breathe. You covered your lower face and searched for anyone in this furnace. You stepped into another room, and your eyes spotted four figures huddled in the corner. Shinsou stood in front and tried thinking of a way out.

“Hey!”

“I told you to stay put!”

“Not gonna happen,” you shouted, opening a weak portal by the family. “Run toward it now! I can’t hold it for too long!”

The family escaped unscathed. However, Shinsou refused to leave without you. Always the hero, you huffed at his stupidity. Through your blurred vision, you watched as he trudged forward. Unlike you, Shinsou had his mask, which acted as an impromptu breathing apparatus. But it hardly kept the thick smoke from invading his lungs. You extended your hand, and Shinsou’s fingers stretched as if his life depended on it.

A cracking noise skittered across the ceiling with a piece falling on Shinsou. You screamed, jumping over a line of fire to rescue him. Your throbbing arms lifted the broken piece off the hero’s back. His pulse was dangerously low, and you slung his limping arm over your shoulders. The flames kept growing, consuming everything that stood in its path. If you didn’t act quick, it would eat you and Shinsou too.

Your hand created a portal close enough to where you both stood. The distorted golden ring fizzled, a sign that your body was at its limit. But you wouldn’t give up. Fives steps were all you need to get the heck out of here. The fire roared in the background, furious at your disobedience for trying to escape the madness. Except when did you ever listen?

You dragged Shinsou through the portal and collapsed on the sturdy sidewalk. The ring closed in seconds. Your lungs inhaled the delicious air with immense gratitude. You ripped off Shinsou’s mask and repeatedly slapped his stubble cheek. “C’mon, c’mon! Wake up!”

A cough made you relax. Shinsou’s eyelids were barely opened when he croaked, “W-why?”

“I owe you one, remember?”

The corner of Shinsou’s mouth curled, a gurgled chuckle greeting your ears. You stifled a laugh and rolled on your back, staying put until the emergency response team arrived.

You remained in Minato City for eight months. Another couple of days wouldn’t hurt.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Minato City’s nightlife was buzzing with excitement, and there were no signs of stopping. People flocked to their favorite bars, hoping to let loose after a stressful week at work. Salarymen drowned themselves in alcohol and cigarettes without a care in the world. It was the perfect recipe for you to con another unfortunate victim, but you decided to sit this night out.

You gazed at the city’s beautiful skyline. The lights twinkled like precious diamonds on display at a high-end jewelry store. However, you admired the sight from afar since tonight was the last time you’ll see it. By tomorrow, you’ll be in another city to lay low for a while. Keeping yourself off the grid was the best option to throw off your scent from Viper’s nose.

A pebble rolled beside your boot.

“Surprised you’re not down at the bars preying on your next money target.”

“Not really feeling it tonight,” you yawned, sparing a glance at Shinsou. He was wearing his usual hero attire, the mask resting underneath his chin. It gave you a perfect view of his chiseled jawline. You returned your sights on the bright streets and ignored the fluttering feeling in your heart. You coolly remarked, “I see you’re looking well.”

“Injuries weren’t so bad; I experienced worse ones before.”

“I don’t know about you, but it sounds like you’re trying to impress me.”

A deep chuckle was his only response. You raised an eyebrow when Shinsou stood beside you, almost too close than the previous encounters. Your hand clenched inside your coat pocket. Tonight’s weather forecast called for temperatures hovering just above the freezing point. Yet, your skin was feeling hot, and it wasn’t because of the black wool keeping you warm.

“The police interrogated the guy who attacked you,” Shinsou shared, making you still for a second before relaxing. “Heard his name is Voltage with connections to the underground crime lord called Mamba. So far, he’s not giving anything up.”

“And he won’t,” you sighed, watching a drunk guy whistle at a woman who passed by. “Viper and Mamba: they’re brothers who control the drug trade in their respective territories. I guess someone tipped Mamba off that I was in Minato City, and he lured me in with a false heist scheme.”

You leaned against the roof’s edge. “If I didn’t think so quick on my feet, I probably would have been in Viper’s clutches by now.”

“You should speak with the police,” Shinsou ignored your loud snort and pressed forward, “If you cooperate with the investigation, they’ll help you. Maybe place you in a witness protection program—”

“Don’t be so stupid, Shinsou. This is a highly organized crime ring we’re talking about!”

“The police can protect you!”

“No, they can’t.” You raised a finger at the hero, wagging it as you predicted his next response. “And neither can you. Besides, I don’t need someone protecting me. I’ve lived my entire life fending for myself, and I know what I’m doing.”

“And how has that worked out for you, huh?”

“Pretty fine until I made the stupid mistake of staying here!” You jabbed his chest before growling away. Two hands raked through your hair as you paced back and forth. You stopped, shooting daggers at Shinsou. “Like I said, I got bad blood with a few people. I’ve done shit I’m not too proud of, but that’s just life on the streets. You do whatever it takes to survive, even if it means constantly being on the run.”

You spun away from Shinsou, your back straight as a rule and body visibly closed off. Puffs of white smoke slipped through your lips. The wind chill was not very merciful tonight as it froze your poor ears. You closed your eyes and heard Shinsou shuffle closer, his presence growing stronger by the second. His hand was gentle on your shoulder, almost as if he didn’t want to frighten you with the sudden touch.

Your mouth clamped shut when he whispered your name into the brisk night. You clenched your hand tighter when he pleaded, “You don’t have to keep running.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then why did you stay here?” You bristled at the question, and Shinsou noticed. “Why didn’t you run away like before?”

“Because of you.” Shinsou’s hand twitched at the answer. Releasing a shaky breath, you turned around with conflicted eyes. For the first time in your life, your walls were crumbling down—the same ones that shielded you from the cruel world since childhood. It was too late to take back what you said, so you choked out, “I didn’t leave because I think I’m in love with you…and that terrifies me.”

A feathery thumb brushed your cheek. You gazed into his violet eyes; they were striking, yet carried a sense of fondness you’ve never seen before. He never said a word, but you were under his spell. Shinsou’s warm breath caused your entire face to flush once you realized how dangerously close he was in your bubble.

He admitted, with a raspy voice, “I feel the same way about you, except I’m not scared.”

“You’re stupid to think that way.”

“So be it.”

Time slowed as Shinsou lowered his lips and pressed them against yours. The kiss was sweet. Gentle. Innocent. You forgot about everything that was stressing your mind out. All your focus was on his lips—they were incredibly warm and soft and moved in a tender pace. You reciprocated the kiss with a tiny smile, your left hand clinging on his scarf. Shinsou grinned at your impatient tug; you were always so demanding.

However, after months of inhaling his rich scent, you were eager to taste him. You weren’t disappointed when you caught the sweet blend of dark cherry and black raspberry sprinkled along his mouth. A fresh jolt of excitement traveled down your spine. Shinsou’s arm wrapped around your waist, securing you in place. For a moment, you did not want him to let go—you didn’t want to run away from this safe haven.

If only the circumstances were different.

“You know I can’t stay…”

Shinsou didn’t say anything. His eyes, however, spoke volumes of how he felt about your decision. As much as it pained him to do so, he loosen his grasp on you. A portal opened not too far from where you both stood. You squeezed Shinsou’s hand and gave him a sad smile, the corners of your lips barely reaching your eyes.

The golden sparks lit up the dark rooftop, and one leg stepped on the other side. You paused, staring at Shinsou one last time, whispering, “Goodbye.”

Shinsou nodded mutely.

You disappeared into the portal, going on the run once again.

Sixth prompt is crossed off. Which one will be next? Stay tune! Thank you for reading!

Previous prompt: Boy Next Door

Hero Camp Bingo Masterlist

#shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha imagines #shinsou hitoshi #bnha x reader #bnha shinsou #bnhabookclub #hero camp bingo #pro hero au

91 notes · View notes

crystalgirl259 · 3 years

Text

Life of a High School Vampire One-Shots 5 The Bite

SUMMARY: Jay has a big, bad secret...

****************

Jay panted and gasped in pain as boiling sweat dripped and dropped down his burning flesh. Low hanging tree branches smacked him in the face and arms, not really painful, but irritating nonetheless. He wanted to scream as he almost tripped up for the sixth time. Jay hadn't wanted to come on this stupid trip. He didn't see what they could gain from it. A few days ago, the headmaster told everyone in their geography class that they were taking a camping trip.

It was a trip to the Forest of Blackthorn, to study the construction of a new theme park and how it may affect the wildlife.

The park was located somewhere up in the mountains, near a place called Jamakai Village. The village rested near the cliffs that lead to a small beach and the ocean. The ginger-haired teen had all but begged on his knees for Headmaster Wu to let him stay, but the old man refused. Kai had also tried to get out of the trip, but Jay didn't care about him. There was always something about the brunette that made Jay uneasy. He couldn't tell whether it was the lingering smell of death hanging onto his and Lloyd's newest roommate, or the fact he seemed to hate Jay and Lloyd.

But Jay honestly didn't care.

As long as Kai didn't bother him, Jay would keep out of his way as best he could. It was like a silent agreement between the pair. Jay suddenly cried out a more intense wave of pain hit him and he slumped against the trunk of a large oak tree in unbelievable agony. He felt pain in his chest, he felt pain in his arms and he felt pain in his mind. Jay wanted to stop everything he was doing and try and treat the pain, but he knew it would only make things worse if he tried.

The road ahead was a tough one and right now he wasn't sure if he was willing to walk it, let alone whether he was able.

He was so very tired. Tired both because of the pain and tired of having to deal with the pain, but he didn't really have a choice in the matter. With every second, the shining white light of the full moon rose higher and higher into the starry night sky. His breathing became more labored and he gritted his teeth as he felt his nails grew and sharpened against his will. Jay gritted his teeth, hoping that he could stick it out just a little longer and get to safety.

Even though the amusement park was located a few miles away from his current location, he could still hear the faint, almost whisper-like voices in the distance.

He couldn't risk their safety, or his own. All of a sudden, he gasped as he felt a strange freezing shiver ripple throughout his whole body. Before he realized what was happening, he felt his body start to change as his cells rearranged themselves. It was over in a matter of seconds, and when he regained his senses he noticed instead of the breaths from a human, they were heavy, canine pants. All of Jay's senses were dialed to eleven as he sniffed the air.

The air was cold and the only light were the stars, moon, and an approaching flashlight.

The teen's stomach growled in hunger and his nose picked up the scent of blood. Small, fresh, human blood...

****************

The forest rain fell in the drenching sheets, hammering the corrugated roof of the clinic building. Rolling down the metal gutters, splashing on the ground in the torrent. Amelia Winchester sighed and stared out of the window. From the clinic, she could hardly see the beach or the ocean below, cloaked in a low fog. This isn't what she expected to see when she came to Jamakai Village to spend two months as a visiting physician for the small settlement.

Amelia Carter had expected fresh air and relaxation after two grueling years of residency in emergency medicine in Chicago.

She had been in Ninjago now for three weeks and it had rained every day. Everything else was fine. She liked the isolation of Jamakai Village and the friendliness of its people. Ninjago had one of the twenty best medical systems in the world. Even in this remote village the clinic was well maintained, amply supplied. Her paramedic, a Hispanic man named Youssef Toledano, was very intelligent and well-trained. Across the examining room, Youssef cocked his head.

"Listen." He said.

"Believe me, I hear it," Amelia said.

"No, listen." He told her again and then she caught it. Another sound blended into the rain; a deeper rumble, but built and emerged until it was clear. It was the rhythmic thumping of a helicopter. She thought they couldn't be flying in weather like this. But the sound built steadily and then the helicopter burst low through the treeline and roared overhead, circled, and then came back. She saw the helicopter swing back over the water near fishing boats and back towards the beach.

It was looking for a place to land.

It was a big-bellied Sikorsky with a blue stripe on the side with the words 'T.S.G Construction'. That was the name of the construction company building a new resort somewhere up near the nearby mountains. The resort was said to be spectacular and very complicated. Many of the local people were employed in the construction, which had been going on for more than two years. Amelia could imagine it. One of those huge resorts with swimming pools and tennis courts, where guests could play and drink their sorrows away without having any contact with the real world.

Amelia wondered what was so urgent in those mountains that a helicopter would fly in this weather.

Through the windshield, she saw the pilot exhale in relief as the helicopter settled onto the wet sand on the beach. Uniformed men jumped out and flung open the big side door. She heard frantic shouts in Spanish and Youssef nudged her. They were calling for a doctor. Two crewmen carried a limp body towards her while another man barked orders at them. The man had a yellow sticker, and dark brown hair appeared around the edge of his ragged baseball cap.

"Is there a doctor here?!" He called out and she ran up. The rain fell in heavy drops, pounding her head and shoulders, soaking her in seconds.

"I'm a doctor." She said and the man frowned at her. She was wearing cutoff jeans and a tank top. She had a stethoscope over her shoulder, already slightly rusted from the salt air.

"Noble Oliver; we've got a very sick man here doctor."

"Then you better take him to the hospital in Ninjago City." She said, a little confused. Ninjago City was roughly twenty minutes away by air, so why hadn't they gone there instead of this remote village?

"We would but we can't get over the mountains in this weather, you have to treat him here." He ordered and Amelia had no choice but to trot alongside the injured man as they carried him into the clinic. He was a kid, no older than eighteen. Lifting away the blood-soaked shirt, she saw the big slashing rip along his shoulder and another on his leg.

"What happened to him?"

"A construction accident! He fell and one of the backhauls ran over him." Noble shouted, panic clear in his voice. The kid was pale, shivering, and unconscious. Youssef stood by the bright green door of the clinic, waving his arm. The men brought the body through and set it on the table in the center of the room. Youssef started an intravenous line and Amelia swung the light over the kid and bent to examine the wounds. Immediately she could see they did not look good, and the kid would almost certainly die.

A big tearing laceration ran from his shoulder down to his torso, and at the edge of the wound the flesh was shredded and the shoulder was dislocated, pale bones exposed.

A second slash cut through the heavy muscles of the thigh, deep enough to reveal a pulse of the femoral artery below. Her first impression was that this leg had been ripped open.

"Tell me again about this injury." She told the leader.

"I didn't see it! They said it was just a construction accident!" Noble replied.

"It almost looks like he was mauled by a large animal!" Amelia exclaimed, probing the wound. Like most emergency room physicians, she could remember in detail a patient she had seen even years before. She had only seen two maulings. One was a two-year-old child who had been attacked by a Rottweiler dog, the other was a drunken circus attendant who had had an encounter with a tiger and both injuries were similar. There was a characteristic look of an animal attack.

"Mauled?! No, no, no, it was a backhaul, believe me!" Noble cried, licking his lips as he spoke. He was edgy, acting as if he had done something wrong, and Amelia wondered why. If they were using inexperienced workmen on a resort construction they must have accidents all the time.

"Do you want the lavage?" Youssef asked and she nodded as she bent lower, probing the wound with her fingertips. If an earthmover had rolled over him then dirt would have been forced deep into the wound. There wasn't any dirt, just a slippery, slimy foam, and the wound had a strange odor. A kind of rotten stench. A smell of death and decay. She had never smelled anything like it before.

"How long ago did you say this happened?"

"An hour." He said and again she noticed how tense Noble was. He was one of those eager nervous types. They didn't look like a construction foreman, more like an executive. He was obviously out of his depth. Amelia turned back to the injuries and somehow she didn't think she was seeing a mechanical trauma. It just didn't look right with no soil contamination on the would site and no crushing injury component. Mechanical trauma of any sort always had some component of crushing, but there was none.

Instead, the man's skin was shredded, ripped across the shoulder, and again across the thigh.

It really did look like a mauling, but on the other hand, most of the body was unmarked, which was unusual for an animal attack. She looked again at the head, the arms, the hands, and she felt a chill when she looked at the kid's hands. There were short slashing cuts on both palms and bruises on the wrists and forearms. She had worked in Chicago long enough to know what that meant.

"Alright, wait outside." She said, but Noble didn't like that.

"Why?"

"Do you want me to help him or not?!" She snapped and pushed Noble and his men out the door and closed it in his face. She didn't know what was going on but she didn't like it. Upon seeing this, Youssef hesitated.

"Should I continue to wash?"

"Yes." She nodded as she reached for a little camera. She took several snapshots of the injury with the flash on for a better view; they really did look like bites. Then the kid suddenly groaned and she put her camera aside and bent towards him. His lips moved and his tongue thick.

"...lycan." He barely whispered and at that word Youssef froze and stepped back in horror.

"What does that mean?" Amelia asked as Youssef shook his head.

"I do not know doctor."

"Then please continue to wash him."

"No doctor! Bad smell!" He cried as he wrinkled his nose and crossed himself. Amelia looked again at the slippery foam streaked across the wound and she touched it, rubbing it between her fingers. It seemed almost like saliva.

"...Lycan." The injured boy whispered again."

"It bit him!" Youssef said in a tone of horror.

"What bit him?"

"Lycan!"

"What-What's a'Lycan'?"

"It means wolf!" He exclaimed and Amelia frowned. Wolves had been extinct in these woods for well over two hundred years, but that didn't stop the local villagers from scaring their children away from the dark and dangerous forest by telling them scary stories about how a pack of monstrous wolves would swallow them whole and no one would ever find them. Amelia had heard these stories herself, in person, and she almost laughed when she even saw some adults terrified of this myth.

Many conservationists search these woods regularly to keep count of all its wildlife to make sure they weren't endangered and none of them have ever reported a wolf in this area.

So the idea that a wolf had caused these injuries was very unlikely. It could have been a bear, or a large badger or fox, but they were usually located miles from where the resort was being constructed. Youssef was backing away, murmuring and crossing himself.

"That's not a normal smell! It is the Lycan!" He all but screamed. Amelia was getting annoyed by this and was about to order him back to work when the injured youth opened his eyes and sat up straight at the table. Youssef shrieked in terror. The injured boy moaned and twisted his head, looking left and right with wide staring eyes. All of a sudden he explosively vomited blood be he immediately fell into convulsions. Amelia grabbed for him but shuddered off the table and onto the concrete floor where he vomited again.

There was blood everywhere and at that moment Noble opened the door.

"What the hell is happening?!" He shouted and when he saw the blood he turned away, his hand to his mouth. Amelia was grabbing for a stick put in the boy's clenched jaws but even as she did she knew it was hopeless and with one final jerk he relaxed and lay still. She went to perform mouth to mouth but Youssef grabbed her on the shoulder fiercely, pulling her back.

"NO!" He screamed. "The Lycan will cross over!"

"Youssef, for God sake-"

"NO! YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THESE THINGS DOCTER!" He roared again, staring her in the eyes. Amelia looked at the body on the ground and realized that it didn't matter anymore. There was no possibility of resuscitating him. Yousseff called for the men, who came back into the room and took the body away. Noble appeared, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm sure you did all you could." He muttered quietly. Amelia watched as the men took the body away, back to the helicopter, and it lifted back into the sky. The sound of the helicopter was drowned out by the thunderous sound of the rainstorm and Amelia was certain she could hear the faintest squeak of a bat.

"It is better this way," Youssef told her but Amelia said nothing. She was too busy thinking about the boy's hands. They had been covered with cuts and bruises in the characteristic pattern of defense wounds. She was quite sure that he had not died in a construction accident. He had been attacked and he had held his hands up against his attacker.

"Where is this resort again?"

"In the mountains, perhaps a hundred and twenty miles from here."

"Pretty far for a resort." She said and Youssef watched the helicopter.

"I hope they never come back." He said and Amelia hummed in agreement. She was a little disappointed that she couldn't examine the body or the slime and learn what those wounds came from, but at least she had pictures. When she turned back to the table, however, she that the camera was gone. She searched and searched but she couldn't find the camera. Amelia had sneaking suspicion that one of the men from the helicopter had snatched it on their way out, but she had no proof.

Youssef was grateful it was all over, but Amelia was dissatisfied with the outcome.

After they had cleaned up the blood and equipment, Youssef called it a night and Amelia had started typing out her report on her laptop. As she finished typing the report and emailing it to her superior, she couldn't help but think about what the boy had said. With no other option, she turned to the internet for answers. She entered the word, Lycan, into the search bar and was surprised when she saw the results. This didn't make any sense to the doctor.

The word Lycan was derived from the word lycanthrope, meaning someone who suffered from lycanthropy; the professed ability or power of a human being to transform into a wolf, or to gain wolf-like characteristics.

In more simple words; a werewolf...

****************

Kai frowned behind his sunglasses as he looked through all the pictures Amelia Carter had taken of the construction worker's injuries. All of the students were gathering their luggage and preparing to leave soon, so Kai had plenty of time and privacy to think about the situation. It had been almost laughable how easy it was for the vampire to not only follow the helicopter and steal the camera while the medics were distracted. As he flicked through the pictures, Kai couldn't help but grimace at the sight of the injuries Jay had inflicted on the poor human.

He had always known Jay was odd and had a weird smell, but even the brunette hadn't expected this.

He glanced over to Jay and watched as the ginger-haired teen listened to Lloyd talking about something Kai couldn't care about. Jay looked a little green and he had heavy bags under his eyes, showing Kai that he hadn't slept at all last night. This new information was very interesting to the brunette. Kai liked his fangs in anticipation as his mind thought up ways to use this against Jay. He wasn't going to hurt Jay or put him in danger, but Kai could stop himself from messing with the freckled teen for a little while.

He might tell Jay he knows his secret, or he might wait until Jay told him himself.

Kai glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Once he was certain they weren't, Kai removed the camera's film and used his powers to set the black roll on fire. That destroyed all the photographic evidence of Jay's attack. Kai waited until he was sure the film roll was destroyed beyond repair, he dropped it into the stream, watching it washed away. The teacher suddenly called Kai to get on the bus with the others and Kai silently complied.

He couldn't help but smile slightly as he stared at the back of Jay's head as the bus began its long drive back to the city.

This will be so much fun...

**************** Requested by: jamiehernandez8888 on Fanfiction.Net

#Life of a High School Vampire #ninjago #ninjago jay #ninjago kai #ninjago lloyd #vampire #ocs

7 notes · View notes

lake-arrius-caverns · 3 years

Text

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 12: Two’s Company

summary As the party grows from two to three, Fahjoth tries his best to smooth over tensions.

content warnings strong warning for nausea/emetophobia about halfway down

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

————————————————————————

The shock reverberated up Fahjoth’s shins as his feet found solid ground with a jolt. Gasping, he staggered back, desperately trying to regain his balance. Once his brain caught up with the messages his eyes were receiving, he realised that the three of them were back in Ald’ruhn; a nearby guard stared at them from behind his impassive helm, but otherwise he didn’t seem to care too much for three Dunmer suddenly materialising out of thin air.

While Fahjoth remained on his feet, Ribyna was not so lucky, and she groaned from her landing position face-down on the dusty ground. “Ugh… what the fuck was that?!” she spat, rubbing smudges of dirt from her face as she dragged herself upright again.

“Almsivi Intervention,” Julan answered, discomfort clear on his face. “It teleports you to the nearest Tribunal temple.” There was a pause before he continued, “I’m sorry, I— I don’t know what happened back there… You must think I’m such a coward. I swear I’m not. I swear I am a warrior, and I’ve never run from a fight, nor do I fear death.”

“Look, don’t be daft,” Fahjoth replied, raising his voice to speak over Ribyna’s loud scoffing as he tried to reassure Julan. “We don’t think you’re a coward—”

“Speak for yourself...” Ribyna muttered, but Fahjoth ignored her to reassure Julan.

“I wasn’t exactly having a good time up there either,” he continued, trying to inject a bit of humour into the situation. Judging by Julan’s expression, it hadn’t worked.

“I’m not afraid of Red Mountain, or any of its monsters,” Julan said. “It’s... something else. It’s to do with these… weird dreams I’ve been having.”

Fahjoth’s curiosity was piqued as he thought back to his own night terrors. He hadn’t experienced them for a while, and for that he was thankful, but recollections of fiery landscapes and dark figures with blazing red eyes still lingered in the back of his mind. “Oh yeah?”

Julan took a deep breath. “I dream that I’m climbing Red Mountain. It’s just like what we saw — it’s dark, the air is filled with ash that gets into my eyes and mouth, but the further I go up, the harder it is to keep going. And then there’s all these voices, whispering things to me.”

“What sort of things?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t even know. I can’t understand what they’re saying, it’s too hard to make out. But it sounds, uh… well, not good, y’know?” Julan looked between Fahjoth and Ribyna apprehensively. “You’ve heard of Dagoth Ur, right? I mean, I’m guessing you have, but...”

Their silence said more than enough; Ribyna’s face looked as blank as Fahjoth’s brain felt, and Julan was visibly stunned.

“Oh come on, even outlanders must know about him! Dagoth Ur? The devil who lives beneath Red Mountain?”

“Sorry, mate.” Fahjoth shrugged. “I don’t—” Then he stopped, as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, does he have anything to do with the Sixth House Cult?”

“Yeah…” Julan frowned, and Fahjoth began to feel as if he’d done something wrong. “What do you know about the Sixth House Cult?”

“Honestly, not much.” At least that was truthful. There was no point bringing up Cosades and his work, as Fahjoth knew very little about it himself. “I just heard there’s been attacks from sleeper agents. I saw one of them myself.” He couldn’t suppress a shudder at the memory, remembering the vacant expression on the Dunmer’s face and his iron grip as hot as ashes on his wrist. “He said something like… Dagoth Ur is risen, something something Sixth House glory… I don’t know.”

Even Ribyna looked surprised by Fahjoth’s anecdote, while Julan’s tone became one of understanding instead. “Ah, I see. Yeah. Dagoth Ur is a powerful figure in our history and legends. Supposedly, he causes people to go insane by sending them dreams.”

Ribyna raised a brow at that. “What, so you reckon you’re going insane?”

“What— no!” Julan replied defensively. “I am not insane and I’m not planning to be, either! Lots of people dream about him. It’s nothing.”

For a moment, Fahjoth wondered if it was worth bringing up his own dreams. But if what Julan said was right, then perhaps it was more common than he had thought. He didn’t feel like he was going insane, and as long as it stayed that way, then he surely ought to be alright.

On realising that he had tuned out of the conversation, Fahjoth jolted and made an effort to concentrate again.

“Then why are you so bothered by them that you can’t even climb a mountain?” Ribyna was saying.

“I’m not! I mean—” Julan blew out, his frustration evident. “Look, I know it doesn’t make any sense, okay? I just need time. Anyway…” He looked between the twins, vying for a change of subject. “Never mind that. How about getting on with some training? I could do with taking my mind off things.”

“Yeah, alright. Good idea,” Fahjoth agreed. He gestured between himself and Ribyna. “Me and Beebs are both used to working with short blades and light armour.” Then he gave a dry laugh. “I don’t think either of us will be able to help with your magic, though. We can’t cast spells for shit.”

“Hah! That’s alright.” Julan grinned. “I don’t need any help with archery, either, I’ve been practising since I was small. I prefer fighting with blades anyway, so I’m up for that.”

“Right!”

Fahjoth turned to face Ribyna, alarmed by the sight of her drawing her dagger.

“Sparring match, then? Let’s see how we do,” she suggested. Fahjoth was nervous; Ribyna’s attitude so far hadn’t sat well with him at all, and neither was the look on her face as she eyed Julan. Such a sudden turnaround, going from being openly hostile to Julan to wanting to spar with him, didn’t exactly bode well.

Whether Julan himself shared Fahjoth’s apprehension wasn’t apparent. On the contrary, he drew his own shortsword and nodded.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure?” Fahjoth asked. “With real weapons? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

“It’ll be fine, Fahji,” Ribyna said dismissively.

“Don’t worry, we won’t go too hard,” Julan added. Fahjoth wasn’t at all optimistic about that, but he held his tongue and decided to lean against a nearby wall to observe.

Ribyna brandished her dagger and stalked a circle around Julan, who stood ready with his chitin sword. Without warning she lunged, hard and fast. Julan brought his sword up to deflect the blow, the blades screeching on impact. A retaliation from Julan, deliberately slow and cautious, forced Ribyna back and kept her at arm’s length for the time being. Overall, it seemed to be going well, and Fahjoth began to relax.

That was until one particularly close call from the tip of Julan’s blade threw Ribyna off her rhythm. Although the strike hit the tough leather of her armour, the force and angle still caused the dagger to get flung from her grip. With a grin, Julan pointed his sword up to her chest, puffing from the brief yet intense exercise.

“Got you! Maybe don’t drop your weapon next time.”

Ribyna only scowled in response. Then with a flash of steel, she pivoted herself against Julan’s chest, a second dagger poised against his throat.

“Maybe make sure your opponent is actually unarmed next time.”

There was a moment of stiff silence; Ribyna glared at Julan, her face less than an inch from his own, while Julan stared back defiantly. Then the tension broke, and she backed up and resumed pacing, looking for the next opportunity to strike.

The remainder of the sparring session continued much in the same manner, with Ribyna and Julan flitting around each other in a vicious dance, both trying to get the upper hand over the other. A short while and a few close calls later and they agreed to call it a day, having been reasonably evenly matched. It seemed that training together would be as beneficial for Fahjoth and Ribyna as it would be for Julan himself.

“How about a drink?” Fahjoth suggested to his somewhat bruised companions. “I think we could all do with chilling out for a bit.”

“Fine by me,” Ribyna said, while Julan looked awkward.

“Oh, I… don’t think I have enough to—” Julan started, but he stopped as Fahjoth waved a hand genially.

“Don’t worry about it,” he chirped, offering Julan a friendly smile. “I’ll get them. I owe Ribyna a round, anyway.”

Julan’s unease melted away and was replaced with a grin, which Fahjoth found quite contagious. He purposefully ignored Ribyna’s dull glare in his periphery, focusing instead on Julan.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to a mazte, if you’re offering.”

“Sorted!” Fahjoth declared, ambling further into Ald’ruhn while Ribyna and Julan limped along with him. He was subjected to the uncomfortable feeling of someone staring at him, and he didn’t need to look around to know that it was coming from Ribyna.

Once they reached the cool shade of the Ald Skar Inn, Fahjoth suggested that Julan find them a table while he went to retrieve the drinks, to which he happily obliged. However, Fahjoth was not all surprised when Ribyna offered to help him carry them over, despite knowing full well that he could handle them himself, and prepared himself for the ear bashing he knew was imminent.

“He’s taking the piss,” Ribyna hissed, once they were at the bar and out of earshot of Julan. “You know what’s gonna happen, don’t you?”

Fahjoth heaved a sigh as he leaned against the bar, deciding to just let her rant. “Go on then, enlighten me.”

“He’s gonna mooch off you every chance he gets! He’s always gonna be all, ‘oh no, I don’t have any money’, and then you’ll have to pay for every-bloody-thing.”

“I don’t mind. It’s not like I don’t have the gold for a few drinks here and there. I’d do the same for any friend!”

Ribyna’s mouth fell open. “Friend?” she spat, outraged. “You barely even know the bastard! Honestly Fahjoth, you see a pretty boy and I swear your whole fucking brain just shuts down!”

Trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks, Fahjoth was quick to see a lifeline and he clung to it like a drowning man. “Oh, so you think he’s pretty, do you?”

This time, it was Ribyna whose cheeks flushed a dull red. “I— no, I never— don’t put words in my mouth!” she retorted, fuming. “You know exactly what I’m saying, and you know I’m right!”

“Well, just do me a favour and keep it to yourself if you can,” Fahjoth requested flatly. “I don’t want Julan to feel uncomfortable. More than he already is...”

Ribyna looked as though she was going to continue to argue, but a moment of respite came when the drinks arrived. Fahjoth hastily took them over to the table before Ribyna could say another word, leaving her to traipse after him clutching her own. Once he placed the drinks down on the table, Julan gratefully took his, shuffling his stool along to make plenty of room for the twins to join him.

“So, whereabouts do you two live?” he asked. “It’s not here in Ald’ruhn, is it?”

“Nah, we’re staying in Balmora.”

“Probably a good thing. It’s like the dusty armpit of Vvardenfell here. And so Redoran, it’s illegal to even joke about it!” Julan swigged his mazte, looking to Fahjoth curiously. “What’s Balmora like?”

“Bit bigger than Ald’ruhn. And less dusty. You’ll see it for yourself soon!” Fahjoth paused. “Well, that’s if you still want to come with us. I’ve got to go check in with my boss soon.”

“Course I do. As long as we can still continue to train, then I don’t mind where we go.”

Fahjoth grinned. “Don’t worry about that. If I’m not around, you’ll be able to spar with Ribyna again!”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause it’s not like I’ve got a life outside you or anything,” Ribyna grumbled, staring at Julan with heavy mistrust — and even dislike. Julan seemed to notice as well, for his smile slipped somewhat and an awkward silence fell over the table.

“Anyway��” Julan attempted a wary change of subject. “What is it that you do for a living? Apart from rescuing people from clannfears, of course.”

“To be honest, mate…” Fahjoth shrugged. “I don’t really know. I know that sounds daft, but mostly I just run errands. Gather information. Sometimes nearly get myself killed in Dwemer ruins or haunted tombs. That sort of thing.”

“Sounds… interesting.”

Both he and Julan both then turned to Ribyna, but she remained silent, glowering back at them while she sipped her drink. Fahjoth’s stomach sank. With Ribyna’s stubborn refusal to socialise, the relatively upbeat mood had been well and truly quashed.

A heavy weight began to settle in Fahjoth's chest. Though he was looking forward to working with Julan, the excitement was spoiled by Ribyna's behaviour and incessant hostility towards him. He knew Ribyna was prickly at the best of times, but he hadn't anticipated this much resistance to gaining a new companion. If Julan was going to stay with them for the foreseeable, Fahjoth dreaded the idea of trying to persuade her to play nice. How much more grief were they going to get from her?

But more importantly, how far did Julan's tolerance extend? How long would he put up with her animosity and foul mood before deciding that he'd had enough?

——————————————

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s up with your hair?”

Blinking, Fahjoth slowly turned to face Julan, trying to concentrate over the rough jerking of the silt strider’s teetering steps and the shrill grinding of its chitinous joints ringing in his ears. He wasn’t normally prone to motion sickness, but being so high above ground level coupled with the vigorous swaying of his seat was not a good combination, and Fahjoth had spent much of the journey from Ald’ruhn to Balmora trying to hold down the urge to vomit. After spending another day in and around Ald’ruhn for training and shopping, Fahjoth could no longer put off returning to Balmora and the silt strider was the fastest way to get there. Even if it did make him want to throw up.

His first time riding one, and he dearly wished for it to be his last.

Julan perhaps mistook his silence for offence, for he held up a hand apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Eh? No, it’s fine. Sorry for being quiet, I’m just not feeling great,” Fahjoth explained, squinting as the low sun on the horizon shone into his eyes. At least the weather had been good for their trip. “Well, it used to be totally black. But a few years ago, it started to go white in the front here.” He held up a strand by means of demonstration. “I dunno why.”

“That really is weird.”

“I still reckon it was stress,” Ribyna added, looking over her shoulder with a smirk. With her arm hanging loosely over the silt strider’s side, she seemed to be having no issues with the bumpy ride. “Obviously not everyone is cut out for life in prison.”

Julan did a double-take, looking from Ribyna to Fahjoth with shock. “You’ve been arrested?”

Fahjoth turned to Ribyna, scowling. Ribyna simply smiled back at him with false pleasantry and turned away to gaze at their surroundings as the silt strider tottered along. With a sigh, he turned back to Julan, feeling somehow even more queasy at the thought of telling the truth and wondering how Julan would take it.

Damn Ribyna and her big mouth!

“Yeah. Me and Ribyna both came here on a prison ship,” Fahjoth admitted. Instantly, Julan looked leery.

“You’re both convicts? You’re not on the run, are you?”

“No! No, nothing like that. We were released.”

“Released? On Vvardenfell?” Julan scoffed. “That’s just typical of the Empire. As if they haven’t done us enough damage, now they’re offloading their unwanted criminals onto us!”

Admittedly, that comment stung. But before Fahjoth could answer, Ribyna had whipped around in her seat again, looking none too pleased with Julan’s remark herself.

“Yeah, that’s no good, is it? It’s not like those unwanted criminals saved your sorry arse from getting eaten alive by clannfears or anything!”

Julan blanched, biting his lip as he realised what he had said. “Oh— gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it personally. Look, I didn’t mean— well…” As he took a deep breath, Fahjoth noted his hesitation to continue. “You do seem like a good person… people. Good people. Um... were you... y’know... guilty? Of... whatever it was you did to get arrested.”

Fahjoth, for a moment, was silent. He risked a glance over at Ribyna, feeling his stomach clench when he saw that she had turned her back to them again. She said nothing, but Fahjoth could see the tension in her shoulders, and he knew his twin well enough to know that if he spoke the truth, it would hurt her. So he looked back to Julan, thinking about his words carefully.

“It’s... a bit of a long story, mate,” he said. “It was...” — he paused, waving his hands vaguely — “an accident.”

Julan stared at him with a mild frown, and Fahjoth felt himself break into a nervous sweat, not knowing what he was thinking. After a silence that was far too long for his liking, Julan spoke up at last.

“I believe you,” he said simply. “I’m not sure why, but I do. Like I said, you seem like a good person, and either way, I’m willing to judge you on your actions here and now, rather than in the past. Whatever they were.”

A wave of relief crashed over Fahjoth, but before he could respond, a particularly vigorous judder in the silt strider’s pace hit him like a punch to the gut. His stomach, already churning from nausea and anxiety, convulsed violently and a thick, wet sourness hit the back of his throat. Spinning around, he bolted up from his seat, leaning over the side and letting his head hang as he fought to swallow the sickness down again.

Through watering eyes Fahjoth watched as the ground went rushing by with the strider’s uneven pace, stopping and starting with every bumpy step, the leaves on the trees and bushes below blurring into one as his eyes struggled to focus. How far up was he, anyway? Twenty-five feet? Thirty?

His knuckles whitened as he clenched his trembling hands, his skin becoming hot and clammy and damp with sweat while his heart fluttered an uncomfortable half-rhythm in his chest. After seconds which lasted a lifetime, during which the contents of his stomach barely managed to settle, Fahjoth hauled himself back into the relative safety of his seat. It was still as choppy as ever, but at least he didn’t have to look at the ground this way. When he was able to focus again, he found Julan’s perturbed face fixed rapt upon his own.

“Fahjoth, are you alright?”

“Yeah Fahji, you look pale as fuck,” Ribyna added, finally turning her gaze back around, brows furrowed with concern. “Here you are, have some of this.”

She rummaged in her backpack and fished out a bottle of mazte, reaching back to offer it to Fahjoth. Fahjoth, however, shook his head with his mouth clamped tightly shut. If he opened it, there would likely be more than just words coming out.

Julan reached over and patted Fahjoth’s shoulder, albeit seeming reluctant to get too close. “It’s okay, I think we’re nearly there. Just... hold onto your lunch a bit longer, alright?”

The silt strider finally drawing to a halt could not have been a bigger relief. Except now that they had reached Balmora, Fahjoth faced the prospect of having to disembark from the silt strider and onto that precarious platform awaiting them. It had been bad enough ascending the narrow ramp to board the strider, how on Nirn was he going to get back down again?

Fortunately, Ribyna was on hand to lend him hers. Once she had clambered up out of the strider's hollowed-out carapace, she offered her hand to Fahjoth as he hesitantly followed suit. The simple boon of having something firm to grip onto while he stumbled out of the silt strider made all the difference, and without a word, Ribyna let Fahjoth continue holding her hand as they made their way down the slope, Fahjoth's pace hindered significantly by his shaking legs.

It took all his effort not to collapse to his knees the moment he stepped on solid ground at last. He doubled over, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths as he tried to encourage his stomach to settle, paying no heed to anything else going on around him. Once his nausea had subsided enough, he straightened back up again, preparing to face the mocking and jeering he predicted from his travelling companions.

However, there was nothing of the sort. Both Ribyna and Julan were watching him, their faces showing nothing but concern and sympathy.

“Not good with heights?” Julan asked, his tone one of pity.

“I— I dunno,” Fahjoth admitted. “I never realised... but I suppose, yeah. Obviously…”

“Either that or the turbulence,” Julan suggested. He fell silent, turning his gaze away to survey Balmora instead. "So, this is Balmora? It’s so grand." There was clear hesitation in his voice as he continued, “Um... tell me honestly, do I look like a complete savage?”

Fahjoth blinked. “What?”

Julan chewed his lip, his eyes darting from left to right apprehensively, as if searching for anyone who would look at him with disdain. “I know how people view Ashlanders. They think we’re violent, uncivilised barbarians who live in filth and poverty. They don’t even try to understand us, or our culture, or why we choose to live as we do. But we’re proud of our culture. We don’t need these tacky displays of wealth to be happy — we have more valuable things of our own.”

Before Fahjoth could even open his mouth, Ribyna cut across him. “Oh, don’t worry. Me and Fahjoth grew up stinking savages ourselves.”

Unsurprisingly Julan bristled, glaring at Ribyna and quietly seething. Sensing an altercation brewing, Fahjoth hastily spoke up, cringing over Ribyna’s lack of sensitivity. “What she means is that... well, we grew up on the streets,” he explained. “People saw us as nothing more than dirty, uncivilised thieves, as well.”

Thankfully, Julan seemed to calm down. “Well. Then maybe you’ll understand. My people are viewed with suspicion here in the cities. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of my heritage, but I feel like I might be too conspicuous. I don’t want to go drawing any attention. What d’you think?”

Fahjoth shrugged. “I mean... you look fine to me, Julan. But if you like, we can look into getting you some new clothes.”

“At least get him something that smells less of guar,” Ribyna interjected, and once again, Fahjoth wanted to throttle her. Fortunately, Julan didn’t take offence.

“Maybe that would be a good idea, actually. But!” He jabbed Fahjoth in the chest with a finger. “If you make me look ridiculous, I swear I’ll never forgive you!”

Fahjoth held his hands up innocently, a grin curling at the corners of his lips. “I would never! I’ve got a good eye for fashion, me. Can’t you tell? Anyway…” He looked between Julan and Ribyna with an apologetic gaze. “Do you two wanna go get us a table in the South Wall Cornerclub? I need to go speak to Cosades, but I’ll join you straight after. He gets grumpy if I call on him too late in the day.”

Both Ribyna and Julan looked as apprehensive as Fahjoth felt to be sending off by themselves, but for the moment, it was unavoidable.

“Alright, well... don’t be long!” Ribyna said with a frown.

“I won’t!” Fahjoth called back as he began heading off, jogging away between the long shadows cast by the setting sun.

——————————————

Given the lateness of the hour, Fahjoth had assumed that Cosades would be home, perhaps settling down for the night with a few bottles of booze as he was wont to do. To his surprise, that was not the case. He lingered around for five minutes, just on the off-chance that Cosades would turn up, but he was reluctant to leave Julan and Ribyna alone for much longer. So he hurried on to the South Wall Cornerclub, hoping that the two had not bitten chunks out of each other in his absence.

However, he needn't have worried. When Fahjoth arrived and descended the steps into the bar, he spotted Ribyna and Julan sitting in complete stony silence at their usual corner table. Quite frankly, he had seen funerals looking more lively.

His arrival seemed to come as a relief, as Julan glanced up and waved Fahjoth over. Fahjoth obliged, joining them at the table with haste as he accepted the bottle that Ribyna pushed towards him. He was both unsurprised and disappointed to see that Julan had nothing.

“Sorry about this,” he murmured, casually pushing his own mazte over to Julan instead.

“It's fine,” Julan replied. “Not like either of you are obligated to buy me a drink.”

“Yeah, but it's polite, isn't it?” he said, directing this particular comment over to Ribyna, who curled her lip but said nothing on the matter.

“So did you see Cosades?” she asked instead. “What's he got lined up for you this time?”

“He wasn't in,” Fahjoth answered. “I'll see him tomorrow, I'm sure.” He paused, before sliding a handful of coins over the table towards Ribyna. “Could you go get me a mazte? I still feel a bit dodgy.”

“I already got you a mazte.”

“Ribyna, come on,” Fahjoth groaned, desperate for one night of peace. “Please.”

A moment of irate silence later and Ribyna got to her feet, striding off towards the bar with a distinctly sour demeanour.

Fahjoth sighed, burying his face behind his hands with dismay. “I'm so sorry about her,” he apologised, lowering his hands and resting his chin on his fist.

Julan shrugged. Fahjoth had to admire his fortitude. “Don't worry about it. It's hardly your fault. And I've dealt with much worse, believe me.” He peered over his shoulder, jerking his head in Ribyna's direction before turning back to Fahjoth. “I don't suppose you know what her problem is?”

“I wouldn't take it personally, mate,” Fahjoth said. “She's just... like that. To everyone, pretty much.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his mouth continuing to move as his frustrations began to seep out. “Has been for years, now. I knew she was... difficult, but I swear she's gotten so much worse since we got here. Like, I know you need gold to survive, that's obvious, but there's gotta be better ways of going about that than joining the Thieves Guild or the Morag bloody Tong—”

“Hold on,” Julan interrupted, cutting Fahjoth off mid-rant. “She's in the Morag Tong?!”

Fahjoth froze, realising his slip-up.

“Uh…” he began, but he was spared the need to respond by Ribyna's return.

“There's your bloody mazte,” she said grumpily, putting the drink down in front of Fahjoth with enough force that, for a moment, he thought the bottle might shatter. Before he could say anything, Julan was on the attack.

“So you're in the Morag Tong.” He glared at Ribyna, his grip on his own bottle hard. “The Morag Tong! You'd better have a damn good reason for this!”

Ribyna paused, slowly turning her gaze to Fahjoth as she sat down again. Fahjoth could merely offer her an apologetic grimace, and with a loud huff, she rolled her eyes and turned back to Julan.

“Come on then, I want to hear this!” Julan went on. “How can you possibly justify joining a murder cult?!”

“It's a job,” Ribyna said bluntly. “I get paid to do it. That's all. And keep your bloody voice down, will you?”

After glancing around to ensure that they hadn't drawn any undue attention already, Julan continued in a low hiss. “So that's all this is to you? Money? There's lots of ways to make gold that don't involve killing people you don't even know!”

“Listen, save the lectures. If someone's got to die, they're gonna get killed either way. At least this way, I can get paid for it!”

Julan sighed, eyeing Ribyna with distrust. “Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I have to like it. You're still walking up to a stranger and putting a dagger in their back. I don't know if I could live like that. And if you can, well…”

“Yeah? Well if you don't like it, you know where the door is,” Ribyna spat. “In fact, why don't you do us both a favour and piss off back to the Ashlands alread—”

“Alright, that's enough!” Fahjoth snapped, holding his hands up towards the bickering pair. “Both of you, pack it in! You're doing my head in. Let's all just calm down, okay? Thank you…”

Fahjoth hung his head after his outburst, going back to nursing his mazte in silence and deliberately avoiding both Ribyna and Julan's eyes. Already he felt guilty about losing his temper, but he was still feeling rough from the silt strider ride and the vicious squabble wasn’t helping. He was beginning to wonder if they would ever get along; the prospect of having to put up with their constant quarrelling was a grim one. Was this going to be his existence for the foreseeable future? Playing referee between his twin and his new friend?

He despaired at the thought. But he could always live in hope, no matter how exhausting it was.

————————————————————————

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #julan kaushibael #morrowind #dunmer #nerevarine #dunmer oc #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfic #tes iii: morrowind

6 notes · View notes

velvetdestroya · 3 years

Photo

A Vigil, On Birds and Glass. I woke up this morning still dreaming, or not fully aware of myself just yet. The sun poked through the windows, touching my face, and then a deep sadness overcame me, immediately, bringing me to life and realization- My Chemical Romance had ended. I walked downstairs to do the only thing I could think of to regain composure- I made coffee. As the drip began, in that kind of silence that only happens in the morning, and being the only one awake, I stepped outside my home, leaving the door open behind me. I looked around and began to breathe. Things looked to be about the same- a beautiful day. As I turned to step back into the house I heard sound from within, a chirp and a rustle. And I noticed a small brown bird had flown into the library. Naturally, I panicked. I knew I had to see the bird to safety and I knew I had to retain the order of things in our home, and he very well couldn’t take up residency with us. I chased him (still assuming he was a he) into my office, where I have these very large windows. Just then, and luckily, I heard Lindsey’s footsteps coming down the stairs, and naturally being composed as she is, she grabbed a blanket and stepped into the office. He was impossible to catch, and I began to open the windows, via Lindsey’s direction, only to find out they were screened. The bird began to fly into the glass, over and over and in all different directions. Smack. Smack. Smack! I heard another set of footsteps, Bandit’s, running down the stairs in anticipation of the new day. Her entrance into the situation caused just the right amount of chaos (she was very excited to meet the bird) and we found ourselves chasing the bird into the living room. Knowing that this where it could potentially get sticky, being the high ceilings and the beams to perch on, I opened the front door as Lindsey did her best to encourage our new friend out the door. After some coaxing, flying, chirping, a wrong turn back into the library and a short goodbye to Bandit, he simply hopped out the front door- taking off on the fifth leap. We cheered. I was no longer sad. I didn’t realize it, but I stopped being sad the minute that bird had come into my life, because there was something that needed doing, a small vessel to aid and an order to keep. I closed the door. I decided to write the letter I always knew I would. It is often my nature to be abstract, hidden in plain sight, or nowhere at all. I have always felt that the art I have made (alone or with friends) contains all of my intent when executed properly, and thus, no explanation required. It is simply not in my nature to excuse, explain, or justify any action I have taken as a result of thinking it through with a clear head, and in my truth. I had always felt this situation involving the end of this band would be different, in the eventuality it happened. I would be cryptic in its existence, and open upon its death. The clearest actions come from truth, not obligation. And the truth of the matter is that I love every one of you. So, if this finds you well, and sheds some light on anything, or my personal account and feelings on the matter, then it is out of this love, mutual and shared, not duty. Love. This was always my intent. My Chemical Romance: 2001-2013 We were spectacular. Every show I knew this, every show I felt it with or without external confirmation. There were some clunkers, sometimes our secondhand gear broke, sometimes I had no voice- we were still great. It is this belief that made us who we were, but also many other things, all of them vital- And all of the things that made us great were the very things that were going to end us- Fiction. Friction. Creation. Destruction. Opposition. Aggression. Ambition. Heart. Hate. Courage. Spite. Beauty. Desperation. LOVE. Fear. Glamour. Weakness. Hope. Fatalism. That last one is very important. My Chemical Romance had, built within its core, a fail-safe. A doomsday device, should certain events occur or cease occurring, would detonate. I shared knowledge of this “flaw” within weeks of its inception. Personally, I embraced it because, again, it made us perfect. A perfect machine, beautiful, yet self aware of it’s system. Under directive to terminate before it becomes compromised. To protect the idea- at all costs. This probably sounds like something ripped from the pages of a four-color comic book, and that’s the point. No compromise. No surrender. No fucking shit. To me that’s rock and roll. And I believe in rock and roll. I wasn’t shy about who I said this to, not the press, or a fan, or a relative. It’s in the lyrics, it’s in the banter. I often watched the journalists snicker at mention of it, assuming I was being sensational or melodramatic (in their defense I was most likely dressed as an apocalyptic marching-band leader with a tear-away hospital gown and a face covered in expressionist paint, so fair enough). I’m still not sure if the mechanism worked correctly, because it wasn’t a bang but a much slower process. But still the same result, and still for the same reason- When it’s time, we stop. It is important to understand that for us, the opinion on whether or not it is in fact time does not transmit from the audience. Again, this is to protect the idea for the benefit of the audience. Many a band have waited for external confirmation that it is time to hang it up, via ticket sales, chart positioning, boos and bottles of urine- input that holds no sway for us, and often too late when it comes anyway. You should know it in your being, if you listen to the truth inside you. And voice inside became louder than the music. Now- There are many reasons My Chemical Romance ended. The triggerman is unimportant, as was always the messengers- but the message, again as always, is the important thing. But to reiterate, this is my account, my reasons and my feelings. And I can assure you there was no divorce, argument, failure, accident, villain, or knife in the back that caused this, again this was no one’s fault, and it had been quietly in the works, whether we knew it or not, long before any sensationalism, scandal, or rumor. There wasn’t even a blaze of glory in a hail of bullets… I am backstage in Asbury Park, New Jersey. It is Saturday, May 19th, 2012 and I am pacing behind a massive black curtain that leads to the stage. I feel the breeze from the ocean find its way around me and I look down at my arms, which are covered in fresh gauze due to a losing battle with a heat rash, which had been a mysterious problem in recent months. I am normally not nervous before a show but I am certainly filled with angry butterflies most of the time. This is different- a strange anxiety jetting through me that I can only imagine is the sixth sense one feels before their last moments alive. My pupils have zeroed-out and I have ceased blinking. My body temperature is icy. We get the cue to hit the stage. The show is… good. Not great, not bad, just good. The first thing I notice take me by surprise is not the enormous amount of people in front of us but off to my left- the shore and the vastness of the ocean. Much more blue than I remembered as a boy. The sky is just as vibrant. I perform, semi-automatically, and something is wrong. I am acting. I never act on stage, even when it appears that I am, even when I’m hamming it up or delivering a soliloquy. Suddenly, I have become highly self-aware, almost as if waking from a dream. I began to move faster, more frantic, reckless- trying to shake it off- but all it began to create was silence. The amps, the cheers, all began to fade. All that what left was the voice inside, and I could hear it clearly. It didn’t have to yell- it whispered, and said to me briefly, plainly, and kindly- what it had to say. What it said is between me and the voice. I ignored it, and the following months were full of suffering for me- I hollowed out, stopped listening to music, never picked up a pencil, started slipping into old habits. All of the vibrancy I used to see became de-saturated. Lost. I used to see art or magic in everything, especially the mundane- the ability was buried under wreckage. Slowly, once I had done enough damage to myself, I began to climb out of the hole. Clean. When I made it out, the only thing left inside was the voice, and for the second time in my life, I no longer ignored it- because it was my own. There are many roles for all of us to play in this ending. We can be well-wishers, ill-wishers, sympathizers, vilifiers, comedians, rain clouds, victims- That last one, again, is important. I have never thought myself a victim, nor my comrades, nor the fans- especially not the fans. For us to adopt that role right now would legitimize everything the tabloids have tried to name us. More importantly, it completely misses the point of the band. And then what have we learned? With honor, integrity, closure, and on no one’s terms but our own- the door closes. And another opens- This morning I awoke early. I quickly brushed my teeth, threw on some baggy jeans, and hopped in my car. I gently sped down the 405 through the morning fog to a random parking lot in Palo Verde, where I was to meet a nice gentleman named Norm. He was older, and a self-proclaimed “hippie” but he also had the energy of Sixteen year old in a garage-rock band. The purpose of the meeting was the delivery of an amplifier into my possession. I had recently purchased the amp from him and we both agreed that shipping would jostle the tubes- so he was kind enough to meet me in the middle. A Fender Princeton Amp from 1965, non reverb. A beautiful little device. He showed me the finer points, the speaker, the non-grounded plug, the original label and the chalk mark of the man or woman who built it- “This amp talks.” he said. I smiled. We got coffee, talked about gold-foil pickups and life. We sat in the car and played each other music we had made. We parted ways, promising to stay in touch, I drove home. When I wanted to start My Chemical Romance, I began by sitting in my parent’s basement, picking up an instrument I had long abandoned for the brush- a guitar. It was a 90’s Fender Mexican Stratocaster, Lake Placid Blue, but in my youth I had decided it was too clean and pretty so I beat it up, exposing some of the red paint underneath the blue- the color it was meant to be. Adding a piece of duct tape on the pick guard, it felt acceptable. I plugged this into a baby Crate Amp with built in distortion and began the first chords of Skylines and Turnstiles. I still have that guitar, and it’s sitting next to The Princeton. He has a voice, and I would like to hear what it has to say. In closing, I want to thank every single fan. I have learned from you, maybe more than you think you’ve learned from me. My only regret is that I am awful with names and bad with goodbyes. But I never forget a face, or a feeling- and that is what I have left from all of you. I feel Love. I feel love for you, for our crew, our team, and for every single human being I have shared the band and stage with- Ray. Mikey. Frank. Matt. Bob. James. Todd. Cortez. Tucker. Pete. Michael. Jarrod. Since I am bad with goodbyes. I refuse to let this be one. But I will leave you with one last thing- My Chemical Romance is done. But it can never die. It is alive in me, in the guys, and it is alive inside all of you. I always knew that, and I think you did too. Because it is not a band- it is an idea. Love, Gerard

(Source Rock Sound March 25, 2013) [photo credit; ashley bird]

#mcr #my chemical romance #my chemical romance the end 2013 #geray way goodbye letter to fans 2013 #it is an idea #my chemical romance can never die #mcrmy #killjoys #gerard way

23 notes · View notes

thefinalyeehaw · 3 years

Text

(Obey Me Fic) Deathly Hearts {Ch. 2 - The Great Mammon and the Third-born Brother}

The House of Lamentation was more refined from the usual image of an academy's dorm house. The entrance hall was a grand room; vaulted ceilings emphasized its vastness. The walls were luxuriously decorated with oil paintings and golden light fixtures. Two stone statues of dragons sat hunched over at the curve of the dual staircases as if to attack any unwelcome guest. The floor shined with a fresh layer of wax on the wood surface, a long, intricate runner stretched across the length of the shiny floor ending in another room beyond the grand hall. The rug looked to be recently laundered, definitely by the command of Lucifer.

"This is the House of Lamentation. It's one of the dorms here at R.A.D. Well, it's not JUST one of the dorms. It's the dorm reserved for student council members." Mammon's voice echoed as he strolled into the center of the hall. He gestured lazily around like a bored tour guide.

His fluffy white hair contrasted the dark colors of the entrance hall. Killian noticed a trend with the demonic brothers; all were extremely attractive. Mammon was a handsome demon with a slender yet athletic physique, his tan skin reminiscent of warm chocolate. His golden-blue eyes reminded her of gold and sapphire; a few necklaces she owned came to mind.

Before meeting Mammon, Mattie and Killian were introduced to three other brothers. First, there was Asmodeus, the fifth-born brother, beautiful with wavy champagne hair. The demon's orange eyes held a yellow gradient, reminiscent of a human world sunset. The fifth-born spoke with saccharine words and coquettish mannerism. However, the reaper wasn't blind to the way his gaze slid down her physique before shooting her an impish smile. Killian scoffed in response, quickly neutralizing her face when Diavolo looked at her quizzically. She knew Diavolo would ask her later about it. Fucking Great.

Next, the fourth-born Satan, devilishly handsome as Lucifer. Golden blond locks, reminding Killian of a particular bothersome angel, and smoldering green eyes, blurring into yellow, heavily contrasted the hall's gothic style. Killian grew unnerved as Satan spoke, sensing the unbridled rage concealed by the poise of a gentleman's demeanor. Unlike Asmodeus's seduction failures on Killian and Mattie, Satan's wrath was concerned, to say the less, for many reasons. Many included the safety of her and the human as she doubted the Avatar of Wrath was exceptionally patient with others. Since he greeted the reaper with the warmth of an iceberg.

Last was Beelzebub, the sixth-born brother. Standing the tallest of the other demons, except for Diavolo. A disinterested frown etched on the towering man's handsome face, violet eyes stared blankly at Mattie and Killian. Clear hints of muscles barely hidden underneath his rumpled uniform as Beelzebub shifted slightly. He spoke bluntly to them before complaining about his hunger to Lucifer, prompting a glare from the firstborn.

Although Killian would admit rooming with attractive demons for a year is a plus, to an extent. Honestly, she might have flirted a bit with Mammon or Satan if one wasn't so full of himself and the other being a ticking bomb of rage. The arrogance practically bleeds from Mammon's attitude from the moment he barged into the assembly hall, spewing useless threats and shooting glares at her and Mattie. But, of course, he is a totally insufferable bastard. Even better than Lucifer appointed him as the unofficial babysitter of her and Mattie as luck loved to fuck Killian over sometimes.

Mattie strolled further into the room, eyes twinkling at a stone dragon statue. They hovered a hand over the stone, fingers mimicking the curved designs on the dragon's chest. "So, I guess we are members of the student council, then." They awed. Killian smiled at the child-like curiosity on the human's face. "It seems like it. Although, oddly, mostly all of the council are brothers."

Mammon's face soured at the reaper's words, the second-born began to rant, "Lucifer, Asmo, and the others take every chance they can get to insult me. Callin' me scum, sayin' that I'm a money-grubber and stuff...but I'm an officer on the student council, same as them. The elite of the elite, the top of the R.A.D. social pyramid." Mattie and Killian exchanged looks as they watched as Mammon grew more riled, thriving the captive attention of two new members.

Mammon's gesticulation grew more dramatic as he became more impassioned with the speech of his sheer greatness, "In other words, I'm a big shot. A REAL big shot. Like, even regular big shots are impressed by what a big shot I am. So don't you go thinking that I'm just some ordinary demon. I'm nothing like those other peons walking the halls here!"

Killian grinned, "I doubt any of those 'peons' would dare to compare themselves to the great Mammon." Mattie hid a laugh behind their hand as Mammon puffed out his chest proudly. Apparently missing the sarcasm oozing from Killian's words as she studied a painting of an unsmiling couple dressed in Victorian attire.

"Exactly!" Mammon exclaimed, believing Killian's words as the human let out a snort behind him. The second-born cleared his throat "...Anyways, the long and short of it is that us seven brothers all live here together." He quickly summarized, his golden-blue eyes never leaving the emotionless porcelain mask as Killian turned around. "It's time I show you to your rooms. Follow me, and ya betta not get lost!" Swiftly pivoting on his feet, Mammon ascended up the left staircase. His stomps clicked against the marble steps.

Mattie hurriedly followed the demon up the stairs as Killian lagged behind; a bulletin board pinned to the wall against the second landing caught her attention. Although she was a princess, Killian enjoyed working. As a young reapling, Killian helped her nanny with simple tasks such as cooking and cleaning. As an adult, she performed countless jobs in the human realm, accumulating vast life experiences and skills. Maybe she'll ask Diavolo about part-time jobs in the Devildom when their first meeting is scheduled.

Unlike Mattie's tasks as a R.A.D. student, Killian's tasks included monthly meetings with Diavolo, a check-in on her progress in the Devildom. The prince's eyes shone as he cheerfully commented on how he looked forward to their sessions. It seemed he was suggesting the meetings were like a hang-out between old friends and not a conversation between a student and the headmaster of R.A.D. Not wanting to curb the prince's enthusiasm, Killian expressed how she also looked forward to it as Lucifer stared her down like a hawk.

"Hey, don't just stand there with your jaw open. Hurry up, or I'm gonna leave ya behind." Killian's eyes moved towards Mammon standing at the top of the staircase, arms crossed impatiently. "If there's something you wanna ask me, you'd best do it now," Killian snorted at the demon's growl.

Mammon acts like a snarling dog, but he becomes a meek puppy whenever someone bares their teeth at him. On the phone, the demon behaved imperious, dismissing any time she or Mattie brought up what Lucifer had told them as if he was an important king wasting precious time on peasants. After Mammon's audacity to shout through the phone, Killian's patience wore thin. She quickly figured out the Avatar of Greed had a cowardly side. He yelped when the reaper subtly threatened to rip his tongue from his body if he ever interrupted her again.

The slip of cowardice vanished quickly as Mammon regained his crass persona. Although she unintentionally wounded his ego, the drop gave insight into how Killian could handle Mammon if his overconfidence got out of hand again. "Nothing in particular. I just got lost in my head a bit, sorry," Killian flashed an apologetic smile, quickening her climb up the stairs.

Mammon eyed her, determining whether to question the reaper further. "Hmph...fine then." He grunted, not caring enough to pry. "Now, I'm gonna give you a piece of advice, so listen up. If you wanna survive even a day here in the Devildom, you'd better listen REAL close to what I'm about to say." Mammon stopped to turn towards the two exchange students.

Golden-blue eyes observed them, shifting between the two curious students. He leaned close if he was about to reveal a big secret. "If it ever looks like a demon is about to attack you…" Mammon's voice dropped low. Killian ignored the shiver down her spine at the huskiness.

"...run away. Either that or die," Mammon stated, drawing back to gauge the reactions. Mattie blinked, their eyebrows furrowed in sheer confusion, their mind progressing Mammon's advice.

"Huh?" They muttered under their breath as Killian raised an eyebrow.

"How about this? I vote for YOU to die, Mammon." A venomous voice hissed. The three turned as another demon stormed down the hallway towards them, orange-blue eyes glared daggers into the second-born.

"D'ah…! Levi…" Mammon paled, eyes widened in surprise like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. The second-born stiffly gestured to the fuming demon, failing to school his features. "Uh, l-listen up, human! This here is Leviathan, the Avatar of Envy. He's the oldest of us brothers." His voice slightly trembled.

Mammon coughed as a fake smile appeared on his face. "Since his name's sorta hard to say, you can just call him Levi!" He began to usher Mattie and Killian further down the corridor, trying to flee the anger of the third-born.

Levi's glare intensified. "Mammon, give me back my money. Then go crawl in a hole and die." He demanded, stomping closer to the white-haired demon. Unsurprisingly, Levi was just as attractive as his brothers, with fair skin that lacked any blemishes or scars. His indigo hair was styled nicely with sweeping bangs, framing his orange-purple eyes that glowered at Mammon.

Mammon winced under his brother's angry stare, "Come on, I told you I'd get it to you! I just need a little more time. … And you still want me to die even after I give it back? That's real harsh, Levi!" Need more time? Sounds like famous last words. Killian wasn't too surprised the Avatar of Greed was indebted to others.

The frown on Levi's face deepened, "You need a little more time? How much more?"

"A little more, okay?! A little more means a little more!" The second-born tried to reason, but to no avail.

"You've been telling me that for the last 200 years, Mammon." Levi shot back. Mattie made a choking sound while Killian let out a low whistle; that is a long time to wait for the money.

"Hey, no! It hasn't been 200 years! It's been 260! Get it right, Levi!" A pause of silence stretched as the three stared at Mammon in disbelief.

Killian let out a baffled sound, "Why would you correct him on that?" She couldn't believe Mammon actually corrected how many years he owned Levi's money. She must have offended Diavolo in the past, and now he was punishing her by making this idiot her guardian as revenge. Killian made a note to be more cordial to the prince during her stay. Maybe she and Mattie could upgrade to a more competent guide as a result.

Levi sighed at his brother's dumb remark, obviously used to Mammon's lack of filter. "Unbelievable. Seriously Mammon, you're-"

"I'm what? Scum? Is that what you're gonna say?" An unreadable emotion flashed in Mammon's eyes, frowning at Levi.

"-you're a lowlife and a waste of space." Levi continued to spew insults.

Mammon let an offended gasp, "Hey! Come on, that's even worse!"

"Whatever." Levi rolled his eyes, crossing his arms impatiently. "Just give me back my money. I need it to buy the Blu-ray box set of Journey to the Devildom: The Tale of a Little She-Devil and Her Reluctant Companion." His angry face slightly brightened at the mention of the show, "The initial round of copies includes promotional tickets to a live event as a special bonus."

Mammon huffed, growing frustrated with the conversation. "I've got no idea what you're even talking about, but it doesn't matter! Because I don't even have any money to give you. How am I supposed to give back money I don't have, huh?!"

"So then. You're telling me you refuse to pay me back?" The air in the room grew thicker as the tension built.

"...What? You looking for a fight, is that it?" The smirk on Mammon's face fueled the boiling tension as the air pulsed with solid auras. The situation was becoming increasingly dangerous. Demon fights were notoriously nasty to witness. Killian feared Mattie and her were about to get stuck in the crossfire of one.

"Mattie," Killian spoke low, catching the human's attention as they watched the brothers' bickering. "Stay behind me no matter what happens." She felt almost bad as Mattie flinched at her words. Their eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. With the potential of the bickering becoming a brawl, Killian knows she can easily defend herself if someone happens. Still, Mattie doesn't have the power to protect themself from something as brutal as a demon fight. Mattie said nothing as they quickly followed Killian's order, stepping behind the tall woman, partially hidden behind her slender frame.

Killian raised her right hand slightly, her thumb stroking the obsidian ring on her ring finger. She felt the familiar tingle of energy warming her arm as it swiftly spread through her body, ready to activate her scythe at a moment's notice.

As if sensing the mounting stress of the room, Mammon turned his attention to the two exchange students. Killian remained rigid, her arm raised to her chest with feet firmly planted to the carpeted floor. The porcelain mask was void of all expressions. Two piercing blue eyes glowed in the shadows of the eye slits, trained on the scene as if waiting for an opening to defend. Mattie stood semi-hidden behind the alert reaper, watching the scene, fear etched on their face as their frame slightly trembled.

"Listen, you two. You remember my advice from before about what to do when demons attack? Well. You're about to witness that for real. So…" Mammon inched backward, walking a bit further in the hallway. Killian's eyes widened at Mammon's flighty action, wasn't he about to—.

"Hold on. I thought your advice was to either run away or—damnit, Mammon! That ass...he ran off…!" Levi screeched furiously as Mammon sprinted down the empty corridor, vanishing past a sharp turn.

Mattie stumbled out from behind Killian, taking in a shaky breath as their eyes stared down the hallway where Mammon had once been. "What just happened?" Shock trembled in their voice, gawking at the fact the second-born had just ditched Killian and them at the first sign of trouble.

Killian heavily sighed as she relaxed her stand, rolling the tension out of her neck and shoulders. It wasn't indeed a surprise Mammon escaped at the first mention of conflict. She figured that the second-born brother was a coward. Rarely do cowards actually fight, usually fleeing as Mammon had done. "Do you realize what just happened? Mammon used you as a distraction to get away from me!" The third-born retorted as Levi glanced over to Killian and Mattie, irritated by his older brother's escape. "Or maybe I should say he used both of you as sacrifices."

"I think it is a little bit of both," Killian commented. However, she didn't appreciate the slight blame behind Levi's words as if they were naïve toddlers swindled for their candy.

Levi ignored the two as he rambled, "I'll admit that Mammon is one of the scummiest scumbags you'll ever meet...a total lowlife. But still, that was pretty dumb of both of you letting him use you like that."

"Excuse me?" Killian placed her hands on her hips, angrily gritting her teeth.

Levi was too ensnared to notice the increasing amount of magic slipping from the frustrated reaper as he chose to continue his rant. "This is EXACTLY why reapers and humans are—Wait a second. Humans....yes, that's it...Suddenly, I've got an idea." Levi turned towards Mattie; his face grew a focused expression as he studied the human.

"You know what? Never mind." Mattie yelped in surprise as Levi's hand reached out and grasped their wrist, tugging them deeper into the house's unknown bowels. "Either way, you're coming with me."

Levi let out a squawk, jumping as a warm hand gripped his wrist. "No. We're coming with you." Killian stated, smirking at the glare Levi shot in her direction. "We're both exchange students, guests in your house. It is rude to ignore a guest, right?" Slipping on a polite smile as she not-so-gently tugged Mattie from the third-born's grip.

Where the human goes, I go, remained unsaid, but the warning was apparent in the reaper's tone. Killian wasn't dumb enough to let Levi drag Mattie away, to allow a demon to carry a human away in unknown territory. If Mammon was any instance, it showed that the brothers weren't as reliable as Killian initially thought. It was already apparent the disinterest of some brothers towards both Mattie and Killian. She already wanted to punch Lucifer, and she hadn't even known him for a day!

"Well, yes...but no! I don't want to bring a bunch of normies to my room!"

She ignored whatever the fuck a 'normie' was supposed to as she shot back, "Then, tell us right there and right now. If it is revenge on Mammon, you can tell us. I doubt he will be for a long while." The straightening of Levi's back revealed his idea did involve revenge. Taken back, Levi muttered about 'stupid normies' as he tried to make a decision, fidgeting.

Mattie shot a concerned look to the reaper, who gently patted their shoulder in reassurance. Killian predicted it was up to her and Mattie to properly survive this year. Telling Diavolo would only make matters worse and just piss Lucifer off more if he had the demon prince breathing down his breath. Not to mention how complaining to Diavolo would only hurt her reputation further. She couldn't afford that, especially this early in the program.

Fuck, she wanted a cigarette.

Killian felt a buzzing in her pocket. She reached into her jean pocket to retrieve the vibrating D.D.D. There were four unread messages from Mammon.

Mammon: Heya, I suddenly remembered I have some business I gotta take of. So, if ya need something, just ask Levi.

Bullshit.

Killian scoffed at the winking demon emoji Mammon had sent. It was a blatant attempt to placate her after his vanishing act.

Mammon: Oh, and just to make sure... Don't go around tellin' stuff to Lucifer, ya got that?

He sent a glaring demon emoji, which Killian promptly sent back to Mammon. But, of course, she wasn't planning to tell Lucifer to begin with. She might be a royal, but Mammon being a cowardly bastard wasn't worth the energy for a conversation.

She smirked as Mammon quickly sent a nervously grimacing emoji back. Oh, she had an excellent idea as she tapped the keyboard.

Killian: Okay, I won't tell Lucifer.

Killian: But Mammon, the next time you put on that stunt, you won't have the chance to run.

Killian slipped the phone back into her pocket, ignoring the buzzing on her thigh. Glancing back up at Levi, she grinned. "So, what is your good idea?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I finally had the time and energy to edit this!!!

I hope you enjoy this chapter, please reblog and heart it if you want (constructive criticism is also appreciated!)

Stay in-tuned for the next chapter: How to train your Avatar of Greed (with blackmail).

Thank you!

#obey me #obey me mc #reapscape au #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan

3 notes · View notes

macmazatlan · 3 years

Text

Venator Star Destroyer 114 call sign “Colossus” Ship Log 354

[The following is a recording taken by commander Mason during a discussion with Era, Kenai, Titus and Pride]

Era began, “We are here to pass judgment on what both of you have done. Both former commanders Pride and Titus have been charged with conspiracy and treason against the legion. How do each of you plead?”

Titus was the first to reply, “I plead guilty.”

Soon after Pride also replied in favor of accepting guilt for their actions. Era continued the herring stating that Kenai was there to observe and pass the judgment whereas Era and Mason were to present evidence. The hearing lasted for five hours, evidence being presented through secret logs and testimonies from the various units within the legion. Evidence was also presented from the sentients of Primus Dawn when Omen and Sovereign presented findings as well. Following this Kenai decided to speak alone to commanders Pride and Titus before passing his judgment.

Kenai began, “The evidence presented against you both is undeniable. You both accept this yet only commander Titus seeks atonement… I only ask for one fact from each of you, why? Considering the situation even myself, a neutral individual would have come to the same conclusion as commander Era.”

Pride responded angrily, “You’re a second generation commander, both you and commander Era were among the first of our people to wage war against the sentients. You BOTH HAVE FOUGHT FOR YEARS AGAINST THEM! YET YOU SEEK TO UNDERSTAND THEM? ALLY WITH THEM? YOU DISGRACE US ALL AND THE WARBORN WHO DIED IN THIS WAR!”

Kenai responded by punching Pride, knocking him down hard since he was still in retrains. Commander Titus stepped back in surprise as Kenai collected himself and replied, “You are too emotional Pride. I suppose that is merely the flaw within your development. It is true that both Era and I are from the first and second generations of developed warborn… I will share some facts with you both regarding the truth of our development. Did you know that has each generation of warborn developed observable flaws?”

Titus shook his head while Pride now kneeling on the ground began to shake in anger staring at Kenai. Kenai continued his lesson staring down Pride, “Those of the first generation such as commander Era tended to be logical, cold, and devoid of emotion or empathy except in rare cases. Era himself being one of the few first generation warborn to develop a sense of empathy for those around him, but unlike yourself he can control his emotions. Those of the second generation like myself tend to balance the trait of logic with empathy. The third generation were excessively warlike but lacked the capability to be flexible and think critically in complex situations. The fourth generation were rebellious and cruel in their methods to each other and the populaces we were meant to protect. The fourth generation was a good reason why so many worlds rebelled against us in the first Sentient counter offensive. You Pride, are a part of the fifth generation and unlike those of the second, your generation is overly tainted by emotion over logic. A flaw that saw the loss of so many legions due to the rashness you show being controlled by your emotions. Yet your generation Pride, similar to the base species template that gave birth to the warborn. Titus, you and Mason were among the few born of the sixth generation, one capable of adapting and overcoming obstacles. Your generation was meant to turn the tides of the war in one way or another but you’re lack of extensive training and adequate experience nullified your contributions as you’re generation was the smallest developed during this war and quite possibly the last.”

Kenai ended his lesson and remained silent, allowing the information to soak in until Titus responded with his answer to Kenai’s question, “I did it because of Apocalypse. He directly threatened our legion and I wasn’t sure of how sentient consensus works. I worked to develop the bomb as a safeguard to protect what is left of my own legion and those of my fellow commanders. If I am seen as an enemy because of my actions then so be it, but I acted with the best intentions for the legion… I don’t deny that I failed to see the potential consequences of my actions. If I need to fall to ensure the safety of our men now then I will not hesitate in accepting any sentence bestowed upon me, as it was a choice of my own making.”

Kenai satisfied with his response then looked back to Pride, who was now standing with tense body language until finally he fell down to his knees. Pride began to shake and sobbing could be heard from under his helmet as he spoke quietly, “I… I just… I did it because I sought right the wrongs done to all of us warborn. These… machines have taken so many of us in this pointless war that it seems that our suffering will never end. When my legion was dispatched from the homeworld, I knew every trooper under my command. I knew their hopes and regrets… some wanted to live lives as civilians, others wished to be things that they were not nor could ever realistically be… What every one of my men seemed to wish for as a whole was the protection of our fellow warborn. A dream tarnished into nightmare as my legion felt the reality of war…” He looked up to Kenai and continued now with certainty, “You asked why? It’s because I feel that if I could end this threat to the last of the warborn on this world, then I can fulfill the remnant wishes of those long gone to protect the warborn who are left within this legion, put together by the legacy of the many. I stand by my actions, but if my punishment requires a severe sentence… then I will not hesitate in facing my fate, as that will be my atonement for my actions.”

Kenai remained silent, then moved near Pride and kneeled down and put a hand on his shoulder, “I know you meant well. What you didn’t realize was that the war is over now, we have peace with the sentients. It may not be in the way that any of us intended, but it is peace never the less. The fallen can rest easy, you can rest easy in knowing that you will continue to fulfill the wishes of those fallen in the present by being here with the legion and your men, not trapped bearing the burdens of the past. Let go Pride, for if you continue to shoulder the regrets of the lost, then ultimately you will become lost as well.”

Pride regaining his composure stood proud. Titus moved to his side and both looked towards Kenai and nodded their heads indicating readiness. Kenai while he inputted a command code into his gauntlet. Once the command code was entered then commanders Era and Mason entered the room. Captains Frey, Reed, Aurelius and Ferrus also entered to bear witness. The guardians Harbinger, Omen and Sovereign also wired into the hearing while Commander Kenai began, “I have made my to pass judgment. I have reviewed the objective and subjective evidence within this case. I’ve heard the testimonies of condemned. My sentence is as follows, both Titus and Pride will be placed under probationary command. Their service will be meant to give back tenfold to those they wronged whether it be through labor or sacrifice, they will atone for their actions. They will be subject to all, regardless of rank, or state of being. Through Continued service to the warborn, the sentient and other allies, they will redeem themselves tenfold for their actions. Death will not be accepted as due atonement as there is not redemption in the void, nor will there be with continued detainment. We were alone, but now we’re linked by something never thought possible between the warborn and the sentients… Peace, a unity that is needed more than ever as to end a conflict that lasted decades. My decision is final given the criteria and evidence placed before me. For disgraced commanders Titus and Pride to overcome their current status, then they will need the unanimous approval of myself, Era, Mason and the four guardians of Primus Dawn.”

With the last statement made, the restraints were taken from both commanders Pride and Titus. They were then dismissed from the room along with the witnesses until only Era, Mason and Kenai remained with the guardians on the line.

Mason stated, “Thank you Kenai. You and Era always had a way with words.”

Kenai and Era remained neutral while Omen responded over the com link, “I approve of this outcome, however there is still one last topic to discuss that wasn’t mentioned in the trial.”

Harbinger finished Omen’s statement, “That would be the Ion bomb. Warborn commander Kenai, what is you verdict for the device?”

Kenai responded, “Your concern is valid Omen and Harbinger. I’ve discussed it with my peers and we’ve come to an agreement to give it over to you.”

The sentients took more time than expected to respond, of which Sovereign replied, “An unexpected outcome… Extensive resources was put into the project yet you each are willing to relinquish the device?”

This time Era stated, “Yes. We gain nothing from cooperating within an aura of distrust, trust must be equal equally between all beings within an alliance such as this. Thus we are giving up the device as to assure the sentients that we do not intend ill upon you.”

More time passed before Harbinger replied, “We’ve reached a consensus, you will keep the device.”

The news shocked the warborn commanders as even Era was unsettled by the news, Mason responded urgently with confusion, “but… why?”

Omen took the time to respond length, “Because, throughout our recent encounters we’ve done much to impose on you warborn. You’ve sacrificed extensively to make this alliance work, obviously putting yourselves at risk by allowing us to shelter within the ship.”

Then Soveriegn added, “It is no secret that our troops set you men at unease at times with some exceptions within the warborn engineering unit.”

Harbingered continued, “Hence, this was an unexpected branch of trust you extended to us that we as a unity never thought would come to pass. We intend to do the same, you will keep the device.”

With that last statement the guardians logged out from the com link, leaving the awed commanders in the CIC. Plans were quickly made to secure the device only where the present commanders would know, in tandem measures were taken to ensure it’s security. Thus passed the judgment and redemption of Pride and Titus, the atoning warborn of the 1st Legacy Legion.

Venator Star Destroyer 114 call sign “Colossus” Ship Log 354

5 notes · View notes

jafndaegur · 4 years

Text

Sesskag Week 2020 | Day 3: Thriller

Angels of Death

Sesskag

a/n: y'all already know I’ve been wanting to write this one since last year. NOW FINALLY I had a reason to lol

TW: slight gore and violence

When the white noise died and the dizziness abated, Sesshomaru sat up with a hand to his temple. Fingers sifted through short and neat cropped hair and bleary eyes opened, an empty windowed room unfolded before him. Aside from the chair he was in and the eerily unnatural moon behind the window, he was alone. A bump against his back told him a long container separated his back from the support of the chair. And a stale jumper and trousers told him he hadn’t changed clothes in a while.

Disgust twisted along his face as he stared at the unnatural moon.

How long had he been here? Why was he here? He needed answers. Tugging the container from his back, he realized it was large and long, like a cartography case on steroids. But upon opening it, he realized it was a protector for a sword. The iron glimmered faintly and in a flash the name “Tenseiga” appeared in his head before it flitted away.

Hn. So a sword of healing and an unsavory room, of course.

He took a few delicate sniffs to try and see if he could garner anything but regrettably the room only smelled of harsh cleaners. Someone knew he would try to scent things out.

Standing up, Sesshomaru left the room without a second glance, hurrying down the open corridor. It felt as though the moon behind him burned holes into the base of his head. The pulse in his throat quickened. He swallowed.

The corridor stretched long, and it felt as though he’d been speeding through for ages.

Finally a room opened to his right and further down the hall he could see traces of a grating. He slipped into the room first, intent to see if there was anything to help him. To his disappointment, all he found was a large box, a blank sheet of paper in the box, and a screen. The little screen flashed once he entered the room and prompted a single question.

What are you?

-Angel

-Sacrifice

He snorted. Most certainly he was no angel, but how dare the only other option be “sacrifice”. Shameless. He picked “angel”.

The box whirred and groaned, making a loud clattering before it stopped. Popping out at the top was the piece of paper which was no longer blank. It had a small arrow towards the front and what seemed like a series of lines underneath. Sesshomaru frowned and plucked the piece of paper between his claws. He held onto it and left the room heading towards the grating.

The grating was actually a large gate and behind it was an open elevator lift. At the center of the gate was a small slit that looked large enough for the paper in his hand. Slipping the sheet through, there was a mechanical buzz and the paper was swallowed.

The corridor shook and the gates creaked open. A loud voice blared from all around him. “Floor Seven, access granted. The Sacrafice will be entering Floor Six—Angel is notified.”

His brow twitched, hadn’t he picked “angel”?

A green arrow appeared on the left wall and the elevator pinged as if telling him to hurry up. Sesshomaru stepped in and closed the gate behind him. There was three buttons in the elevator. Large and red “6”, “7”, and “8”. He pressed the six.

A hum and a jolt later, and Sesshomaru felt the lift head upward. He frowned and wondered if he would need to find another paper box for another elevator since this one would be useless once he reached the next floor.

The elevator landed and the doors opened.

Sesshomaru’s brows twitched and his throat and neck heated with the sudden urge to vomit.

The overwhelming smell of gore that hung in the new area pressed heavily against him like a wall. The corridor in front of him was dark, and yet the smell of carcass painted a path for him clearer than any light. He opened this floors gate and stepped through. With a crash, the elevator doors slammed shut behind him, this time there was no paper insert but he noted a button. His frown deepened.

Tracking the rancid smells, Sesshomaru narrowed his eyes when he came upon a fairly mutilated body. There were several slash marks, as if it’d been cut open with a blade. And yet several arrows protruded from it like an oversized pincushion as well. An abandoned bag of potato chips had been left by the body.

Sorting through the smells, he guessed the body had been there for a week if not a little more than that—it was so saturated because of the hall’s stagnant air that it was hard to tell exactly. The greasy smell of the crisps didn’t help either.

He traveled further into the hall, noting with a heightened alarm at how quiet it was. Like the moon in his room, the quiet was fake. Something was luring him.

He drew the sword in the blink of a second as white fluttered in front of his face. Feathers fluttered. He slashed. There was a frantic tweet and he set his sword down only to realize it was a pigeon. He knew for a fact that his sword hit the bird and yet even as it hobbled along the floor, it was by no injury of his. The bird had a broken wing.

New fact: his sword could not cut.

He stared down at the frightened creature on the floor. It peeped and hopped along, and mindlessly he followed. There was the smallest nagging of guilt and he wondered whether or not he should try and put the bird out of its misery or brace its wing. He reached out.

The bird exploded in front of him in a flurry of grey fluff and wings.

Sesshomaru barked out, skidding back as a blade sliced through the air. He roared angrily only to be cut off by a volley of arrows speeding at him. Just barely cutting off their path with a sweep of his sword, he was grateful Tenseiga at least could deflect an attack.

Insatiable laughing bounced off the walls and echoed through the air as his assailant swiped her crossbow through the air. One eye burned blue and the other a dull brown. Her skin was wrapped from head to toe in bandages and yet she still flaunted a school girl’s green and white uniform. She smiled from ear to ear, her face drawn in ecstatic craze.

“Found you~” she chirped, lunging forward and swinging her crossbow like a pickaxe.

He leapt backward, matching each offensive move of hers with a planned defensive. His nose told him that she was human. And yet she moved with a speed that nearly matched his. Every swipe, every shot of arrows, it was all followed and prefaced by her damn insufferable laughing. The sound grated through his ears as it reverberated over and over without cease. Grimacing, Sesshomaru figured it would be better to fall back and regain his brings than trying to push through her idiotic barrage.

Side-stepping the blade on her crossbow, he raced back towards the elevator, hand slamming the arrow button on the wall. There was a ping but the doors remained snuggly closed.

Damn.

“Why’re you leaving? We just barely got to meet!” He smelled her approach as she shrieked down the corridor.

He pushed the damn button again and it gave a sweet innocent ping again.

Growling, Sesshomaru clawed his hands between the elevator lift doors and pried them. They groaned and creaked but budged.

Singing arrows struck at the doors, bouncing off the metal and onto the floor. He snarled and pulled the doors open enough to slip through. They slammed shut behind him as the sound of the girl’s blade crashed into the metal.

Her yelling and howling shook the metal container.

Sesshomaru wiped at his cheek where one of the bolts had managed to nick him. The blood was tepid and stuck to his fingers. How dare she.

He pushed the last button in the elevator. The “8”. The pyscho-school girl was on six, and he had come from seven. He sighed and wondered if there would be a way out further down instead of up. The lift chimed and the doors opened.

This floor was instantly different from his or the girl’s. The corridor was lined with linoleum and its light poured generously from LED overhangs. He took a sniff. Like his floor however, any and all scents had been bleached clean. Lips twisted downward but he took in the sights again. There were rooms on both the left and right sides of the hall as well as at the end. Maybe that would be another elevator shift.

Taking a breath, he pulled open the iron grating and stepped through. The doors behind him slammed shut and the shift whirred as if the lift was moving. Sesshomaru’s gaze flicked to the left and right, noting with a hint of chagrin that there was no button to summon the elevator back.

He was trapped on this floor.

His footsteps echoed along the linoleum and he peered into each room. Most of them looked like offices. A big desk, a bookshelf, and two chairs—one behind the desk and the other in front. Four of the rooms had this set up.

“Ah, Sesshomaru, you made it for our session.”

Senses screamed, and Sesshomaru spun around with a flash of his sword.

A doctor stood in front of him. The man had long wavy hair and sharp red eyes. His hands were innocently stuffed in his lab coat’s pockets. A smile.

“Sesshomaru, what’s with the toy?” The man shook his head at the sword and walked into the nearest office. “C'mon.”

Sesshomaru stood in the doorway angrily glaring at the newcomer.

The man lifted his brow. “Do you not remember me? It’s me, Dr. Onigumo—your therapist.”

Not to his surprise, the doctor’s name was one of the many things voided in his memory. Not that it would be mattered. He trusted this man about as far as he could throw him. Although given that he could pry open the elevator doors just with his own strength, maybe Sesshomaru could throw the man further than he would’ve wanted.

“There was a killer, on the sixth floor,” Sesshomaru stated.

“Ah yes, one of the many tenants here in the building,” Dr. Onigumo waved his hand dismissively. “We house souls who’ve lost their way and their minds, and try to rehabilitate them into angelic citizens.”

“She had a weapon,” Sesshomaru egged on.

“So do you,” the doctor pointed out.

Well…that was fair…

“I’m leaving.”

“But don’t you need to know how to find your way out in order to go?”

Sesshomaru lifted his brow.

Dr. Onigumo leaned forward in his chair. “As an employee of this facility, I can come and go as I wish. There’s an elevator at the end of the hall.”

So he had been correct about a second lift.

“Follow me, I’ll take you there.” The doctor stood, hands in his pockets again, and gently shoved passed back into the hallway.

A few paces back Sesshomaru followed. “Is this a psych-ward?”

“Not at all,” Dr. Onigumo chimed. “We prefer the term rehabilitation center. Except we allow it at our patients own pace…as you could see, number 6 is quite slow at change.”

Hn.

“Oh Sesshomaru, by the way,” wariness crept in as the doctor’s voice lowered. “How’s the arm?”

Sesshomaru hummed.

“Demon strength is always so admirable. And the arms, particularly for you, carry so much of it.”

…demon? Something in his memory twinged.

Dr. Onigumo turned around and smiled, his once red eyes now glittered blue—pupils shining a bright vermillion. “Won’t you give me a hand?”

Sesshomaru poised his sword.

Tentacles spurred from the doctor’s back and surged for him. Sesshomaru could see the elevator grating behind the man. He dodged the assault, rolling along the ground and snapping at his assailant. More tentacles emerged, the doctor bubbled grotesquely as if he were made of tar. Tenseiga couldn’t even deflect the tentacles, it bounced off their scaled forms uselessly. Sesshomaru cursed and—

Laughter shrieked through air and suddenly, Dr. Onigumo’s limbs fell to the floor with heavy splats. The school girl from earlier zoomed passed Sesshomaru and swung her bladed crossbow.

“You!” Dr. Onigumo yelled before he stopped. Hand flew to his throat where an arrow beautiful speared it. The tentacled man fell to the ground in a heap.

“Well that’s that,” the girl clapped her hands together before spinning on her toes and approaching Sesshomaru. In the blink of an eye, her crossbow was digging into the underside of his jaw. Her eyes watched him with bizarre fascination. She licked her lips and watch him eagerly.

He cocked his brow.

“Oh come on! Not even a wince? You were so concerned earlier.” The bolt and blade dug deeper into his skin.

Sesshomaru curled his lip and snarled, fangs flashing.

She gave an impressed “ooh”.

“Do you know how to leave this floor?” He demanded.

“I might.” By now she was starting to look disinterested. The bow slipped down a bit. “Not even a ‘please don’t kill me’?”

“Show me how to leave.” Something had struck a nerve after the therapist, if that’s what he really was, had mentioned the word demon.

“What do I get out of it?”

“What do you want?”

The insanity returned to her gaze and her smile gleamed brightly. “Well to kill you of course!”

Interesting and simple. Sesshomaru offered a cruel smile. “My name is Sesshomaru.”

Giggling, the girl lowered her crossbow with a nonchalant spin. “Kagome Higurashi. I’ll be the one to kill you, m'kay? So don’t die along the way~”

Sesshomaru sheathed his sword back into the cartography tube, and followed her to the new elevator shaft.

#sesskag #sesskagweek2020 #skw2020d3 #sesshomaru x kagome #sesshomaru #kagome higurashi #had fun writing this #enjoy #au: satsuriku no tenshi

33 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

All The Qualities of a Winner (Rotox/Detoxxxy) - Dvious

a/n: i went into s5 totally expecting to love jinkx the most - and i did! but i also couldn’t help but sympathize with all of roxxxy’s insecurities and the unfortunate way they expressed themselves, and 2/3 of rolaskatox being all over each other constantly was ridiculous and adorable so i had to produce something about it…

she has all the qualities of a winner, she thinks. for example, she doesn’t want anything sentimental to come up in this competition, anything that reminds her of home.

roxxxy andrews doesn’t need a security blanket. this is a competition, after all, and while she’d expected to recognize some of her fellow competitors, she had no interest in anything that would distract her from showing her best, and showing everyone else up in the process. so it feels a little scary when the two of them so easily fall back into their old patterns, because it looks like vulnerability, like each of them have an achilles heel.

not scary enough for her to stop, though. not scary enough for her to move when they’re squeezed together on couches or at tables, and not scary enough for her to pull her hand away when detox reaches out to grab it.

the night of the very first runway, there are way too many girls for them all to sit comfortably in the lounge. roxxxy catches the scent of mugler perfume and feels the back of the couch sink down behind her, but she doesn’t turn to see who it is.

she already knows.

it’s not like her to doubt herself this way.

ask any of the girls back home, any of the girls she’s competed against in pageantry. roxxxy knows she’s a winner, or at least she tells herself she does, and maybe it’s the newness of everything here - but she’s never felt quite this shaken. it manifests itself in the way her lips purse distastefully whenever jinkx is contouring, the way she nervously babbles her way through confessionals with the main goal of cramming as many reads as she can into two minutes.

so when detox showers her with compliment after compliment in the lounge and roxxxy virtually melts into her chair, she tells herself it’s because she just needed some good old-fashioned praise. she craves validation, but it always seems to come with a side of genuine criticism on the runway. it’s fine, she expected it, she wants to say it’s making her better but instead it makes her vitriolic and confused.

maybe it’s good, then, that she’s been hooked up to a constant iv-drip of bitch you look fucking sickening, sickeningly gorgeous 24/7. she never feels glowing until she’s told she is.

detox tells her she is glowing unceasingly, and roxxxy repeats those words to herself the same way jinkx whispers her mantra onstage. except roxxxy says it in her head, so that she can feel like she needs it less.

she prides herself on her independence.

this is a competition, after all. she’s not here to rely on crutches to get her to the top. in her heart of hearts, she knows that once rolaskatox gets to the top three (and they will, of course), things will change. but for now - when there’s so many of them and she can coast through - it’s easy. she’s getting more used to things, and she’s pretty sure she’s getting better by the week. alaska looks down and purses her lips whenever the judges mention cliques, but roxxxy stares straight ahead, willfully content in their little trio.

i just don’t want to lay it on so thick in front of the judges, y'know, alaska tells them in the workroom. they both agree. but it’s reflexive, detox just won, is roxxxy not supposed to congratulate her? she can see michelle’s eyes flicker over to the way they’re holding one another at the back of the stage, but so what? they’re friends congratulating one another on a job well done, on earning another week to show everyone what they can do…

they start to walk up onstage to congratulate coco for winning the lip sync, and when the two of them inevitably separate, roxxxy’s fingers hook in the mesh of the other queen’s dress. she pulls on it reflexively, and then half-shouts something brash and nonchalant, to make herself look less desperate. but her words are wasted; detox must have some kind of touch-starvation sixth sense and she loops their arms together again. and roxxxy’s smile returns easily to her face again just in time for a camera pan.

by the final three, she won’t need this, roxxxy thinks. she’ll be on her own, in the center of the stage, a crown on her head.

as a rule, roxxxy loves crowds.

there’s really nothing like strutting your stuff in a sequinsed gown to the roar of an auditorium filled with adoring fans. or lip syncing to the perfect j.lo song with a backdrop of cheering and clapping. a silent crowd, however - staring up at her as she shuffles her notes and tries to roast the straight-faced panel - is another thing entirely. as she steps to the side she takes solace in the fact that she at least was second to go, so they really won’t remember how bad she was. hell, all the other girls had at least one or two sullen responses from the crowd. she’s good to go, probably. it’s still a disgusting feeling, having everyone look at her like that in silence and reading her own failure in their eyes.

but even if she doesn’t feel as confident as usual it’s important to project confidence, which is why she’s so nonchalant in the lounge when they talk about their childhoods. she’s not about to give a sob story to everyone; the point of her explanation is to get it over with as quickly as possible so that everyone thinks about how impressive it is that she’s gotten over it so well. roxxxy presses her fingertips into the jewels of her ring, over and over again, leaving imprints on her skin and wondering why she’s so resistant to the spotlight tonight when she’s normally out to steal it.

she is in the bottom two for the first time, against the consummate performer of the season, the pageant girl with spice. she thinks she turned it out, but she really doesn’t know because she could hardly see alyssa through the hair they were both whipping around. here she is, in front of a much smaller crowd, but this time she’s finding out how badly she failed instead of whether she’ll be first place or runner-up. her throat feels tight with shame and when rupaul asks her what’s wrong, she fumbles her way through a response twice until before she knows it she’s sobbing - which is so ridiculous to do on a runway of all places and she wants to curl up and hide and never let anyone see her ever again.

she regains her composure, kind of, because that’s what she does. she prepares herself to give a gracious smile, in preparation for when alyssa will be told to stay, but the moment never comes. she gets to stay, too, and when she bursts into tears alyssa is the first one to make it to her for a hug. she feels detox pulling her close and kissing her hair clumsily (god that lip gloss will be hard to get out) and then the wave of everyone else’s arms around them. she feels hidden. protected.

she feels enveloped in a crowd, unseen but a spectacle at the same time, safe.

competition is where roxxxy thrives.

hell, she’s based her entire career on voluntarily competing and being judged and being the best. she thinks of it as her forte - a place where everything else falls away and, ideally, she is rewarded with recognition for all the work she’s done. it’s not a competition about being yourself, roxxxy thinks sourly when jinkx says she’s made it this far because she’s true to herself. it’s a competition about being the best. so what if jinkx is good at comedy, and acting, and singing, and being charismatic, and all of that stuff. drag is about sewing and makeup and looking untouchably fierce and having a presence. roxxxy repeats this internal monologue to herself at least ten times a day. she eats licorice strings and fumes and glares at her dress form. no matter how many times she tries to read jinkx to filth, she comes away feeling worse. it makes absolutely no sense to her.

she troubleshoots the sewing machine once every ten minutes or so for detox, and spends the entire time shooting shady comments in jinkx’s direction. the redhead won’t say anything to them anymore, painting on her contour in the mirror with a face of stony focus. roxxxy’s fingertips tingle with a combination of fear and anticipation. rolaskatox top three! she yells over her shoulder as they leave the workroom for the runway, but it sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself than celebrate.

even through the lip sync she fiddles with the licorice strings, telling herself she’ll be so happy when rupaul announces detox is staying and she can relax. in fact, by the time rupaul gives jinkx her spot in the final three, roxxxy is so shocked that even when her lips start trembling and her brow furrows she refuses to believe it. her pageant smile returns reflexively as they quickly swarm the stage for a goodbye hug before the producers corral them away; she catches the scent of mugler perfume again. she thinks it starts with an a. angel or alien or awesome or something. it’s perfect. it makes her throat feel tight and her eyes sting with unshed tears.

she watches the last swish of chiffon disappear backstage. a licorice string has fallen off her dress and lays at her feet. she is in the top three; she is a finalist; she has almost proven that she is good enough to win.

roxxxy beams at the judges. she feels a little empty, a little hollow, like a piece of her has been removed.

this is where she’ll show her very best.

now is the time to prove that she really does deserve to be here, that rolaskatox is as sickening apart as they were together; time to pull out her sparkliest gowns and her tightest corsets.

instead, as she reads her note from detox, something ugly and vindictive bubbles inside her. jinkx’s presence doesn’t fit here; her spot should have gone to someone else, someone more deserving and neon and angrier. everything that comes out of roxxxy’s mouth is dripping with venom, some of it even directed towards alaska. she smirks and taunts her way through the workroom on those last few days, feeling less focused than ever. she spends the majority of their final challenge trying to get herself to do not as well as she can do, but just better than everyone else. all the while she sulks in her head about how of course their final challenge is some comedy acting thing where it doesn’t matter that her contour is more snatched than jinkx’s or that the wig looks better on her than alaska. she can’t judge herself by this yardstick, not when the other two are better than her.

she thinks she brings it for the runway, at least, except when she has to give her speech. compared to jinkx it sounds far too pageanty (more polished? she hopes desperately) and compared to alaska it sounds far less funny (more professional? she thinks, grasping for something there). it sounds like herself, she thinks.

she wishes she could take it less seriously. in roxxxy’s mind, jinkx has been coasting, how can you take comedy seriously? she can’t fit the pieces together in her head to understand and she’s done trying. all she can repeat to herself over and over is that, well, she takes it seriously, drag is serious to her, she’s better, she’s good at it, she has to be.

in the weeks following, she feels a different kind of shame.

the embarrassment of watching herself try so hard to fuck over someone else is enough to make her shy away from any type of stage for a while. but the reunion and crowning is coming up anyways, and even if roxxxy’s pretty sure she won’t be standing there basking in the glory of being a drag superstar, she still has to sit there on stage and hear the results.

and they’re what she expected; and her smile flickers to life right on cue; and it still hurts so badly, as much as if rupaul looked her in the eye and personally told her you are simply not as worthy as everyone else.

confetti rains from the ceiling. she doesn’t feel the burning resentment that she did when she’d last seen jinkx, but she doesn’t feel any better like this, either. at the afterparty she spends a lot of time taking shots with alaska, the two of them so boxed in by the crowd that they can’t move from the bar (not like either of them are complaining). when roxxxy finally extricates herself, she has no issue finding the person she wants. it’s an unusual subversion, seeing the most colorful person in the room appear in black and white.

hi honey, detox says, you look so pretty, and slips her arm around roxxxy’s waist. roxxxy is far too proud to ask for comfort. instead she says ohmymgod you look friggin’ insane, which doesn’t sound like the compliment she meant it to be, but it’s okay. her intention was there, and understood; and she is here, and understood, and roxxxy laces their hands together. they have their drinks and they look fucking great, and they’re together, and that’s really all she could have asked for.

she smells that perfume again, leans in close and lets the waves of praise encircle her, give her solace.

she is enough.

#rpdr fanfiction #roxxxy andrews #detox icunt #detox x roxxxy #canon compliant #dvious #submission #s5 #on set fic

16 notes · View notes

bgn846 · 4 years

Text

The Niflheim Experiment Chapter 13

The dust settled after fifteen minutes which allowed Ignis and Aranea to explore their makeshift prison. What Gladio had initially thought of as being one explosion had actually been two, thereby sealing them inside the hallway from both sides. Sighing quietly he turned to check on the others. Ravus was awake but had his eyes closed, his only movement being the hand that was carefully petting Luna’s hair. She was still unconscious but appeared to be comfortably resting and using her brother's stomach as a pillow.

Loqi hadn’t stirred once, since Luna had finished healing him. Gladio hoped he would be okay, the kid seemed fine but looks can be deceiving. Unwilling to relinquish his hold Gladio simply sat cradling the former Nif in his lap. So far Loqi was the only person who’d actually be able to relate to what he’d gone through. Well, not all of it, but at least the nearly being consumed by the scourge.

Suddenly wondering how long he’d been out after Luna had healed him Gladio couldn’t help but ask. “Ravus, how long did it take for me to wake up after Luna healed me?” The man in question groaned softly before shifting his head slightly. Aranea had been nice enough to lend her jacket as a pillow for him. She was rough around the edges but it was clear she had a strong desire to ensure the safety of those she considered allies.

“Wasn’t quick,” Ravus offered after a beat. “M’guessing nearly twelve hours or more.”

“Probably means blondie here is gonna be out for a little while longer then, huh?”

“Maybe, but he was in good health before he was corrupted, I’m sure that will make some difference.”

“Careful Ignis!” Aranea shouted disrupting Gladio’s train of thought. Looking over he was alarmed to see Ignis crouched down with his arm in between a rather large chunk of rubble.

“Nothing has shifted, but I need to see if I can feel an obstacle on the other side. If this debris pile is only a few feet thick we may be able to breakthrough.” Ignis defended as he pushed his arm even further into the small gap.

“Iggy, please be careful, I don’t want you to lose your freaking arm.” Gladio scolded, he was terrified the pile of unstable concrete would shift and trap him.

“Fine!” he huffed, “it’s of no matter, I can’t feel anything besides more hard surfaces.”

“Good then you can stop doing that,” Aranea commented right before she roughly pulled Ignis back and sent him sprawling backward on his butt. “You may be okay with endangering yourself like that, but I’m not.” She accused after Ignis shot her a glare.

The two came back over to sit down. It was clear they couldn’t escape from this place. They had no choice but to wait for backup or see if this Ardyn character would attack them again. The guy could easily set off another round of explosives and kill them all. That realization made Gladio’s stomach turn. It wouldn’t be his first choice of how to die but they were at the mercy of this mad man.

“So, tell me again what happened when you came in to get us?” Aranea asked once she’d checked on Luna and sat down to rest.

“We came in and then someone who looked like Luna approached us, but didn’t say anything. They were injured and kept holding out a hand for help,” Gladio explained.

“What do you mean looked like? Were they blonde and resembled Luna or--.”

“It was the oracle,” Ignis cut in. “If Gladio hadn’t stopped me from assisting her then I’d be in the same boat as Loqi.”

“So an exact copy of Luna? How’s that even possible?”

“I dunno, but when I ran it through with my sword nothing happened.”

“Wait you stabbed Luna?!” Aranea exclaimed.

“It was Ardyn!” Ravus growled, “he’s got magic remember.”

“Still, I never saw him impersonating someone, that’s creepy as shit!”

“You think that was Ardyn I stabbed?” Gladio asked in disbelief. “I thought it was a monster or a daemon.” The idea that he’d already come nearly face to face with this guy was not sitting well.

“I’m almost certain of it, Ardyn is a tricky bastard,” Ravus breathed out harshly.

“It would explain why he was able to seemingly disappear after you attacked.”

“How did you know it wasn’t Luna?” Aranea questioned with a furrowed brow. “If it looked exactly like her how’d you know?”

“Uh, I--,” Gladio wasn’t exactly sure how to describe how he knew. The feeling he’d experienced was nothing he’d ever dealt with before. It was like a sixth sense had awoken in his body, one that specifically reacted to Ardyn. “I felt bad, honestly. I can’t explain it properly but I knew it wasn’t Luna and that’s about it.”

“Huh, I wonder if butterball over there will have the same reaction as you when he wakes up,” quipped Aranea.

“Do let us know if you feel that sensation again,” Ravus added with a wave of his hand. “I’d like some warning, small or not, of Ardyn’s return.”

Nodding Gladio stayed silent, he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He couldn’t exactly see a way to beat someone that could survive being run through. He’d aimed for the heart, there was no mistaking it, but the fake Luna, or Ardyn, simply laughed and ran away.

A soft moan drew Gladio from his ruminations. Glancing up he noted that Ravus seemed very alert, his focus being on his sister. They all stared intently as Luna worked to regain consciousness. After a few minutes, she blinked her eyelids open and peered back at them owlishly. “Did we crash?”

Aranea laughed sarcastically, “no, we got blown up.”

Luna’s eyes widened at the admission, “Is everyone alright?”

“Yes, mostly, aside from some expected bumps and bruises we are all okay,” Ignis supplied calmly. “Though, I can’t say with certainty how Loqi is feeling as he hasn’t woken yet.”

“I healed him, I know he’ll be alright,” Luna affirmed with conviction.

“Until he wakes up to tell us otherwise, we’ll have to take your word for it,” Aranea sighed.

“Are we trapped?” Luna asked with worry as she looked around the dimly lit pile of rubble around them.

“I’m afraid so, I’m not sure what Ardyn wants from us but he’s clearly not done yet,” Ravus added while scowling.

“So far, our only advantage has been your ability to heal the scourge,” Gladio threw in to try and make himself feel better. Things were not looking good and he needed some form of good news to latch onto.

“I wish we could harness that power into a weapon,” Aranea huffed, “I know it’s probably impossible but I can still dream.”

Luna remained silent after the comment, it was clear she was thinking hard about something. “Wait, I might be able to bless an object, enchant it in a way. It might actually have an effect on him, it’s worth a try right?”

“When you say enchant what exactly do you mean?” Ravus asked with narrowed eyes.

“If I can heal the scourge then I must have power over him. I might be able to actually heal him!” Luna was getting excited and Gladio hoped she might be onto something. Though it was hard to see how in her current state. She still hadn’t sat up and looked exhausted to boot.

“You’re barely awake from passing out earlier, and now you want to go around making our weapons into instruments of the gods, themselves. Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” Ravus retorted.

“If he has the power to spread the scourge then he must be stopped, I don’t care at what cost.”

Groaning loudly Ravus threw an arm over his face. “You’re going to try no matter what I say aren’t you?”

Luna attempting to get up was her answer; she struggled at first until Ravus begrudgingly supported her back. “We don’t have much time, he’ll be back I’m sure of it,” she chided reaching out for her brother’s sword.

Watching the oracle work her magic was something to behold. Gladio wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing, but Luna appeared to be gathering her powers and somehow imbuing them into objects. Not that it was obvious except when you handled whatever she’d work on. His own broad sword now thrummed with new energy. Something similar to what it felt like when he used the armiger, but this feeling had more raw power behind it.

After about an hour Luna’s complexion began to pale. She was fading due to working so hard. Ravus noticed right away and ordered his sister to stop what she was doing. Figures Luna would be trying to literally energize every single weapon they had in their arsenal.

“I must finish this last one,” she murmured.

Wincing with pain Ravus sat up fully and gently pulled the dagger she was holding away. “Rest, I believe you’ve given us a fighting chance.”

“No, I – I must continu--,” she offered weakly before fainted mid-sentence and falling straight into her brother's arms.

“It’s selfish of me to let her push herself, but this may be our only chance at making a dent when it comes to Ardyn.”

“She seemed pretty excited about the idea, I don’t think she’ll hold it against you,” Aranea supplied as she stood to stretch. “How much more time do we have to wait before the cavalry arrives? I’m getting sick of just sitting here.”

“Would you rather the alternative?” Ignis asked. “I do think this barrier of rubble is keeping our attacker at bay.”

“Then what is he waiting for? Back up is coming so we won’t be stuck in here forever.”

“Perhaps the person he wants isn’t in attendance at the moment,” Ignis lamented. “I wouldn’t be surprised if his real target was Noctis.”

Panic gripped Gladio once Ignis’ words had sunk in. “Is there any way we can warn them? If he comes then Ardyn could attack when they arrive or go to the city to ambush him there. We’re divided and vulnerable!”

“Calm down!” Ravus growled. “We must stay focused or the fight is lost. I know you’re concerned but we can’t let our emotions rule.”

Gladio knew Ravus was right, but the idea still stung. Having to simply wait and see whether they would survive or not.

“Do you have any of those potions left?” Aranea asked suddenly. “We sorta need Luna to be awake if we actually end up catching Ardyn.”

“Damn, you’re right,” Gladio groaned. “Sure, she gave us magic weapons but without her to deal the final blow we’re kinda just left holding a ticking time bomb.”

“If we can hold him,” Ravus corrected.

“If he lets us get close enough to try,” grumbled Ignis.

“You lot are so depressing. I for one am not dying at the hands of a creepy dude. We need to help Luna right now and wait for backup.”

Healing Luna enough to wake her up ended up taking 2 elixirs and 1 potion. The oracle again regained consciousness looking exhausted and not at all rested. Gladio felt terrible for doing this to her but Aranea was right, she needed to be awake for them to even have a fighting chance.

“Wha’ppened?” she slurred.

“Waiting for Ardyn,” was the response that Aranea choose to offer as she paced the small space. “We needed you awake, sorry.”

Luna simply nodded and worked to gain her bearings. “How will we know when help has arrived?” she asked after a moment.

“I wish I knew the answer to that, but I’m afraid we will have to wait to find out,” Ignis sighed.

And wait they did, for nearly another two hours. The beam on their lone flashlight was growing dimmer by the minute. Soon it would flicker and go out leaving them trapped and in the dark. Gladio hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He was about to comment on what their backup plan might be when a distant rumble shook the floor. “What was that?!” he exclaimed hurriedly. “You all felt that too right?”

Based off the wide eyes peering back Gladio figured they’d heard and felt it as well. Wasting no time he began shouting at the top of his lungs. It didn’t take long for the others to join in. Ignis had to shush them a few minutes later when shouts could finally be heard through the rubble. Gladio felt like he could cry, they’d made it! Help had arrived. The only fear left was Ardyn.

The light had officially gone out by the time the others had broken through the immense pile of debris blocking their exit. Gladio had summoned his shield and done his best to keep the dust off of Loqi and Ignis. The only other shield in the armiger had been given to Aranea and she was protecting Ravus and Luna. The rush of stale, but to them, fresh air hit and they all sighed collectively in relief. It was at this moment they could finally see their rescuers.

An entourage of glaive stood on the other side of the now penetrable barrier with Cor and Nyx in the lead. They all hobbled out of their little concrete prison quickly, the risk of getting stuck again too terrifying to consider.

“Who needs medical attention?” Cor asked once they’d cleared the small opening that’d been created with what appeared to be a lot of hard labor and sweat. Granted the glaive had a few more tools at their disposal than they’d had. Namely what looked like a pneumatic jackhammer. That would explain the odd noise they’d heard early on.

We’re all mostly tended to, Marshal,” Ignis offered as he kept walking forward. “I’d like to get outside of this facility as soon as possible.”

Cor nodded and waved the remaining glaive forward. The small sliver of daylight coming out from the door was a sight for sore eyes. Unable to slow his pace Gladio practically ran the rest of the way and promptly collapsed on the grass outside. Thank the astrals they’d made it out of there!

“Big guy? Did –did we die?” Loqi rasped a second later from where he still wrapped in Gladio’s embrace.

“Loqi! Ha you’re alright! We’re still alive but it was a close call there.”

“What happened?” he asked tried to roll his head to the side to see around Gladio’s bulk.

“We got blown up,” Ravus spit out as he approached. He looked the part considering Ignis was half dragging him along.

“Shit, no way, I didn’t wake up at all!”

“Yes way, now do you think you can walk?” Gladio checked as he went to release his hold.

“Walk? Are you fucking kidding big guy? I’m going good holding my head up.”

“Need some assistance?” Cor asked as he strode up next to them.

Gladio shook his head and peered around to see how they’d all managed to arrive. A combination of militarized vehicles was spread out around Aranea’s dropship, dusty from their rigorous journey. It was at that moment that Gladio spotted something terrible. There, in one of the trucks was a familiar silhouette. “We need to leave now! You shouldn’t have let Noct come!” he shouted in a panic.

Cor merely shrugged, “He was acting like a baby, so I let him come.”

Opening his mouth to argue, Gladio quickly thought of another problematic issue. “Is the king with him?”

“He couldn’t leave Insomnia. You know your father wouldn’t have let him anyway.”

“Still --,” Gladio didn’t have time to finish when a dark shadow passed over them, he could only look over in shock as the rays of the setting sun highlighted the figure of Ardyn standing before them once more.

“Oh joy, you’ve brought me more playmates, how exciting,” he drolled. “I was beginning to think you’d never show up.”

←Previous Chapter

Next Chapter →

#ffxv #fanfic #gladio

3 notes · View notes

sunseteyes · 4 years

Text

KIMETSU NO YAIBA OWN CHARACTER

so i made a fanart of the character i’ll be using for this fanficiton in ao3. further details will be below the line

name: MITSUE FUJIMOTO (光衛藤本)

weapon: naginata

abilities:

Strong Intuition: She has great instincts that she can trust and use it at all times, even in battles.

Breath of the Stars

a breathing style that only suits for mitsue for who she is. this breathing also specializes on speed and accuracy, its strength only depending on the user itself.

First Form: The Birth of the Star King Aries

mitsue unsheathes her naginata and gives a fast an accurate stab or slice on her target, which makes it the fastest form. it may soon be followed by any other forms.

Second Form: Taurus the Abundance of Starflowers

the form that only she could make for her breathing helps her mind calm down and increase her intuition, also increasing the five senses of her body, gaining more perceptiveness around her and gives her more advantage against her opponent.

Third Form: Gemini the Dancing Star-crossed Twins

mitsue hits the opponent with the two ends of her naginata simultaneously, pushing back and attacking the opponent at the same time.

Fourth Form: Unity of Cancer and Stardust

mitsue ceases all movements and thoughts as she regains her breath and meditates in the middle of the battle for only a couple of seconds, fully dropping her defenses. this greatly enhances her mental abilities afterwards and makes her think clearly, causing her in a “frenzy” state of movements but with a clear mind.

Fifth Form: Leo the Shadow Stargazer

mitsue’s shadow will be what her opponent will see as she bolts to them, only showing her true self after slashing the opponent once.

Dream Shade: a combination of the first and fifth form where she slices instead of stabs the enemy with a faster speed and the same accuracy. this is the fastest attack of star breathing.

Sixth Form: Virgo the Eye of the Stars

mitsue’s naginata will be attracted to the weak points of her opponent, attcaking it with one stab or slash.

Seventh Form: Libra the Chain of Misfortune

wherein mitsue combines her demon blood arts in battle, covering her nichirin blade with her blood intoxicating her opponent/s and when she’s able to injure them, she will be able control them. this is proven to be effective even against the twelve demon moons

Eighth Form: Scorpio the Cold-Burning Star

mitsue twirls her naginata through the pole with an immense speed and she can use it as a defensive or evasive attack for if she slashes after twirling the blade, the impact would be able to cut anything easily.

Ninth Form: Ophichus the Crescent Monster

the pole of mitsue’s naginata becomes more fluid and flexible, and it can extend like cloth, making the blade easier to reach the target.

Tenth Form: Sagittarius from Under the Starless Sky

multiple gigantic slashes aimed to her opponent/s with little to no accuracy yet its speed makes up for it, even for long-range targets.

Eleventh Form: Capricorn in Spring of Starburst

mitsue continually stabs on her opponent in a close range, twisting the pole every time she does and it gives a burning sensation afterwards on the wounds, resembling the sensation of exploding bombs. this is similar to the eighth form but this form is more fatal and causes more damage.

Twelfth Form: Aquarius the Flash of Starlight

a bright, shining light will blind her demon opponent/s momentarily as she closes in on them, slanting a blade of her naginata in front of them to reflect whatever light is around her, giving off a stinging sensation on her opponent, effectively giving her time to escape, evade, or recover.

Thirteenth Form: Pisces the Death of the Starseed

combining her blood demon arts, she can make her opponent look at her in the eye and not see her stabbing them. the effect on the opponent is still unknown but according to mitsue, they might hallucinate or see illusions upon looking into her eyes

Demon Abilities

Enhanced Strength - Like any other demons, her physical strength is unlike to normal humans. She uses this ability more to increase her speed on her legs.

Regeneration - She can also regenerate any severed or injury she receives, like any demon. The speed depends on the form she takes on currently.

Blood Demon Arts

Her blood demon arts is what she usually use against anyone who pursues her for with this, she could either kill them or confuse their minds with her sweet, alluring voice. It depends if her opponent has strong mental training to be able to break from her spell.

Alluring Voice - Mitsue can allure anyone through the use of only her voice, being able to convince them to do small, simple acts. This works only on onis or humans that are weaker than her.

Charmed Aroma - Her blood possesses an intoxicating aroma that even a small cut would suffice, being able to intoxicate anyone who whiffs a scent of it, humans or onis alike. This depends on whether they’re weaker than her current state or not.

Look of Death - This gives her the ability to have her opponent look at her in the eye and see illusions and hallucinations. This will be much more effective if she will be able to blend her blood to her opponent’s that even upper moons can be affected.

Disclaimer: anything stated here are purely of imagination and I am in no way associated to the original artist of kimetsu no yaiba. also, any usage of this drawing and ideas comes with credit, even if you don’t have to message me.

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny #kny own character #kny oc #kimetsu no yaiba oc #demon slayer oc #own character #my art #my character #breathing technique #breath of the stars #idk what to tag anymore #kny fanart #kimetsu no yaiba fanart #p #nnr kny

6 notes · View notes

mary-macdonald · 4 years

Photo

“ With everything that has happened to you, you can either feel sorry for yourself or treat what has happened as a gift. Everything is either an opportunity to grow or an obstacle to keep you from growing. You get to choose. ” — Wayne Dyer

nickname→ mare bear, mar, mary current age → twenty faceclaim → sydney park birthday → march fourteenth, nineteen-sixty alliance → order of the phoenix occupation→ bartender / aspiring social worker

— she has been described as ;

+ hardworking, magnanimous, insightful - overprotective, headstrong, anxious

— biography ; tw violence, tw death

Siobhan and Thomas had nothing very exceptional to their name, small town farmers, yet they felt truly blessed. They made a home and shared it in their own way. Instead of choosing to start a "traditional” family, they opened their home to children from all walks of life through the local foster care system. While the MacDonalds left a mark on almost a dozen of foster kids, four of those kids found their forever home. Liam and Kayleigh made a strong impression, twins in their terrible twos and Siobhan knew she couldn’t give them up to another family for adoption. Hercules came into the chaotic home a few years later, an intelligent and somewhat awkward preteen. Mary had bounced around foster homes since she was two weeks old. Left at the church by her biological parents, she never had a home. At least, not until she found herself at the MacDonald’s farm. For the first time, she had found a place that felt like home. She had been their final addition and only after a few days of having her at home, the couple knew there was no next stop for her. The MacDonalds appreciated everything they had in their lives and taught their children to do the same. Mary and her siblings were all treated with love and respect. Weekends were filled with football matches, farmer’s markets adventures, volunteering as a family, and hours of exploration in the fields behind their backyard. The only strict rule in their home was “you eat, you cook”, a rule which sparked no objection from Mary. From a young age she was poking her nose onto the counter to see what her mother was doing in the kitchen. Siobhan and Thomas did their best to teach their children that happiness and success did not come from money, it came from the bonds you created in the world. The minute she was old enough, Mary played both baby sister and older sister. Taking strongly after her mother, she would check on her siblings well being constantly. Despite their annoyance with their baby sister following them around, no one ever denied how adorable she looked with her play doctor kit. Nothing too strange had ever happened to the small family, at least until Mary’s Hogwarts letter arrived. Mary’s little eyes opened wide at the site of mail for herself and what she read in the inside only heightened her glee. There was a lot of ruckus in the MacDonald home that night. Her brother’s accepted the explanation rather quickly, claiming there had always been something magical about Mary. Kayleigh had some reservations but warmed to the idea over the next few weeks. Despite the shock, Siobhan and Thomas - after some convincing from a ministry official that magic was indeed real - assured their daughter that they loved her, magic and all. That September, Mary left Ireland for the first time. She was filled with butterflies at the thought of the unknown and of leaving her family behind. After all, it had taken her years to find home. The idea of leaving it, being alone in a new world entirely, terrified her. The giant castle walls and ever changing pathways did little to ease her anxiety. Feeling small, Mary wandered over to the Gryffindor table where she quickly found a second home. With a gentle push from her peers, her vibrant smile and warm energy quickly drew positive attention from her classmates. Before the holidays approached, Mary had expanded her family infinitely. Mary barreled into friendships, quickly turning acquiescence into friends she would call family. Her own family had been a collection, a mish mosh of people who had found each other. This was no different in her eyes and after a few months, it was clear how desperately some of her peers needed that found family. Class became her least favorite part of Hogwarts. She always got above average marks (well, except for dueling) - she was a naturally intelligent girl - but class could hold only her attention for so long. She spent a good amount of her free time exploring the castle. Adventure called out from every corridor, out onto the grounds. She dived into every day asking herself one question; what she could stick her nose into next? Her favorite spots quickly became the kitchens, the small hidden couch in the back of the common room, and the pitch. Her little hideaways where she could get a little peace and quiet in between adventurers. They also served as places to hide, in later years, when her blood status drew her negative attention. In the summer between her second and third year, Mary’s family took a big loss. Liam, the youngest boy of the family, passed away at seventeen. Losing him almost tore the family apart. The first two months of summer were filled with quiet, the once serene areas of her home filled with uncomfortable tension and pain. Mary found small places to hide and grieve alone behind their home, but this was truly the point in her life when she took it upon herself to take care of those around her. She put the pain of her family before her own. She tried her best to fill the shoes of being the oldest child, despite always being the baby. Her mother’s strong will, however, was in the end what got her through that awful summer. MacDonald’s were strong, she would tell Mary, and we will survive. And they did. They all held on even tighter after that summer, to everything. Mary had seamlessly become both the idiot child and the mama bear of the lion’s den. She had a knack for getting into trouble and an even better knack of getting out of trouble, something that infuriated some of her housemates when she got out of a well deserved detention. Mary was extremely affectionate with those she considers her friends, whether it be holding their hands in the hallway or curling up beside them on the couch. She was never one to shy away from affection. Unapologetic, she was never afraid to be loud or take up way more space than one would think the small girl ever could. This brought more trouble to her than she could imagine. Once she realized the prejudices held in the wizarding world, she did not shy away from voicing her opinions. Her parents had taught her to never stand for injustice. She talked about muggle culture constantly and she did not skip a beat in the face of bullies who had enjoyed trying to tear her down. The faces of the first year muggleborns was more than enough motivation to be brave.

In her fifth year, hwoever, she became a target of Mulciber. A rather nasty bully who had a problem with how she carried herself. For a few months he quietly tortured her, threatening to harm her closest friends if she said anything about it. She slowly withdrew from everyone around her, losing the light in her eyes almost permanently. Only about three months before his graduation her sixth year did the torture stop. Mary was found unconscious in the astronomy tower. Word traveled quickly and before long everyone knew. Despite the negative attention Mary fought viciously to regain her confidence and spark. She would not be a victim – she was a survivor. With the help of her friends over the next year Mary built back her strength and sense of security. She still suffers from flashbacks and nightmares at times, but through support she learned to get back on her feet and live again. Mary spent her last year at Hogwarts trying to create a new normal and to enjoy every moment she had with her friends. Her grades picked up immensely and she had even jumped near the top of her class. Mary even tried out for the Quidditch team, making seeker after years of practicing on the pitch. Not naturally athletic, a majority of her free time was spent on the pitch getting skilled enough to join the team. When not on the pitch, Mary joined her friends once more in partying and prank wars - assisting Marlene in getting back at Potter any chance she got. She would never tell Marlene, but occasionally she would help him as well. After all, all’s fair in love and prank war. Her life returned to some semblance of normal - at least, as normal as she could find. The nightmares from her past still haunted her and the fear of the future that waited after graduation proved more daunting than her memories. As the inevitability of war grew, Mary focused less and less on her career path. Her thoughts turned to the war. Mary never once questioned her decision to join the Order. She saw her family once after graduation, wishing them goodbye until the war was over for their own protection. One of the hardest decisions she had ever made. Since graduation, she has worked as a bartender for at The Leaky Cauldron. Her night owl nature plus her people skills helped her excel while she had the freedom to dedicate time to the Order. She has taken classes and wants to eventual work in the Ministry as a social worker. She specifically wants to create a better program for integrating muggleborn students to Hogwarts and providing assistance for their families. She hasn’t committed to the career path yet though and most likely won’t until the war is done. Her main focus now is protecting her friends and innocent bystanders. She spends her free time reading on all subjects, specifically defense against the dark arts. Her loft has become a rest stop for order members, despite the place being small she welcomes the company. There is always a place to sleep, and a warm meal for anyone who needs one. Her friends are her family and she is doing all she can to keep them alive and emotionally stable. As one could imagine, the task is daunting as they scramble to recover from the loss of their leader.

#[ she could make you see how the world could be ; musings ]#[ bio ]

8 notes · View notes