#anyways GREAT prompt thank you howls-ghost

[befuddled-calico-whump]

cw: aftermath of whump, implied abuse, fantasy slavery, violence, manhandling.

based on this prompt by @howls-ghost

"Trite details bore me. I'll leave it to you to complete, and complete quickly," said Prince Acacius.

"I've had enough of your dimwitted blathering. See yourself to the door," said Prince Acacius.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

Laith was sick of it. Sick of the arrogant little brat prancing around the palace like he was already king. They hated Acacius and his cold, dismissive attitude. The spoiled twat didn't know a thing about running a kingdom, and wouldn't know humility if it bit him on the nose.

The only reason the country wasn't already in ruins was due to the competence of Laith and the rest of the high council. Even the regent, as good a man he was, was taken out of commission by Acacius, forced to keep the aloof young man at his side at all hours for supposed education. Not that Laith believed Acacius absorbed any of it. He was a horrid prince, and he'd make a horrid king.

And Laith intended to do something about it.

It started as something small and reasonable; a daydream about teaching the prince a lesson, of having him whipped for insolence, or beaten in the streets, or simply pushed off the balcony.

But none of those were realistic dreams, and none of those were enough. Acacius needed a punishment that would stick, something scarring, something humiliating.

The thoughts danced across Laith's mind through all their waking hours, turning sharper and more creative with every insult from the rotten prince.

But then, they thought, why bother with a mere punishment? Why not be rid of the arrogant heir for good? Death was too quick for his poisoned heart, but there were alternatives. Slavers in the West and enemies in the North, and either faction would jump at the chance to own the pretty prince. Should Laith's goal be realized, it would do more than sate their need for justice; it would spare the kingdom from a heartless ruler.

They'd lock him in a cell with no sunlight for a year. They'd remove his acrid tongue, put out his disdainful eyes, somehow they'd hurt him in a way that mattered.

They took their time making the arrangements; letters delivered in secret, coded messages, quiet plans and plots to cover the prince's upcoming disappearance. At last, the hour was drawing near. At last, Acacius would get all that he deserved.

But of course, Laith would have their fun with him first.

They came upon the royal in the dead of night. Laith had been making note of Acacius's movements, and by now they knew to expect the young man's midnight journey to the library. Too good to be seen there in daylight hours, when servants were dusting and lesser lords were reading. Too good to even peruse the shelves alongside those he deemed as unworthy.

Laith fell upon the prince as soon as he reached the library doors, wrapping their arm tight around a torso clad in a loose silk shirt, their other hand clamped over Acacius's mouth to dampen his startled cry. The prince made fearful noises beneath their hand, but there was no time to savor the sound. Laith knew they must move swiftly or risk alerting the night watch.

They slammed the prince's head into the heavy oak door behind him. Once, twice, and then their royal prisoner's struggling lessened. Laith forced him to the ground, stuffing a wad of cloth into his mouth and tying it in place with a cord. That same cord trailed down from the prince's head to wind around his wrists, then back up again to circle his throat, forming a makeshift collar and leash to better Laith's control of him. He tugged harshly at the rope, and the dazed prince stumbled to his feet, whimpering softly from behind the gag.

There was no haughtiness in his eyes, only something meek and fearful. It was nearly enough to make Laith second-guess their plans, but their memories of the man they knew Acacius to be strengthened their resolve.

They would not fall for this docile ruse. They knew the truth.

Laith delved deeper into the castle, making for one of the secret passages in the stone that would lead them outside the keep. There was a cottage at the edge of the woods, overlooking the river that ran alongside the castle's walls. A peasant girl had sighted it after Laith offered her a penny to find a covert location. It was perfect; well away from anyone who could hear them, and the river would make an easy path for the slavers' skiff.

They hauled Acacius into the cottage, unable to resist giving the prince a sharp kick in the back that sent him tumbling to the ground. The slavers weren't set to arrive until just before sunrise. Laith had nearly an hour to get revenge for every petty insult that had ever been flung their way.

Laith dropped a knee into the prince's chest, holding his head in place while he removed the gag.

Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith refused to let the act sway them. If anything, it only fueled their fire. How dare this impudent brat act like this was unearned? Now safe behind a closed door, Laith let their fury burn, raining fists and kicks down on the prince's helpless form, relishing every muffled cry. No, they shouldn't be muffled. They wanted to hear Acacius plead for mercy.

"N-nnh please... Please don't," the shaky words left Acacius's throat with the balled-up cloth. Laith answered him with another blow, and the prince squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened again, there was a distant look to them, tears trickling from the corners.

No matter. Soon they'd be rid of him for good.

Small whimpers and gasps left Acacius's throat as Laith continued the beating, but aside from a few weak pleas, the prince didn't speak, or even look their way. Like he was only waiting for it to end. Their blows slowed, the enjoyment fading as the royal seemed to detach himself from the moment. Laith huffed. Even bound and beaten, Acacius was still ruining their day.

Ignoring the blank look on the prince's face, Laith drew their knife, cutting away Acacius's clothing. Even if that didn't get a reaction, it served the practical purpose of making things a shade easier on the slavers.

The prince lay very still, his breaths small and shaky as Laith removed the ruined clothing. And underneath the silk... Laith was unprepared for what was underneath the silk.

Old bruises covered Acacius's torso, scars layered beneath, some fresher than others. The wounds didn't stop there; more scars scattered the prince's legs, some framed in a sickly yellow-green.

"What is this?" Laith whispered, the question half-directed at themselves. Acacius didn't answer, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that looked glazed over.

Seeing another wound on their prisoner's shoulder, this one oddly shaped, Laith grabbed Acacius's upper arm and rolled him onto his stomach. The prince answered the action with a startled cry.

"N-no, please, please don't---"

"Shut up," Laith hissed, taking in the prince's back. It seemed the brat had been whipped before, and on more than one occasion by the looks of it. They couldn't say whether the dark feeling welling up in them was more akin to pity, or bitterness that they hadn't been able to witness the lashings themselves.

Starker than the whip scars was the image burned into Acacius's back. An intricate pattern, asymmetrical and varied in color, like its artist had begun months or even years ago and was still perfecting it. The newest mark was still a bright, skinless red, as if it had been smouldering mere hours ago.

Laith let out a disgusted sigh, turning their back on the sniveling prince. It seemed Acacius had been getting what he'd deserved for some time now, but it had done little to improve his attitude. Who had done this to him? Could it have been the regent? Why was pity seeping into them, like poison from a soured wound?

Acacius didn't deserve their pity. Wounded or not, he still paraded the palace ground like a bejeweled goose, hissing and biting at anyone he seemed lesser.

But why? came a small voice inside them. Why put on such an arrogant mask?

It didn't matter. Wounded or not, the prince should have better respected Laith and their peers.

There was a sharp rap on the door, and Laith pushed it open an inch to peer out into the darkness. A pale woman with a shaved head stood on the other side, wearing clothing that was clearly foreign, despite its simplicity.

"Here to collect your gift?" they said, and the woman smiled.

"Aye. The North'll pay a pretty penny for your little heir."

"Wonderful," Laith said, but the word felt insincere. They couldn't let themselves doubt their plans now, the deed was nearly done. They opened the door further. "Take him then. Let's have this over with."

Acacius lay still on the ground, though his hands were trembling. He'd ceased his begging and was now crying softly and hells, Laith couldn't stand to hear it.

They bent over the prince, grabbing a fistful of his hair and roughly stuffing the gag back into his mouth to muffle that damned pathetic noise.

"Take him," they said again, more insistently. "Take him and be gone."

"S'wrong with his back?"

"I don't know." Laith shook their head. "Take him."

"Not a word of me," they said. "You'll make a fortune off him, all I ask is my name and face remain unknown."

"Alright, alright." The woman seized the rope, the leash Laith had formed, and tugged on it, forcing the prince to his feet. Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith turned their back on him.

"Your wish is my command," the woman chuckled, leading the prince towards the rocky shore, where her boat lay waiting. A sob escaped Acacius as he passed the threshold.

"Wait." Hells, what were they saying? They wanted nothing more to do with the royal. They needed him gone, but when the prince turned back to look at them, the flash of hope in his eyes wrenched in their gut.

Those damned eyes. Those haughty, arrogant, judging eyes.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

"Nevermind," Laith said quickly. "Go. Get him out of here."

The woman tugged on the leash, nearly causing the bound royal to stumble. Fresh tears wet Acacius's cheeks, but Laith looked away, pretended not to see.

They could pretend a lot of things. Surprise at the prince's sudden disappearance, sorrow and outrage at his captivity in the enemy North. For themselves, they'd pretend they were satisfied, that they'd never seen Acacius's scars.

And as they watched the skiff disappear on the dark waters of the river, they pretended they had no regrets.

#:) we love some arrogant royal suffering #royal whump #anyways i can no way afford to make this a series lol so it'll probably sit at a one-off for a very long time (if i even write more at all) #ooh honestly if we wanna play a game of 'whump telephone' or pass the page or whatever someone else can write the next part #and then another person can write the next part #and so on #those are fun i do them with my sister sometimes #anyways GREAT prompt thank you howls-ghost #royal whumpee #captivity #past torture #whump fic #fantasy whump #beating #begging

[willow-salix]

Fluffember prompt: Feathers (vaguely, and with a dash of Rainbow)

Day 13 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

“OK, who threw that pencil at me?” Scott demanded to know. No one owned up. Honestly I didn’t even see where it had come from let alone who threw it. 

“No clue,” I answered.

“I’m gonna find out,” he growled. “I could have been badly hurt!”

I sniggered to myself, for a real life action hero Scott could be so dramatic sometimes, and didn’t bother looking up from the latest copy of ‘Better Gnomes and Gardens: Witches Weekly’ that I was flicking through.

“Seriously, that could have taken my eye out, it’s like a miniature stake,” he continued to grumble.

“Talking of stakes,” I started, trying to distract him so that he didn’t go off on a ranting tangent about the danger of flying pencil projectiles, “there’s been a development with the Highgate Vampire, he’s been spotted again. Seriously, what more can this crazy year throw at us? Don’t answer that,” I warned John before he could even utter a word. I know my boy and I know that he was about to throw out some highly logical statistic or another that would make complete sense but would make me want to cry.

“Highgate Vampire?” Scott asked, distracted as I'd hoped he would be. My evil plan had worked. I turned my magazine to show him the article. “You remember, when we tried out that new ka- pub,” I corrected myself, aware of just how many of his brothers were crowded around. “We walked past the cemetery and I told you all about the legend of the Highgate Vampire.”

Scott looked blank, which is a look I’m used to seeing on him, I gotta be honest, he barely ever listens to me. “You know, I told you the story of how, back in the 1970’s a group of ghost hunters decided to try to find a vampire that supposedly lived there?”

He shook his head. 

“Self appointed bishop vampire hunter dude?” I tried again.

“Oh, yes! I remember him. He’s back?”

"Who?" 

"The Bishop."

"No, he's dead, the vampire."

"The vampire killed him?"

"The Bishop is dead of natural causes, and the vampire has been seen again," John supplied. 

“Yes," I agreed." Apparently so, and they’re blaming him for this virus outbreak.”

Everyone went quiet for a second, not sure what to say to that. John reached out a hand and I passed over the magazine so he could read it for himself. 

“Why do you read this rubbish?” he asked after perusing the rest of its offerings.

“Why wouldn’t I want to know that blue aliens brought Elvis into that lady’s garden?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” he told me honestly, handing the magazine back to me.

“Do you remember that time that Virgil thought he was a vampire?” Scott suddenly asked him.

“Oh, God, yes. I hadn’t thought of that in years,” John laughed.

“Wait? He what now? There were vampires involved? Why was I never told about this? This is my one area of expertise and you've been holding out on me?”

“I did not think I was a vampire,” Virgil corrected them. “Our high school math teacher did.”

I tossed the magazine aside, this was far more entertaining than anything I’d find in there.

“Spill,” I demanded.

“It’s really not that interesting a story,” Virgil insisted, trying valiantly to deflect us.

“He was a sophomore, so about fifteen years old,” Scott started, dodging out of the way when Virgil threw a pen at him this time. Scott narrowed his eyes, like he wasn’t sure if that was proof that he had been the perpetrator of the pencil or not. Virgil, for his part, looked innocent. Pen, what pen? I saw no pen? What even is a pen? Isn’t that something you put pigs in?

“And he had to have two of his back teeth out due to overcrowding,” John continued, grabbing me and yanking me onto his lap, using me as a human shield when Virgil lifted his sketch pad threateningly.

“I’m so glad I married such a brave rescuer,” I deadpanned as John continued to hide behind me. "My hero."

“I was driving him back from the dentist and he was still a little out of it from the sedation they had given him,” Scott took up the tale.

“I’m just not a big fan of the dentist, OK?” Virgil defended himself. "They have to sedate me."

“His gums were still bleeding and he’d spat the gauze out within a minute of getting out of there,” John continued, ducking back behind me when Virgil glared at him.

“They’re going to tell it anyway,” I told him, “so why don’t you do it instead?”

Virgil nodded, seeing the wiseness in my words.

“My gums were bleeding but I didn’t know what to do with it all, I didn’t want to swallow it and to be honest, I was still pretty woozy, so I just kinda let the blood collect in my mouth.”

“Aww, that must have sucked, babe, I’m sorry.”

He nodded at me in thanks for my sympathy, something he was NOT getting from his brothers.

“We stopped at some lights and by that point my mouth was getting pretty full-”

“He was drooling like Alan at nap time,” Scott butted in.

“Did you not give him a tissue or something?”

“No, he was evil.”

“I was driving and I don’t carry things like that on me as standard,” Scott argued.

“I’ll pick you up if anything like that happens again,” I promised the big guy. “For girls our cars are like an extension of our house or our handbags, there's tissues, lip balms, snacks, bottles of water, everything.”

“Thank you,” Virgil sniffed, casting Scott a smug look, knowing I was firmly on his side.

“So, how is this vampire related?” I had to ask, I mean, I was sympathetic but I was also nosey as hell.

“I wound down the window as we stopped at the light,” Virgil continued. “And I...well, I was still a bit muddled…”

“He opened his mouth and all this blood came oozing out, it just dribbled everywhere,” Scott  practically yelled, bursting out laughing.

“Why are you laughing, you evil thing?”

“Because,” John piped up from behind the shelter of my person, “the car next to Scott’s was Mrs Beddleman’s. Virgil, recognising her, breaks out into this wide, goofy and completely bloody, smile.”

“She looked absolutely horrified and even though she wasn’t going that direction she turned right to get away from us. She was a very religious lady and she took to wearing a cross to school for the rest of the year until I left her class.”

“And she moved his seat to one beside the window,” Scott howled, doubled over laughing.

I bit my lip, trying very hard not to laugh.

“It’s OK,” Virgil sighed, “you can laugh.”

“I don’t want to,” I told him as seriously as I could. “But I really don’t think I can help it.”

I made the fatal mistake then, I glanced at Scott who was at the point of silently laughing, his body shaking and I cracked.

“It’s not like I’m the only one that had bad anesthesia reactions,” Virgil said slyly and I snapped to attention.

“Are you not?” 

“Nope,” he shook his head, grinning now. “We’ve all had broken bones and hospital stays over the years.”

“Oh, oh, tell me a Scott one!”

“He had an appendectomy when he was twenty. He was taken in for day surgery and when he woke up he was completely coherent,” Virgil started.

“He was?” Knocked out Scott had to be different to sedated Scott, because sedated Scott was hilarious and very snuggly. 

“What can I say, I have a strong constitution,” Scott preened.

“He’s lying,” Virgil continued. “He was talking normally, answering questions and the doctor said he was doing great and could go. He was starving, hadn't eaten since the night before and he insisted that the only thing he would eat was Chinese food, and it had to be a buffet, nothing else would do."

"I mean, he's not wrong, there is nothing like a good Chinese," I agreed. 

"Well, it appeared that he hadn't been as recovered as we thought he was."

"What happened?" 

"I came round from the anesthesia sitting in the restaurant and as far as I knew I'd just gone under in the operating room and I'd woken up with a plate of chicken teriyaki on a stick in front of me."

John sniggered, muffling his laughter against my shoulder.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Scott huffed. “Have you forgotten about when you had your tonsillectomy?” 

“That was not my fault,” John mumbled, clearly regretting his previous amusement.

“Oh gods, what did you do?” I asked him, turning my head to look at him over my shoulder.

“Nothing! I was just talking to the anesthesiologist.”

“The anesthesiologist was new to the hospital so hadn’t met any of us before,” Virgil started.

“Do I take it that you all had frequent user passes? Like buy ten ops and get the eleventh free?” 

“Pretty much,” Scott shrugged, unashamed of just how bad that sounded. “So John’s there, being himself, talking to the surgeon and anesthesiologist about the operation and what they were planning, how long it would take, telling them what they needed to do, that sort of thing-”

“I like to know what to expect,” John defended himself.

“Swot,” Gordon teased, coming in at the tail end of John’s mini rant, Alan trailing along behind him.

“It’s not a bad thing to want to go into a situation with full knowledge of it. Research and a game plan are only sensible. How do you expect to get good at something if you don’t know the mechanics behind it?” He glanced around at his brothers who looked less than convinced. “You know you’ve all been grateful for my expertise more than once.”

“I know I have,” I agreed, ignoring the raised eyebrows that came my way. Let them think dirty things, that was their problem. I received a small kiss to the side of my neck thanks for my support so I’m not going to complain.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” Gordon asked, flopping down on the couch beside Virgil.

“They were sharing with me their tales of woe under the effects of anesthesia and sedation,” I informed him.

“Oh, yes, we’ve all got those,” Gordon agreed. “Which one was John telling?”

“The time when he had his tonsils removed,” Scott helpfully supplied.

“I don’t remember it,” Gordon frowned.

“Neither do I,” Alan added.

“He was talking to the anesthetist, we got that far,” I said.

“He was talking to him as they were asking him to count down from a hundred,” Virgil continued.

“I only remember getting to ninety-one,” John told me.

“We were outside in the relatives room, waiting for him to be taken to recovery,” Scott took up the tale. “We had only been in there about fifteen minutes when the anesthesiologist and a nurse came out looking like they had seen a ghost.”

“Dad stepped up and demanded to know what the problem was and if John was OK,” Virgil said. “It turned out that John had been far more coherent than he remembered and hadn’t stopped counting at ninety-one.”

“He’d gotten to sixty-two but when he reached eighty-nine he’d apparently switched to fluent Japanese, and then started talking about a wakizashi, that and asking them about their day.”

“A what now?” 

“A small, fourteenth century Japanese sword,” John supplied.

“The anesthesiologist was actually Japanese and he had apparently called three of his peers in the ten minutes that John had been under to ask how it was possible that this Caucasian, american teenager was suddenly speaking in fluent Japanese under the influence or anesthesia.”

“It took Dad a good five minutes of solid laughter to finally tell them that they hadn’t broken John or damaged his brain in any way, he was actually fluent already,” Scott laughed.

“Apparently he gave them the biggest scare they had ever had in more than twenty years,” Virgil finished.

“I was obviously being considerate and had thought that it was more polite to talk to him in his own language rather than English,” John sniffed, crossing his arms around my waist. “I don’t see what the big deal was.”

“I’m just impressed that you were speaking it fluently at all,” I said, earning a gentle finger flick as punishment for ever doubting him. “I meant that I can only speak three languages fluently, English, bad English and Sarcasm, so anyone that can do anything else is just amazing to me,” I quickly defended myself.

“Sarcasm is your native tongue,” John mumbled. I ignored him.

“He’s mostly self taught too,” Scott added, showing that, despite how much time they all spend teasing each other, they are always proud of their siblings.

“I used to watch a lot of foreign films and TV shows to pick up the pronunciation and read a lot of graphic novels and translated books to learn how to read and write,” John elaborated. “It’s a very effective way to learn and I apparently have a gift for languages.”

“As well as many other things,” I added to be nice. “Any other stories I need to know?”

“When Gordon was having one of his back surgeries they told him that they had to strap him down and when he asked why they told him it was so he wouldn’t fall off the table and he said ‘It’s OK, five second rule’,” Scott told me.

“‘Cause I'm a snacc,” Gordon added with a grin. “Apparently I also woke up with a violent jolt and when I was asked if I was OK I apologised to the nurse and told her that I thought I was a shark.”

“You also started a joke with the nurse as you went under and finished it the moment you woke up with no prompting,” Virgil laughed.

I clapped enthusiastically for that one and Gordon bowed modestly.

“What about me?” Alan asked, finding the whole thing highly amusing.

“You’ve only been under once but you were hilarious in both the things you said,” John answered. “You apparently woke up screaming ‘Where are my wings?  I want my wings? You stole my feathers you jerk! You were only supposed to take my tonsils!’ and then passed right out again.”

Gordon cracked up laughing, as did everyone else including Alan.

“You then woke up again and asked how long until the anesthetic kicked in, and when the nurse told you it was all done and had actually been two hours you yelled in her face ‘WOAH, DID I JUST TIME TRAVEL?’” John finished.

“That’s so precious,” I cooed, because Alan is adorable in everything he does regardless of what it is.

“We have a lot of stories like that,” Virgil said, “we sometimes have to give pain relief or sedate someone who is freaking out and they do the weirdest stuff.” 

“They do? Is there some kind of hippocratic oath that you guys have to swear or can you tell me some?”

“No oath,”  they assured me. 

“One woman grabbed Virgil’s hand, stuck her fingers up in his sleeve, stroked his arm and said ‘You’d make a great carpet’,” Gordon told me.

“It’s not uncommon for people to feel stressed and unsure of where they are,” Scott continued, “they often wake up screaming or panicking, but we delivered one guy to the hospital who’d had a pretty nasty bang to the head and broken an arm. We were unable to calm him down so we had to sedate him so he wouldn’t do any more damage. He woke up as we were transferring him to the hospital gurney and he hopped off before we could catch him, pulled his pants down with his good arm and started to helicopter right there outside the hospital.”

That broke me, I’m sorry to say. I might proclaim to be far more mature than these idiots and not find fart jokes and the like amusing, but the mental image of this guy, standing there, twirling...I just couldn’t stop.

“One girl asked us if we were single and we didn’t answer and deflected by asking her if she had a boyfriend or girlfriend and she started crying that she just wanted a dog.”

“Remember that young boy who meowed the entire way to the hospital?” 

“And that one lady that was really nervous so we told her to think of something nice and she started singing ‘I wish you a merry Christmas,’ but it was July!”

“And the one that said she wanted us to drop her off at the top of a rainbow so she could slide down it?”

“And the guy that woke up when we landed, looked right at Kayo and said as loudly as he could ‘Look! The love of my life! Don’t leave me, I can change!’”

“And that one guy who knocked out a few teeth and spat out the gauze we packed his mouth with and started freaking out crying ‘was that my liver? Nooo, my liver! I need that! Get back in you!’”

“A woman lost a couple of teeth too and was crying about being ugly. We gave her some pain relief and she was so hazy that, when we handed her over to the doctor and gave him her teeth she started screaming at him... what was it she said, John? You heard it over the comms and were laughing so hard.”

“She yelled, ‘Charlatan! I demand you return my teeth! They are mine and I will choose how they are to be spent!’”

I cracked up at that, mostly the way John told it, which I assume was the same way she had, like a plummy Victorian aristocrat that had just been insulted.

“And that teen who said ‘hey, mister, my ass itches and I’m too high to scratch it.”

“Oh, that’s pure gold,” I laughed, wiping my eyes because I was laughing so hard.

“What about you?” Alan asked me. “Have you ever done anything weird?”

“Only every day of my life.”

“I meant under sedation.”

“Oh, yeah, not really,” I shrugged. “I know that when I had teeth out once, after napping on the couch for a few hours I suddenly sat up and announced that I needed to make Mum a cup of tea. She told me I didn’t need to but I said she was my guest and I had to be polite or she’d leave me alone to die. There was no arguing with me so I got up, went to the kitchen and came back and gave her a mug of cold water with a spoon in it. I apparently said ‘drink up, luv,’ like a really bad impression of Parker and face planted the couch and passed out again. Mum made her own tea after that.”

That got a fair few sniggers and Scott threatening to take away my British card for screwing up tea so badly.

“I have to ask,” I said conspiratorially once everyone had calmed down, “has Kayo ever done anything like this?”

They all looked around, as if scared that she might be listening, then eventually Virgil nodded.

“She came round from her knee surgery after she dislocated it and insisted on trying to get out of bed. The nurse told her she had to stay put as they had just fixed her knee and it needed time to heal. She answered in the most confident, how dare you try to stop me way and informed the nurse that she was a ninja and that they heal three times faster than normal people. The nurse let her try and she dropped face first.”

Honestly, out of all the stories I’ve heard today, that one was the best. It’s nice to know that even the most capable and sometimes terrifying of us isn’t always perfect.

#thunderbirds are go #Isolation Island #Thunderbirds in isolation #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 25 - The Exorcist

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

NOTE: ok so Genshin Impact has consumed my soul and I updated this on Tumblr a bit late sorry!!! There’s several warnings here to be shared with you all:

WARNING 1 - this chapter contains a real exorcism prayer and you should not read this prayer out loud unless you are a catholic priest.

WARNING 2 - I've never used an ouija board and I don’t plan to. You’re welcome to share with me your ouija board stories if you have tried one before but I myself don't know if they're just board games or really a gateway to let things in. Anyway people say exercise with caution so please do so should you ever decide to use one for whatever reason.

WARNING 3 - there is mention of blood, I toned down the exorcism here

Rating: General/Teen

@marydragneell​ here is the latest update

The Exorcist

…

…

[Legend of the Void:

(Ezra's version, which introduces concepts such as the merging of two universes to explain the origins of man + pokemon subservience to humans)

Before the concept of time existed, before anything existed, there was Something, and you may as well say this 'something' was a god, a divine being or interdimensional entity, and this entity created a Universe under the right circumstances and conditions, and he would proceed to create humans.

And for a while, the Creator of Man was happy until he saw the evil ways of humanity and he saw this evil run rampant in his world. Regretful and upset, he decided to destroy the very thing he created with a flood.

However, the Creator of Man didn't choose to restore this world. After he destroyed it, he left and found another Universe - a Universe that was similar to his own, except it was inhabited by strange creatures which we know as pokemon. Now they already had a creator, and their creator was called Arceus, who emerged from a void after our Creator did. And our Creator saw that this Universe was just as peaceful and beautiful as his previous one.

He decided to give his creations a second chance so he made humans all over again and placed them in this world. But mankind are a destructive species, the human heart is filled with evil intention and it always will be, and the humans began creating devices to enslave the pokemon race in order to utilise them as tools.

My notes: According to the Church of Circhester, this 'version' is completely unorthodox. It is 'baseless fabrication and blasphemy' and Ezra was condemned as a misanthrope.

Sometimes I wonder where Ezra gets his theories from because this is highly controversial. It's fascinating that to this day and age, scientists are actually still trying to figure who caught the first pokemon, what was the first pokemon caught, and why (ie, how did early humans gain this knowledge, who told them and/or did anyone tell them, what prompted them to capture a pokemon?), and how did they manage to do so in the first place.

Could the discovery of catching pokemon be similar to coincidences that happened throughout history, such as how cavemen discovered fire, how Newton discovered gravity?

(edit: there is a myth that Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it to humans. For his transgression, he was to undergo eternal torment as punishment - ie, bound to a rock and have his liver eaten out everyday, only for it to re-grow hence an ongoing cycle. He was freed by the hero, Heracles).

Interestingly enough, flood myth also exists in many cultures albeit with different variations (pls refer to: The Epic of Gilgamesh).

Also, I'm pretty sure Team Plasma advocated that pokemon were oppressed and should be liberated from their trainers but then again they were also being led by a psychopath with his own selfish motives.]

…

…

A few years ago.

The weather is thunder and lightning, coupled with intense spitting rain.

And he was sure he locked the cemetery gates before he left but now they were hanging loosely from the chain.

Ezra grumbles to himself, eyes narrowing.

It can only mean one thing: an intruder.

The rickety gates squeal on their old hinges as he pushes them open and steps inside. His heavy footsteps plod through the old, withered path of Greyson’s cemetery as he heads for the mausoleum. That’s usually where they are.

Absol trots beside him, her jaws clamped over the tarnished iron handle of an old lantern; she keeps it dangling in front of her, lighting up the path though it’s not much use to him. He lives in a world of darkness, and he's used to it.

It should have been a normal night, which would have been nice because he wanted some peace and quiet for a change considering how busy he had been for the past few weeks. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and he wanted to enjoy a pack of beer and cigarettes.

Not tonight, it seems.

He will tell those pesky young lads to go play elsewhere.

But wait, it’s something else.

Absol has been somewhat agitated the moment they approach the cemetery, but now she cannot stop growling.

“What is it?” he asks, but it doesn’t take too long to figure out what it is. “Goddamnit.”

This is just what he needed.

He delves a hand into his pocket and whips out a thin strip of paper covered in sprawling red symbols. Bringing it to his lips, he murmurs a quick enchantment under his breath before it bursts into flames and a smoky smell permeates the air. A bright, glowing light illuminates the symbols and he promptly tosses it high into the air.

Despite the wind, it flutters limply in the breeze for a second and then the impossible happens; the glowing symbols daintily lift themselves off the surface and float in the sky. They thoroughly increase in size, the symbols imprinting the air before they vanish into wisps of smoke.

The talisman proceeds to burn up and all that is left is a crinkly ball of fire which bursts into long and thin lines of flames that zips effortlessly through the air and stretches all the way past the graveyard’s borders.

“That should do it,” Ezra murmurs before he rubs at his aching hip. “C'mon, let’s go.”

He wanders further into the graveyard with his pokemon, pondering to himself what he might find though he is aware the answer to that is essentially nothing remotely good and along the way, a few ghost pokemon emerge from the tombstones and watch them worriedly.

They’re aware of the disturbance tonight but can do little to stop it, unfortunately as it requires human intervention, and is literally out of this world.

A few Haunters point him to the right direction but he doesn’t need their help because he can sense where this unwanted and hauntingly powerful presence is. He may have lived in darkness for a long time but he can see it as clear as day: a twisting, coiling mass filled with nothing but malice.

It is also not alone for Ezra can also sense another human being; a warm and kind but very tired and exasperated soul, about to be devoured.

He hopes they’re not too late and Absol leaves his side and he can hear her padded paws bounding away from him against the pebbly path; she leaps off the ground and snaps her jaws at this person.

There is a brief howl and something weighty slams over the ground.

Absol has subdued the culprit.

Ezra arrives and his hip is still acting up but nevertheless, he limps over and he sees this little warm and pure soul squirming helplessly on the ground as it is slowly being enveloped by the dark presence.

Whoever it is, they cannot even speak, reduced to a gurgling, rasping mess.

He uses his foot to nudge at this poor, unfortunate individual that is writhing helplessly on the floor of his cemetery though he knocks over this thick, wooden plate of some sorts at the same time and there is the sound of a glass rolling.

An Ouija board.

“Help!” a girl screams. “Oh god! Help- aaaghh!”

Morbid wailing follows as she’s forced to contort under the demon’s influence and a few bones snap and she begins crying but the sound lodges in her mouth and she emits a guttural rasp, her throat rattling violently.

The old ex-priest grabs a talisman from his pocket and smacks it over her forehead which ceases her violent fits for temporary.

“Hey, kid. Sit tight, I’m gonna get it out, you hear me?”

“O-okay!” she squeaks, and though he’s surprised she can even respond, she returns to the incoherent snarling and growling. As he tries to grab her, she makes several routine attempts to bite him.

Avoiding her as much as possible, Ezra bends down and lifts her into his arms with the help of his pokemon who helps nudge her into his arms.

“Steady now,” he says as he carries her into the mausoleum, which isn’t too far ahead.

He hears her croaking and choking, fighting the entity within as he settles her into the huge stone chair inside. Absol closes the door behind them and then trots over with a thick coil of rope which she collects from one corner.

He thanks her and begins strapping the girl carefully and securely into the chair with rope, keeping her wrists and ankles bound as she kicks and flails, hurling curses and obscenities at him, screaming and roaring and shrieking in a feral manner.

His pokemon stands watch as the girl starts slamming the back of her head against the stone, growling raucously.

But Ezra remains calm and lights various rows of candles that line the walls, pulls his silver cross out and clutches it tightly in his old hands and kneels in front of the altar, his weak knees hitting the dirt. Since his vision failed him, he hasn’t moved the statue or the water trough anywhere else.

He chants a prayer under his breath and dips his fingers into the water. God bless him. God save her soul. He does the sign of the cross and then heads over to the duo and blesses his pokemon as well, which she appreciates by purring affectionately.

Grabbing an old brush, he dips it into a bucket of old red paint in the corner and begins painting a sigil on the ground as quickly as he can around the chair.

Once he’s finished, he dumps the brush to the side. He moved to stand in front of the girl who has ceased her wild shrieking in favour of hissing spitefully at him.

“Be silent,” Ezra commands in a loud, booming voice, before he tosses some of the water over her.

And so it begins.

“In nómine Pátris, et Fílii, et Spirítus Sancti. Amen,” Ezra chants with his silver cross in hand which he proceeds to thrust in front of her face, “Exsúrgat Deus et dissipéntur inimíci ejus: et fúgiant qui odérunt eum a fácie ejus. Sicut déficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a fácie ígnis.”

Outside, the muffled clap of overhead thunder can be heard, the wind howling.

He continues, “Sic péreant peccatóres a fácie Dei-“

“If you think that will stop me, you’re wrong," says a deep voice.

Dabbing his entire hand into the trough of holy water, Ezra steps forward and smears it all over her forehead before he presses the rest of his palm firmly into her face. The demon shrieks and withdraws.

That’s what you get for interrupting me, Ezra thinks to himself but ultimately cannot say aloud: he must continue the exorcism prayer regardless of how long it could take.

“Júdica Dómine nocéntes me; expúgna impugnántes me. Confundántur et revereántur quaeréntes ánimam meam,” he murmurs, “Avertántur retrórsum et confundántur, cogitántes míhi mála. Fíant táamquam púlvis ante fáciem vénti: et Ángelus Dómini coárctans eos.”

The door suddenly flies open and the brutal, icy wind swirls inside, wiping out all the flames of the candles in a split second. Absol glances around in high alert but Ezra remains still. Raindrops batter his back as the door slams in its frame repeatedly.

The walls tremble from several wicked blows as though an unseen assailant is rampaging outside, circling the mausoleum whilst repeatedly slamming a hammer against the stone, yet Ezra remains calm.

“Fiat via illórum ténebrae, et lúbricum: et Ángelus Dómini pérsequens eos. Quóniam grátis abscondérunt míhi intéritum láquei sui: supervácue exprobravérunt ánimam meam.”

Realising the priest is undeterred, the monster unleashes an unearthly howl and a glass shatters somewhere. It’s bellows and roars reverberate throughout the walls and resonates thoroughly in Ezra’s ears.

Since he lost his sight, his hearing amplified; the shrill sounds of nails scraping against the stone and the chaotic tugging of the rope rises to inescapable volumes as the demon furiously struggles against its bonds.

Ezra continues his prayer, “Véniat illi láqueus quem ignórat; et cáptio quam abscóndit, aprehéndat eum: et in láqueum cádat in ipsum-”

He briefly picks up the coppery stench of blood and very soon, a wet substance splatters over his lips and cheeks and eyelids. It laughs, and another splodge hits the side of his ear.

Raising a hand, Ezra wordlessly smothers the blood away with the back of his hand. “Ánima áutem mea exsultábit in Dómino: et delectábitur super salutári suo. Glória Pátri, et Fílio, et Spirítui Sancto.”

Then he presses his cross over the demon’s head, forcing it to shriek uncontrollably. It kicks and screams, quaking fiercely against the restraints. He applies more pressure, the cross is warm under his grip and steadily growing hotter.

To his utmost surprise, the little warm light he had seen earlier is beginning to return and it is fighting back, growing larger and larger as the seconds pass.

“Come on, kid, I know you’re still in there. You can do it!” he yells.

She keeps growling and snarling, foaming at the mouth. Gnashing her teeth repeatedly, she emits a deranged howl, struggling viciously to reach him.

“Come on! Fight it!”

The walls of the mausoleum quake violently, the ground underneath his very feet trembles. Absol starts growling, leaping around in alarm.

Ezra listens to the excruciating sound of cords straining and eventually coming undone; her fist shoots out and her fingers, sharp as claws, stabs into his gut, and twists.

He grunts with pain, but does not let go.

Easing his other hand into his pockets, he pulls out another talisman; it glows faintly from the enchantment which he promptly slaps over her forehead and with a powerful bark of “Relinquo!", a dark shadow shoots out from her body and into the air with a bloodcurdling shriek.

Freed at last, the girl keels over, her head dipped low, blood gushing from her mouth.

And Ezra stumbles backwards, lifting a bleeding hand off his stomach. He sighs heavily before he feels his head growing light, his body weightless, and he promptly collapses over the floor.

…

When he wakes up, he can feel warmth all around.

He is lying on something soft.

A bed.

He has not slept in a bed for a long time.

It smells like lavender and jasmine.

He despises it.

"You're awake!" exclaims a voice.

It's the girl from the cemetery.

Purring sounds can be heard near his bed and he reaches over; a fluffy head affectionately plops itself under his palm and rubs itself against his callused skin. Ezra grunts under his breath, groaning as he shuffles around under the blanket and attempts to reach for her, though his limbs are weary.

“Cassie,” he utters, and Absol climbs onto the bed, sprawling over him. He gently pats her head and strokes her snowy white fur.

The room is silent until he hears the legs of a chair screeching against the floor and the girl does her best to quietly leave the room. She returns in roughly half an hour however, after he’s had a check-up.

By then, he’s exhausted and wants to rest.

He hears the door squeaking open and she pokes her head in, then steps inside the room and closes the door behind her.

“What are you doing here?" he asks tiredly.

"I needed to see that you'd be okay," she says, "I thought you were dead. I'm…I’m really sorry."

"It'll take more than that to kill me."

"Thank you for saving my life."

"As long as I'm around, nothing's gonna happen to you, kid."

"Thank you, sir. Um...Can I ask you a question?"

"About what?"

"About the...demon.”

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything. I want to know if it was the one who took my sister and my father. And if it was, I want to know why it did it and I want to get them back."

“Listen, kid. Don't dabble in stuff you don't understand, especially this."

"I know and I'm so, so sorry. But…can you teach me?"

His unfazed expression doesn't change.

"Please teach me.”

He hears the chair legs squeaking again coupled with a lot of fumbling; she’s flat on the ground before him on her hands and knees. How troublesome, he thinks to himself with a sigh.

"You want to learn how to exorcise demons?" he grunts.

"Yes."

“You?”

“Yeah.”

Utterly astounded, he takes a while to reply and rubs the back of his neck. "Do you hear the kind of stuff that is coming out of your mouth right now?" he growls and she looks up, confused. "You're saying something along the lines of 'I want to destroy a creation of the universe'. Do you know how impossible and crazy that sounds? Do you?"

"A creation of the universe? Are you talking about Arceus? Why would Arceus create something like that…do you mean it’s an undiscovered pokemon of undiscovered type???”

“Hell no. Goddamnit, kid, I mean it came before Arceus.”

“What do you mean, ‘before Arceus’? Arceus came from an egg and before the egg, it was a void of nothingness-“

He sighs heavily. “There was something before Arceus, before the void. You always explain one event as being created by some earlier event, right? So before Arceus, there was some kind of infinite period where time did not exist but during this period, there was something there…do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“…Not really.”

“Exactly. You’re obviously still in shock and speaking nonsense. Go home, kid. Go back to your family.”

Yawning loudly, he pulls the blanket closer over his body and turns round in his warm and cosy bed, his back to her. He’s careful not to lie on his stomach though.

"But I'm serious," she says.

"So am I," he replies.

...

After he’s fully healed and discharged, he returns to the cemetery; the Corviknight taxi drops him off a few metres away and he taps his way across the Wild Area with Absol and his cane.

When he arrives, he realises the girl is also here.

At first, he ignored her and let her be. He did his daily caretaker duties, watering the plants, pulling weeds and sweeping the tombs.

He didn't know what she was doing here - she probably observed his daily regime - and one day she brought some cleaning supplies with her and began assisting him with the upkeep of the cemetery, especially with some of the heavy lifting.

Today, he’s forcibly awoken when he hears her sweeping the area around the mausoleum and shoving dust everywhere and he grumbles sourly under his breath. He had already told her a few times to go home but she keeps coming back. She keeps coming back to clean, to lurk around the graveyard, to help him.

“Stop that,” he snaps at her, “you’re disturbing them, and I already swept it yesterday.”

She stops dusting at some tombstones. “Sorry, I thought-”

Ezra grumbles, scrubbing at his mangy face with a dirty palm. Reaching for a beer by his calf, he grasps blindly for the can and lifts it to his mouth, downing a sip. “Get over here, kid.”

He hears her stepping towards him and he glances up, looking at this annoyingly bright light before him.

“You really wanna learn that badly, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No need to be so formal, my name is Ezra.” With a heavy sigh, he dusts himself down and stands up, using his cane to support himself. “And I am…or was, the pastor of the Church of Circhester. I was also a member of the International Association of Exorcists. Do you understand who and what you’re dealing with?”

“Yes, sir – I mean, Ezra.”

“Now, tell me who you are and why I should teach you.”

He hears this little gasp of awe before she tells him her predicament. She tells him her name, who she is, where she came from, how old she is.

She rambles at some point and he has to occasionally steer her towards the focal details and periodically, she’ll become flustered, especially when speaking about the night when she saw her father and sister devoured by a Dusknoir. Once she’s finished recounting her tale, he nods.

“It was a demon, right?” she says, though she sounds unsure.

“Probably. Didn't your family have any pokemon?"

"...Sableye and Haunter went missing, and Cutiefly and Sinistea were in PC boxes," she says, "Please teach me. I want to learn."

He studies her quietly, then holds his index finger up in the air. “Fine, but I must warn you: my teachings are difficult and I’ve had several idiots coming up to me just like how you did and they’ve all failed-”

“I'm not an idiot and I won’t fail you.”

“-Yeah, let’s see about that, kid.” Holding up two fingers now, “Second, if I’m to teach you, I want you to swear to me you will take no retribution against Dusknoir. I don’t mind if you want to research one or whatever, but do not take your grudge with the pokemon. It’s nothing to do with it.”

“I understand.”

He moves on to hold up three fingers. “Third, that being said, you cannot use what you learned to harm humans or pokemon in any way. You must use it for good. I can tell you have a gift and under my guidance and training, I believe you will reach your full potential.”

“Okay.”

“Four, I will teach you with the utmost effort and I also expect to receive full commitment from yourself. I will not make do with time-wasters or mediocrity. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“And lastly, promise me you will not in either way, attempt to summon entities for any reason. Do not use Ouija boards, do not dabble in sacrifice, do not try to open any portals. Hell, do not attempt any of those things.”

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

“Now, some of my teachings are limited. I can teach you how to protect yourself and protect others. Are you happy with this, knowing that there are limitations as to what I can teach you?”

“Yes, I am.”

Ezra studies her again before he nods to himself.

He’s said quite a lot but he knows she understands. “Good,” he murmurs.

“So…when do we start?”

“We start now.”

He disappears inside the mausoleum and re-emerges with a dirty rucksack; he pulls out a tattered old journal along with an old, portable cassette player which he hands to her.

“Your first task is to read this and listen to the tapes. Learn the symbols, learn the prayers. Come back whenever you’re ready and show me what you got.”

“Got it.”

She comes back in five days, which was a lot earlier than he had expected considering his previous ‘disciples’ either came back in a week or two, and some barely returned in person, opting to hand his book and tape back by leaving it at the gates.

He hears her approaching and sits up whilst Absol sleeps in a corner, and she says, “I finished it.”

“What did you think?”

“It was interesting.“

“...You didn’t think it was disturbing?”

“No.”

There is a brief silence.

“Hm…not sure if that’s a good or bad thing,” he murmurs under his breath.

The tapes were full of recorded exorcisms, consisting of unearthly screaming, howling and shrieking courtesy of the victims.

He says, “Recite Saint Michael’s prayer to me.”

She does so, with almost near-perfect pronunciation.

Ezra listens intently and nods when she’s finished. “Not bad. Now let’s hear Signum Crucis.”

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancta-“

“Sancti,” he corrects her.

“Sancti,” she repeats.

“Not bad. Again.”

She recites the short prayer once more, this time with no errors.

“Gloria Patri,” he grunts out next, grabbing his beer and flipping the lid off.

And they continue going through some prayers until it’s almost sunset and she’s a little exhausted and he’s finished his pack of beer.

“You did well, kid. Come back tomorrow.”

“Really???”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you!!”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’ll be testing you on the symbols and their meanings. Then there’s a final test.”

“Okay!” she exclaims excitedly, and after exchanging some short words, she bids him farewell and he hears her leaving, her footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet graveyard.

The next day, she returns and passes the symbols assessment with flying colours as he had expected considering how quickly she’d picked up the Latin prayers.

And the next day after that, he teaches her how to use talismans.

As the weeks roll by, he continuously subjects her to tests on latin prayers and symbology. Then he teaches her some blood magic.

Soon, weeks turns to months, and she’s picked up a lot of his teachings in a short period of time, which impresses him greatly.

She begins to accompany him on exorcisms which undoubtedly at the beginning, does disturb her a little but the more she sat in and watched (and sometimes assisted with), the more she began to see such things as a normality and he also allows her to work on her own cases albeit under some guidance.

Before he knows it, he has transformed this little girl into an exorcist.

“Well done, kid. You’ve exceeded all my expectations. I’m proud of you," he says with a nod of his head.

She cheers, but then remembering her tutelage, she bows deeply with gratitude, eyes closed. “Thank you, Ezra. I wouldn’t be where I am now if it weren’t for you,” she replies, “what’s the final test?”

“Final test?”

“Yeah, you mentioned it a while ago.”

“….Hm, so I did,” he says, before he gets off the steps, dusting at his palms and weak knees. “Let me show you something. Come on, Absol.”

He motions her to follow him and he heads to two marked graves near a statue of a weeping angel which is covered in a sparse layer of moss.

She joins his side and she scans the names etched on the stone. One name in particular stands out. “Cassie??” she murmurs, before she casts a glance to the pokemon that stands by his side.

Absol looks up, and regards her with its steely blue eyes.

“My wife and daughter,” Ezra murmurs, his white gaze staring emptily into space. “This is a dark path. There will always be death. This is my final warning to you: if you choose to walk this path, be prepared to lose everything. Is this something you can do?”

There is a brief silence until she says, “Yes.”

Ezra hesitates; she observes him for any noticeable reaction but he is immobile, standing stiffly with his hands clasped together in front of him.

“...Very well," he utters. "Come with me.”

“Where to?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

He hasn’t left the cemetery other for reasons than to go to the soup kitchen or to buy his beer and cigarettes, so he asks her to call for a Corviknight taxi since he doesn’t have a Rotom phone.

When the taxi arrives, he asks the driver to take them to the Dusty Bowl and they’re dropped off at the outskirts.

“Why are we here?” she asks, but he ignores her and begins to head for the desolate path.

She trails after him and despite being blind, she’s stunned to see that he seems to be aware a great deal of where he’s going. A sandstorm begins to rage but Ezra is unaffected and continues to wander down the plains, using his cane to avoid any obstacles such as rocks, trees or tall grass. Whilst she tries to cover her eyes, blinking through sand and grit, she helps him along the way of course, but he doesn’t seem to require her assistance at all.

Occasionally, wild pokemon will peek at them from behind the dry and crusty grass but they don’t dare to approach.

She glances around with much wariness as he leads her further and further away from the winding path, the barren wastelands, the dead trees and soon, he has led her into oblivion.

The sandstorm worsens and as she looks left, right and up, she cannot see a single damn thing in front of her; if she did not keep her gaze pinned on the ghostly silhouette of her mentor tottering in front of her a short feet away, she was certain she would have lost her way.

“Ezra, be careful!” she yells above the loud winds and the whirling sands.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, though his voice is hard to hear.

Her nerves begins to eat at her and they’ve been walking for seems like an eternity and she isn’t even sure if they’re still in the Dusty Bowl or the gym challenger’s path anymore, perhaps they’ve moved onto the Giant’s Mirror or the Stony Wilderness, but the sandstorm is endless and she calls after him once more.

“Ezra, where are you taking me?”

“Keep moving, we’re almost there,” he grunts at her in response.

Her question is finally answered when he stops in his path and grows still, holding out his arm.

“Wait.”

She watches him, listening, but nothing happens.

“Okay, come over here.”

There is a bad feeling in her gut as she sidles up to him and to her utmost surprise, the sandstorm begins to subside, revealing a large cenote before them.

Her eyes widen.

He’s standing at the very edge, his foot shoving some rocks and dust into the large pit before them; if he had taken one step further, he would’ve fallen inside. She looks around in shock. The sandstorm had disappeared in a blink of an eye, instead it had been replaced with a lingering misty fog that surrounded them. She knew the Wild Area was erratic but this weather was abnormal to the extreme.

Her shocked gaze strays to the blind man. His glazed eyes are focused in front of him, oblivious to the deep.

“I want you to go in there,” he says.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he mutters. “You can take the stairs.”

He nudges his head to the right where a spiralling ‘staircase’ consisting of huge, mismatched slabs of rocks sticking out from the walls of the pit appear to offer a way down inside.

“Do you wish to turn back?” he asks, sensing her hesitation.

“No.”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

She nods and steps towards the first rock, which is dusty and covered with yellowing grass, and she uses one foot to test out the footing, giving it a few stern prods with her toes. The rock seems stubborn enough and once she deems it safe, she makes her way down.

It’s steep and she carefully tackles each step one by one, having to hold onto some dry vines that dangle and stick out of the edges of the wall until she arrives at the bottom of the pit.

Looking up and around, the sky is painted a strange and ethereal purplish, blue glow… perhaps from the aurora borealis, though she’s never seen it warp into this sort of shade before. Usually it is a streak of colours in the night sky…neither a star can be seen in sight either.

She also realises the pit isn’t as deep as she thought. She’s fairly certain gym challengers would never find this place nor would anyone in the right mind would even want to go in here.

She steps closer towards the middle of the pit, her feet crunching under gravel and stones, and stares at the walls of the pit.

There is an entrance, resembling a zigzagged slit in the wall. It’s big enough for a lone individual to slip inside but that’s just about it. She cannot see what’s inside; it is far too dark.

“Is this a pokemon den?” she asks, gesturing to the entrance.

“No.”

Her mentor’s voice sounded very close; she promptly turns to see Ezra hobbling behind her. “That was quick.”

“Give me a second,” he mutters as he brushes past her and steps towards the large and gaping hole in the wall, stopping just a foot or so away. “Stay there and don’t move, don’t make a sound.”

She goes silent, and she did not dare to peel her eyes away from the cave entrance where a figure is emerging from within.

A withered-looking Lucario with a greying muzzle and dirty golden fur steps outside and into the pit, wielding a wooden staff that is as tall as itself. It's what trainers coin as a 'shiny' pokemon, and these pokemon are extremely rare, especially in the wild. Puzzled, she watches as the pokemon greets her mentor.

Ezra's mouth moves but she cannot hear what he’s saying.

Then he stops and Lucario nods, and the man and pokemon turn to glance at her direction.

She strains to hear what they could possibly be conversing yet there is nothing, not even a pokemon cry, not the slightest rustle of the wind. Nothing.

It is silent.

The silence is suffocating to say the least and eventually, Lucario nods his head after the prolonged period of stillness. The pokemon turns and returns into the cave, disappearing into the darkness.

Placing his cane on the ground in front of him, he balances his palms over the handle. “Lucario has granted you entry.”

“…What?” she asks, a little anxiously.

Inhaling silently, Ezra replies, “There are greater things in our universe, greater than you and me. Even greater than pokemon.”

“What’s going on? What is a Lucario doing all the way out here? Where’s his trainer?”

“He doesn’t have one. This is his home,” Ezra mutters. “Now listen carefully. This is Gossamer Cave. A relic can be found here. A long time ago, I used it to destroy a demon that terrorised my wife and child. However, it is a highly dangerous weapon and you have to be ready to wield it, to understand its power and origins. If this is something you want, then you must go inside and fetch it.”

There are questions buzzing aplenty in her mind. “What does it look like?”

“You’ll know when you see it. My question for you is, do you wish to wield such a weapon? You might not like what you find out.” He mutters, before stepping aside, allowing her entry regardless of her response, regardless if she goes in or not.

She bites down on her lip anxiously but he does not offer any further words, no further advice or warning. She ponders to herself briefly, thinking about her parents, her sister and how they are all depending on her. Although she is nervous, she must cast aside these sinking feelings and surpass. She must be brave when no-one else is, when no-one else can. She must do it for them.

"I'm going in," she declares, and she passes him and enters the cave without further ado.

It’s dark.

She's greeted with the hypnotic splash of water dripping from the ceiling onto the floor and the marauding howl of the wind from outside that echoes and slips through the cave.

Lucario sits on a large rock to the left with the wooden staff balanced over its paws. It’s eyes are closed, deep in meditation. As she passes by, it does not acknowledge her presence.

Expecting Zubats or some other types of cave-dwelling pokemon, she’s stunned to see it is devoid of any other critter except from the aura pokemon.

A linear path lies ahead but she hits a dead-end.

Confused, she pats the wall in front of her, looking up and around. She checks for any cracks, any hidden passages. She checks every nook and cranny and leaves no stone upturned. She raps her knuckles over the walls, hoping for a hollow thud, a secret trap door perhaps?

There is nothing.

Disappointed and perplexed, she returns to the entrance.

“There’s nothing there," she says.

“I see. Then it’s not time yet. You still need more training, kid. You have a long way to go.” Ezra replies, unsurprised.

“I really don’t understand.”

“When you hear it, you will.”

“Hear what?”

“Tell me when you do, okay?”

Frustrated, she says, “Stop being so cryptic! What’s in the cave? What’s this relic?”

“You’ll find out when you’re ready. For now, forget what you saw and focus on your training. Focus on getting better, then you can come back.”

“Fine.”

Slipping his hands into the pockets of his withered coat, he begins to leave. She follows him with a sigh, mostly out of exasperation. Before she leaves however, she tosses a quick glance over her shoulder towards the abyss.

She was expecting to see something, maybe a shadow or a little flicker of light, maybe Lucario would come out again.

However, there is nothing.

...

Present.

You’ve grown quiet.

Leon watches as your brows scrunch with confusion, your expression souring. “What’s wrong?”

“Gossamer Cave,” you utter, before you grab his arm and exclaim loudly, “Gossamer Cave! That's it, Leon!"

Releasing him, you stand up, rush up the stairs and towards the bookshelves; he follows, watching you stop at a random shelf before you speedily skim through the books on the shelf, inspecting the titles quickly.

“Aha,” you murmur under your breath, pulling out a thick and burly red book from its place; it is an atlas of the Wild Area.

You beckon him over as you open the book, unfolding it to its full proportion over the floor. It’s not the most updated map but it’ll do for now.

Leon squats down beside you as you flip through the pages.

“Ezra took me to a place called Gossamer Cave ages ago. I can’t believe I forgot all about it. We took a Corviknight taxi, got off at the Dusty Bowl and we walked for a long time and there was a sandstorm, and then all of a sudden he stopped at a large pit. I’m supposed to tell Ezra when I start hearing things. He was so cryptic I didn’t understand what he meant back then but now I do. I can understand Gengar; I can hear what he says. That’s what Ezra meant. Leon, I’m ready.”

“Ready?” he murmurs, as you finally pinpoint the location on the map and begin scouring the page.

You nod. “I’m ready to face it -- whatever it was that took my family away. I can fight it now. I just need to find Gossamer Cave.”

Leon’s expression is a conflicted one. “When the officials mapped out the Wild Area for the gym challenge, they never found any place called Gossamer Cave.”

“It must be there, I saw it with my own eyes. It was a cenote, but there was this entrance that led to a cave and I went in. It was guarded by a Lucario, and a shiny one too,” you reply, “I need to find it. There’s something there, and it will help me.”

…

Meanwhile, in Greyson’s cemetery, Absol has been biting and tugging at his coat all night, in a vain effort to force him to get up and leave. She has sensed something. However, Ezra merely chills on the steps, drinking his beer and she gives up, having grown rather weary, and has settled to curl up next to him. It’s then his ears pick up the sounds of footsteps a distance away.

The footsteps stop; a lone individual stands a foot away from him.

“Hello, you must be the exorcist of Greyson’s cemetery,” says a distorted, muffled voice. "Remember me?"

The voice is unrecognisable. Ezra inhales deeply, scrunching the beer can under his fist. “…Something I can help you with?”

“Yes,” the voice leers. “You can die right here and now!”

A massive unseen force promptly smashes the steps of the mausoleum in half, sending stone and debris flying into the air; it stands, retracting its claws with a grin as the dust clears away, before peeking left and right.

Ezra has disappeared.

“Where are you,” it hisses with a chuckle as it lifts up rocks and debris, flinging them to the side and digging its claws into the earth, cackling with mirth, “Where are you, exorcist?? Come out, come out, wherever you are. I won't hurt you - much.”

A growl emits from behind and captures its attention; as it turns, it is swiftly knocked off its feet as a white and black blur slams into its body and sends it flying into a cluster of tombstones. Absol lands on her paws with a growl as Ezra appears from behind the fountain, unharmed.

“Good job, Absol,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing at the entity that struggles to get up. “Percutiet.”

Sending a talisman at its direction, the little paper automatically attaches itself to the entity’s head and administers a painful shock. The entity roars with pain briefly before erupting into a fit of hoarse, mocking laughter.

“I know it’s you, Spiritomb,” Ezra says. "Use Slash.”

Absol’s attack connects with a loud thump and all goes still. Shortly, a harrowing shriek of pain shatters the silence. Ezra recalls the talisman; it disappears into thin air in little wisps and the man sprawled over the tombstones grunts and groans as he sits up, rubbing his injured chest in agony.

“Huh? What…? Where am I? What happened…? Um, what am I doing here…?” he mutters, disoriented.

...

#jeralee #fic #fanfic #reader #reader insert #leon x reader #thank you! #leon x you #leon #dande #pkmn #pokemon #pokemonsword #pokemonshield #pokemonswordandshield #pokemonshieldsword #pokemonshieldandsword #Comfort in Despair #archive of our own

[todragonsart]

The taste of wine - Chapter 1 - Siege-O-Ween Oct 29th

Prompt:  “I suppose, my secret’s out”

I welcome everybody back! It’s been such a long-long-long time, since I actually enjoyed writing something. I mean, times like that happen to any kind of writer or artist, and I’m just so happy to be out of it. This was so much fun, and why would we stop at just 6000 words? Come on!

Okay, honestly, I wanted to stop. I wanted to write a shorter one, but it kept going and going and going and now I’m planning like... 4 more chapters and a prologue :’) DoN’t HuRt Me PlEaSe <3 

As always, I can’t thank @r6shippingdelivery​ and @freedert95​ enough for helping me with the beta-reading. You two are absolutely life-and-sanity-saving and I love you both very much.

Oh and also, this is for @dualrainbow​‘s Halloween event, so thank you guys too, for resurrecting me from the dead! 

I hope you enjoy!!

“I want you to help me die.”

Mike turned towards the man standing on his right, eyes wide with shock. He let his gaze wander, just for a second, on the other. His tall, proud posture, his handsome face, basking in the dim candle light, his gentle, green eyes now looking at him full with hope, expecting help. How could a so-called monster look this innocent, the soldier couldn’t fathom. Why would he want to die? And more importantly, why would he want to be killed by somebody like Mike?

In his wondering, he almost missed the way the other’s lips pulled into a small smile. “You won’t help me, will you?”

Lifting his chin a bit, Mike looked the other in the eyes and he couldn’t help, but think ‘what a waste’, but shook his head anyway. “I will.”

The man seemed caught off guard- almost surprised for a second, but his smile widened as hope filled him even more.

Mike shook his head, looking away. What a waste.

But how did he get into this situation in the first place?

The Boogie-man. Zombies. Ghosts. Mummies. Werewolves. Monsters . Mike Baker had never really understood them. He understood the concept, and the literature, but he didn’t understand the need. It was just the need to be scared. Or even more, the need to force the fear of darkness into the shape of something understandable. Because that is what all these so-called supernatural monsters were, weren’t they? Just images made by scared children on a moonless night. A howl? A wolf! A growl? A zombie! A mug falling down? Definitely the leftovers of a dead person. Not the wind. Obviously not the wind.

Mike never said that he didn’t believe that something was hiding in the dark, far from it - being a soldier, facing new threats every other day made him learn that in fact there was always something around the corner, ready to attack. But nonetheless, he was sceptical of the supernatural.

Living in this world for 54 years he never met any kind of supernatural monster that could have been killed with only silver, salt or fire. In fact the only monsters he met were people. People acted way worse then any animal or entity ever could, hurting others and themselves, acting selfish and rude, being agressive and stupid. Obviously not every person, but he was facing terrorists, he believed he had seen the worst of worsts. He had seen men murdering innocent people, he had seen organizations turn children into mindless soldiers and he had seen mothers killing their loved ones and then themselves for the ‘greater good’. He had seen a lot. Like a lot . But he had never met any kind of supernatural monster, so yeah.

He had every right to be sceptical, and ironical, because he did not understand the fear of the unknown and darkness like a normal person did. Howls? There was no werewolf able to sound as a friend dying from an open wound. A growl? The unhappy sound of a terrorist being cuffed. A mug falling down? The reaction to a newly found biochemical weapon. No monsters, just people. Bad-people.

He started to feel bad for the monsters in books, tv shows and poems at one point. All that screaming, shouting and wanting to capture or kill them… Why were they the ones being chased? That was the other question. Why were the monsters always bad? Why would a werewolf or zombie or mummy or anything attack the human beings, like they did in the stories? To hunt them, taste their blood and eat them and their brains? Oh come on.

The fact that sharks don’t even like the taste of human meat must mean something!

But it could be the blood... All animals had blood, why would a vampire attack that one human being, when they could hunt a calm cow, or something. Much less screaming, much less effort, much easier target.

And don’t even start with the brain bullshit. Why would anything try to eat the brain?! The people mindlessly attacking others for being a little bit different than they are were empty anyway!

And also, why would a demon or spirit or whatever the fuck attack humans after their life? What if they are stuck and just need help? What if they just want to be friends?!

He believed in ghosts, tho, he did. But not the… ‘the white sheet with two holes for the eyes on it’ kind, obviously. He believed the ghosts of the past. The screaming in his nightmares about the wars, the eyeless people standing behind him in the mirror, the feeling of his mother’s gentle hand on his shoulder.

Ghosts.

But not the hollywood ghosts scaring innocent people. His own ghosts. Some of them were bad, some of them were good, even soothing. Mementos of his childhood, his first love, his daughter. Good ghosts, who never wanted to hurt him, in fact most of the time, they helped him in their own way.

And after all… everything started with a ghost.

The ghost of his father.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

When he first noticed the familiar figure, he was in the middle of buying baked beans in the supermarket. He was all alone, thinking about calling Penelope after dinner, to ask where would his grandson want to go this year for a little Trick-or-treating during Halloween, minding his own business with the cans, when he noticed a tall, dark figure just outside the shop’s front window.

He didn’t even notice it first, but when he felt the unmistakable feeling of being watched, he looked up, right at the dark figure. The long coat, the old hat, the wide shoulders; he caught himself thinking, Dad…? But his father died at least thirty years ago, so yeah. It was kinda suspicious.

He looked around, trying to find out if anybody could see the figure, and as he looked back, the window was empty.

Strange.

But the ghost of his father had never been a bad omen. Maybe he should visit his grave. Or perhaps it was a reminder that he forgot to put on his watch this morning, the one that once belonged to his father.

Shrugging, he went back to pick the beans and that was it.

Or so he thought.

Because, not long after this, he noticed the figure again. He was just arriving to his boat after a disgustingly long day of work, ready to open a beer and crash on his couch, when he saw the familiar silhouette from his peripheral vision. He turned his head, but as the last time, the figure was gone.

Mike lifted an eyebrow. It was his father’s birthday coming up soon. Heh. Motherfucker never missed a chance to make people wish him happy birthday after all.

Shrugging it off again, he entered the boat, and did as he planned with his beer and couch.

But obviously, it happened again. The tall figure standing patiently, just looking at him from afar when he arrived home, bought his supplies, walked down the streets. The well known shadow never moving, never looking like it was alive, never changing.

He once even noticed the figure standing at the docks, as if waiting for him to get home. It was strange and the feeling of being watched never seemed to disappear.

The last straw was when he noticed the shadow during the night he was with his daughter and grandson, Trick or treating, having fun. He almost missed it again, the silhouette standing in a dark alleyway just the other side of the road. As he saw the shadow there, Mike got furious all of a sudden. Hanging around, waiting for him was one thing, but bugging him during family times? A real jerk move.

As he noticed, he immediately stopped in his track and turned towards the figure, stepping down the pathway. His gaze was fixed on the figure that looked like its usual, frozen self, but as it noticed his attempt of getting closer, it did the strangest thing: it moved.

It wasn’t a scared wince or anything a normal human would do when they were discovered doing something bad, it was just a surprised lift of shoulders and a slight tilt of hat, but it was something . And as Mike took one more step forward, the figure did the same thing backward. And that was when the good omen of his father turned into a human monster, because who else would follow him around every night just standing still and watching. He had a stalker. One of the most disgusting kind of monsters.

His instincts kicking in, he reached for his gun, but the second he touched it an ear-rippingly loud car honk pushed him out of his state of mind. He was standing in the middle of the road and a very angry driver just honked at him again.

Looking at the man behind the wheel, Mike sniffed and let his gun slip back into its holster. He glanced back at the figure, but that motherfucker was gone. Of fucking course.

Great.

Not caring for the loud honking at all, he turned back and stepped on the pathway again.

A stalker.

Glancing back at the other side of the road, he lifted his chin, looking around.

A ghost? A stalker? A monster, maybe. A human one, who was apparently afraid of him.

It didn’t matter. It was time to end their relationship.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Except the figure disappeared.

Not in the term a ghost would, because Mike still felt like he was being watched, but he didn’t see the silhouette again. It pissed him off, but he was smarter than giving up. Instead, he turned to his team.

He asked Marius - one of the best tinkerers the world has ever seen in his opinion - to install a few cameras around his boat, so that he can monitor every movement from within his home, and Marius - although a little bit weirded out - delivered. Mike was satisfied, he finally got a chance to get ahead of the mysterious staker, now all he needed to was to be patient and he never had a problem with that.

He waited for three weeks without seeing the shadow again, but on the fourth Friday, he finally caught it on record. Since the cameras were recording live, and he spent his nights sitting in front of them, he just caught a glimpse of the figure’s coat. It was fucking four in the morning, and he was doozing off before, but the second he saw the movement, he got on his feet and reaching for his gun, he rushed to the exit of his boat, all tiredness forgotten.

The adrenaline was rushing in his ears as he burst out of the door, gun in hand. It took him just half a second to find the figure in the darkness, then he was already charging towards it, running like he never ran before.

“Stop right there!” he shouted and again, he caught the figure off guard; it winced from the sudden sound in the otherwise peaceful night. It looked around, trying to find a place to hide, clearly trying to escape, but the old soldier was fast. The moment the figure turned away in an attempt to run, it made a mistake and Mike caught it’s arm in his iron grip. The force of him tugging at the figure efficiently knocked it’s hat off just to reveal a patch of sweaty, ginger hair. He lifted an eyebrow, tugging at the arm again, trying to get a better look, but the figure just seemed to have more than enough of this abuse.

Knowing all too well that trying to slip from Mike’s grip was a useless motion, it instead planted its feet and turning on its heels it kicked the soldier on his side, efficiently knocking the air out of his lungs. Wheezing, Mike immediately let go of the arm, gasping for air. Growling swears he looked at the figure, but it was on the run already, making distance between the two of them.

Spitting, Mike got himself together, and rushed after the figure. He had been waiting for this fight since Halloween and he wasn’t going to let that motherfucker run away once more. The figure was fast, but Mike was angry, and it made him more dangerous and reckless. He had no problem keeping up with the pace, in fact, he was catching up to the shadow step by step. He was ready to finish this.

In their chase, Mike kind of forgot to look where he was going, but it didn’t really matter. The only thing in front of his eyes was the prize of finally catching this motherfucking stalker, the changing of landscape around them didn’t matter at all-

Until it did.

Mike had no idea how, but they ended up in the more abandoned corner of Hereford. There were mostly suburban areas or empty factories on this side of the town. How did they even get here!? He looked around in concern, taking deep breaths. He had no idea, he only started to notice everything around him just now.

He still had the figure right in front of him, but their distance started to grow as his legs got tired of the running. The adrenaline in his blood slowly faded away, and with that, his energy did too.

He soon noticed himself gasping for air, his sight getting a bit blurry, slowing down, which was- not a problem namely because the figure was heading towards the last building in the line, which turned out to be a… a church? Really? A church.

Before he could ridicule the shadow in his head, he saw it run straight up the front stairs of the building, and the next thing reaching his mind was the loud band of the door being shut.

Taking big gulps of air, Mike let himself collapse on the ground, eyes fixed on the building. This might have been the strangest night of his entire life, and it was far from over. Giving himself a few minutes, he just sat there, watching the building, kind of waiting for the figure to escape again, but there was no movement around the church. Odd.

He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and stretched as he stood up. Twisting, he popped his spine and with a low groan he approached the church. He couldn’t see any movement around the door, but as he stepped on the first stair, he noticed how a light had been lit in the window of the church tower. So, there was somebody home.

He pulled his gun out - just in case - and stepped to the door, slowly pushing it in; it wasn’t even properly closed. Holding his weapon as steady as possible, Mike stepped in. It was pitch black. Grimacing, he fished his small flashlight out of his pocket, turning it on. The narthex was empty, only a few old benches left, waiting since god-knows how long, for people who never came.

Mike looked around and noticed a smaller entrance door. Stepping there, he glanced inside the nave and seeing no movement, he entered. Looking around, he lowered his gun a little. Rows of benches, hand-made pillars, a few old, wooden sculptures of Saints here and there, with their additional little plaques of info. Mike hummed, directing his flashlight at each of them. There was nothing unusual, really just a worn down little church. He didn’t even know that there was a church in this part of the town and he has been living here for a good 10 years now.

Getting deeper into the building, he started to measure the space in his head, trying to find the stairs into the attic. It was a small church so it was not many places where they could hide the way up. His hard guess was behind the main altar, so he made his way there, making sure he was as silent as possible.

As he arrived into the crossing, he stopped to take a quick look into both of the transept sides, that was when he noticed it. It wasn’t a big thing to notice, but it was strange on its own. On one side he saw an old Virgin Mary, the other held an equally old St. Joseph. Squinting, he glanced back at the other sculptures in the nave. All of them were old, but otherwise clean. The benches were left to rot, but every statue was in the best shape, not a single part missing or paint being spotty.

“What the fuck?” Mike heard himself whisper, but glanced in the direction of the main altar. The Jesus there was in the best shape possible. Mike shook his head, and stepped up to the main altar. He glanced at the sculpture, tilting his head a little. “Listen, if he is just a strange fan of mine I won’t hurt him, but otherwise… I can’t promise you anything. Don’t come after me later, okay?” with a smirk, he shook his head. Always an atheist.

Behind the altar, he noticed a small door, hidden from even the front rows. Getting more and more relaxed in this very strange situation, he lowered his gun completely as he entered the small door and there he found it. The stairs to the attic! According to the soft lights at the top of the stairs, he found what he was looking for.

He switched off his flashlight and started to climb still as silent as possible. He was about… 99,9% sure the stalker knew about him, but still. This time, he wanted to be the one hiding in the dark.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

He was around half of the stair when he heard some kind of a rustling under his boots. He froze in the middle of his movement - not wanting to be heard -, and looked down in a slight panic. Squinting, he leant down; a plastic bag? Okay, what now?!

He gently stepped off the bag and lifted it up in the weak light of the staircase. Mike’s eyes rounded as he recognized the object in his hand. It was a very strong bag with rows and rows of writing printed on it, informing the handler about the date, the place and the type of blood. 0-. Mike closed his eyes and opened them again, hoping that the plastic bag would… maybe miraculously turn into fairy dust and butterflies, but the plastic bag remained. Normally he was okay to see this bag, it was a useful little object, you know, saving lives here and there, but- this one was empty. Why the fuck was it emtpy, it was clearly used before. He glanced up at the top of the stairs. Okay what the fuck.

Taking a gulp of air, he stuffed the bag in his pocket and continued his way up. As he got to the last few steps, he first noticed a door on top of the stairs, and it being slightly open, he heard a soft sound. Stopping yet again, he tried to concentrate, and soon could make out the sound of fabric rustling and gentle tones of a piano.

Getting more and more confused, he finished his journey up, lifted his gun in front of himself, and without knocking or giving any warning, he burst into the attic, just to be greeted by a pair of green eyes fixed on him. He lifted his eyebrows. He has seen this look somewhere, but he couldn’t, for the love of god, tell where.

The eyes belonged to a - very - handsome face of a young man. He had elegant and sharp features, with a bit of arrogance hidden in his posture. He was without a doubt attractive, but Mike couldn’t care, because the young man had locks of ginger hair on his head, and who had that as well? His dear stalker. So he pointed the gun at the other, who was annoyingly calm.

“It took you long enough to get up the stairs. Might be the age,” said the stranger, with an amused little smirk. He looked away, down to the table and reaching out he poked on the phone laying on the surface. The soft piano stopped. “I started to get worried.”

Anger building in him, Mike gritted his teeth. “Who are you? Why are you following me? What do you want? What the fuck is this?!”

The stranger smiled at that, looking back at him, never noticing the gun. “My name is Olivier Flament. I have been following you, because I need to ask you a favour. I would like to ask for your help in an important matter. As for what… I believe this is my home.”

Struck by the strange honesty of the other Mike blinked a few, lowering his gun just a tiny bit. “What matter? Why were you following me?”

“I told you, I need your hel-”

Mike cut in. “Why were you following me everywhere for almost three months?”

The man fell silent, he glanced at the table. He almost seemed… shy?

“Spit it out!” Mike grumbled, making the other look up. His posture might have been calm, but his eyes were like the sea before the storm.

“I didn’t know how to approach you, see my lifesty-”

“So you decided to follow me, even with my family and when I try to catch you, you run? Almost not suspicious.”

Olivier looked at him for a few long seconds, trying to figure him out. It has been harder than he planned so far, and if he didn’t play it cool, he would get into a deep problem. “Look, I didn’t mean to scare you, but-”

“Oh you didn’t scare me.” Mike lifted his gun, pointing straight to the other’s head. “You made me angry. ”

The young man turned his head down, now looking guilty. “I didn’t mean to. I would never hurt you or your family, I swear to God. I need your help. Please, just listen-!”

Mike watched him, standing there, one hand on the table, leaning there a bit, trying to move away from him. He noticed something… inhuman in this man, something otherworldly. The posture, the face, the eyes… It was so strange. Not unpleasant, far from it, just odd.

The soldier lowered his gun a little, and took the plastic bag out of his pocket, throwing it in front of the other. “What is this crap?”

Looking down, Olivier hummed. “That’s my favourite. I probably had the same type back in the Dark Ages, and now I find it delicious.”

Mike’s grip on the gun tightened. “Quit the jokes, mate!”

The young man didn’t answer, he just glanced to the left. Following his eyes, Mike looked away, just to see a little fridge. It had an open cooler bag in front of it, what had about 10-15 similar blood packs in it. He looked at the man again, grimacing in disgust. “You are sick.”

The other shook his head. “I am really not. Don’t think that I enjoy drinking human blood in particular. It is not a very exciting diet after 800 years, but it does what it needs to, and still better than starving, or hunting and hurting the innocent.”

Mike glanced at the bags again, and then back at the man standing in front of him. “If you tell me, you are a fucking vampire, I will vomit.”

The sides of Olivier’s mouth pulled up into a gentle smile, and crossing his arms in front of him, he nodded. “I suppose… my secret’s out.”

“You are joking!” Mike blinked.

Olivier shook his head with that amused little smile. “No. And you didn’t vomit. Surprising.”

The soldier shook his head. “You are crazy!”

“Says the man who chased another through a town, gun held high, ready to murder.”

With an unamused grimace Mike rolled his eyes. “You should be happy that I’m just holding my gun and not using it.”

“Not to sound too smart, but that wouldn’t do too much harm on my body. See, this is the problem. As far as I know, I’m pretty undestroyable.”

Mike lifted an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Olivier nodded. “If you would like, I can show you,” before finishing, he already reached for a letter opener on his table. It looked sharp, and he held it out for Mike to see, then without a heartbeat, he pressed the edge into his own palm.

For reasons unknown, Mike immediately reached out, to catch his hands before he could hurt himself, but confusion hit him even more, when there was not a single drop of blood coming out of the wound. In fact, the raw flesh - or at least what was supposed to be the raw flesh - did not look the way it was supposed to look like. It was not red and healthy, but grey and… there wasn’t any blood. Not a single drop.

Mike slapped his palm across his mouth, and shutting his eyes, he took two steps back, turning his face away. There was no blood, there was no smell, there was nothing . Nothing human. What the fuck. Now he felt like vomiting. He looked up at Olivier. “What the fuck is… What!?”

The man looked at him and humming, he put down the letter opener. He picked up a piece of fabric, wrapped it around his hand. It didn’t really serve any purpose other than hiding the disturbing wound from Mike out of pure sympathy. It wasn’t an easy thing to see. “You seemed very confident in yourself just a second ago.”

“Fuck.” With a huge sigh, Mike held back his dinner, and taking a deep breath he adjusted his posture. “Okay. Okay. Let’s pretend, for a second, that I believe you. What do you really want? What kind of help do you need from me ? Do you want to eat me, or something? That is why am I here?”

Hearing this, Olivier suddenly seemed annoyed. “If you would just calm down a little, I would tell you everything!”

“Get on with it!” Mike shouted suddenly, with his gun held up again.

The man- or vampire- or what the fuck stood there, mouth slightly open, eyes helpless. He bit his bottom lip and turned his head down again, lifting both his hands in a soothing motion. “Please... “ he glanced up at him again, almost scared. “I know exactly how this sounds, alright? But I… I don’t want to cause harm to you, I swear. I wanted to introduce myself to you, but I have spent the last… forty-something years of my life being in- being alone, and I had no idea how to approach you! This is the truth, I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you, you are not my type! I do not even enjoy hunting humans, all that screaming and blood and waste…” Olivier shook his head slowly, looking Mike in the eyes. “I swear. I don’t want to eat you, I don’t want to harm you, I’m more than happy with those bags. I genuinely need your help!”

With jaws clenched, Mike watched his every move, considering his options. He slowly lowered his gun, and side-eyeing the vampire, he turned around to observe the surroundings. It was a way of getting used to the situation, and also it was a test of the other. He wanted to see how Olivier reacts to him in his own home, if it could even be called that. With a frown, he looked around.

The attic was spacious, with a few smaller windows built into the roof. It was divided into two, a smaller room, which reminded him of an office, that was where they were standing. It had a heavy, old table - Olivier waiting patiently beside that - pushed under a window, close to the wall, an equally old leather chair, a few cabinets with papers, candles, smaller and bigger containers, a small, locked chest, and other unusual stuff piled on them and the fridge with the fantastic blood bags in it.

The other half of the attic was just behind Olivier. Not knowing what to expect, Mike looked around. He didn’t see a bed or a coffin or anything where somebody would be able to rest comfortably, but he had a hard guess that Oliver - if he was truly what he said to be - didn’t really need sleep. However he saw an old couch and two nice armchairs in front of a- a- a bookshelf. Well. A bookshelf was a very, very weak expression. It wasn’t just one bookshelf, he saw at least three or four of them, and each one was stacked with books. And not just the shelves, no, there were books everywhere. Everywhere. It looked like a motherfucking library over there. Piles of books behind the couch, around the armchairs, stuffed into the window slots, put on the beams and around the columns. It was so messy, yet amazing, Mike couldn’t help but let an amused little snort out.

He looked back at Olivier, who was still standing next to the table, waiting for him, without a single movement. He didn’t take a breath, he didn’t blink. Sniffing, Mike lowered his gun completely. “A vampire?”

Olivier nodded.

“How old are you?”

“As far as I remember, I have been turned-” he hummed. “ around AD 750-850.”

Mike lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘around’?”

Olivier cleared his throat, looked away as if he was embarrassed. “We didn’t really have birth certificates back then and my memory is kind of blurry from a 1200 years of perspective, don’t judge me.”

Mike hummed. “Is this your real name?”

“I have been called many names over the years, I don’t know if you have noticed, but it’s sort of suspicious if somebody uses a name for 1200 years, but don’t worry. For those who I wish to get close to myself I am Olivier Flament, yes.”

“Why are you talking like this…? I’m a simple man.”

“Then you might know that old habits die hard.”

Not being able to hold back, Mike smirked at that. “Touché.”

Olivier nodded gently. “Would you like to ask anything else?”

“Who turned you? Are there more of you?”

Looking away, Olivier started to fidget with the phone - actually an iPhone - on his table. “I don’t really know who turned me and I don’t know about the others. To be honest, I don’t wish to have any connection with them anymore. I have had enough, especially since the so-called “Dracula” figure ruined our reputation in popular culture.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Mike almost burst out laughing. “You are- you are hurt by the movies?”

“Since they tell false facts, obviously yes.”

“Why don’t you correct them, then?”

Now it was Olivier’s turn to lift his eyebrow. “And how do you expect me to do that? March over, knock on the silver gates of Hollywood and say ‘Excuse me, we do not actually sparkle under the sunlight, says me, an actual vampire!’ or what? I’m not a fool. As soon as I tell the humans what I am, there would be one of these two options: one, they would want me to turn them into vampires as well, for the fun of living forever, or the second, they would panic as the herd of animals they are and chase me until they either catch or kill me. Not like they would succeed in any of these options, but it’s easier for me to just lay back in silence and busy myself with the old knowledge of the early ages.”

Mike, taken aback, just shut up for a few seconds, lifting his palms in a protective gesture, but it was for the looks only. He somehow did not feel the need to protect himself anymore, in fact, Oivier reacting so seriously to a simple joke put him at ease. He liked it here, and he found himself being interested in the other. It was still a far-fetched idea, and he was still 60% sure that he will wake up on the ground in his boat, with a few empty bottles of whiskey around him, but this wasn’t so bad after all. The vampire seemed almost nice, and he was never really down to judge at the first glance, so why not wait and hear him out?

Noticing his own rambling, Olivier fake-cleared his throat again and turned down his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I assume you have been saving this up since a very long time.”

“Indeed.”

With a small, amused smile Mike shrugged. “It’s okay. But if you don’t want to tell people what you are, why tell me?”

“I have heard about you before, and I trust that you won’t tell my secret to anybody. I believe you could help me with my problem. I know it is very hard for you to understand my reasons and drive, but I put my trust into you.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. “What do you need my help for?”

“I want you to help me die.”

Mike turned towards the man standing on his right, eyes wide with shock. He let his gaze wander, just for a second, on the other. His tall, proud posture, his handsome face, basking in the dim candle light, his gentle, green eyes now looking at him full with hope, expecting help. How could a so-called monster look this innocent, the soldier couldn’t fathom. Why would he want to die? And more importantly, why would he want to be killed by somebody like Mike?

In his wandering, he almost missed the way the other’s lips pulled into a small smile. “You won’t help me, will you?”

Lifting his chin a bit, Mike looked the other in the eyes and he couldn’t help, but think ‘what a waste’, but shook his head anyway. “I don’t enjoy murdering people, but if you have a good enough reason I will. But you have lots and lots of explaining to do before we get to it.”

The man seemed caught off guard- almost surprised for a second, but his smile widened as hope filled him even more.

Mike shook his head, looking away. What a waste. He didn’t like the idea of killing the other. He kind of started to like him in a very twisted way, but he understood why somebody would want to die after 1200 years of living in the dark.

Olivier stepped closer to him, offering his hand gently, a smile as bright as the sun.

Mike glanced away with a low sigh. “What have I gotten myself into? Mike Baker, by the way.”

“I know!” with a soft laugh, the vampire shook his hand. “I told you, I have heard about you. And as for what… Let’s just sit down, and let me tell you my story first, okay?”

Stepping back a little, Mike looked him in the eyes. After a long pause, he nodded. “Okay. You can start with how you know me.”

Olivier nodded, and stepped into the other part of the attic, gesturing towards one of the armchairs. “Have a seat.”

Mike put his gun on the big table and followed Olivier into the ‘living-room’. He looked around a bit, observing the piles of books here and there and with an amused smirk, he sat down. The armchair creaked under his weight and he frowned. “How long since you invited anybody here?”

Olivier looked at him, sitting down on the couch. “This is a fairly new place for me, truth to be told, I have only lived here for about ten years. But in the term of having interaction with humans and other vampires… It’s been just about thirty years or so. I prefer being alone.”

Nodding, Mike kicked off his shoes and put his legs on top of a strong pile of books. Olivier rolled his eyes with a smile, but he didn’t say anything. “So,” Mike began. “Why me?”

Fidgeting with his fingers, the vampire looked away, and then back at Mike. “I knew your grandfather, and also your dad.”

Let me know what you think!! <3 

#dragonwrites #dragontries #dualrainbow #siege-o-ween 2020 #r6s #rainbowsixsiege #fanfic #fanfiction #r6s Thatcher #r6s Lion #r6s Bandit #r6s Jäger

[uraichievents]

UraIchi PC4 2019 Masterlist

Here’s a list of all the works submitted for PC4! I’ve ordered them in by prompt number under each work type, and it looks like we came pretty close to finishing the whole table! Thank you to everyone who participated this year~

FANFICS

Third Eye Blind by DevinePhoenix [#02]

Long before Kisuke was blinded by Askin, his eyes had already been damaged.

Patchwork Soldier by DevinePhoenix [#02]

When they wake up, they will have to deal with what their decisions have wrought. He will have to cope with his injuries and Kisuke will have to cope with his scars and guilt. But they still have time before that morning of uncertainty. In the dusty twilight of the Soul King’s realm, they could rest together and dream of a better ending.

Death Gods by Chaos_Greymistchild [#03]

AU in which Kisuke is still a mad scientist with only slightly more morals than the rest of them, but Ichigo is a vampire/death-dealer/human hybrid, a legal executioner, and (still) the world’s most recent supernatural anomaly.

The long avaited encounter by SueGra [#04]

Kurosaki Ichigo left Karakura after he lost his power. Urahara Kisuke listened to Isshin and he broke up with Ichigo. Somebody killed the rogue shinigami and his partners. Urahara went after the person who killed them and he was surprised. Who was it?

Wrong Side of Reality by Starrie_Wolf [#06]

If there was one thing that every invader of Soul Society did wrong, it was that each and every one of them measured one's power by the strength of their reiatsu alone. And every single one of them failed, because they did not understand that to be truly powerful, one must first have the Means to ensure their plans succeed.

He, who has been watching from the shadows for a thousand years, refuses to make the same mistake.

By Invitation Only by FeelingFredly [#10]

“No weapons are allowed past this point.  Please move forward to the weapons check and place them in the tagged locker.  You will be given the code to retrieve them when you leave.”

Ichigo turned on his heel as if to follow the robot’s directive, only to stop and spin back, trench knife in one hand and katana in the other, the smooth swing of the blades separating the brassneck’s head from his body.

“I’m sorry,” he said, standing over the sparking remains, “but I refuse to make Aizen-sama’s acquaintance so underdressed.”

Kisuke snorted in his ear.  “No one is there to hear your dramatics, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo kicked the head to one side, like a soccer ball. “You know that you’re the only audience I need, Kisuke."

stay with me (until the sun rises) by Fox_the_Hermit [#12]

Ichigo is friends with a great deal of supernatural entities. The one monster under every bed in town is his favourite, though.

these dreams like ashes float away by howls [#12]

Ever since Ichigo refused to leave something well enough alone, a shadow man would visit him once, or twice, a month. (What he never realized was that there was more going on in those moments than the shadow man would reveal. For now, at least. He could never refuse Ichigo for long.)

Gambit without Guarantee by Starrie_Wolf [#18]

How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

new life, same shit by Chaos_Greymistchild [#19]

Not all knowledge is gained through the Gate of Truth. Not all reincarnates are born with their memories. Ichigo’s not sure how comfortable he is with this knowledge.

Arsenic by FeelingFredly [#20]

He was poison and he'd accepted that fact. Now if only everybody else would.

Police Tricycle (or: it’s not a buddy cop if I’m the third wheel, says Rukia) by Chaos_Greymistchild [#21]

Ichigo chases Szayelaporro Gantz down the highway in a high-speed car chase with a grenade launcher cameo. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Winds of Change (Tempest) by Sky_King [#24]

When the war is over and Ichigo has won, fate will come back to get her due.

Ichigo gambled and gave everything away in exchange for power, and finally the price paid has to be claimed.

(When the war is over, Kisuke finds himself adrift, too guilty to live, too guilty to die. He carries on, fueled by that single promise, trying to find a reason for being.And when he does, he'd sooner kill the Soul King himself than let it disappear, no matter the cost.)

Whip It Good by FeelingFredly [#25]

You didn't live a life like Kisuke's without developing a few interesting preferences, but he knew they weren't for everyone, and really, his relationship with Ichigo was more than he could have ever asked for--loving and supportive in ways he still wasn't sure he deserved. It was just very vanilla. Which was fine. Really.

So why he was "just visiting" at his old BDSM club?

The very bad, terrible, no good first few days of Junior SID Agent Dokugamine Riruka by Starrie_Wolf [#27]

Sometimes, Dokugamine Riruka wishes she could go back to her 22-year-old self and tell her to choose another department, any other department, she’s got the grades to take her pick.

Berry Nice by Chaos_Greymistchild [#28]

“Can I kiss you?"

“If you don’t,” Kisuke said with remarkable control, “I think I might do something regrettable.”

“Okay.”

Calling You (Maybe) by EternalEclipse [#29]

Ichigo never answers his phone, and Kisuke always does.

building a future (and tearing down the past) by EternalEclipse [#30]

At first, Ichigo had just been an invention of Kisuke's, nothing more than a gear to be moved. A pawn. It was only natural that after the war, Kisuke left him to his own devices--they'd won, which was the best he could ask for. As it turns out, once he starts making things for Ichigo instead of just countering Aizen, it's a hard habit to break. By the end of it, he won't even want to.

Or, five times Kisuke made things with Ichigo in mind, and one time Ichigo asked him to destroy something.

Companionship (Stay with Me) by Nikolaila [#31]

People are people, even in space. Sometimes the required conversations in relationships are hard to have but necessary to hold.

Tsuki no Tsuppane by Silmariën (Starrie_Wolf), Starrie_Wolf [#32]

They have scarcely begun to unravel the complex web of Aizen no Sōsuke's treason when Kisuke is made aware of another layer to the conspiracy, one that threatens to expose all the secrets he has not yet decided if he will share with Ichigo-no-mikoto.

Few enough people are willing to accept onmyōji, but even fewer will be willing to accept that their lover is not even human.

Work/Date Balance by Starrie_Wolf [#33]

Kisuke doesn't seem to really grasp the meaning of a date, but it's okay, Ichigo loves him anyway.

“So… are you doing your usual fainting damsel imitation, or shall I take care of it?”

(Interlude during their vacation in London.)

a breath of fresh air by Fox_the_Hermit [#34]

Ichigo refuses to let Kisuke win yet another round of the "I took a cute photo of you and I'll use it to fund my experiments" game. Mostly on principle.

The world is changing by Starrie_Wolf [#35]

They’ve been doing this for so long that Kisuke has no idea how to wake up in a world where he doesn’t need to prioritise the Hōgyoku over his family.

Interlude: the day after Aizen's defeat.

Accidental Pokèmon Acquisition by EternalEclipse [#36]

Ichigo had never wanted to be a pokèmon trainer. To be flat honest, the ghosts kept him busy enough. But when Monferno fell into his life with a burst of laughter and trouble, Ichigo is drawn into a side of the pokèmon world he didn't even know existed.

Or the one where there are both ghosts and pokèmon, the Gotei 13 is a government organization with as many checks and balances as ever, and Ichigo will do whatever it takes to keep his own safe.

Feeling Horny by Silmariën (Starrie_Wolf), Starrie_Wolf [#36]

When Urahara shoved Ichigo to Hirako to learn how to control his inner Hollow, Ichigo thought it meant Urahara wasn’t Hollowfied.

He was wrong.

the fear is eating you alive / so I'll be your reason, I'll be your shelter by Chaos_Greymistchild [#37]

Sometimes, Kisuke doesn’t remember where he is, or who he is in his own personal timeline. Sometimes, Ichigo is more Hollow and instinct than human. But that’s okay.

one-sided understanding by Angst_Distribution_Service (Fox_the_Hermit) [#37]

suspended animation (patiently waiting for the end) by Chaos_Greymistchild [#38]

Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck is new on the starship Zangetsu, piloted by Captain Kurosaki alongside his AI Urahara Kisuke, who seems to have an… unprecedented freedom on board the ship, if she was being entirely honest.

Freedom worth Fighting (for) by Starrie_Wolf [#39]

Things have a way of coming full circle...

You Haven't Lost Me by FeelingFredly [#40]

Ichigo has moved on. It doesn't matter if his Shinigami powers are gone--he's a weapon, and there was always a market for that skill set. Currently that skill set was being tasked to collect the oyabun's past due tribute from a troublesome shopkeeper.

Troublesome shopkeeper. No... it couldn't be.

What they don't understand by Starrie_Wolf [#42]

Ichigo comes back from winter break with bruises he can't explain and a significant other who looks to be much older than him.

His classmate thinks she's put two and two together.

With Affection by wynnebat [#44]

"Yoruichi asked me if I had any family," Ichigo says. His gaze rests on the courtyard and squad buildings across from them while Kisuke cannot look away. Ichigo's voice is even, but Kisuke knows better than that. Ichigo adds, wryly, "I told her all I needed was you."

painting in blood by Chaos_Greymistchild [#45]

“It’ll be fine.”

He hopes that that proves true.

You Don't Have a Soul, You Are a Soul (You Have a Body) by FeelingFredly [#47]

Kisuke has a disregard for his own safety a mile wide and it's enough to drive Ichigo mad. This time he finds the shopkeeper unconscious but not alone, and the woman with him has some very interesting things to say.

Thunder For Bells In This Church Of Two by Chaos_Greymistchild [#48]

“[Resonance for a human is] total, complete, irreversible blending” -- Bell Tolls, esama

For the shinigami, it is... less so.

wear your soul (outside your body) by Fox_the_Hermit [#48]

Ichigo has no idea how he ended up with someone so brilliant. Kisuke has no idea how he got lucky enough to end up with one of the best people he's ever met.

your heart doesn't beat (let me teach it to) by Fox_the_Hermit [#52]

Kisuke understands that his time to go has come. It's time to accept that he can't hang around forever. His dear friend Ichigo has agreed to help him with finding what is needed to help him move onwards, whatever that really means. (Except he’s not ready to let go.)

roots in my lungs, blooms on my tongue by Chaos_Greymistchild [#55]

Astilbes, dahlias, and Queen Anne’s Lace. Patience, devotion, sanctuary.

Will you become my... by SueGra [#57]

The war with Ywhach has ended two years ago. Everybody enjoying the peace. Suddenly all captains get an invitation to the Shiba compound because there is a new clan head? Who is she/he?

Happily Ever After by Starrie_Wolf [#58]

Ichigo wasn't expecting a happily ever after, but it seems like he could find a little peace at last.

Omega as Fish Oil by EternalEclipse [#59]

Yeah, Ichigo's an omega. He's fine with it, especially since some of the instincts that come along with it are useful for protecting his own. What he's not fine with are a bunch of shinigami noble knotheads deciding that he's up for the taking because of it. Luckily, he's got a Kisuke to help him set them straight.

You are my Sanity by OrangeTeaMoon [#60]

And so, it had taken Urahara Kisuke nearly 4 months, 1 week, 3 days and a direct run-in with an absolutely impossible apparition of Kurosaki Ichigo to realize that he had lost his mind.

reach the epilogue (and then take it from the top again) by Fox_the_Hermit [#61]

Ichigo's alive and healthy and whole. But too many people aren't (friends, family, the one single crush that hasn't had the time to get anywhere), and this isn't an epilogue to his story that's worth living in. He'd rather rewrite the whole damn thing from scratch.

Only the truth you want to see by Starrie_Wolf [#61]

Growing up as the daughter of a police detective father and a novelist mother, it’s no small wonder that Rika chose to study English Literature in university. The class is unavoidably small – even for Todai,finding students interested in pursuing a degree in the classics of a foreign country is a difficult matter.

Which makes all her classmates so unavoidably interesting.

Especially that Kurosaki Ichigo.

I'm a Certified Genius, I Swear by Chaos_Greymistchild [#64]

Kisuke’s not quite sure why he keeps getting gifts from the Shiba Clan Head, Shiba Ichigo, but— Hiyori please stop laughing please.

-0-

FANART

UraIchi PC4 Prompt #32 - Magic AU / Mythology AU / Fantasy AU by @ananfer [#32]

UraIchi PC4 Prompt #48 - Daemons AU by @junoagriffin [#48]

#Bleach #UraIchi #UraIchi Prompt Challenge 4 #psa

[rankdisasster]

thick as thieves

“I am going to give you angst because... let’s face it, we love it. two and five.” requested by @fortheloveofhargrove​

#2: “Close the door.”

#5: “Why are you helping me?” from dialogue prompts

warning(s): swearing

a/n: takes place in California, starting as Billy being a dickish 15 y/o. it goes on from there, you’ll know when there’s a little time skip. enjoy:)

—

“Jesus, what’s it gonna take to get you to stop squirming?”

“You are about to stick a needle in my ear, I think I’m allowed to be a little nervous. Won’tchu just cut me some slack, alright?” Billy snaps back at you, no doubt getting wound up because of the risk he’s taking doing this.

Billy has his arms tightly grasped around a throw pillow he stole from the couch, bracing himself for the upcoming pain of doom. His eyes have been squeezed shut as you take the melting ice cube between your fingers and delicately hold it up behind his earlobe. You’ve yet to even puncture him with the needle and he’s already sweating buckets. The teenage boy had asked you to hurry up and get it over with three times already, not even helping you out the slightest bit by staying still while bossing you around either. Typically, your role being the ‘smart one’ in your long lasting friendship would assign you the task of talking him out of wanting to do a foolish thing like this. On one hand, he had plenty of safer alternatives as opposed to going to you, an amateur, for getting the accessory punched in to his ear.

This ever changing dynamic of your platonic relationship had been set aside by the boy since you two started high school this year. He stopped taking the bus with you to and from school since his temperamental father started giving him lessons on how to drive. Another petty example of pretending he didn’t even know you was saying nothing when he passed by you in the halls, or stopped ringing you late at night when he needed help studying or just to talk. Other small things had added up to you barely hearing from him unless he wanted something from you; in this case, a free piercing job. It was hard to deny, but you’d refused to confess how your heart jumped at the opportunity of spending an evening with him again just like old times.

Unsurprisingly, the teenage boy didn’t bother making small talk about his day or giving you virtually any clue about the trouble he had been up to during these recent weeks ghosting you. Of course Billy didn’t care much for what you had to say either, he only wanted one thing and one thing only.

“Stop being a brat for five seconds, then I’ll cut you some slack,” you bite back. He’d rolled his eyes then gasped harshly at the sight of you picking up the freshly cleaned and heated needle from the coffee table. “Want me to count to three or surprise you?”

“Uh, surprise me.”

“Kay. What is this even for, anyway? Last I checked this one’s the gay ear,” you snort, watching him freeze up and widen his anxious blue eyes.

“Wait, WHAT!” he howled in a panic, giving you the perfect opportunity to stick the sharp end right through the lobe, watching him cringe and practically catch flies with his wide open mouth. “Ow, fuck!”

“You told me you wanted it to be a surprise,” you smugly point out, wiping your hands on a napkin after finishing the favor. He sends you a glare at your trickery before getting up and going to the mirror that hangs in your living room.

“Hell yeah. Not too shabby, Y/N. Thanks,” he smirks at his reflection, scoping out the brand new element to his ‘cool guy’ image. Not taking his eyes off his appearance, the boy continues fiddling with his hair and turning his head at different angles to inspect the fresh hole in his lobe. You’ve sat back and crossed your arms, rolling your eyes so far back at his disgusting vanity. He might as well be humping and kissing the mirror right in your own damn house. After getting noticed by all of the popular pretty girls and patted on the back by all the designated cool guys, he thinks his dick grew over ten feet in size or something, and you’ve been downgraded on his list of priorities.

Being the best of buds since elementary school, Billy’s had your back along every step of the way growing up. You’d write all the answers to tests on his forearm for him, he’d keep all the bullies away from you. Each of you would take turns sharing lunch every week. His favorite thing to gobble up at any given chance was your squeezable applesauce, and your favorite snack coming from his lunchbox was always string cheese. There was barely ever a moment you’d be seen without each other.

Middle school went by in a flash of painful and awkward moments, but despite all the friends he made in Little League Baseball, he for some reason still stuck around with you. Maybe you couldn’t do the same sleepovers like you used to as pre-pubescent children, but he’d still give you your favorite string cheese and hugged you tight whenever you wore a frown.

Now, both in your freshman year of high school, things weren’t as easily labeled as black or white. There were cliques and expectations that Billy abided by, and you just didn’t fit in with any of that. Instead of letting you down easy, it was more of a hurtful shock the day he decided to ditch you at lunch for the girls that had been eyeballing him during gym class. Now, not only did he try his best to bury your friendship somewhere deep and never touch it again, you’d went great lengths to avoid any confrontation with him or his posse.

That all just went to shit for the first time today, when he approached you about said earring. You didn’t know how to say no, and you weren’t sure you could if you tried.

“Okay, Kiefer Sutherland, you got what you asked. Why the hell would you want some douchey hanging earring anyway? That a new trend or somethin’ I don’t know about?” you ask, not hiding your judgement the slightest bit. He throws his denim jacket over his bare shoulder exposed from the muscle tee he’d been wearing, then gives you a cheeky grin before answering.

“Sammy Anderson from bio said it’d look good on me. You know her, brunette with the legs. She thinks it’s pretty gnarly,” he nods his head back and forth, sucking his bottom lip with his teeth before not long after snapping out of whatever daze he had been in.

“Since when did you even give a shit what people thought looked good on you?”

“Since they started actually telling me,” he shrugs, not caring how pathetic it may be that he went through all this trouble just for one off-hand comment some girl from class made. You hide your scoff with a forced laugh, walking passed him and bumping shoulders on your way to the kitchen. Billy furrows his brows at your attitude and the diss, following you to where you’ve been preparing a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios for yourself.

“‘S the matter with you, huh? I thought you wanted to hang out again,” he asks, confused by the conflicting mixed signals you’d been sending. You chomp on your Cheerios and take your time swallowing the satisfying bite before looking up at him.

“I never said that.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but who called whose house every night then turned into a jealous bummer as soon as one of them started making better friends?” he asks rhetorically, petting his chin and pretending like it’s some thought provoking question. You can’t believe the audacity he had calling you a jealous bummer when he left you for good without batting an eye at the loss of friendship. Your chair screeched as it dragged on the floor when you stood up out of it, keeping your bowl in your arms before showing him the door. You nod your head towards the exit wordlessly as Billy stubbornly stays put, not through with his point yet.

“Well, Kiefer, this bummer is asking you to leave. I got you your stupid fucking earring like I promised, and let’s hope you know how to keep it from getting infected, otherwise I’m done listening to you and your new inflated ego.” you finished, ending your speech with a slurp of the milk from your cereal bowl, waiting for him to take himself out. Billy calls it a day, shaking his head and saying more pussy accusations under his breath before making it to the door, stopping to invade your space.

“This better not be in the fuckin’ gay ear, or you’ll be hearing from me again, just so you know—“

And with that, you slammed the door in his face and locked it before sauntering back to the kitchen, carefree as you pour yourself another bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.

—

Your freshman year went by without anything to really mark it as a special year. Maybe you met a few new faces, people a year above your grade that were kind enough to show you around and give you a better outlook on what high school could be. Billy only gained more and more followers, becoming the alpha dog at only fifteen years old with eighteen-year-old’s wanting to have him or be him.

With the new earring you’d pierced for him, Sammy Anderson was always seen pawing at him like an annoying house cat, and he’d put on a show most likely just for your eyes in particular. To make you envy the brunette, Billy would strut around the halls he knew you walked through like a catwalk, hoping you’d see and think he was all that. Sammy, for some reason, couldn’t pass any ninth grade classes although she was a junior, she still shared a few periods with a freshman Billy. She was shameless about riding the fifteen-year-old’s dick, and had been made aware of you being the prime target for where and when they show their public displays of affection.

You really could give a shit about the drama he put you through anymore. Yeah, it really hurt having someone you stood by a good chunk of your life leave, but there was nothing you could do about it. Other than just find your place and where you belong on the food chain of high school, which wasn’t much to brag about. You had your humble few friends that were loyal and been told about your past with Billy Hargrove. They couldn’t believe with your personality and his transformation that you’d ever been affiliated with him in the first place, and honestly you couldn’t believe it either.

Sophomore year was starting now, and it was getting to be the season for those annoying high school dances that every movie or book goes on and on about. Less than thrilled but obligated to attend, the dance was in full swing when you’d arrived in your outfit of choice. Dressing up wasn’t ideal, but you’d made somewhat of an effort trying to be presentable for the expectations that these gatherings hold. After finding your group and huddling close together, you’d excused yourself for a bathroom break and walked down the empty and eerily quiet hall to the restrooms. You had no idea what you were in for when you stepped on someone’s foot that was completely covered by the dark.

“Christ! The fuck is your problem, huh?” the all too familiar voice had shouted in anger before the sound of runny sniffling followed. He pulled the foot you had stepped on further away so that you couldn’t do it again and cursed again under his breath. Of course, it was none other than your long lost bestest friend Billy.

“Jeez, sorry. Not my fault you’re sitting in the fuckin’ darkness,” you defend yourself, still terrified by the disadvantage you have being unable to see a goddamn thing. As if God himself had been listening to your thoughts, a dim light turned on and illuminated parts of the hallway, as well as a disheveled and evidently heartbroken Billy curled up on the floor, holding onto his knees. The tux he wore had been loosened, and his hair looked like he’d ran his fingers through it one too many times out of stress. He looked like a fucked up mess.

Just as you were staring him up and down, a stuttered exhale had fallen from the boy’s lungs as his hands desperately scrubbed at his watery eyes. It didn’t take a degree in psychology or whatever the fuck else to gather what’s going on here.

You approached him cautiously, as gentle as approaching a frightened deer, knowing how deeply sensitive and guarded Billy is at all times. The walls he’d built while playing the role of California’s resident fuckboy. You’d seen him cry only a handful of times, and that was mostly when you were kids and had excuses to cry about everything. Kid cut him in line, or made fun of the design on his lunchbox. Basic things that children often cry at, but you’d remembered the one night you saw him fall apart right in front of you the night his mom had fled without a trace. All the questions Billy and even you had about her whereabouts were still unanswered, but that never got brought up again after the breakdown he’d suffered through while huddled up in your arms. The poor thing was was so confused, not even knowing if his mom had kicked the bucket or just wanted the fuck away from her husband, even if that meant leaving her son.

Point is, it was always a rollercoaster when Billy got emotional, and you just so happened to walk right into him while he was in the middle of one of his fits.

“Oh. It’s you,” the teen grumbled, obviously disappointed at you being the one to catch him having an episode in the dark hallway outside the school’s dance.

“Hey, uh... What’s going on here?”

“I’m a fucking idiot who should know better is what’s going on. That’s exactly what you wanna hear though, isn’t it?” he hisses, dark and twisted as he fails to hide the runny nose and tears spurting down his cheeks. Immedietely forgetting all the shit you both went through freshman year, you bowed down to his level and sat by where he layed dejected and despondent on the ground.

“Not exactly what I wanna hear,” you murmur, looking at him before touching his arm with apprehension. When he didn’t shoo away from your grasp, you thanked God that Billy didn’t snap at you and tell you to piss off. You’d been pleasantly surprised at that moment when instead he leaned further into your touch, covering his face with his palm as he sniffles in misery.

“I see you put a new earring in, pretty kickass. Bet the ladies love it,” you admire the cheesy new gothic pendant that dangles from his ears. Anything to get his mind off of what’s troubling him will count as a win in your book.

“What ladies, you mean Sammy Anderson? She just dumped my ass in there and started dancing with some other white trash asshole. Figures,” he takes a red and white box out of the pocket of his suit and you notice that it’s Marlboro Red cigarettes. You weren’t in the loop of what he’d been up to since starting high school, but smoking seemed to be new. He lights it up and puffs on it like a natural, like he’d been doing that his entire life, and it’s a sad picture for you to see. The snot bleeding from his nostrils hasn’t quit, and you snatch a back up tissue from your bag and hand it over without thinking twice. The broken boy looks from the tissue then back to you a couple times before taking it and blowing his nose. When he dunks it in the trash can and makes it in, you cheer him on and give a lighthearted high five. After the brief moment of silliness is over, Billy looks over to you with bewilderment in his eyes.

“Why are you helping me?”

“People grow apart all the time, Billy. It’s the most natural thing in the world. That doesn’t mean I can’t care for your well being,” you reason, biting your tongue to keep from saying anything more that you may regret in the long run.

“Uh, yeah. Guess you’re right. I care about your like... well being and stuff too,” he mumbles, taking another drag of nicotine before offering you a hit.

You shake your head and hold up your hand.

“No thanks. I came here to use the restroom is all,” you move to get up from the floor before Billy is quick to join you.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just one thing real quick, I wanted to say sorry. All the shit I pulled last year wasn’t cool at all. But I’m always here for you too, yeah?” he confirms, gazing into your eyes making you freeze on the spot.

“It’s alright. I’m about to piss myself right now though, so I’m gonna go,” you chuckle, pointing towards the ladies restroom. The boy is quick to laugh with you, urging you to do your business.

“Wait, Y/N,” he calls out, standing at the end of the hall by the entrance to where the dance is still being held.

“Yeah?” you shout back, bladder close to giving out as you stand by to watch Billy fumble from the end of the hall before hushing:

“You look really beautiful tonight. Whoever you’re with is lucky as hell.”

—

Junior year comes, and you and Billy haven’t properly spoken since the dance when you’d caught him crying in the dark and accidently stepped on his foot.

He hadn’t calmed down on his ruthless antics, but they’re not directed towards antagonizing you, so that’s a plus. You had accepted that he just wasn’t apart of the path you’d been on and you weren’t apart of his. How the circle of life goes, or whatever.

Billy had found himself yet another new beau, Ashley something, her last name had escaped your mind. He’d still been just as obnoxious with his frequent PDA tendencies at school and elsewhere. You had shared a class with her last year, so you know at least this time she’s his age, but you don’t know anything deeper than that. He wouldn’t ignore you when you passed by each other in the halls, giving you a pointed look and a little wave, which you returned every time. Unbeknownst to you, his group that ruled the whole school always wondered how the hell he even knew you and why he’d never forgot to acknowledge you if he saw you anywhere. The blomde would just tell them to keep their fucking noses from his business and never mess with you or any of your friends.

On this night, for the first time in three years, Billy had invited you to come over, insisting actually. Over the phone he made it clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He chewed on his fingernails while anxiously chainsmoking, his leg tapping up and down so fast it might as well fall off. He’d been waiting for your arrival the last fifteen minutes, counting the minutes and even the seconds until you finally show up. It was a hasty knock on his bedroom door that made the boy throw himself out of the chair he’d been seated in and take a deep breath. Temporarily setting his smoke down on the window sill, he raised his voice when telling you to come in.

You’d opened the door and walked in like you’d never been here before. It was difficult for Billy to see, remembering all the days you used to come in and make yourself at home in his room. All the toy cars and dinosaurs he’d collected had disappeared, now replaced with various colognes and mountains of hair gel, as well as more jewelry strung around every surface. You were astonished seeing a set up of heavy weights in the corner too, but you’d neglected to notice him grow bigger and bulkier as he matured.

“Close the door,” he whispers, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans as your eyes got bigger at the serious tone the boy had used. You softly shut it all the way, unsure about what it is Billy wanted from you this time.

“So uh, you want me to pierce anything else? A nipple maybe?” you joke, trying to ease the unbearable tension that’s making the bedroom seem claustrophobic and stuffy. Billy doesn’t laugh, feeding more into the uneasy feeling stirring in your gut and instead sits on the edge of his bed and pats right next to him, signaling for you to take a seat. You swallow audibly before doing as you were told, crossing your arms and legs on the firm mattress, thinking it’ll somehow soothe how frightened you are of whatever he’s about to tell you.

“You want one?” he offers you another one of his Marlboro’s, this time a blue pack as opposed to the red’s he smoked at the school dance.

“No. I told you I didn’t smoke,” you remind him, which he nods in understanding.

“You don’t mind if I smoke in here though, do you?“

“Fucking A, just tell me what this is all about, Billy! You invite me over for the first time in years and you’re acting real fucking weird, so if you would just... just spit it out already—“

“I’m moving outta California.”

You pause, needing to get a better grip on your rapid beating heart that’s going as fast a drum solo from some rock band tune. Billy stares at you intently, waiting to see what your reaction will be like. When he receives nothing but a gawking expression still smothered on your face, he goes on to give you more details of his departure from California.

“I’m uh, I’m leaving. Overheard my old man talking on the phone, we’ll all be outta here by the end of the month. He wasn’t even planning on telling me until the day of,” Billy explains, his lip trembling up and down at the thought of leaving everything, his home, and especially you behind.

“W-Where?” you choke out, not knowing what the fuck to even say besides spouting the endless questions swarming your mind. Billy looks at you and copies what you did the night of the school dance when he was the one in pain, touching your arm and wrapping it with his palm. He rubs his thumb in circles there for a bit.

“Some shithole town in Indiana,” he answers before going on to the reason why he had invited you here other than just giving you the news. “I um, I wanna ask you to do something,” he stutters, one dramatic tear dropping down a cheek from his right eye as he holds your arm tight as if you’ll flee away if he ever let go.

“Sure, Bill. I’ll do anything,” your hand reaches to cup his cheek to comfort him, learning that touching him when he’s in distress always helps more than it hurts.

“Come with me, please,” he invokes, leaning further into your touch as the bridge he’s spent years building keeping everybody out shatters, leaving him wipe open and terrified of being left alone. Starting all over again his senior year in some dried up small town, without his childhood best friend roaming the same halls as he will. “I’m serious. You’ll... we can do it together. Just like old times, right?” he asks, pulling what looks to be your infamous favorite snack, a cheese stick from his back pocket and handing it over to you, hope in his eyes.

“Are you fucking insane?” you withdrawal from him, not taking the stick of cheese and waiting for the punchline of some sick joke he’s pulling. Billy cannot possibly be serious, his only bribe for you to come with him being some snack he used to give you as a kid. He had the balls to think he could perfectly replace your family and your friends just for his own selfish needs and a stick of cheese.

“No. Right now I’m sure as shit making way more sense that I ever have in the past three goddamn years, Y/N. I fucking love you, and the thought of being away from you is making me fucking sick,” the boy grimaces, wishing he could pull you close to him again but the chance of getting your permission isn’t likely.

“You.... what?”

“I know. But you love me too, I can see that you do.”

“Dude, your shroom dealer is amazing. Wanna hook me up sometime, or—“

“Stop fucking around and be straight with me, okay! There’s no way in hell any of this was friendly from the start, you don’t cheer up your cryin’ ex-best friend on the floor just because you’re some goddamn saint. You did it because that’s love, alright?” he stands up, pointing his finger at you as tears stream freely out of his broken blue eyes.

“This is a joke, right? I gotta be dreaming or something,” you squeeze your eyes shut and try pinching your arm in an attempt to wake up from alternate reality you’re helplessly trapped in. Billy gets down on his knees and grasps both your wrists in his heads, staring at you dead in the eye.

“Sammy Anderson didn’t mean fucking jack to me, okay. Same goes with Ashley, too. You’re it for me. Don’t you understand?”

“No, I don’t. You aren’t supposed to ditch who you love just to chase some tail! You left me, only coming to me if you needed something from me; now you want me to take some big leap of faith for you? After all you’ve done?”

Billy hangs his head in his hands in agony before pacing around the perimeter or his room back and forth. He doesn’t know what else to say, so logic has officially left the building. Now he’s receded to throwing up all his deep secrets hoping it’ll have some affect on you or make you do something, anything.

“Y’know, when I lost my virginity to Sammy in the chick’s bathroom at school... I thought of you the entire time. She didn’t even fuckin’ blink twice after I said your name instead a’ hers, she just kept going—“

You plug your ears, desperate to tune out the boy’s filthy story telling, throwing his own pillow at him to get him to knock it off. He catches it with a stealthy hand, keeping his grip on it as he listens to you whine and moan.

“Aw, c’mon man! we could’ve easily kept discussing this without any of your dirty—“

“Stop it. Stop stalling and give me an answer right here, right now. Tell me if you love me too.”

You scrape your scalp, dreading having this painful conversation, dreading giving him the ugly truth. Once upon a time if he would’ve done this sooner, your answer would’ve been different.

“I... I just can’t keep this up, Billy. I can’t do it anymore. I gave so many parts of myself up for you, but it’s too late now. I won’t throw everything I have here away just so you can use me when I’m convenient, alright? Fucking...” you look up, watching as your childhood best friend crumbles to the floor and hugs the pillow to his chest, eerily similar to the time you pierced his ear for him in the ninth grade. You swiftly sit up off of the bed, going down to his level again, just like the night of the school dance. Getting ready to give him more soothing, encouraging words, something like ‘it’ll be alright’ or a promise of visiting him in the near future, all of that gets ripped away from you when he makes his next move.

Without any warning whatsoever, Billy takes your jaw and smashes his lips to yours, forcefully pressing you further into him. The pillow he’d been clutching had fallen to the ground between the two of you.

This was the last fucking straw, and you’re exhausted to shit now.

You shove him off of you with a hundred percent of your power, wiping his saliva from your mouth with disgust and backing up to the other end of the bedroom, as far away as possible from the weeping boy.

“Stay the fuck off me. And have fun in Indiana, I’m sure you’ll be missed by all your fans at school.”

—

Billy is equally as antsy as he is pissed off when the Hargrove family makes their way to the airport, the boy staring out the window with a permanent worried look in his eye at how he left things with Y/N.

As he boards the plane, giving his younger step sibling Maxine a death glare for the window seat, he holds his gaze out the little window at the clouds surrounding the wing of the plane. When they land in Hawkins, Indiana, he’s still filled to the brim with regret at everything he’d done. He thinks of all the what if’s, like what if he hadn’t cared so much about his reputation, what if he’d kissed you sooner, what if, what if, what fucking if. The list goes on.

“People grow apart all the time, Billy. It’s the most natural thing in the world. That doesn’t mean I can’t care for your well being.”

He’ll hate himself for along time after using you, ignoring you, and ultimately abandoning you at the beginning of the hell that is high school. But that’s just the way it goes for guys like Billy. It could’ve gone the other way, too, such as following him to Indiana and loving him back after all. But that version’s just a figment of his imagination.

—

and then they all lived happily ever after and stuff. what I was trying to pull off was showing a meaningful friendship that started dying out and Billy’s transformation to douchebag was the perfect pitch for it. then for the tables to turn on who wants to be with who in the end was also what I wanted. I’m still working on more prompts and requests and stuff as usual ! thank you for everything:)

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things #billy hargrove

[ren-c-leyn]

To Duel a God...

 It’s been a while since I’ve done a short story for this blog, thought I might give it a try since I’m still under the weather but want to try to stick to the habit of writing. This is a fusion story that I’ve been squirreling away prompts for for a while. I’m excited to finally have enough pieces in place to write it.

 The prompts in question are these 1,2,3,4,5,6 by the always amazing @thependragonwritersguild, this one by @thewholekitandkabobble, these 1,2,3,4 by the lovely @givethispromptatry, and these 1,2 by @humdrummoloch. Thank you all for your hard work to make so many amazing prompts ^-^

Story warnings: This is a fight story, so there is fictional violence. It also mentions death in passing, but nothing in any great detail. There is a little swearing, as well.

~

 It started with an old memory; a tiny cry from the void of hollow emptiness that had been eating me alive since that living nightmare.

 Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t have to be any of those things to become a great hero. After all, heroes of legend are not the strongest or the wisest of us. They are those who had the selflessness and courage to do what was right.

 But I know I am not one of those people. I had never been one of those people. If I had been, I would have been able to save him. If I am now, I would be able to avenge them now.

 Perhaps my first warning that I still wasn’t one of those people should have been the way her face blanched at my statement and argued with me for an hour over it. Or, perhaps it should have been in my statement itself.

 I’m going to challenge a god to a duel at sunrise on the anniversary.

 Maybe they’d even add a line to the adventurer’s hand guide dedicated solely to warn against my insanity at the end of this: ‘Protip: Don’t challenge gods to duels.’

 “You must understand! It was a hard fought victory; a truce that you are threatening to tear apart!”

 “I don’t care. I promised nothing and was privy to no truce. I walk my own path and care little for the gods and their business.”

 My best friend, my former comrade, the woman I had shed sweat and blood and tears with just searched my face with a lost sort of expression, similar to the one we had both worn that day, the anniversary, as we stared at the piles of corpses stacked up to impossible heights.

 Eventually she sighed, shoulders sagging as her eyes closed.

 “Why do you always do this?” she asked, voice tired and raspy.

 “Why do you always ask me that when you know the answer you’ll get?”

 And those dull, rust-colored eyes opened partly again.

 “What’s going to happen to everything after you are gone?”

 “I dunno. I’ll be dead, my friend. Figure it out for yourself.”

 She snorted.

 “So you admit this will be what finally kills you?”

 “It’s more that I admit that I cannot guarantee it won’t, even with my so called talents. Still... can we really just sit back and say we’re fine with how things turned out in the end?”

 “Obviously you cannot, and I cannot stop you. Go then, Payback. Do what it is you do best. I won’t join in your foolishness, but I will stand witness to your duel. I trust it will take place in the usual ring?”

 A grim smile crept onto my face as I turned away from her desk and began to stride to the door.

 “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 With my friend and queen’s permission, or at least reluctant surrender, on the matter, I set about issuing my challenge. This proved to be the hard part. No priest or priestess in their right minds were willing to send my message to the war god, not even those of questionable sanity wanted to get involved, and several temples threw me out on my ear, quite literally. The last of which was the war god’s high temple itself. 

 Well, fine then. If I couldn’t get my challenge to the bastard through a third party, I’d just have to do it myself.

 I climbed up the pillars, ignoring the indignant shouts of priests and temple guardians as I scaled up the front of the so called holy site, clawed my way through the ornate carvings depicting great battles and heroes, and then finally drug my armored arse over the lip of the roofing to get on top of the building itself.

 Standing as straight as I could, I cupped my hands to my mouth and inhaled. Then, all at once, I roared up to the sky.

 “WAR GOD!!! I CHALLENGE YOU IN SINGLE COMBAT FOR THE HONOR OF MY FALLEN FRIENDS! COME TO THE HILL OF ROSES ON THE SUNRISE OF THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE DAY YOU BUTCHERED THEM LIKE THE COWARD YOU ARE AND I SHALL HONOR THEIR MEMORIES WITH YOUR HEAD!”

 Then, there was silence. A dead silence that was quite out of place for any part of the capital city. I wasn’t even sure if the people who heard me issue my challenge were breathing, but I couldn’t care less. They could hide in fear all they wanted, but I had faced god beasts and their other minions in the fields of battle during our war against the gods. I had looked servants of death in the eye, and even played cards with one during my queen’s negotiations for peace. There was nothing for me to fear from the other side.

 Still, I found the silence a bit uneasy. Was I being ignored? Usually, my opponents responded to my challenged rather quickly. For example, you know the wizard accepts your challenge when a crimson bolt strikes. You know a thieves’ guild leader accepts your challenge when you have a knife and a dead snake pinned to the inside of your inn door the next morning.But how does one know when a god decides to accept a challenge?

 Blood red lightening shot down from a cloudless sky and shattered an ancient oak that had been on the grounds for centuries.

 I guessed that answered my question. The bastard had heard me alright, and it looked like he accepted my challenge. A broad grin split my face. Good, this would be fun.

 Two weeks passed with nonstop training and uneasy anticipation. The nightmares of the past came and went in tides, mixing in with the present. Instead of falling victim to them, I used them to motivate myself, remind myself why I had to do this.

 Then, the fateful morning came, or rather, the pre-dawn darkness before a fateful morning came. The queen and I stood on my usual dueling grounds, a flat-topped hill crowned with blood-red roses. It was a fitting place to die... for my enemies. Neither of us said a word to each other as we watched the eastern sky, waiting for our old enemy to appear. 

 Just as the deep blues of night began to turn yellow, and rays of sunlight began to caress the rosebuds, we felt it. That familiar stomach-twisting sickness from raw power. Both of us tensed.

 Red lightening struck again, dancing in the center of the ring before us. It balled up, glowing brighter, and then went out entirely, revealing a tall man in strange armor made of heavenly metals and fangs and claws and hides of god beasts. A giant sword rested in his left hand, and a battle ax as broad as the queen’s shoulders rested in his right. Behind him was a cloaked figure I recognized as the commander of the war god’s army. She gave a nod to the queen and I, and we gave a nod back.

 “Well, mortal, I believe we have a score to settle. Yes?” the war god’s deep voice growled out slowly, mockingly. “It shouldn’t take us more than a minute.”

 I grinned up at him.

 “I would think not. I should have your ugly head ready for my wall in thirty seconds.”

 He howled out a laugh.

 “You think you can kill me?”

 “I think I can try and if I can’t then at least I can be an obstacle. I might even be able to make you bleed, or worse. Whose to know if we don’t fight?”

 He chuckled darkly with a smirk to match.

 “You will be lost in the land of the dead long before you make me bleed, mortal.”

 A dark smile of my own surfaced.

 “ I’m already as dead as my mercy. Come to think of it, you’re the one that killed me, on the inside anyways. You see, after you lose everything good in your life, all you can do is laugh. Laugh because you somehow managed to die along the way, but can’t remember where. But don’t worry, I have just enough mercy left in me to just make my vengeance killing you, instead of killing everyone you care about and turning you into a living ghost too.”

 He sneered at me.

 “Bold words for the empty shell of a pitiful creature. Don’t worry, I’ll put you out of your misery today. Witnesses! Begin the proceedings.”

 “Yes,” the queen and the general answered instantly.

 They both stepped back into the roses on opposite ends of the massive ring. Part of me wondered if they’d be okay, but it was a little late to take that into account now. They ran us through the dueling formalities, asking us to bow to each other, step back the appropriate number of steps, get into our stances, and then they began the count.

 “Three, two, one, you may begin.”

 They hadn’t even finished saying begin when the war god was bearing down on me, bringing both of his massive weapons down on each of my shoulders. I heard the queen scream, but I could only grin.

 Invincibility is a real good time. Whenever someone tries to maim you, they always end up taking the damage. I just wish I had clothes to support that fighting style. Well, the cost of this armor was nothing in comparison to the priceless look of shock on the dumbass’s face when his own divine weapons bounced off my bones and sunk into his shoulders.

 “H-how? What sorcerery is this?!” he hissed as he stumbled back.

 “Oh, I guess no one told you. What a pity, for you. I’m the last person you want to fight. Every time you hurt me, it just reverberates back to you. My friends call me Payback.”

 He laughed.

 “I see, I guess I’ll have to stop fighting you like a mortal, and fight you as an equal!”

 Lightening struck me and I felt it burn down to my bones. His weapons glowed red and he swung at me. Instinct kicked in and my body jerked out of the way, but the sword still caught my hand, leaving the first wound I had received on a battlefield in years.I retaliated with my own blade, going after joints and thinner spots of the armor. He blocked, dodged, countered, I ducked, rolled, and stabbed.

 The longer the deadly dance of steel and lightening strikes went, the more of my blood dripped onto the trampled grass and hardened earth.

 Ah. The one person I can’t defeat. Lovely.

 And despite myself, I started laughing at the thought. Laughing as I rolled under his ax’s head and came up right in front of him, only to be kicked in the gut by the boot. I went down, and red lightening made sure I stayed down. As I laid there, jerking uncontrollably, I heard the heavily armored boots advancing on me.

 Then, there was a bright white light.

 “Enough,” a woman’s voice echoed.

 “Out of my way, Life, the punk challenged me, not you.”

 “The battle has been decided, War, lay down your arms.”

 “It has not ended, it was a duel to the death.”

 I heard her laugh, laugh right in his face. Had to hand it to her, she had nerve. I respected that. As much as a person spasming in the dirt can respect anything, of course.

 “What’s so funny?” War demanded.

 “In accordance to the treaty we made with the humans, duels to the death are prohibited.”

 “Then why did you allow him to issue the challenge?!”

 “I assumed to accepted knowing that you weren’t allowed to kill.”

 “And if that mortal were to have defeated me, would you be hovering here in my defense as well?” he demanded.

 “Of course, of course, it is my duty to uphold the treaty. Now take your bow, do your boasting, and let us return.”

 I blacked out about half way through his big victory speech. Whether it was from boredom or the lightening still working its way through my body, I couldn’t say.

 When I woke up, I was laying on the floor in the queen’s office while she scribbled something down with her quill.

 “Still breathing?” she asked after a moment.

 “Yeah....”

 “Good.”

 There was a long stretch of silence between the tense good and the end of whatever it was she was writing. When she put the quill down, though, I knew I was in trouble. She slowly turned in her chair, rust eyes narrowing at me.

 “You know what? I’m gonna say it: you deserved that. You deserved all of that, including the awful speech he gave at the end of your duel. What kind of idiot challenges the war god to single combat? He’s the god of combat you twit!”

 And it was half way through her speech that I realized Life had even less mercy than I did.

#my writing #short story #fiction #fantasy #high fantasy #angst #battle scene #writeblr #writer #am writing #long short story #a story by Ren

[essythewolf]

Fictober Day 7

Prompt: “No worries, we still have time.”

Fanfiction - Enderal

Playing catch up right now due to work but it’s all good. Enjoy!

Fogville lived up to its name. A thick stream of fog encompassed the entire town and surrounding area that she could hardly see three feet in front of her. Thankfully the Myrad she rode easily navigated the grey soup to its tower nearby without incident. She gave the great, four-eyed beast a gentle pat on its snout before climbing the rocky hill to town.

Master Firespark said that key to the Living Temple was hidden away here. A key to an ancient Pyrean Temple was hidden away in an abandoned ghost town. Well, the Enderaleans didn’t need to make sense.

The closer she got, the more she could see the gate that loomed ahead. Large doors sat haphazardly on their hinges in splinters. On her way up she passed siege equipment; broken battering rams littered the town’s approach. What happened here?

She passed underneath the broken gates and recoiled by a stench wafting further in. Death. Like a mix of rotting meat that has sat too long in the sun and unwashed bodies put together. She found the source of the smell around one of the bends. A body lay face down but the corpse did not look human. Its skin was grey and covered in pustules, long gnarled fingers still curled around a savage looking axe. When she turned the corpse over with her foot she recoiled again. It’s face was scrunched with many wrinkles and a sagging mouth. Red, beady eyes stared blankly into the sky, its pupil so dilated she only saw black pin pricks at its center. She quickly moved on, keeping her bow on hand just in case there were more.

She rounded another bend and up the hill. The houses looked more and more intact the further she went. And more lofty. FInally she came upon a clearing, pillars surrounded a well and at the far end was the largest building in the area, most likely the town hall. Two figures stood in the clearing. She recognized one wearing a blue coat. He turned to her, hands flashed to the hilts of his daggers then relaxed when he realized who it was.

“Ah, there she is. Told you she’d get here no problem.”

“Blasted, blistering blazes! What took you so long? We’ve been waiting for ages.” The other figure clad in green robes turned to her. His long beard twitched with annoyance.

Jespar raised an eyebrow at the old mage. “But you only just-”

“Nevermind you! Come here.” Master Firespark gestured to both of them to come closer. He explained to them what they needed to find. A red orb, similar in likeness to a ruby, was hidden in one of the buildings. They were to find it, then travel north into a crystal forest where the temple would be. Lea perked up at the opportunity to see such a wonder but Firespark waved it off.

“It’s nothing to revel over. You’re more likely to go blind in that forest with all the snow and light.”

When he’d finished he trumped off, legs moving with purpose. Or impatience. Most likely both, Lea thought.

“So…” she turned to Jespar.

“So,” he shrugged, “Why don’t you check the town hall? I’ll look around here and the buildings further out.”

“Sure,” she paused, “were you expecting something else when you saw me?”

He grimaced, “Did you see the Arp on your way in?”

“Arp?” Her eyebrows knitted in confusion, “You mean that...grey creature?”

He nodded, “Yeah, ugly things. They tend to flock to places like this. I’d keep your guard up around here just in case.”

“Duly noted.” Before they could part ways however, she tugged on his coat and asked, “So, know anything about this place?”

Jespar went on a lengthy explanation of the town’s bloody history. He claimed to be fascinated by Fogville’s circumstances and looked pleased with himself when he finished the story. Mad townsfolk, disappearing travelers, bloody rituals and sacrifices. Even a reference to an infamous serial killer. It all culminated on a full-scale siege of the town by the Keepers of Ark. She was surprised by the depth of knowledge he possessed. It was that same surprise when he explained how the ‘sea of eventualities’ worked when he first introduced her to Master Firespark. He was no mage or scholar but he knew the in and outs of the Order, the Arcanists, and much of the history surrounding Enderal.

“The perks of growing up a noble. It’s one good habit that I’ve kept up at least.”

“Reading?”

“Being well-informed.” He stroked at his chin. “It’s kept me alive on more than one occasion. Now let’s find that key.”

***********

Finding the key was easy. There were more Arps inside the town hall but she easily dispatched them with her bow. Clumsy creatures charged in front of her as easy targets. The orb, now safely tucked in her satchel, was locked in a vault that was easy to pick. She silently thanked Meagar Ironford for his lessons on locks.

The hard part was getting caught in a storm on their way up the crystal forest. They had to cross Fogstone Bridge that led them towards the Frostcliff Mountains then take a path left at the Tavern and Myrad Tower up the ways. Snow fell just as they cleared the bridge but the higher they climbed the more intense it got. Lea sidled closer and closer to Jespar until she latched onto his belt to keep from getting blown away. Even the cover of trees did nothing to spare them from the sudden gusts of icy wind.

“Tavern should be close! Stay close to me okay?!” Jespar hooked one arm around Lea’s small frame and guided her through the snow storm. Lea huddled as close to him as she could get without impeding his steps.

Ahead, they could make out winking, yellow lights of the Frostcliff Tavern. He hauled her along, half-lifting, half-dragging, until the front doors were in arms reach. One of the maids ushered them inside and slammed the door behind them. The howling wind was replaced with buzzing talk and a bard fitting away on a lute next to a huge fireplace.

“By Malphas, what are you two thinking, wandering out there in a storm?!” She helped the two dust the thick layer of snow that caked on to their leathers.

Jespar slowly undid himself from Lea. His fingers had curled around her side so stiffly, she wasn’t sure he’d be able to pry them off of her. Blazes, she was freezing. Both of them shivered violently but Jespar was handling it better than she was. He flexed his fingers and thanked the maid for letting them in.

“I-I d-don’t think I-I l-like th-the snow any-ny-more.” She tried to set her jaw but her teeth still clacked together.

The maid snorted beside her, “Aye lass. It’s pretty enough but just as deadly as the wildlife. Exposure kills more than the wolves.”

Jespar laughed, even if it came out huffed and winded. The maid led them to a table close the large fireplace. Mulled wine and hot stew. Enough to warm their bones and ride out the snow storm.

“You think Firespark is out there?” Lea asked. She kept her goblet close to her chest, swirling its contents and watched the little whirlpools she made.

Jespar sipped from his own and glanced out the nearby window. Snow fell sideways outside but the din of the tavern set him in a stupor.

“I’m sure he’s fine. He’s old but I don’t think a snow storm is going to slow Old Bushybeard down.” He grinned at her. “He’s probably already there, safe from the storm and tapping his foot waiting for us to show up.”

“Sounds about right,” she giggled into her wine.

They settled into comfortable silence. Lea carefully sipped her wine, letting the warmth spread from her fingertips to her toes. Jespar pulled out his pipe and lit it. The smoke added to the haze within and Lea found it hard to keep her head up.

She liked this. The warmth, the wine, being normal. In that moment, She wasn’t the Prophetess anymore. Just Lea. She looked at Jespar; his eyes half-lidded, smoke trailing from his lips as his head dipped in time with the bard’s lute. She watched the light from the fireplace color his silver locks orange and yellow and the way the shadows danced on his face. She envied him. How easy he made everything look. And how good he looked doing it. Heat rose to her cheeks that was not relevant to her wine and she turned away to look out a window. She let her mind wander instead to seeing the crystal forest and the Living Temple. She doubted she’d go blind at the sight. There was another brief lapse in song then bard played a ballad she liked. “The Winter Sky”. Seemed fitting right now.

The snow stopped falling but the light faded outside.

“Helloooo? Is my fair lady there?”

“Wh-what?”

Sea blue eyes crinkled with amusement. “You look ready to drop. I’ll go ahead and get us a room for the night. We can start fresh tomorrow morning.”

She stared down into her now-empty goblet, flushed with embarrassment. Sleep sounded nice...and terrifying. “Uh. The storm is letting up. Shouldn’t we go before Firespark comes looking for us?”

Jespar motioned for her to follow and led her to the barkeep’s counter, “No worries, we still have time. And getting you into bed won’t be that hard anyway.” He winked at her.

She coughed and looked everywhere else that wasn’t his face, “Gods, you’re terrible. Keep this up and you’re sleeping on the floor treasure hunter.”

#fictober18 #fanfiction #enderal #jespar dal'varek #leanara #essywrites #sorry i'm late

[rainbowdragonball]

Everybody wants to be a cat, cause a cat’s the only cat who knows where it’s at

Thank you @lotoliria for the word prompt "Pentagram"!

"Aria are you really gonna do this? I mean making magic pumpkin dogs and a baby out of thin air on accident is one thing. But this right here is the real deal." Omarion said with a huff while leaning against one the trees in the backyard of Caroline's house. Aria rolled her eyes and didn't bother to respond to Omarion's worrying, and instead focused her attention on finishing creating a pentagram on the ground (with a can of salt she had taken from the kitchen without catching Caroline's attention thank God).

"And besides what are you even trying to accomplish by doing this anyway, or is it just all for shits and giggles?" Omarion continued, not all that bothered by Aria flat out ignoring him. "I'm trying to see if I can summon something that was buried here a long time ago. I was doing some reading in the library earlier and it turns out that Mrs Caroline's house, is buried a feet yards away from a pet cemetery that's located in those thick woods over there. You know where Diane had found the pumpkin that later turned into Casper." Aria explained while rubbing her hands together, which then started to spark and glow bright green with her magic.

Before Omarion had a chance to ask Aria anymore questions, she shot her magic right at the Pentagram. It immediately began to glow bright green in response and the ground started to rumble and shake. The lines of the pentagram started to wiggle and shake like worms, and then began swirling in a continuous motion. That's when the screaming, no howling as if someone was being repeatedly stabbed with something sharp and jagged began.

The wind started blowing aggressively and even thunder began rolling in the sky. It wasn't until something large and white shoot out of the vortex like a bat out of hell, that everything calmed down all at once with a snap. Both Aria and Omarion had fallen down to the ground when all the chaos had started, and were shocked into stillness when the white blob that resulted from Aria's spell turned out to be an animal.

It was a fat medium sized transparent cat with wide flat face, with a glowing red nose and eyes to match. It's toe beans were also red and its ears where straight and pointed, with a tail that was long and floppy. Even though it's barely any light outside thanks to the moon being a crescent, it's body seemed to glitter and shimmer. Omarion snorted and fell back onto the ground with a loud plop and groaned. "Of course you're the only girl I know who's crazy enough to summon a ghost cat of all things." He gripped with a voice that was filled with fondness but also a great deal of exasperation in it as well.

#my story slices

[faustianexchange-blog]

What’s Up Demons, It’s Ya Boys

For: somniiari Author: Wife-of-Queen’s-Watchdog Pairings/Character: Sebastian, OC, RC, implied Sebastian/Agni Warnings: alcohol mention Prompt: Modern AU Phantomhive twins as fake paranormal investigators, claiming their caretaker Sebastian is a demon. Author’s Notes: My attempt to modernize these characters may have made them a bit OOC, and due to the fact that we still don’t know much about Real Ciel (including his name), I had to get a little creative. i hope this is still enjoyable! It was a lot of fun to write! 

“Hey guys – bro, come get in the video! Hey guys, It’s the Phantomhive twins again, back with another paranormal investigation video for you!” Two boys, nearly identical in appearance, appear on shaky video footage. The clip was obviously filmed on somebody’s phone, and the less enthusiastic of the two boys was half cut out of the shot. “This video’s gonna be a really good one, because we’ve finally gotten the opportunity to investigate someone we’ve been meaning to catch for a while. Now, Mom and Dad went out to, uh…” The boy who had been talking to the camera frowned slightly and turned to his brother, who smiled at him expectantly. “Where did they say they were going?”

 “They went with Aunt Francis and Uncle Alexis into London for the weekend. I’m pretty sure they told us that like three times…” Ciel shrugged and grinned cheekily at the camera again. “Well, the point is they left us with this guy Sebastian, and we’re confident that he’s a demon. Now, we-” “-You’re confident that he’s a demon, I’m not totally sold on that.” Ciel was cut off by his brother’s interjection, and turned to him again. “You said you agreed with me!” “I said that because you wouldn’t stop talking about it and I thought it would get you to be quiet.” The boy looked at the camera disdainfully. “It didn’t.” Ciel Phantomhive sighed and clamped his hand over the camera lens and the clip cut off.

                The next shot was similar to the last one, except this time Ciel’s brother was wearing a pained smile and was rubbing his shoulder where he had apparently been punched in an attempt to get him to play along. “Anyways, like I was saying. We’ve got good reason to believe that this Sebastian guy’s a demon. Bro, read off the evidence!” The other boy stopped rubbing his arm and whipped out his phone, turning it to show an outdated looking webpage entitled, “Signs of a Demon in Disguise.” “First, we’ve got ‘Aversion to Spirituality.’” Ciel nodded. “We’ve still got to test that one actually. Read the next one!” “Uh… ‘Alcoholism or Drug abuse.’” Ciel’s eyes lit up. “Oh, oh! One time, after our parents got back from some trip they were on where Sebastian was watching us, they invited him to have some drinks with them, and he did!” “That doesn’t mean anything. He was probably just being polite.  That doesn’t mean he’s an alcoholic.” “But it doesn’t mean he’s not! Next point, please.” There was a pause while the voice of reason sighed in exasperation, then the words, “Supernatural Knowledge.” “Okay, so there was that time when you were scared that there was a monster under the bed, and Sebastian didn’t even have to look under there and he knew that there wasn’t. And then he was like “monsters don’t hide under beds anymore. These days they tend to wait outside the window for someone to fall asleep and then they come inside.’” “Ciel, that was you, not me! You were the one who was scared of the monster! And he was just messing with you! He was joking- AAAAHHH!”

                Both boys screamed as the door behind them flew open and a tall, unsettlingly handsome man stood in the doorway. He looked surprised at their reaction, but then smiled wryly in amusement. “Telling ghost stories, are we?” the man asked. The video footage became extremely blurry as the camera was hurriedly pulled behind Ciel Phantomhive’s back. “N-No! We were just… playing a game!” “What do you want, Sebastian?” the boys responded, speaking over each other. Sebastian, perplexed, paused for a second before saying, “I came to tell you the frozen pizzas are done.” The boys were silent. One of them began to say “thank you” as the footage cut off.

                The footage picks up with a view of the underside of the dining table, shaking slightly as the camera was held in secret under the table. “What’s the matter with you two today? You’re usually more rambunctious than this. Especially you, Ciel.” Sebastian’s voice, polite yet amused. There’s a stuttering clunk as two plates are placed on the tabletop. “We’re just…tired. Are you not having any pizza, Sebastian?” One of the boys asked. “No, I don’t eat this type of thing. I don’t see how you people do, either.” A boy’s hushed voice can be heard whispering, “You people…?” and was cut off by the other boy’s hurried “Shhh!”

                The video blurs as the camera is retrieved from under the table, and is reoriented towards Sebastian, who has his back turned to the table as he washes his hands in the sink. There’s a zoom in on a strange tattoo on his hand. Ciel reached over to nudge his brother, then points at the older man’s hand. “What is that?” Ciel whispers louder than he meant to on accident. “What’s what? My tattoo?” Sebastian asked, turning back to the boys and frowning slightly when he notices the phone trained towards him. “It’s a pentagram, specifically the one we use as the logo of the band I’m in. You could have just asked, you know. No need to gossip.” Sebastian wipes his hands on a dishrag and sits down across from the boys. “Neither of you have touched your pizza.” He leans forward, placing his chin in his hands. “Why do I get the feeling you’re deathly afraid of me?” The footage shakes as the phone is hurriedly removed, but stops at the sound of Sebastian’s voice. “No, no, keep it out! We’ll pretend this is an interview. You two can ask me any questions you like, and I’ll try to convince you that I’m mostly nonthreatening.” The two boys look at each other, before hesitantly saying “…okay,” in unison.

                “What’s your opinion on alcohol?” Sebastian raises his eyebrows. “My opinion on…? Neutral, I suppose. That’s a strange question to ask. I was expecting something more along the lines of ‘what’s your favorite color?’” A pause. “Well, what is your favorite color?” Ciel asks. Sebastian gives a short laugh. “I don’t know how to describe it. It doesn’t have a name that you would understand.” The boys stare at Sebastian, who flashes brilliantly white teeth at them in a sort of half-smile. “Next question, if you please.” Ciel asks the next question. “What do you know about vampires?” The man thinks for a moment. “Can’t say I’ve ever met one personally. From what I’ve heard they’re delightful conversationalists, if a bit self-involved. Werewolves, on the other hand. Stupid, terribly smelly creatures. If you’ve met one you’ve met them all.” Both boys sit in shocked silence again. “You’re messing with us.” Sebastian only smiles.

                Ciel’s brother finally pipes up. “What do you identify as religiously?” “Not applicable.” “Huh?” “I said, ‘not applicable.’ I’ve never given religion much thought. Don’t see a reason to. That’s an odd question as well.” Suddenly, Ciel hands his phone to his brother, and then runs into the next room, returning with a large book. He holds it out to Sebastian, who peers down his nose at it. “Do you know what this is?” Ciel asks. Sebastian frowns. “That’s the Bible. Why?” Ciel thrusts the book towards the man. “Take it.” Sebastian moves away from it, throwing up his hands, which are covered in tomato sauce. “Oh, no, I still have some pizza on my hands. Don’t want to ruin your parent’s book.” The boy holding the camera audibly gasps. “But you just washed your hands!” Sebastian, once again at the sink, turns to the boy and smiles brightly. “Must have missed a spot.” Ciel looks at his brother in alarm, and sits back down, still clutching the Bible tightly.  “That’s really freaky.” The boy mouths silently. Sebastian chuckles, making both boys jump.

                “I seem to have you boys convinced I’m some sort of monster. A being from another world, perhaps? Well, I can’t imagine what I could have done to put that thought into your little heads, but I’ll tell you this: My name is Sebastian Michealis, I have five beautiful cats, I enjoy cooking and experimenting with recipes, I can play three different instruments, and I have great respect for and other inclinations towards a wonderful, and might I add, highly religious man named Agni. If any of those facts about me seem particularly monstrous, I’ll have to admit that you’ve gotten me figured out, and for that I applaud you. If not, well, it seems I’m just one hell of an ordinary man.” The two boys glance at each other. “Point taken.”

                The next shot is the same as the first, with the two boys standing in a bedroom. Ciel looks disappointed, the other boy looks smug, but they both appear a bit rattled. Ciel speaks first. “Hey guys. Uh, so we didn’t really prove anything like we wanted to. But, on the one hand, we did-“ “Bro, we didn’t accomplish anything. We’re not gonna post the video, so there’s no point in filming an outro.” Ciel sighs as he realizes his brother is right. The footage cuts off as the camera is suddenly powered down.

                The final shot starts off dark, and just as it starts to seem like nothing else will happen, a single flame flickers to life. Its glow reveals that it is dancing on the fingertip of none other than Sebastian Michealis, smiling slyly. He bursts into a grin, and as this happens his eyes begin to glow red, as if they too are on fire. His hair blows around his face in an invisible wind, and his steadily widening smile gradually becomes pointed with shark-like teeth. The only audio is a crackling, howling sound, like a mix between a windstorm and television static. It increases in intensity as the flame grows brighter and the man on screen morphs into a monster, so slowly it isn’t noticeable as it’s changing, like the hands of a clock. Just as it can’t seem to continue any longer, there is the sound of a doorbell, and instantly Sebastian has returned to his human form, and the flame is extinguished. His surprise is replaced with a smirk, and he looks into the camera. “Parents are home.” His voice says, though his mouth doesn’t move. Footage cuts out. End of video.      

#Kuroshitsuji #Black Butler #Ciel Phantomhive #Sebastian Michaelis #Astre Phantomhive #wifeofqueenswatchdog #somniiari #Ciel's Death Day 2018 #fanfiction #submission