#Actually this goes for Nyx as well but in like a “Getting a fresh start type of way” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

barafishu · 4 years

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Glorified Jail: Part 1

Here it is, I finally posted something! I’ve had this in my drafts for so long that it feels good to finally put it out there for someone to read. Now, this is going to have parts to it (which I’m still polishing). But I’d like to thank everyone for being so kind and patient with me. So, without further ado, here you go! Enjoy!

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Male Reader x Deer Minotaur (Nyx)

I was walking to my job, it just being another of work for me. I walked up some old, metal stairs to where all the workers go. When I walked in, I saw the costume designer with pins in his mouth. "Early as always, Jiàn," He spoke through clenched teeth. "Of course, gotta set an example for the other performers," I replied. "That's my boy!" I turned to see my boss, Catherine Valdez. "It's almost time for everybody else to start showing up, so go get ready." She said as she lovingly patted my shoulder. I hummed and left to go ready in the makeup room. I made a beeline for the clothesline and pulled out my outfit. I grinned in excitement as I began to strip.

After I was "suited" up, the next thing to do was apply makeup. I hardly need any because I have a wonderful complexion, but I do put on some concealer for some blemishes, do my brows, eyes, and put lip gloss on. When I'm ready to go on, Catherine came in to see if I was ready. I turned around to look at her. "You look sexy, as usual," She said and I smiled softly. "Thanks." I stood up and walked to stand in front of her. "Let's get going, hot stuff." She teased and I chuckled as I followed her out into the den. The place was bathed in red, as usual. Patrons were seated in their seats, drinking to their heart's content. Alistair's voice huskily spoke throughout the room through a speaker.

"Hey everyone, and welcome to Red Horizons! Don't forget, tonight is guys night, so drinks for the men are all half price. And now, our next dancer is ready to come out for you! Someone better call a priest, cause it's gettin' sinful in here with this demon, Incubus!" I heard cheers and whistles from the crowd. "It's showtime Jiàn, give 'em a good show," Catherine said as she gave me a wink before she walked away. A promiscuous smile graced my features as I stepped out from behind the curtain and approached the pole in the middle of the room. The crowd erupted with cheers and whistles when I grabbed the pole, swinging myself skillfully around on it.

I moved with grace on the stage, gripping the pole as I spun myself around it. After a few minutes, I started unbuttoning my billowy, white shirt with my back to the pole. I slipped my shirt off as I moved down the pole to my knees before jumped back up and using my shirt now to swing around on the pole before tossing it aside. More whistling erupted from the crowd, and a handful of bills landed on the stage. I continued to tease the crowd, making sure to really show off my figure. "Let's hear it for Incubus! He'll be back later tonight to put on another show for you guys, so stick around! For now, sit back, grab a cool drink and relax. We'll have another show for you guys starting in just a bit!"

With another spin on the pole, I crouched down to father the bills on the stage. With my back to everyone. Several hands reached out to cop a feel of my butt, and when I wagged it around, those same hands slipped more bills under my strap. After collecting all my money, I disappeared into the back to put it away and touch up my makeup and to drink some water. It's my break now, but I wanted to check in with Louis at the bar. The rest of the night was filled with taking drink orders, dancing, and doing a couple of private shows. Soon it was 1am, ending my shift. After a long night of work, I was excited to be going home.

I changed into my day clothes and closed my locker, not forgetting to put on my combination lock. I got outside into the back alley that leads to the employee parking lot. I sigh, staring up at the sky and seeing that the moon is full. "Hello, excuse me?" A rumbling voice shakes me from my poetic thoughts. I jump, staring straight ahead at a broad figure. I reach into my pocket for my keys, which are adorned with pepper spray and a little keychain that looks like a cat, but can be used for stabbing. "Sorry. I, uh-" he holds his hand up defensively. His eyes looked almost empty, as if only filled with regret. His face is contorted into some form of distress, lips quivering as his eyes dart to and fro.

He puts a hand over each of his pockets, face still looking in fear, until his right hands falls over his breast pocket. He breathes a sigh of relief and looks at me. He starts talking, but not in a language I understand. But eventually he finds a thread I can follow. "I was a fool. I had settled down and yet I squandered my one chance at a proper life. Felt the road would always take me in." My brows knitted together, still being suspicious of this man. He took a hesitant breath as he released his clenched fist. "I ended up throwing away the one place I could call a home. It's been rotting for who knows how long and now I'm old. Always wondered if someone would ever take over and treat it right. Now, you do remind me of myself, but I wasn't a good man. Hopefully you don't have the mean streak I had."

He waits for me to confirm or deny if my character matched his own when he was my age. "Well... I'm far from perfect, but I do try my best," I reply casually. "Is that so? I suppose that's as good as it gets. At least nowadays you can try." He stops suddenly but continues nonetheless. "Back in my day my father treated me like dirt and no one batted an eye. I saw that happen a lot, too — I wasn't the only one. It made beasts out of my siblings and I, having a father like that. But don't you think i"m blaming him. You can only point the finger at your dad for so long, eh? At least eventually I found a way to make a living." The man rambles in the same language from before.

I've realized that it's Italian and perhaps I couldn't recognize it in the beginning was because of his drunken state slaughtered it. Sometimes he'll stop and stare at me, as if expecting a response. A nod or a grunt is enough to get him going again. His voice becomes graver and deeper as the night goes on. It is soothing, in a way, even if at times he'll again allude to having a rough, sorrowful past. Eventually, he stops and his gaze seems to shine with lucidity once more. "I must say I am terribly sorry. I'm afraid I never asked for your name." I immediately tell him that it's Jiàn. I don't mind telling him my actual name, since he's so out of it right now. "I'm glad I got to see you again, Jiàn."

I try to recall if I've met him before, but nothing comes up. Maybe his thoughts are too muddled perhaps due to alcohol that he thinks we've met before. The man's eyes become glazed again and his hand starts shaking. "You seem like an open minded man. Things have changed so much. I think it's the technology, spirits, and the arcane don't mix well with it. Or maybe... it's something in the eyes. The unknown is not as frightful either, so much mystery has been lost. and so the bridge with the fantastical broke down." The old man freezes for a moment, then looks back to me. "Oh, I was rambling again, was I? I'm sorry." I shake my head, offering a kind smile.

"Don't worry about it, that's interesting to hear... The world is a more mysterious place than we like to think. Perhaps fantastical things aren't as common, but they manage to slip by the cracks every once in a while. Or perhaps the supernatural is still out there, speaking in whispers instead of speaking plainly," I share my perspective. "Whispers... You are quite a sensitive young man. There's humility in sensing how much there is out there, yet to be learned. Perhaps... Yes, you seem to have turned out nicely. Special. Hum... perhaps you can do it. Here, I'd like you to have this. I'm sure you'll take better care of it than I did." The man takes an old piece of paper form his breast pocket and extends it to me.

"The deed for the place I told you about. The one I squandered. I'm old, tired. I would like you specifically to have it. I don't quite feel like I have any more time to waste." I stare at the folded piece of paper and he waits a moment before continuing. "Just take it. It's yours. A grandiose place, a palace. Time's taken a toll, but you will love it. Just, please, take care of it, be good. Give him a purpose." I raise an eyebrow at him. Did this old man try to give me a palace just like that? Now who would do that? His wandering gaze betrays his drunken state. At times he seems outright confused, as if he didn't know how he got here in the first place.

I can't take it. It wouldn't be right to take advantage of someone like him. And that's assuming that piece of paper is a deed. It might just be a used napkin with a nice seal. The old man's gaze wanders around. With his hand still extended he squints his eyes at me, then looks down to the paper. He struggles to put his thoughts together... but for a brief moment his expression grows firm and lucid. "You must think I'm crazy. But please understand, this is my last chance to do it right. Just... take the deed." I give in to the old man's pleas. I'm just accepting a piece of paper, after all. It's probably nothing, and if it indeed is something important I can try returning it.

The old piece of parchment looks unimaginably ancient — older than you, that's for sure. But the wax on it seems reasonably new, perhaps even fresh. I break open the seal and examine the paper's contents. It's gibberish, written in an alphabet I've ever seen before. Well, it would seem like this was all for nothing. I stick the paper in my jacket pocket. The corners of his mouth wrinkle, and he shakes ever so slightly. But his joy is short-lived. His gaze wanders once again. When his focus returns to you be furrows his brow, taking in each of my features one at a time. The man mumbles something to himself, takes a sip of his coffee, and smiles. "You are a very kind young man, Jiàn."

He does remember your name, at least. "I'm so sorry... I ran away and after a while, I never looked back at what I ran from. Please, forgive me..." I part my lips in confusion. "What do I have to forgive you for? Who are you?" I see the man hesitate and break into a nervous sweat. He then suddenly stops and seems to once again lose all sense. I say my farewell to the old man and thank him for the wonderful company. He subtly bows to me. "No, Jiàn. It is I who ought to be grateful. It was a pleasure meeting you." I leave him and start taking drink orders. The rest of the evening, all I could think about was that weird interaction I had with that old man. "Why talk to me like that? We're strangers... Ugh, I'm too tired for this."

I now sat in my apartment on my bed. I check the deed again. I couldn't read it at first — maybe I was too tired. But now the once-gibberish characters make some sense to my brain. It's like reading a language that had branched off from my native tongue a few centuries prior. It is just alien enough to be unrecognizable at first. However, when I squint hard enough I find that the characters remind me of my alphabet. And then the words' meaning pops up in my mind. It's unsettling, in a way. It feels as if my brain is shifting from inside out the more I look into it. But try as I might, it's hard to even acknowledge this discomfort — it melts away at the blink of an eye.

Maybe the old man really had give me something of value after all, not a worthless scrap of paper. I sigh as I settle in my bed, having already stripped myself of my day clothes. It was around noon and while most people would be working or doing another number of things, all I was going to do was sleep. I release a relaxed sigh, happy to just be home and especially, in a bed. However, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and was going from one side of my bed to the other. I huffed as I flopped onto my back and stared at my ceiling. In the corner of my eye, I could see the deed. I felt as if the old parchment was making fun of me.

I muttered a string of curse words as I sat up and harshly grabbed the paper. I narrowed my eyes at it. But as I continued to stare intensely at it, I realized that the words were starting to make sense. It hurt my eyes and I could feel a headache coming on, but I persevered. But I felt as if the paper was sucking in and now I didn't even have the choice to look away. It felt like my surroundings were starting to shift and warp, but I couldn't look to be sure. Suddenly, and to my amazement, the old writing began to glow, illuminating my face. "What the..." I breathed as I ultimately became lost in the scribbles. The last thing that I remember was that I felt extremely dizzy and sleepy... then darkness.

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When I wake up, I slowly realize that I'm not being greeted by my bedroom ceiling. Instead, I only see the large leaves of tropical trees. I abruptly sit up and vigorously look around. I'm in a pocket of trees, I think. "What... What the hell is happening?" I breathe as I begin to panic. I stagger as I get up on my feet and continue to look around. It's then that I spot a giant structure to my right and I realize that it's a palace. Breathing hard I look to the infinite horizon behind me. I look back to the palace as I think about all those details. Something catches my eye, however; a porch overlooking the valley beneath the palace. The valley stretches to the cloudless horizon, framed to the right and left by more cliffs.

Looking down to the bottom I can just make out the outline of a flourishing riverbed stretching out. I notice there's a cave opening in the cliff wall, right below the palace. Its exit lined with statues, the details of which I can't make out at this distance. My thoughts are halted as a more pressing matter sneaks up on me: the heat. Regardless of the weirdness around me, there's no escaping the sweltering sun. I walk to the entrance. The doors are unlocked. It's hard to tell for how long this place has been abandoned. The building itself surely is old, the exterior is severely decayed. It wouldn't be surprising if the interior is teeming with wild animals, rotten walls, and fallen pieces of ceiling.

But instead it's just... dusty. Humid and stagnant too — the walls are water damaged and there's a lot of mold. However it's not as bad as one would think. I call out in the hopes someone, anyone, might be there. Maybe some squatters? But just like outside, there's no signs of human life at all in the palace. Up ahead is a tall spiral staircase going both up and down. No matter how many twists and turns I took, the hallway never wrapped back into itself. Backtracking all the way back to the parlor was the only option. The spiral staircase seemed much more inviting than wandering the seemingly endless hallways. The marble handrails were lined with burnt-out lamps.

It was impossible to see much in the darkness down below. The second floor was mostly bedrooms. But here, the outer hallways were lined with sprawling windows showing a courtyard behind the palace, close to the cliff's edge. I took the hallway leading further towards the palace's back, and a single turn to the right brought me to a vast room. Right beside its entrance was a bar and to the left was a medium sized table and two couches. Further left there was a tall window of stained glass, like the ones in a cathedral. And through a glass door beside this window was a garden. Behind the counter, the bottles of fine spirits are still half-filled. They glimmer in exquisite browns, reds, and blues.

I close my eyes, and imagine how this place was decades ago. The whistling wind shifts. It turns into the hum of human life, footsteps and breathing. Chairs being dragged, cutlery and plates clinking. Laughter, whispers, people talking to each other from one side of the room to the other. People dressed so nicely. A barman in front of me, serving the finest drinks I can imagine. He knows my name and how I like it. And eagerly listening to all my rants and complaints. I open my eyes. I'm back in the abandoned palace, majestic and destroyed. One can understand why the old man wished to pass it on to someone who would care for it. It's then that I remember the deed.

I pat all over my body until I feel something in my jacket's breast pocket. I tap my the pocket once more, making sure the crumpled parchment is still there. Even the yellowed, stained paper exudes warmth now. I stand up and walk out. As I do so, I notice a large purple stain on the floor behind the counter, and the glass shards of what used to be a wine bottle. I proceed further into the palace. There's a lot to see still. All the way down the hallway a set of sliding glass doors beckon me. But from afar the difference is clear. The wallpaper is ripped, and one of the doors is cracked. I step on something hard. A revolver bullet. I push the door to the side and am greeted by an even more chaotic sight. It's the palace's lounge.

The tables was overturned, and all the chairs and plates lay broken on the floor. There's a darkened stain in the middle of the room which trails into the kitchen. It leads me past the pantry and to the massive iron door of a cold room, which is locked from the outside and boarded up. All around the kitchen things are strewn about. There's even a pan on the stove with what must be fossilized food, and the sink is filled with dirty dishes. On a nearby counter is a revolver covered in thick dust, and I think back to the bullet in the hallway and the stain on the restaurant floor. The old man wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't a good person. I breathe in, preparing myself for a terrible sight.

The rusted door fights against my will, but stands no chance. Darkness pours out. The stench strikes first. It's the stagnant smell of blood and rot. It clings to my nose and mouth like a bitter oil. Before my eyes can adjust to the darkness a second wave of stench hits. It's like a farm, too — the scent of dusty fury, maybe even hay, but cooped up in a hot, humid room for decades. And, last but not least, stale shit and piss. This place has it all, the stench of a thousand different deaths. The light pouring into the cold room shines on the floor in front of the doorway. Empty cans of soup and glasses of jam are strewn about over the trail of old blood. Whoever was locked in here didn't die quickly.

The cold room extends into absolute darkness, a hallway in and of itself. I proceed, scraping my shoes on the floor so I don't trip over the refuse. The entire floor is covered with discarded glasses and cans. Whatever scraps were left in them has long rotted, dried and crumbled into dust. Both my footsteps and breathing echo. The overbearing humidity drapes across my back, and my breathing becomes agitated. The stench is stronger. My sight finally adapts to the dark. At what must be the cold room's far wall, I notice something. Whatever is it, it's slouched on the floor, motionless. As if it died where it stood after who knows how long locked here. My eyesight is used to the dark now.

The distant pillar of light bleeding from the doorway is enough to avoid tripping on the discarded glass. I crouch in front of the thing. It seems to have the head of a deer, but it's been mixed with other animals that I can quite place. It's covered in fur, aside from the patches of sickly, exposed skin. Instead of paws or hooves, it has taloned toes, along with a sickle claw. Half of its skull is exposed. The bone still has a smattering of blood dust near the remaining flesh. Its left eye socket is empty and I can't help but involuntarily gulp. And while it seems to have long hair that's in a lazy braid, it can't hide how deathly thin this stag was. It died from starvation, not from whatever destroyed its face.

That's enough. I stand up and turn back to leave. As I do so, my rustling clothes and echoing footsteps break the curtain of silence. That's when I heart it. Breathing as faint as a moth's wings flapping. I look back to the corpse. I realize that it's looking at me. Its chest expands and contracts. I take a step forward and it follows my movements. I stand my ground. The thing's eye remain locked on me, squinting slightly when a string of fresh air blows into the cold room. The exit is just five seconds away if I turn back and sprint. If push comes to shove, the gun is still outside. The thing remains on the floor, barely moving. The blinking of its eye is drawn-out and deliberate.

Its head droops down, as if it can barely hold itself awake. Its lips, or whatever remains of them, part. Its breathing becomes easier to hear. "I beg your forgiveness. I'm in such a sorry state." What an understatement. "What are you?" I ask as I continue to study the peculiar creature. I quickly realize that he's completely naked, not that that bothers me at all. "I am the Palace's Keeper and Prisoner of its walls." His voice is raspy, nearly a string of grunts booming through the room in contrast with his disheveled body. "And you're the Master now, which makes me your servant, bound to your will. I cannot disobey your orders." The thing cradles his head between his arms, his voice comes out muffled.

"If you wish to know what thing am I, I am a hybrid monster. About my sorry state, the previous Master did this to me. As your servant, I shall answer the Master's questions." He remains with his face hidden for awhile longer, he does look up, he stares at the exit and not at me. He squints his eye and raises a deathly thin forearm over it. He scuttles an inch to the side, so my shadow covers him. "You are a prisoner, but you are also the Palace's Keeper?" His eye narrows and ear droops. "Yes. I was sentenced by the High Council to spend eternity here. I am an abomination and failed the one task that was given to me. The High Council made this land to house me in my damnation."

I take a step forward, intrigued by this creature. "The Master is meant to be my torturer, and to the end is given control over the land. But there was a past Master, and with at his will I became the Keeper." He closes his eye for a moment, lost in a daydream. "Why were you locked here?" I ask before I looked around the disgusting room once more. What could possess somebody to lock someone up in here? "That is what the last Master saw fit. He shot me then commanded that I stay here, in this room. But as you can see, I am undying. It only hurt, I cannot be killed. He locked the door as well, but his command was enough. I cannot disobey, as I had no way out. I am a prisoner, after all."

I shifted on my feet, feeling sorry for the broken creature in front of me. "Why did the previous Master do this to you?" The stag recoils, shrinking further into a fetal position. "Being a monster is reason enough for damnation, Master. He chose to return the Prison to its original purpose, I presume." His bony jaw opens and closes, chewing on nothing. "It hardly matters, regardless. I cannot die." His open wounds stand out as he speaks. "How can I help with your injuries?" He exhales sharply at my words. His face sinks again between his legs. "Master need not worry about me. I cannot die, and it stopped hurting a long time ago. A skull feels no pain." I pull the Palace's deed from my breast pocket.

"So it's this that makes me the new Master?" I ask as I hold up the parchment. "Correct. The ownership of Havena was transferred to you. I always know who the current Master is and his name." I've asked all my questions but another comes to mind now. "What's your name?" He hesitates before answering. His burning eye shifts ever so slightly. "The Master holds the right to pick my name. But if it is your wish to know, the one I was given at birth is Nyx." For a split second his remaining eye reflects a strand of light from outside. He realizes then how tired, thirsty, and hungry he is. But it doesn't matter. After all, he cannot die. As a servant his duty takes precedence.

The stag readjusts to a kneeling position. The cracking of his kneecaps bounces off the cold room's walls. He bows his head to me. "The bond between jailer and prisoner is born from the deed, while that between Master and Servant is willfully chosen. Will Master hear my oath of servitude?" I raise an eyebrow at the skeletal stag's gesture. I cannot muster a response. In my silence, the stag glances up to me. He starts shaking, barely able to hold his hands together. His lips tremble in anticipation. "Master, this land was designed to torture me." The stag's voice cracks. For the first time I notice a tail thrashing behind him.

"The oath of servitude is what keeps it at bay. Please, Master, allow me to recite it and take me into your service." I can only nod in response. With my authorization he is able to proceed, after a minute to bring himself together again. "Prisoner Nyx pledges loyalty and servitude to the Prison's Master. The Prisoner is made Keeper of the Palace above the valley, and is bequeathed the power to realize the Master's will. The Master in turn binds Havena, forbidding it's malicious entities from leaving said valley. The realm was engineered to torture the Prisoner, and indeed its mission shall be accomplished. The Prisoner will carry the burden of servitude, but shall not suffer Havena's wrath within the Palace's territory. The Prisoner, shielded by his Master's will, is made safe as long as his duty is fulfilled."

Nyx dares not look up to me. Once he finishes his oath, his silence is broken only by the drops of sweat dripping from his trembling face. "This is a lot to take in, if I'm being honest. And this oath you were talking about, what does it mean?" I ask as I take in all of his injuries, counting them one by one. "It's what protects me, my lord. There are creatures in the valley, they cannot harm me inside the Palace as long as I am under the Master's service. The previous oath remained for as long as the Palace remained without a Master. With your arrival I am made vulnerable again." He pauses, his breathing becoming even more shaky. "Please, allow me into your service..." I bite my lips slightly, feeling a weight settle on me.

"Very well. Assuming you are speaking the truth... yes, I accept you as my servant." My words bounce off the walls and slither their way out of the cold room. The light dripping from the door behind me falters. My shadow, draped over the deer minotaur, flickers and shifts slightly. The world itself shudders under my words and responds by shifting into a new shape around me. Nyx still looks down, his frame now slouched further forwards and no longer shaking. "My gratefulness knows no bounds. I shall not disappoint. I may be in a sorry state now, but I'll be quick to recuperate. If Master so allows, I will take my leave. I need only take a trip to the infirmary to patch myself up."

He raises his head ever so slightly, glancing at the doorway. "...I am still unable to leave the room, until you command me otherwise." Undying as he may be, the stag's body is atrophied. He won't go far on his own. I kneel down to his level. Despite the darkness, I can make out his scapulae and sagging skin. "Can you walk on your own?" Nyx averts his eye by looking down to his legs. "Master ought not worry about me. I can make it to the infirmary on my own. I've been through worse." He won't look up to me. There's just a hint of pride in his voice. "Very well. You have my permission to leave the room." Without uttering a word the stag bows to me, then puts his hands on the ground to try and rise up.

He struggles, first in snapping his knees from this new position and then in finding his balance. He succeeds after holding on to one of the shelves. One step at a time he ambles towards the door, taking breaks to rest against a wall and adjust his eyesight to the light. It takes a long time, but he leaves the cold room and makes his way to the infirmary. I follow him closely, making sure he doesn't trip and get hurt. His back is covered in bed sores. Against all odds, Nyx can indeed make it on his own. The infirmary has layers upon layers of dust and rust. Squinting his eye, Nyx walks up to the drawers. He examines each on, silent, until one of them reveals shards of green glass and a purple, dried out stain.

The stag slouches forward and sighs. He scrapes a finger on the drawer, trying to gather some of the purple dust, but it's no use. He continues looking around and I do the same. All I find are dusty bandages, long rotted medications. I put it back when I notice Nyx's intense gaze on me. "What are we looking for exactly?" He takes a hesitant breath before cautiously answering my question. "The only thing that can heal me is... the Master's blood." My posture straightened at this and I repeated his words. The stag nods meekly, "The Master's blood heals me." This is a turn of events, which is a complete understatement if you ask me. "Uh, how much blood do you need?"

I'm certainly not out here giving out a whole blood donations worth of blood. "The severity of my wounds determines the amount needed. I estimate that it'd only take.... about a tablespoon. But it is your decision of how much to give me." I can't help but sigh in relief, saying that that's something I can sacrifice. "Past masters chose to make a small cut along the fleshy part of your thumb." I nod and look around for something sharp, preferably a clean scalpel. I soon found one and made sure it was clean before positioning it against the soft flesh at the base of my thumb. I suck in a deep breath and release it simultaneously when I cut. In the corner of my eye, I see Nyx flinch.

A red line that's about a centimeter long begins to show. "Is that alright?" I ask as I look up at Nyx. "Yes... that's perfect." He looks longingly at my hand, as if he's been waiting for this this whole time. I hold out my hand to him and he licks his dry lips but I can still tell he doesn't trust me. He nears towards my hand similar to a wild animal. I wait patiently and soon, I feel him begin to lick up my blood. He breathes in deeply through his nose before he begins to hungrily suck on my hand. He grabs my hand and pulls it towards him, seemingly impatient at the pace he has been going. It's only been a few minutes, but I can already notice some of his wounds healing. The stag notices me watching.

He pulls back and his lips, or what remains of them, curl into a proud half-smile. "Yes. I can heal quite quickly, provided I have master's blood for it." With one hand, Nyx squeezes out more blood onto his fingers and reaches a hand to his back. His fingers seem to barely graze one of the bed sores. "Let me help you with that. You can't see it." He droops his ear in defeat, knowing full well I'm right. However, he turns his back to me with a speed betraying his eagerness. His tail flicks to and fro behind him. I take the scalpel into my hand once more and deepen the cut. I dab a piece of old gauze on the flowing blood and get to work. The stag's wounds have a black tinge to them.

A dark oil seems to have accumulated on them, oozing down his back in clearly defined rivers. He flinches when the fabric touches his damaged skin, but pushes back against me at the same time. His wounds close quickly — in an almost unsettling speed. ten minutes later my blood has clotted, but it was enough to rid Nyx of his most egregious bed sores. He lays a hand on his skull. "I'll need a lot more blood for this." I ask if I need to cut my other hand. Nyx has a shy curve on his lips when he looks up to me from the bed. His tail flicks to the left, to the right. He swings his taloned feet over the floor. When he speaks his voice is grave, however, rumbles with sobriety.

"You've been too kind already, Master. It would be terribly unfitting of a Keeper to impose a task upon his Master, let alone as many as you've aided me with so far." His one remaining eye is half-closed. "Please, worry not about me." He speaks then with a twinge of relief. "Unless Master has a task for me, I shall take some rest here and then wash myself. I am most unfitting now, for a Keeper of the Palace. Master need not worry." I frown at that. "Shouldn't you have some food first? What if you pass out in the bathroom?" I ask as I subconsciously count every one of his ribs.

"That shall not be an issue. I can obtain sustenance now that you've accepted me into your service. The Master commands Havena, and through the oath you have bequeathed me some of your power. I shall not go hungry again. There is much I can gladly teach you about the land, Master. It shall tend to your needs, if you know how to lead it. Observe." For half a second it's as if the entire world blinks out around me, and my mind goes blank alongside it. Now Nyx had in his hands an overflowing bunch of grapes. "Do you like grapes? I hope these are to your liking." I hesitate before accepting food from him. Shouldn't he the one eating first?

"The Master eats first, only then may the Keeper feed. Regardless, Master has been kind to me, and I would be happy to share with thee." The stag seems eager to have me taste the grapes. They are impossibly sweet but I only take a few so he may start eating. He flicks his ears and tail at my enjoyments, then starts wolfing down the grapes. He barely looks up to me now. As soon as he's run out of grapes a new bunch appears in his hands, then a cup of water and more fruits still. When he does finally look up to me, he slows down and tried to clean his muzzle of all the juicy bits. His eyes betrays a tinge of self-consciousness.

"I am sorry. I am more a beast than I am man. Sometimes it gets the better of me. I should not be so brutish around Master. Although, in my defense, my table manners are excellent when I have the benefit of not being starved." He cracks a half smile. Even naked, with a disfigured muzzle covered with grape juice, Nyx looks up to me with a noble-like posture: his back is straight and his shoulders shift slightly to a broader stance. There's a tinge of pride in his barely noticeable smile — the small joy of having kept his dignity even in impossibly harsh circumstances. Perhaps this would be a good moment to let the stag have some privacy. But before I speak, I notice the change in his eyes as he stares at me.

He sucks in a quiet gasp as his eye almost pops out of his head. I'm startled by this and quickly ask what's wrong. "You... You have her eyes..." A bitter smile falls on my lips. "Her eyes, huh? Guess I still have girly eyes." Now it was Nyx's turn to be confused. I notice this and say, "Ah, I was born a girl but realized that I'm actually a guy. I started hormone treatment and had surgery to remove my breasts. Now I'm legally Jiàn Talisko." I can see so many questions swirling in his eyes. He opens his mouth but closes it immediately. "I'll let you have your rest. I'll come back to check up on you later." Nyx bows to me — dignified, despite the juices running down his mouth and chest.

"I shall be presentable after washing up, Master. Worry not about me." I smile and give him a nod. "Very well. If you do need help just... Yell, alright? I don't want you getting hurt. Even if you can't die, as you say." Nyx takes a good look at me. His dark eye glimmers softly under the infirmary's light. There's almost a wetness to them. He breaths so slowly as he gazes at me, tail flickering to and fro. He takes in every feature of my face, one at a time. "Thank you for releasing me, Master." His eye betrays his drowsiness. He bows to me and, in doing so, nearly falls asleep. I tell him to go get his rest. "I will." I let him have his privacy. Once Jiàn's gone, Nyx breathes in a shaky breath.

"It can't be... yet he has the same eyes as her and the same last name. It has to be her... but now she's a he. Maybe that would be a problem for others, but he's still has to be the same person I've grown to admire. He has to be..." Nyx thought before he succumbed to sleep. I'm back in the ruined hallway. It stretches into the eating hall and further into the Palace. Up ahead something catches my eye: a leather-bound volume. A cursory look reveals most of its pages have been torn out, but the covers back side contains something written in the same script from the deed. The glyphs shift and twist under my gaze, marching into place the harder I stare.

After a few minutes however it turns uncomfortable, as if my mind was being drilled by the paper. I take a seat at the bar, just a foot away from the green glass shards scattered about over the purple stain. I lose myself in deciphering this script.

Nyx's Sentence

Hereby the High Council of Mer'elleth sentence the Prisoner Nyx to eternal damnation for his meekness and cowardice in disobeying his task. With this sentence his prison is created, the Land known as Havena, born out of the High Council's will. Havena shall serve as a kingdom to lost souls. Among the mortals of Earth, a Jailer will be picked to command and rewrite the realm. The Jailer and the Havena's mission is to secure the Prisoner's eternal torture. The Jailer shall enjoy power and freedom to rewrite Havena as to better enact his vision. Nyx of Khaen with every drop of his blasphemous blood is hereby sentenced to Havena.

By this decree the High Council's will is done.

I'm pulled from my trance by the bang of a door closing down the hallway. The light around me has shifted. I look back to the garden and the sun is already setting. Time passed in a flash, and now the barely registered steps on marble floor reaches my ears. The stag enters the lounge, sees me, and bows. "Hello, Nyx. Did you sleep well?" I greet him. "I did, Master. I must thank you for allowing me rest." I smile and slid off my chair. "That's good to hear. I take it you have no issue with your bath?" I ask warmly, happy to not smell the decades of filth on his fur. "I did not." Nyx stand up and looks at me directly.

"I should ask for your forgiveness. I left you waiting without providing a tour of the Palace. That was awfully unfitting of my position as the Palace's Keeper. I am at your disposal now, however. There are a few questions eating away at me, if you don't mind. But we can leave them for later if you aren't feeling well," I say. "I am well enough to fulfill my duty. What is it Master wishes to know?" I give into his stubbornness, knowing that I've basically been ignoring his role. "Well, to start off... I'll admit I'm a little worried about you. How are you feeling? Was the shower enjoyable?" The stag shifts his gaze, trying to read my expression and tone. Looking for a tinge of irony, or perhaps malice.

"I — I am well. It was quite peculiar showering after all those years. I had forgotten what water felt like. It is fortunate that my — my wounds were closed. It could have been a painful affair otherwise. For quite a while I just stood there, under the water. Thinking and feeling. All of that is to say... Yes, I am doing well. It is kind of you to ask. Is that all you wished to know?" After being reassured that he's alright, I move onto my most wanted answered question. "How did I get here? I kinda just woke up nearby." Nyx averts his eyes before forcing himself to meet my gaze once more. "Well, the powers in the Deed had brought you to this plain of existence."

I tilt my head, silently asking him to elaborate. "You are still on Earth, just in a different dimension. This dimension was created by the High Council, and they are the ones who have granted you the power to bend the laws of this reality." I say that I understand, but this leads me to another question. "This place... it isn't normal. In other words... what kind of place is this?" The stag's gaze goes to the floor. His feet scrape against it. "This realm was created to imprison me, the jailer's mission is to keep watch. And for that purpose the High Council saw it fit that matter could be spontaneously created... So the jailer's job would not be interrupted by 'petty things' such as material limitations,"

He pauses to look up at me and I nod for him to continue. "It is, as well, the Master's compensation. Being able to create whatever your heart desires of thin air... that is quite a reward, wouldn't you say?" I chuckle and agree with him. "That's right. This is no small power, with some creativity anyone could make a fortune off this place." I say, knowing that I'm barely scraping the surface of attaining such wealth, not that that was a goal for me. I'm content with what I have right now, however; no one wants to say no to owning a few nice things.. "Well, there are a few limitations... The realm refuses to make gold and silver in large quantities. As keeper it is my duty to instruct you on this matter."

"I'd appreciate that a lot, but we can leave that for later if it's complicated," I say, to which he nods in understanding. "Does Master have more questions?" He asks. I quickly nod and ask, "Who is the High Council? You've mentioned them before and they're the ones who did all of this." Nyx nods and swallows thickly before answering, "The High Council can be described as Gods. They are a group of beings that have been here since the creation of the universe. All races have come from them and were allowed to choose where to live. Humans chose Earth." I absorb what he's telling me. "So there are others like you?" Nyx's shoulders sag, his eyes filled to the brim with loneliness.

"...No. I am the only one of my kind. I shouldn't even exist; an abomination is what I am." I frown at that and get up from my seat. "Why do you say that about yourself?" Nyx sighs, as if it's supposed to be obvious. "I am the product of a Council member and a lowly creature. My existence is a sick joke, Master..." I release a sigh, not knowing how to comfort him. "Why should it matter that you were an accident? You're still here. I myself wasn't planned to be born. But I guess our situations are polar opposites, so I shouldn't try to compare. I just don't like seeing you hurt like this..." Nyx stares at me with wide eyes, clearly surprised by my response.

"Thanks for giving me some insight. Don't go overexerting yourself, I suppose this isn't a priority right now. Getting you patched up is more important. " "I think that's all I had in mind for now. This is a lot to take in. That gods and you exist, for starters, and that this place can just create matter out of thin air. Thanks for telling me all that. I'll just need some time to process it all," I say with a soft smile, unknowingly making the stag's heart beat faster. "It is a pleasure to serve. Could I provide Master with a drink? Would that please you?" He looks behind me, to the wall covered by dozens of bottles of liquor. "Well, I don't think those are safe. I checked a few of them, they weren't smelling right."

The corner of my lips upturned in humor. "That will not be an issue. I can muster more for Master," He insists. "Very well, go on." The stag walks behind the counter. The world blinks around me, and when I look again he holds a bottle of whisky. He walks with a spring in his step, but stops once he sees the purple stain on the floor. Whatever smidgeon of chirpiness was on his face is gone. He lowers himself to the floor and runs a hand over the dried-out wine. He tired scraping the dust off the ground, then rubbing his hand on it, to no avail. "What's on your mind?" I softly ask. The stag speaks without looking up to me.

"He went all the way, the previous Master. Locking me away wasn't enough, he had to go as far as breaking everything." He pauses as he frowns, as if scolding himself. The stag rises and supports himself on the counter. He summons a rag and goes through the motions of dusting. "No matter. Now, what is Master's want? I should tell you upfront, the Palace's liquor is quite impressive." Nyx may be up and walking, but he's still far from being well. He can use the help. The spiral staircase remains as welcoming as before. "Here. This floor is dedicated to the Master and those he allows in. The Palace bends to the Master's will. My power is similar to yours, albeit much weaker. In due time, the Palace shall conform from the ground up to your vision."

We reach my room and Nyx opens the doors for me. The living room ahead of me seems to have resisted the damage of time better than the rest of the Palace. It is dusty, and some chunks of the wall show the beginnings of mold, but that is nothing compared to the devastation I saw in the kitchen. Nyx says nothing at first. His gaze seems to be lost in the distance as he walks around inspecting the room. There are lines of wooden carvings on shelves. During the stag's silence, I take the chance to explore it myself. The living room is a sprawling lounge made to receive guests, both in great number and for an intimate get-togethers.

Under the sunset's light the wooden floor colors the room with a soft, warm hue. There's a master bedroom with a vast closet still filled with clothes. It's a wardrobe pulled straight from a cosplay convention, robes and more robes organized with a tireless devotion. There's also a large office, the kind you'd expect from an important executive. Sitting on the desk is a selection of finely-decorated fountain pens and a stash of documents, for the most part written in delicate calligraphy. Most of the documents are signed by a "Master Bastien", Although a handful bear an illegible scribble for a signature. There's a finely furnished bathroom off in a tight hallway to the side of the living room.

At the end of the corridor, after a sharp turn, there's a cramped, windowless chamber. It has a handful of remnants of the living room's warmth, albeit muted. The wood's color is faded, the ceiling is a meter lower, there is a little to no furniture. There is, however, an austere bed that looks larger than your typical single. Beside it is a tiny chest of drawers, with a handful of dusty poetry books piled on top alongside more wooden carvings. This room affords privacy, but little else. Nyx is going over it when I arrive. He cradles every wooden carving in the room, examining them one-by-one. Many of the carvings depict great deer. He opens one of the books, and a page marker falls from it.

He looks down at it but doesn't bother picking it up. The stag opens a small closet off to the side, and takes out what seems to be a long piece of fabric. He smells it, or perhaps hugs it to his chest. His bony snout leaves a stain of blood dust on it. He sighs and shudders. The stag looks back to me, acknowledging my presence for the first time since arriving here. "I am frightfully sorry, I was lost in thought. This floor is the Master's quarters. It contains your bedroom, office, living room and any other installations you wish to add. This room we are in, this... was my bedroom. I serve the Palace, but above all else I serve the Master." He lays the fabric gently down on his bed.

"It is often considered convenient to have me around, as I can cook and help the Master however he sees fit. There were Masters who had children, for instance. I would assist in tending to them, providing entertainment and play while the Master rested. Master Bastien was a man of culture. He enjoyed having me play my lyre for him at night." The stag's gaze wander away again, his hands starting to caress a wooden carving. It's at this point that I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, to which he tells me where it is. While in there, I have to take a breather. Everything that's been happening shouldn't be happening at all. I sigh and finish up my business, later washing my hands out.

When I walk out, the setting sun's orange tones color the entire apartment. It turns the suspends dust in the air into thousands of sparkling diamonds. The previous Master's carvings stare at me, wide-eyed and beckoning me further into the Quarters. The smell of old dust seems so small compared to how sweetly the room welcomes me. If a place could ever be alive, and if it could ever be naked, this is it. The Palace itself embraces me, its intimacy laid bare. Nothing moves and Nyx is nowhere to be seen. Silence reigns, save for a faint hum of life. I leave the wine bottle on the living room table. I delve deeper into my quarters, and the hum grows louder and sharper.

It's like breathing, ragged and pained. The dust visible under the sunlight shudders. The sound is coming from the office. Nyx is standing over the desk, his back to me, sobbing. My footsteps are not enough to make him aware of my presence. The stag sobs again and again, each one coming from deeper inside of him. They begin meek, hardly more than a snort. But he lays his hands on the desk and curls forward. His vertebrae jut sharply from his deathly thin skin, made more obvious by how he hunches over. He spits out a sob from the depths of his lungs. The dam bursts, he breaks into wave after wave of grunts and half-muffled screams.

He presses his face against the desk and claws at it, leaving his marks in the pristine wood until he falls to the ground, curled up like a child. He sees me then with his tear-drenched eye and ignores my presence. Master or not, I am too small. He curls further into himself, mouth covered by his hands as he lets out another muffled yell. The stag's voice breaks midway through and he goes silent, even if his mouth is still locked in agony. But Nyx looks up to me, aware of my presence, and makes no effort to hide or cower. In fact, he tried to speak, but I can't understand his slurred words, only that his voice has a tone of welcoming. I cross the gap separating the two of us on step at a time.

Nyx's eye does not avert from me. I sit by his side, back to the desk, and only then his gaze drops down to the floor into further sobbing. I drape an arm over his shoulder and pull him to me. The stag doubles down his crying, now muffled by my shirt. His fingers dig into me — his claws digging into my skin and draw a slight amount of blood from his pressure, but I don't mind. I rub the back of his head and let the stag go at his own pace. As the sun sets further, darkening the room, his crying grows quieter and more discreet as well. When all is dark except for the stars shining beyond the window, Nyx's hands relax and he slouches fully onto my chest.

He almost seems to be asleep, but I catch his eye looking up at me. Nyx is pacified, but I give him a few more minutes to make sure. His fingers dig into me one last time right as he sighs. "I beg your forgiveness, Master. I let my emotions control my strength and have punctured your skin with my claws." I shake my head as I caress his head. "Not to steal your line, but I've been through worse, Nyx. I will survive. I'm just happy to be here for you." He breathes in shakily, to which I wrap my arms around him in a hug. I give him a quick squeeze and pat him on the back before I help him up. He says nothing about what just happened, but accepts my hand.

And when I leave the office, he stays close by my side. Back in the living room, I guide Nyx to the sofa. He sits without questioning, but accompanies me with his gaze as I take a seat facing him. Nyx leans back on the sofa, a weak smile painted on his face. "Thank you for being so kind to me, Master." I wave my hand, giving him a kind smile. "Don't mention it, it was nothing." This seems to set the stag on a new train of thought. "Is that so? Master, if it is not impertinent of me, would you answer a few questions?" I give him a big smile, happy that he's finally willing to look past his role. "Sure, I don't see how that could be a problem," I reply as I sit across from him.

"I wish to know about the War. How did it end?" I tilt my head slightly. "War? Which war?" I ask. "The Cold War. The conflict between the Americans and communists. How did it end? Did communism take over the world?" I stop myself from laughing at such an idea, but I know that he had no way of finding out until now. "Yes, the world is doing fine, the Americans won the war. A lot of stuff happened since then." I briefly tell him the world's history after the Cold War, especially the aftermath of the war. "Oh, I'm so relieved to hear that. I've spent all those years locked away thinking about it. Master Bastien talked so many times about America..." His eyes glaze over in recollection.

"The fields of sunflowers, the fragrances, the fields. He found his way to the Palace, a shell-shocked young man fresh off the battlefield. He inherited the deed from the previous Master, and his rule over the Palace was a sight to behold. He was very kind, had a preference for bring in victims of war. It wasn't easy caring for so many amputees and shell-shocked men, but it was worth it. He loved it here, but I suppose he loved America the most. I couldn't dissuade him from returning home, to help in the protests for civil rights. He died in 1962. I felt it right when it happened. Felt the bullet going through my head in the middle of the night. In 1969, the next Master arrived, Master Cassius."

At the mention of Cassius' name, Nyx's gaze harshened and he became tense. "Cassius wasn't bad at first. He was very eager to please, to be of use to the guests. But there was something in him... A greed, I suppose. To merely be liked wasn't enough, you see. He and Master Bastien differed greatly. Bastien had a vision, to bring comfort to those affected by war. Cassius, on the other hand, didn't want to be liked, but worshipped." I bitter look washes over his features. "He had his eyes on a guest, a woman who held his mind in the palm of her hand. I can only believe it went badly. And so, he... well, you saw what he did to me. The guests are gone, and the Palace has been left to rot... I had glimpsed the beginnings of madness in his eyes. I am no fool. It was clear he was no sane man but I hoped he'd be harmless."

I immediately have the sense that I know said person personally. "I believe I met this Cassius you speak of. He gave me the Palace's deed. Talked a bit about himself, said he squandered his one chance at something good. He's a drunk now. Can barely talk right. He apparently was looking for me but I've never met him before." Thinking back to it, I relay what my past thoughts were. "When I checked the deed it all seemed like gibberish, too. I could only believe he wasn't thinking right and gave me some used napkin. He said he had done bad stuff during his life, but I never imagined it was bad as what I saw here." Nyx's brow is furrowed and his eyes wander.

He twiddles his thumbs while I speak. "He's still alive, then." He closes his eyes, wrinkling his visage in anger. Nyx looks up to the ceiling. His voice is relaxed now, almost soothing, but it carries a spike of sobriety. "Master, if you would once again permit it, may I speak freely? I may overstep my boundaries of being an outsider that has been looking into your life." I give him a curious look but slowly nod. He takes a deep breath before he begins. "If I'm not mistaken, your father left you when you were young, correct?" I narrow my eyes, wondering how he knew that. Even under my stare, Nyx wills himself to continue. "Did you ever learn the name of your father?" I have to hold myself back from scoffing.

"Of course, Mama had told me his name is Cass-" I choke on my words, realization slamming into me like a train. "N-no... no way," I say in shock as my posture dips forward slightly. "Cassius Talisko was my last Master. I remember him talking of his only child, a daughter named Ari..." Nyx gets up and retrieves something from the bookshelf. He looks at it for a moment before he returns to his seat. He slowly hands me the photo and I feel myself having to hold in a sob. It was a picture of me at one of my most memorable dance recitals. I was twelve in the picture. "Cassius had told me a lot about you, Master Jiàn..." I softly run my finger along the picture. "This is why you acted weird before...you had recognized me."

Nyx nods in affirmation. I sit back in my chair with a deep inhalation of air. Nyx silently watches me. "Master, if once again you would accept it, may I ask a question? This one however may be out of place for me as Keeper." I give him permission to tell me. "Havena was created to torture me as punishment for my crime. But over the years, the human Masters chose to impose a different will onto this realm. Each Master had a vision for it. We had a good run, a few good centuries ever since we started. Until, as you saw, Cassius came along. I wish to know your intentions. That is awfully out of place for me, as Prisoner. You are my captor, and I shall obey whatever your will may be."

Even at his words, he seems to not care anymore. "Nonetheless, I wish to have my impertinent question answered, if it isn't much. I should let you know, before you answer, that I am used to suffering. I've been through a lot worse than what you saw today." He took a shaky breath before continuing, "If your will is to torture me, like Master Cassius did, then you need not pretend. However, you accepted my oath and took me into your service, and now you've treated me with kindness. I would believe, then that you are not like him. Be honest, if you will. My servitude to you remains regardless of your choice, as I have none myself." I feel for the stag sitting in front of me. Such despair and sorrow in his voice...

I looked away from him, not being able to believe how cruel my father really was. Mama had told me that he wasn't a good man, that's why when she found out she ran away with me to protect me from him. "I didn't know what I was getting into when I accepted this deed. A lot has happened in a single day. Finding out I had met my dad at my work of all places, somehow being transported here, finding this place and meeting you, who knows more about me than most just from a picture. I couldn't have imagined any of this from his ramblings. But... yes. I intend to be a good Master, to the Palace and to you. I know you're feeling me out, trying to see if I am the same as my father. But I'm not trying to trick you. By what you've told me, I'd have no reason to. Maybe it's hard for you to believe me right now, but I mean it."

Nyx does not answer at first. Only his deep breathing cuts the room's silence. "It's been so long. I don't know for how many years I was locked away. I must admit, the mere thought of asking gives me chills. Master, can you... imagine? For centuries, I've been tending to this Palace. It was my mercy, what saved me from torture and gave me purpose. It was hard work, and not all Masters have been kind over the centuries. But it was wonderful nonetheless, I enjoyed every moment of it. And then... Master Bastien died. I could have done more to try and stop him. I should have. The he came, Cassius. I am used to pain, but I had grown accustomed to having a purpose."

He looks up at me, into my eyes. "Today you freed me, took me into your service, and now you call tell me you wish to be a good Master. Allow me to speak frankly. I am afraid of you. Terribly so. You are my jailer." He lets out a sigh, as if confessing that had taken some weight off of him. "Over the centuries I grew comfortable with enjoying my Masters, but after Cassius it's all come back to me. I am so afraid of what you can do to me. There's no choice but to obey your every command. I am so sorry for saying this. It is profoundly out of place for the Keeper to address the Master in such a way. I suppose that, even if I'm afraid of you I've lost my fear of pain and overstepping boundaries. All of that said... Despite my fear, I find myself... wanting to believe you." Nyx gets up from the sofa and walked up to me.

He's clearly tipsy, stumbling about as he approaches. The stag kneels before me. "I wish dearly for your words to be true. I am not afforded choice on whether or not I shall obey you. I am a Prisoner. But if indeed your words are true, if your heart is truly set on being a good Master... Then I shall follow you. Not out of duty, but out of want — and were I ever allowed true freedom I would remain by your side. I swore to serve you, and now I swear to follow you — for as long as your word holds true." He looks up to me. The room is dark, lit only by moonlight coming through the window, but I can see a glimmer in the stag's eye. I pull him from his kneeling position into a hug.

He is light, barely heavier than a child. In my arms he is stiff and cold, but just as my hands stroke his back he returns the gesture and rests his muzzle on my shoulder. He sniffles once, twice, and presses his face into my neck. "Thank you, Master." He breathes in deeply, as if learning my scent. Night quickly settles. The Palace has no electricity, but I can do with candle. My shadow and Nyx's slither onto the walls, trembling alongside the flickering flames. The Master's quarters are filled with the velvety sounds of life — breathing, footsteps, furniture creaking under me. From outside, a passerby would see this ruined Palace with a single candle-lit window.

If he perchance tried exploring it, he'd only find unending hallways of black and white marble. He could seek out the comfort of this candle-lit room but would never find it, locked away as it is behind a doorless wall. Silence drips back over the two of us. More often than not Nyx is turned towards me, following with his gaze. Just when I realize how hungry I am, he summons a humble feast for me — fruit, cheese, water, even a regular bottle of wine. He turns his back to you to set the table. He stumbles a bit, and a few apples roll off to the ground. I catch him giving me a sideways glance. His nostrils flare under his nervous breathing. Nyx seizes.

His back broadens as he breathes in, and then his shoulders slouch forward with his exhale. He gazes back at me, as if trying to say something, and after a few seconds he returns to setting the table. His tail flicks behind him, perhaps even with some chirpiness. When dinner is ready, he presents it to me with a half-smile on his lips. My candle-lit dinner is simple and uneventful. Any offer to have Nyx eat alongside me is brushed off with a shake of his head. It's a long, deliberate movement. I then ask him if there's any way to restore the Palace's electricity. "There is, yes. We must perform the revival ritual, and for that we must use a special object. It is an obsidian dagger, and it will bring the entire Palace back to life." Shortly after, with nothing else to do for the night, the both of us find rest in our respective rooms.

The deer minotaur dreams.

After another taxing day of being used and abused, Nyx sought comfort in his Master's quarters. Master Cassius was in the dining hall, holding a party that Nyx would rather not attend. Not that he was wanted, anyway. He planned on just going to his room, but something had caught his eye. He turned towards it and saw that it was the photograph of Ari, Cassius' daughter. He gingerly plucks it from the shelf and scans the image. He remembers what Cassius had said about her. How she was so smart and ambitious. That she was born to dance. Cassius had joked that she was dancing before she started to walk. While Cassius was never part of her life, he had made sure to keep tabs on her.

She's so full of life. Wherever she goes, happiness and kindness follow right behind her. Hearing more and more about the girl, he found himself wanting to know her personally. But what started as wanting to be her friend, slowly turned into a pining for her. He so desperately wanted to love her, give her every part of himself. He closes his eyes and hums but when he opens them, he finds himself in a field of white flowers that seemed to stretch forever.. Everything was glowing, especially a certain person. It's then that he realizes that it's Ari. But as he continues to stare, she morphs into a man. A man he knows is Jiàn... his new master. Jiàn was humming a sweet tune as he braided flowers together.

Jiàn smiled and looked up to meet his eyes. He suddenly jumped up and started laughing as he ran away, looking back at Nyx, beckoning him to chase after him. A playful smile found his lips as he started walking in the direction of where Jiàn was going. Jiàn glanced back, before laughing again and speeding up. The two ran through the field, the summer breeze playing with the Jiàn's hair. However, their little game ended when Nyx reached out and grabbed Jiàn, bringing him into his chest as they fell to the ground. Nyx now laid on his back, staring down at the heap of a man on top of him. Panting softly, Jiàn looked up at Nyx . He hummed softly as he pushed himself up, his face now level with Nyx's.

No words were spoken as the two got lost in each other's eyes. Jiàn smirked before a look of yearning filled his gaze as he leaned forward and captured Nyx's lips. Nyx hummed into the kiss, feeling that all too familiar warm feeling build up in his chest. As they parted, a string of saliva kept them connected before ultimately breaking. "Where are you today? On a distant planet? Or perhaps you're deep in the jungle." Jiàn laughs and pulls back to look into Nyx's eyes. He brings a hand up and lovingly strokes the deer's cheek. "It's such a shame that dreams don't last long, especially the good ones." With a final kiss, the serene field starts to crumble and so does Jiàn.

He jumps from dream to reflection. Master Bastien and Cassius. The cold room. The new Master. Freedom from the darkness. Food — and wine. Nyx grasps the dusty sheets. It's been decades since he slept on a bed. He feels no bedsores on his back. Instead of the cold room's stench there is only the slightly mold smell of his old room. His lips — half deer, half skeletal — threaten to curl into a smile. But doubt eats away at him, churns in his stomach. The stag unceremoniously rises from his bed. No matter what comes next he must work, work and then work some more. While he shuffles through the he mumbles an old poem from memory.

"You came. And you did well to come. I longed for you and you brought fire. To my heart, which burns high for you." A mirror makes it clear how much of a disgrace he is. The gaping, fleshless hole in his skull makes his ichor bubble and threaten to burst from his mouth. But... he's less of a disgrace than he was the day before. And for the last fifty years. There is some mercy in that. He forces a half-smile and goes out. As soon as he steps out, however, his ear flicks. He catches a distant tune — chirpy, once could say even joyous. It is faint but unmistakable.The smile disappears from his face and is replaced with a ghostly grim canvas.

#teratophillia #male monster oc #monster x human #monster #monsters #monster love #monster lover #fantasy #fantasy creatures #fantasy creature #monster romance #writing #reader insert #male reader insert #trans reader #male monster

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years

Note

Right back at ya, same-ask-buddy!! *does a pew pew pew sound* If Runaan escaped and made it back to the Silvergrove first, how would Callum and Rayla’s trio have gone down?

Hmmmm, a good question! I’d always pictured Runaan heading straight for Rayla. But what if he didn’t? Maybe… maybe Gren busts him out and he does go galloping after Rayla–on Gren’s horse, hair flying, in a shirt borrowed from Gren-- “no you keep it, I insist!”, but he loses her at the docks, stows away on another ship, and ends up arriving in Xadia ahead of her.

Okay this got ridiculously long and entertaining, so thank you very much!

Runaan’s lotus would never have sunk, and Ethari would have been overjoyed to see him return, even in his injured and bedraggled state. And they’d both be frantic over Rayla.

I have a headcanon that the six lotuses make that pinging noise not only to indicate life, but so the elves who were bespelled can actually locate each other, exactly like Rayla did on the castle battlements. She ran out there, paused, there was a ping, and then she said, “You’re here, I know you are.” and there was another ping when Runaan yelled from inside the coin but let’s not think about how he was trying to reach out to Rayla nope

So I’d imagine that Runaan would pack his and Ethari’s mounts with gear and go back for Rayla and Callum (and, he assumes, Ezran). Maybe time for a fresh shirt, absolutely time for a couple new swords from his hubby’s wall, but no time for hair brushing, that mane’s gonna be wild and messy this whole ride. He’d find her back across the Moonstone Path.after Callum connected to the Sky arcanum, after he used dark magic. Both of those things would land hard on Runaan. And so would seeing baby Zym!

Rayla would absolutely stand between Callum and Runaan with her swords out. “I can do this all day,” she’d sass him. “But I’ve got a mission. I’ll ask you one last time, Runaan. Please, help me. But if you won’t, then please stay out of my way.”

And Runaan gets softly distracted by the way Zym is clinging to Callum in worry. Runaan the assassin is scaring the Dragon Prince. So he puts his swords down. “Very well, Rayla. I’ll escort you to the Queen of the Dragons.” A longsuffering sigh. “And the human. And then he’s going back across the border.”

Rayla’s feeling protective, though. “Let’s let Zubeia decide that.”

Another sigh. “That’s fair. Now come. We have a long journey ahead.”

Rayla sees he still has one binding on, and she asks Zym if he can help Runaan the way he helped her. Runaan is shocked when Rayla holds the Dragon Prince up to the white binding, and the little dragon pulls it free with his baby teeth. “There is more than one way to release, Runaan,” she says kindly.

And Runaan takes a moment to be totally thrown off his game. This is not the hard, cold world he’s used to. But he buries his confusion and thanks Zym for his help. I bet he smiles, too, and bows, and Zym licks his nose, startling him and making Rayla laugh.

So Runaan rides his Moonstrider–perfectly and with exquisite control–while Callum sits behind Rayla–way behind Rayla, trying not to touch her at all–on the Shadowpaw. Zym perches anywhere he can on the Shadowpaw or its riders. He doesn’t ride behind Runaan.

Callum’s got to be struggling with the dichotomy of who Runaan is. He knows Runaan killed Harrow. But here he is being softer, off his mission.

The border is another unpleasant surprise: Callum’s use of dark magic means that Sol Regem won’t let him pass. Runaan’s willing to let Callum live and return home, but Rayla insists that the quest will mean so much more if Callum’s a part of it when they reach Zubeia. Runaan quietly disagrees, but Rayla says she’s not leaving him, so Runaan can once again get out of her way or help.

Runaan’s not used to this kind of leadership-level defiance from her. But her plan is sound, so he offers to help, to make sure it goes smoothly. Naturally, he ends up dancing across Sol Regem’s crown to throw off the sunbirds and their alarm cries, and distract the dragon at some critical point. Once they’re safe on the other side, though, he insists on bath time for the stinky human. Sits on a rock overlooking the little pool where Callum’s washing off. Doesn’t make the slightest attempt at conversation.Does manage to chuckle wryly at Callum’s suggestion that Runaan should go guard Rayla at her own pool, as if she needed Runaan’s help to stay safe.

Back at the Silvergrove, Runaan and Rayla dance to open the village illusion, while Callum has to stay to the side with Zym and watch. It took Rayla a whole day to convince Runaan to let Callum into the Silvergrove at all, and Callum tipped the argument by offering to go blindfolded the rest of the way. Runaan tied his scarf over his eyes and let Rayla make sure he didn’t fall off the Shadowpaw and die or anything.

The Silvergrove is still in a bit of uproar over the assassins’ deaths, and seeing a human in the village doesn’t calm things down. Runaan is put in the position of having to glare them into silence, defending Callum, and that makes him grumpier. But Rayla’s so happy! She’s home, and she gets to show it to Callum.

They all get Moonberry Surprise, and Ethari gets to explain what he knows about the Dragon Queen dying, and to take care of his family and see to their needs. He can’t stop touching Runaan, to prove to himself that he’s okay, back home safe. And he keeps hugging Rayla. Runaan won’t thank Callum for saving Rayla with dark magic. But Ethari does thank him for looking out for her the whole way here.

There is no “two blankets or just one” here. Runaan balks at the idea of letting Callum inside at all but Ethari tsks at him and says he’ll take care of it. He makes Callum a nice toasty hammock that hangs near the forge and keeps him toasty warm.

Runaan is in a much better mood the next morning. Ethari put in a lot of effort to relax and encourage him, because he knew what Runaan was going to do next: take Rayla and Callum and Zym to the Storm Spire. And he does. He seems a little baffled that he cares this much, but he’s doing it for Rayla, and Ethari insists it’s the right thing to do, and that he’s the perfect elf to make sure they get there safely.

All packed up, they head out the next morning. Runaan’s his usual stoic self, leading the way. And Ethari has given him his own pendant to wear. Callum is bursting with questions as he rides behind Rayla, and she answers him with her usual teasing sass. Hearing her voice, how easily she converses with the human, both soothes and worries Runaan. Knowing he’s got his arm back thanks to Zym is giving him a lot to think about, too. He’s basically using this part of the trip to process his feels, just like Rayla did in canon.

Ethari still shoots his lighthawk arrow, and Nyx intercepts it. But Ethari, tricky elf, doesn’t mention Runaan in his note, so Nyx doesn’t expect an assassin to be guarding the kids she’s come to mislead and rob. She smartens up at the tip of his blade, while Rayla elbows Callum and winks as if to say “Watch this.”

Negotiations ensue and an accord is swiftly reached, in which Nyx will lead them across the Midnight Desert, and if she doesn’t try anything clever, she’ll be rewarded on the far side. She agrees readily, and they set out. Runaan stays up all night at the oasis, so Nyx never tries to steal Zym.

Rayla and Callum still have a midnight chat, but it doesn’t start with her tears. She has both her dads and she was never ghosted. What’s weighing on her heart is whether she can live up to Runaan’s expectations now that she’s let him down once. She’s afraid he’s going to disown her or something. That he thinks she needs shepherding across Xadia like she can’t get there herself. She feels like he’s treating her like a child.

Callum sees something else. But he’s not comfortable talking about it because it paints Runaan in a much kinder light than he’s used to. He sees a stabby dad trying to make up for dragging Rayla onto a terrible mission, by helping her with her own, by trying to ensure that it goes well. He sees Runaan being protective and very very lowkey apologetic. But he’s not ready to allow Runaan to have that side yet. He ends up talking about Harrow for a couple of hours, and Rayla listens.

Runaan has to choose between keeping an eye on Nyx and keeping an eye on Rayla. He chooses Nyx. So he misses the part where Rayla kisses Callum and then glances over worriedly to see if Runaan was watching.

Runaan’s pretty exhausted the next sunrise as the ambler carries them across the desert, and the moment he’s out, Rayla and Callum grin and look at each other like they’re about to kiss again. And Nyx takes Zym and makes a beeline for the far side of the desert. Callum and Rayla yell after her. Runaan wakes and grabs his bow. His arrow finds Nyx’s wing before Zym can zap her. She still tumbles into the sand, and Runaan’s not interested in picking her up again. He’s woken up very grumpy. But while Zym returns to Callum, Rayla goes after Nyx and rescues her. Runaan isn’t really on board with her plan, but he does pot shot soulfang serpents from the ambler’s saddle to give Rayla enough room to reach Nyx safely and bring her back. Callum’s too worried about Rayla to really think about how easily Runaan can kill stuff.

Callum totally does his “Because she’s Rayla” speech right in front of Runaan. He’s just as flabbergasted as she is, because he knows just as well as Rayla what open feelings mean among Moonshadows. He doesn’t expect Callum to know that, but he knows Rayla knows. And she’s letting Callum keep talking.

“Rayla.” They both jump when he calls her name. But he just wants to talk. So, like the Moonshadow warriors they are, they climb way up the ambler’s neck, leaving Callum behind, and talk. Rayla shows Runaan how she sees Callum: brave, warm, a team player, skilled with primal magic, willing to do foolhardy things for the right reasons. And then she spins that, not onto herself, but onto Ethari and Runaan both. It’s her “I like him because he’s like you” speech. Runaan doesn’t see a single iota of Callum in himself. But he does see some of Ethari. And that gives him a lot of pause. He needs some time to think, so he tries to buy it by saying, “Don’t trust him yet.”

Rayla just sasses back, “Oh, it’s way too late for that, Runaan. He’s saved my life four times already.”

They cross the desert and Nyx cheekily demands her reward. Runaan gives her a raised eyebrow of judgment. “You said if I led you across the desert and didn’t try anything clever,” she says, “I’d be rewarded. And,” she adds, holding out her hand for payment, “I think we can all agree that I wasn’t very clever just then.” She tosses a sassy wink in with her grin.

Runaan just stares at her. Then he pulls one of his arrows from its quiver, snaps it in half, and hands it to her. “No one will buy that from you, so don’t try.”

“What’s it good for, then? A busted arrow.”

“A broken Moonshadow assassin arrow means your justice will come later. Try to live long enough to appreciate it.”

The group travels to the Storm Spire, and Ezran and Phoe-Phoe find them there. Runaan hangs back from Ezran, but he’s very distracted by Phoe-Phoe’s tranformation and her feather. He wants to ask Rayla about the Moon Nexus, but now isn’t the time. And this all happens in Avizandum’s shadow, making everyone feel very uncomfortable. Callum says his speech about how the statue makes him feel, and he says it loudly enough for Runaan to hear on purpose. Rayla holds his hand and stands with him. Runaan eyes Avizandum, then he looks back at the kids. He never intended to get this soft, but it’s Callum who’s letting him. It’s getting harder not to respect the young prince, because he does have so many traits that Runaan admires about his husband. But there’s a heavy shadow that lies between them, and it can’t ever be lifted.

Runaan takes the mounts up the Spire behind the kids. Ezran and Callum revive them with Ventus Spiralis. Runaan looks at Callum speculatively–he could’ve just let him suffocate. Callum just says, “We’ll need everyone together on this.” Because yes, it’s one thing to return to the Dragon Queen with an elf and a human bearing Zym safely. It’s another to return in the company of the assassin sent out to take Harrow.

But Zubeia isn’t awake, and soon Ibis sees the human army is coming. He flies off for help, and Runaan and Rayla find themselves where Lain and Tiadrin were, in the egg chamber. And then Runaan tells her what he saw in Viren’s coins. “Lain and Tiadrin didn’t run, Rayla. Viren took them, and he still has them. We were wrong.”

Callum defends the base of the Spire, and Runaan, surprisingly, joins him, leaving Rayla to stand where her parents stood. He just offers Callum a tolerant look when he steps out beside him, arrow nocked on his bowstring.

“Fighting to protect who you love?” Callum asks quietly.

Runaan pauses. “Always.”

Callum sketches a Fulminis rune. “Same here.”

And they fight side by side. Runaan keeps Callum safe. Callum keeps Runaan safe. It doesn’t resolve much. But it’s a start in the direction of forgiveness and trust.

And then after the battle, Ezran tells them that Viren’s sneaked up top after Zym. Runaan and Callum dash up the stairs, with Runaan pulling Callum by his coat half the way.

They reach the top in time to see Viren toss Rayla back, her swords flying. Runaan pushes Callum toward Rayla. “Stop her. He’s mine.”

Callum gasps as he sees Rayla gathering herself for a run at Viren. He leaps after her, spurred by desperate love, and tackles her into his arms on the steps of the Pinnacle. “Rayla,stop, you’ll die, you can’t! Don’t leave me. I need you.”

The words tumble out, but a shadow flickers past them, and they both look up in time to see Runaan tackle Viren off the cliff.

“No!” Rayla and Callum both yell. They scramble up, pick up a frightened and hurt Zym, and stare down into the clouds.

“I can save him, I can save him,” Callum’s mumbling. “I can do the wing spell, I know I can.”

“Look!” Rayla points down into the clouds. Something’s circling. Then a dark red shape bursts up into the setting sunlight, spirals, and lands back on the Pinnacle beside them. Runaan lets the shadowhawk spell dissipate and holds up the pendant chain, now empty of its moon opal.

“Love really does give you wings,” he says. He rests a hand on each of their shoulders, sees Viren’s fallen relic staff. “You’re the mage, Callum. You should look after that staff. Perhaps we can find a good use for it.”

And with one hand, he holds up a little pouch that he pickpocketed from Viren on the way down and jingles it. “Right, Rayla?”

#asks #theredhairedmonkey #rayla #callum #runaan #ethari #zym #zubeia #ibis #nyx #viren #runaan escapes au #tdp #tdp au

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oh-theatre · 5 years

Text

Objection!: Chapter 10

Chapter title: Utinam Ne Illum Numquam Conspexissem

A/n: My bois ™ I love them. I'm sorry this chapter took longer than usual. It was a bitch to write! I actually don't know how I feel about this one, but stuff was revealed so yay!! Ooo what are Rem and Emile discussing... Also, I just love Latin, and Latin phrases...hence the title. Anyway, leave me some comments! I would really appreciate it!

First | Previous | Next

words: 4287

summary: Virgil and Remy must save Roman from a dangerous situation

pairings: Eventual logicality, eventual prinxiety, platonic demus, romantic remile

warnings: Murder mention, child murder, Law and Courtroom, swearing, blood, gun, gun mention, drug and alcohol mention, sweating, hospital, screams

Ao3 Link

“I warned you Rem, the waiting process is the worst” Emile advises from his desk, Remy paces around the room. Emile sighs looking up from his computer, Remy huffs. “Rem come here” He gestures for the worrisome detective. He joins Emile on the other side of the desk, sitting in the chair.

“We could get married in the time it takes” Remy comments fiddling with the funky pencils in the cup. Emile chuckles taking Remy's free hand.

“Did you just propose to me Remington Nyx?” Emile asks coyly, using his other hand to type some more things on his computer. Remy drops the pencils leaving a cluttered mess, Emile rolls his eyes.

“No, that's not for another month” Remy sighs, Emile blushes biting his tongue. Remy kisses his hand jumping up. “Alright! I can't sit here wallowing! I need to do something”

“Glad to hear you saying that” Virgil slides in through the door. Emile gives him a small wave return, Remy falls back onto the couch soon joined by Virgil. “Is it bad that I don't wanna work today?” Emile shuts off his computer standing up. He makes his way to the chair across the couch, opening his notebook.

“What's wrong?” Emiles voice shifts, Remy stifles a laugh recognizing what he's doing. Virgil rubs his forehead causing a red stain of heat.

“I'm stuck! I really can't do this job, I don't know what's happening” Virgil complains. Remy's smile disappears now, he leans forward, placing a hand on his partner. Virgil shoots him a grateful glance but it doesn't do much, because he's stuck spinning. “I'm just so confused”

“Oh, I felt that” Remy mumbles spreading himself on the couch laying his head on Virgil's lap. Emile smiles sweetly at his partner. “Em, we need therapy, clearly” he gestures dramatically. Emile chuckles, Virgil nods solemnly.

“Alright fine, but you better be paying me for this” He teases, Remy wiggles his eyebrows making Emile shift. “Not like that you absolute dork” Emile chides. Virgil begins fiddling with Remy's hair, twirling and twisting it every which way. Nothing harmful and Remy doesn't mind, it helps Virge calms down. It gives him something to do. “Ok, what's your sleep schedule like?” Emile begins.

“What does th-” A hand quickly covers Virgil's mouth, he looks down at Remy expectantly.

“Dude, just answer the question. He's the professional” Virgil rolls his eyes removing Remy's hand. Emile, who at this point is used to the detective's antics, politely waits. He has to do it a lot, patients tend to take longer to start off a conversation. But once you get them going, it's like rapid fire. Sometimes Emile can't keep up, however, others are less willing.

“Uh, I sleep...I guess…” Virgil grumbles, Remy appropriately yawns. “It's pretty sporadic, never more than like...mmm four to five hours?” Remy snaps in agreement, Emile tries hard not to shake his head. Showing disapproval or disappointment is counterproductive but Remy sleeps plenty, almost too much if you ask Emile. Virgil flicks Remy's forehead causing a mock pout. “You sleep so much it's not even funny” Virgil quips, Emile chuckles. Remy looks to his boyfriend for comfort or support but is instead met with a shrug, as if saying its true.

“Ok, we’re here for Virge, let's get back to him” Remy huffs, Emile nods coyly. Remy tries his best to kick Emile from his position but it ends up looking like he's flailing.

“Right well I mean...Damian keeps me up sometimes” Virgil informs returning back to a more reserved state. A pit of shame formed in his stomach, Emile notices the detective begins to pound his fists rhythmically on his thighs. Virgil's thoughts are cluttered, Damian. How could he think that? How could he say that? How dare he blame his child, his own son. How dare he complain about his job? His life is perfect, he has everything.

Not everything

Selfish, that's what I am

“Virgil? Is everything ok?” Emiles voice somehow makes its way into his head. A fruity intrusion in his echo chamber, his thoughts make way for the question. Pausing just for a moment, so he can look the doctor in the eye. Remy sits up now, growing concern riddles his face.

“Virge, you still with us bud?” Remy waves in front of his face, he can focus on the swift movement. Virgil couldn't really see it much, but it was consistent, it wasn't changing on him. But every time even the slightest thought of something pushed its way into his mind, an uneasy feeling tugged at his stomach. He grabs the hand, setting it down.

“M’fine” He lies, his problems are his own. Obviously, Remy and Emile could see straight through this, but just as impeccable timing goes. This takes the cake. The door swings open hitting the wall quite heavily. Virgil stands soon joined by the other two. Dylan appears his radio going wild, Emile and Remy throwdown in a staring contest. Emile crowned the winner, hopes his message of ‘Do not hurt Dylan, it wasn't his fault’ gets through. “Whats up Dyl?” Virgil asks, dusting off his pants.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt-

“It's fine, what's going on?” Remy pushes, Emile frowns at him. Every hint of annoyance towards the office that Remy could muster, he would. It may seem a bit too much but he put Emile's life in Dylan's hands and was completely betrayed. Every time he sees Emile he can't help but be reminded of the barrel he found his boyfriend staring down.

“There was a break-in at…” he snaps struggling to recall the address. Virgil exhales, his own patience wearing thin. “4563 Witch Lane, I think” Virgil's brows furrow, he knows that address. “It's ongoing and officers say the perpetrator is violent” Virgil heart pounds in his head.

Remember

“Why do you need us?” Remy questions flopping back onto the couch “Sounds like they got it covered” He blows, Emile shakes his head. Why? Why do they need us? They're usually called once the crime has happened, to investigate; How, when, why, and who. And that all depends on whether or not the patrol officers catch the culprit or not. So why, on god's green earth, do they need Virgil and Remy.

“Uh...because-” It finally hits Virgil, knocking him down a peg.

“Because that's Romans address” He mutters, fear is not the word he's looking for.

~~~

One more text and Patton might scream. One more text and Patton might scream. One more text from Liam and Patton might scream. One more text about how much Liam wants to see him, or talk to him or how much he misses him and Patton might scream. One more-

“Papa! Your phone is buzzing!” Valerie claims from across the small cafe table. Patton gives her a wary smile before turning over the phone, mostly to humor the excited girl. Quickly skimming over the multiple texts from Liam and one from Logan, he turns it back over. He will respond later, the mystery of what Logans might hold does set his heart racing.

“Alright kiddos, what do you want to eat?” Patton asks looking expectantly at the twins. For the past twenty minutes, the kids have been reading through the menus, on their own per Patton's request, trying to figure out what they wanted. Obviously, Patton would help if they needed it but he wanted them to try and do it on their own. The look of pride on their faces when they understood an order was all Patton was looking for.

“Waffles!” Remus has decided, shouting it for everyone to hear. Patton smiles politely at the other patrons, turning back to his son. “With...whip cream and sprinkles!” Patton nods, the waitress, Ally, writes down his order moving onto Valerie.

“I want some eggs please” She informs, wringing her hands. The failure to meet the waitress's eyes makes Patton smile sadly. Valerie, unlike her brother, was very shy towards strangers. She was much more comfortable around people she knew, to which she would shout and scream and dance around to her heart's content.

“Would you like that with bacon dear?” The waitress asks, Valerie ponders for a moment using the menu as an escape tool. She nods. Ally smiles writing down the order before moving onto Patton. “And you sir?”

“I’ll take eggs benedict” Patton shows, she nods scribbling it down. “Oh! And to drink, can we have two fresh orange juices and a latte?” The kids bounce at the sound of juice. Ally leaves after a moment, the bustling cafe revving in energy.

Breaking how own rules, as the kids play with one another, Patton checks his phone searching for one specific message. The ‘new notification’ mark hovering by Logan's name is enough to make Patton's face red. The blush he had grown so fond and familiar with returning, his finger debating whether or not to open the message. Had he gone to open it, his morning would have been a lot different but the sound of his name being called pulled him away.

“Mister Hart?” Patton shuffles around in his chair, a smile embracing his face.

“Reeve! Hi!” Patton stands, shaking the timid intern. Logan was not wrong, in his mumblings, the lawyer had revealed how Patton's smile could light up the room. He ushers for Reeve to join him at his table, after a moment of resilience, he takes his place next to Patton. “What brings you here?”

��I'm just here to pick up mister Tolentino's order” Reeve rubs the tips of fingers together trying to remember what it was. “One black coffee, an eclair, and three palmiers” Patton and Reeve recite in unison. The intern raises a brow receiving a sweet chuckle in return.

“Almost ten years and it hasn't changed” Patton reminisces, Reeve stays quiet a secret itch to find out more about Logan. “I used to pick it up for him” Reeve smirks, Patton shakes his head playfully “He would forget a lot, he claims to hate sweet things but obviously that's not true” Patton laughs, sitting and watching the lawyer Reeve couldn't agree more. “Anyway, it's nice to see it's the same” Reeve nods, there was something truly entrancing about this man, the intern could listen for hours. Patton bites his bottom lip, fishing something out of his bag. “It's really not a healthy order, would you get him an apple or some berries?” Patton requests, holding out his hand with money.

“I-i can't accept that” Reeve stutters, how can he be so trusting? What if Reeve just took off with`1 the money, what if he spent it on drugs or alcohol? Patton chuckles only furthering his insistence.

“It's on me, really” He insists “Logan needs to eat actual food” He chides, Reeve, takes it feeling awfully guilty. Patton's affect made him want to spend it on the right thing, he was just so...sweet.

“He was not wrong” Reeve mumbles, his eyes flying open through his tired manner. Patton turns to him cocking his head.

“Wrong?” He asks, Reeve shakes his head wishing away the thought with an awkward squeak of a laugh. Patton shrugs, if it wasn't his to hear, it wasn't his to hear. And yet it was, it would honestly make Reeve’s life so much easier. Logan was...an adequate teacher but he'd be even better if some things (cough Patton cough) weren't constantly on his mind. Reeve also wouldn't mind seeing the lawyer a bit happier. Whether he would severely regret this next move was at the tip of his mind, and yet…

“Uh, Logan...talks about you… a lot” Reeve explains, Patton coughs back a smile

“Pardon?” He tries, sipping his water

“He likes to talk about you Patton” Patton’s laughter turns to a quick blush. The light dusting of pink flattering his face. Reeve swallows, he stands giving a brisk smile. “I should probably get going, you know how he is, thank you again” Reeve rushes, practically scrambling to get the order and out of the cafe.

As Patton comes to terms with the feelings he himself had been feeling for years. He's kept so hidden and down, fear of rejection overwhelming and consuming his every action. Because for the life of him, he couldn't conjure up one reason why a lawyer, no a person such as Logan would ever give Patton a second thought. And yet ten years later…he couldn't help but think of one thing.

No, thank you, Reeve

~~~

“Fuck”

“Virge”

“No, fuck” Virgil repeats as they step out of the car. Cops, on cops, line the street outside of Romans house. To say Virgil's heart was racing was an understatement, it was pounding. Beating so hard and fast it almost hurt. He walks towards the main station. “What's going on Kane?” He asks the lead officer, Kane turns to him his eyes confused.

“Break in, possible violent inside” He informs, knowing that the fire in Virgil's eyes didn't mean a lengthy explanation. However, the twitching at the detective's mouth scares him even more.

“He's still in there?!” Virgil exclaims, he huffs pushing further past, right up to the captain. “I'm going in” he declares

“Absolutely not detective Tormine” Haley warns. Remy finally catches up to his less than excited partner. Virgil clenches his fists, Remy recognizes the distinct furrowing of his brows. A little too late in his opinion. “Detecti- Virgil!” Haley calls out as Virgil races past the yellow tape. Remy sighs following after him, shooting Haley an apologetic glance. “Detective Nyx! Ugh why do I try” Haley moans

Virgil ducks in the house pulling out his gun, flashlight placed above it. He’s been here before, typically its harder to get around these situations when you don't know the layout of the house. But this one? He knew like the back of his hand. He hears small noises, he can't tell if they're just house noises or people noises.

“Virge!” Remy whispers coming up behind the detective. Virgil jumps slightly turning to his partner. He motions silently for Remy to go one way towards the kitchen, while Virgil will go upstairs. They make their separate ways, quietly walking through the house. Virgil checks the bathrooms upstairs first before slowly making his way into Romans room. Its sealed shut, he pushes carefully trying not to draw attention. He swears he can hear a silent struggle. Finally, something shimmies on the other side falling to the ground, he opens the door using his light to see. A light shuffling in the corner catches his eye, he turns practically dropping his things.

“Virge?” Roman croaks. He sits huddled in the corner, a hand over his stomach, another covering the bright light shining in his eyes. Virgil wastes no time kneeling in front of the judge. “I always thought I'd be the knight in shining armor coming to save the prince” Roman jokes, clearly delirious.

“You're bleeding” Virgil realizes, Romans hand is applying pressure on his stomach. Blood oozes through the cracks of his fingers, his eyes barely stay open. Roman laughs immediately seizing through his teeth, the pain runs through. “Ok, come on” Virgil wraps his arm carefully around Romans waist, silently apologizing. Roman tries his best to stand but relies almost entirely on Virgil for support. Virgil goes to take a step but Roman can't, collapsing with just enough space for Virgil to set him down. “So that's not going to work” He mumbles, Roman can feel Virgil's hands tremble in his own.

“You're scared” He notes, his eyes closed at this point. Virgil scoffs.

“Of course I'm fucking scared Roman! You're bleeding out, there's a violent person in your house, cops are surrounding your house!” He shouts Roman slaps him softly.

“Loud, way too loud” He chides, Virgil avoids his eyes knowing the judge is right. “M’fine, let's go” He decides, opening up his eyes grabbing onto Virgil again. Virgil fights to stay balanced as he goes again, knowing Romans not here to argue. He also knows Roman doesn't have time to argue, not with the loopy state of the judge. Once stable, lightly they make their way out of the room, checking the hall is safe.

“You doing ok?” Virgil checks as they huddle close together down the stairs, he wishes he had paid more attention to Romans answer, or lack thereof. “Ro?” Virgil asks as they reach the bottom, he turns to him noticing the limp state. He also notices he's basically carrying the man. “Dammit” He grunts rushing into the kitchen, keeping his steps light. The warm blood still flowing out of Roman is enough to make Virgil gag.

“Hey” Remy whispers joining the pair, his eyes growing wide at the sight Roman. “Oh my god… is h-” His words cut off by a violent noise as something tumbles into the kitchen. Too dark to see, both detectives ready themselves, back to back. Their guns aimed at both kitchen entrances, the patterning of tiny feet growing louder. An ‘oof’ noise coming from Roman, they both turn to exhale breaths of relief, Ollie sits atop Roman licking his face. Remy chuckles before turning to the entrance. “I'll keep watch, you make sure he's ok” Virgil nods.

“Virge, I think you're pretty nifty” Roman comments as Virgil tends to his wounds as best he can. Virgil chuckles rolling his eyes playfully. He uses a damp cloth to wipe Romans forehead, removing any soot or dried blood. “Don't laugh at me” He pouts, Ollie stands brave by the judge's side.

“Never princey, never” Virgil promises, holding a wad of towels to the stomach wound. That won't do, he thinks. “Rem, we gotta get him out of here or…” Virgil would rather not finish his sentence, Remy gives a brisk nod understanding. He takes one more look out the entrance before aiding Virgil, taking place on Romans other side. “Just to the door, that's all we need to do” Virgil licks his lips, they're unmistakably dry.

“Ready?” Remy cocks his head towards his partner.

“Set” Virgil takes a deep breath his eyes aimed at the door.

“Arf!” Ollie barks, ready to charge with the trio. Virgil and Remy share a glance before setting off. They avoid anything that might make noise, reaching the door easily. Still supporting Roman, Virgil pushes the door open, shoving Remy and Roman through first Ollie squeezing in after them. He hears Haley shouting commands towards the officers. The aching his heart resembles when the medics peel Roman away from Virgil is almost too much. But having to watch the ambulance drive away without him was worse.

~~~

“Nothing too drastic, we got him into surgery just in time” The doctor explains leading a very worried Virgil to Romans room. “He should be resting, but well…” The doctor eyes the room, Virgil releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding at the sight of Roman flirting with the nurse. “He insisted he was fine, he's all yours” The doctor squeezes Virgil's shoulder, and it takes everything in his power not to cringe away from the man.

“Thanks” Virgil slides open the door making his way into the room. Roman finishes his latest quest to be the most loved man on the planet turning to Virgil. His smile is like no other, even though the pain is clear as his face morphs. Virgil should feel relieved but something else washes over him.

“If it isn't my favorite detective, Vigil Terrible was it?” Roman teases, as if everything is ok. Virgil slides the door closed, his hands gaining increasingly sweatier. Its not ok, the countless tubes hanging out of Roman, the IV drip attached to the man, the bruises on his face, all indicate otherwise. “Virge, I was kidding…” Roman assures seeing Virgil's blank stare.

“You almost died, you know that right?” Virgil jumps right in, approaching Romans bed. Roman shifts uncomfortably in his spot, his smile faltering. “As in, bleeding out, unconscious, death” He pushes further if it's for him or the judge Virgil isn't sure. Roman knows it's not aimed at him, or at least he hopes.

“But I didnt...you saved me” Roman gives him a sad smile, Virgil scoffs. “As cliche as that is, it's true”

“It's my job” Virgil reminds, although he wouldn't disobey Haleys orders for anyone, he wasn't telling Roman that.

“Be that as it may, you still did it, and I'm fine so…” Roman waits for something, anything to tell him how Virgil feels. But he can't let it go, something is itching at the detective clearly. No matter how many ‘Im fines’ Roman conjures or how many doctors say otherwise, Virgil needs more.

“What about Damian” He blurts, he's not sure where it came from. Roman sits up now, his eyes wide. The feelings and thoughts running him through him are incomprehensible. No words explain the jumble of things.

“Damian's not my kid” He claims, funny. He always assumed Virgil would be the one to set that boundary, he didn't want to but if it would calm Virgil down.

“No your right, only when it's convenient right? Not when he's scared, or lonely, or has questions I can't answer. Not then right? You only act like…” He trails off, pacing around the room.

“Virgil what is this really about? Cause right now you're not making any sense” Roman argues, ignoring the pain his side shoots through him. He waits for a retort, another fiery remark from the detective.

“I don't know! Ok? I'm just...worried” Virgil's voice, in layman's terms, sounds so defeated. Romans poise softens as he ushers Virgil to come to him. Virgil obliges, putting on an annoyed front as he sits in front of the judge. “You didn't see you ok? You were...bleeding and…” Roman tilts his head softly.

“Yeah but I'm fine now” He repeats for what seems like the millionth time that day. “Look, I've got a steady heartbeat” He points to the monitor, Virgil listens intently to the stable pattern. Waiting for some drastic change, but it stays, its constant. He stops shaking, he silently begs for Roman to continue. Roman nods picking up “My wounds stopped bleeding” He lifts his gown showing the surgical remains of his stomach cut. Virgil traces it with his fingers, the cold sending a shiver through Roman, nothing he can't handle.

“Sorry!” Virgil pulls away, Roman takes his hand.

“Its fine, but god are you a corpse V?” Roman asks squeezing different areas of Virgil's hands. “You're freezing.” Virgil grasps his hand back, swatting Roman away. They share a quick amused smile. Roman leads Virgil's hand to his own face, showing him the already healing bruises. Roman goes to say more but in true dramatic fashion, is quickly interrupted.

“Patton! I told you they would be here!” Logan calls out, appearing in the doorway. Virgil jumps out of the bed moving away from Roman. Roman shuts his eyes, wincing away from the disappointment. A smile appears on his face as Logan, followed by Patton enters the room.

“Roman, oh my gosh!” Patton cries examining the judge. He turns to Virgil then back to Roman. “What on earth happened?” He asks, sitting where Virgil once sat. Logan moves into the room sliding the door closed, Virgil eyes the pair, specifically Patton, afraid of what he might do. “May I?” He inquires softly, Roman nods. Patton checks Romans face, turning it carefully as he looks at the wounds.

“Some guy broke into his house” Virgil informs, Logan listens intently. “They searched the house after Ro left but he was nowhere to be found” Patton shakes his head disapprovingly.

“I'm so sorry you had to go through that, we got the text and we were so worried” Patton rushes, cupping Romans face lovingly. He hadn't realized how nice it felt until Patton pulled away his hand. Unlike Virgil, Patton's hands were warm, almost burning hot. As he reassesses Patton's words he shares a look with Virgil.

“We?” They recite in unison, both raising their eyebrows. Patton's blush is instantly recognizable, Roman laughs as the lawyer faces away from Logan.

“Patton and his children obviously,” Logan says not understanding the obvious teasing that takes place. Roman concurs mockingly, shoving Patton playfully. “Speaking of children” Logan mumbles as to quick feet are heard outside of the room.

“Roman!” Remus and Valerie exclaim together as they run into the room. Patton stands to scoop them up before they jump onto the judge. Roman and Virgil laugh at Pattons expectant look, clearly a common theme for the twins.

“Careful” Is all he says as he places them gently on Romans bed. Virgil feels a tug at his stomach wishing Damian was present. The little boy would be incredibly mad at Virgil for NOT bringing him. He shakes his head taking his leave, not giving Roman a second look.

The twins take turns very carefully hugging an unfortunately distracted Roman. Virgil might not have given the judge another glance but Roman was watching him the entire time.

~~~

“Did you do it?” the dark voice carries, the timid man is almost too afraid to speak. “Answer me” He wastes no time, he doesn't like waiting.

“N-no...the detective showed up b-before I could finish the job” He mutters, his words tripping over themselves. A crash can be heard through the room, vibrating into silence.

“I don't like failure” The voice seems closer now, the man clings to the door. “You failed me, twice now, and I don't do...failure” No no no no, the man begs silently. “Kill him”

The screams buried under a mountain of murder.

“The lawyer and the judge” The voice informs a new body “I want them taken out, do you understand?”

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makeup-junkie-94 · 4 years

Text

My ultimate guide to wearing foundation

Hi guys, I hope you’re all staying safe. This is going to be quite a lengthy post but here is my ultimate guide to foundation. I hope you find it useful.

Skin prep.

You wouldn’t paint a wall without washing it and preparing it first would you? The same idea goes for your face. Always start with a clean well prepared canvas it makes for better application and results. Use your favourite products to cleanse, tone and moisturise. I like to use oil as well as my skin is dry. Allow a few minutes for your face products to work into the skin before applying your primer.

Time to prime.

It is important you choose a primer that will not only help achieve the effect you want with your foundation but choose one that works with your skin type too. If you have combination skin it’s a good idea to have more then one primer so you can target specific areas of your face. For example if you have an oily T-Zone use a mattifying primer here and a hydrating primer in dry areas. If you don’t want a matte finish to your makeup you should choose a primer that is hydrating/illuminating. Products designed to give a dewy finish or a glowy look are really better suited to drier skins. If you have oily skin matte finishes are your best options, or the products may slide, become patchy and need touch ups all day. If you have sensitive skin learn what ingredients are your triggers and avoid them. I have sensitive skin and as a general rule of thumb I avoid parabens (I’m allergic), perfume and alcohol as much as possible specifically alcohol denat. Once you have applied your primer allow 30-60 seconds for it to settle in.

Choosing the foundation.

Choosing a foundation feels like a minefield with a number of options and regular new realeases it’s hard to know where to turn. My first tip is don’t rely on what the makeup counters in stores match you with. The lighting can make you look great but when you get home you may realise it isn’t right for you. In my experience they are also terrible at shade matching. No matter which counter I have been to or which ‘artist’ I have dealt with I have always been matched to a neutral undertone but I’m actually a cool undertone which I discovered by accident. Then I understood why every time I was convinced to buy a high end foundation it was too dark or too orange. Firstly find your undertone, look at your veins and think about whether silver or gold jewellery suits you best. Then decide which skin colour category you fall into (fair-dark). Once you know this information high end websites have some pretty accurate shade matchers. Find out if a foundation oxidises if it does choose a shade lighter. It’s better to be too light than too dark as you can always use bronzer to warm the face up. Don’t be afraid to ask for samples to take home so you can really find out if you like the shade and foundation. Another option is to go to the drugstore an experiment with the testers to find the shade that suits you best. Once you find the perfect shade in one brand I recommend using the website Findation. Here you can type in what foundation you are using and the shade and it will give you the equivalent in other brands. Once you know what shade you need to look for it’s time to choose the foundation. High end foundations generally are better than drugstore ones. If you have oily skin you will strugggle with a dewy finish so you are better sticking to a matte foundation. If you have dry skin avoid matte foundations as they will cling to dry patches and emphasise the issue. Oily skin should stick to matte/satin finishes. Dry skin should opt for hydrating formulas with a dewy/radiant/satin finish. Again sensitive skin sufferers shoudl opt for formulas that don’t include the likely trigger ingredients listed above.

Setting it into place.

The one product you should always invest in is a setting powder. Drugstore setting powders don’t compare to high end ones. They are never milled as finely and generally cause cakiness. If you have oily skin then setting powders will be important for you. Dry skin sufferers can also make use of a setting powder. Hydrating powders that contain hyaluronic acid are out there so are powders that are designed to set make up yet contain a slight simmer to keep your skin glowy and illuminated. A good powder will be pricey but worth it and they do exist for all skin types. Another option is of course a setting spray. There are numerous ones out there with a number of finishes. If a setting spray claims to be hydrating yet contains alcohol denat then it isn’t hydrating. Alcohol denat dries the skin out and damages the skin barrier leading to sensitivities. As a sensitive skin sufferer I have researched suitable setting sprays. Almost all of the them contain perfume and alcohol denat especially drugstore brands. Smashbox, Beauty Blender and Cool have the most skin friendly ingredients list I could find but they aren’t cheap.

Alternatives and final thoughts.

If you don’t always like wearing a full face of makeup and just want some sheer coverage that’ll make you look fresh cosnsider a tinted moisturiser. They are ideal for summer weather and are usually buildsble, offer a surprising amount of coverage and contain SPF. They are suitable for all skin types just bear in mind you won’t get the coverage or staying power of a foundation. A tinted moisturiser with blush, bronzer, and mascara creates the perfect minimal fresh faced look. The most raved about are by BareMinerals, NARS and Laura Mercier. One last thing to consider is how your skin changes through the year which may require a different foundation. It’s common for people to be have a Summmer and Winter foundation. In summer if you tan easily or use fake tan you may find you need to alter the shade of your foundation. Personally I like to have 3 foundations in total to choose from. This may seem excessive but my skin is reactive and it can become sensitive to a foundation if I use the same one constantly. Having another option allows me to alternate to reduce the risk of this happening. I choose different coverages and slightly different finishes so I can choose one to match the look I want to achieve. High end foundations are expensive so if I can’t afford to buy more than one I will buy a drugstore foundation to use in between, which is passable. If you have read this post, thank you and well done. Below I will list what I’m currently using and brands I recommend, please note my skin type is dry sensitive.

Product recommendations.

Smashbox, Laura Mercier, Estée Lauder primers.

NYX Born To Glow (poor staying power but nice finish), Too Faced Born This Way, NARS radiant long wear foundation, BareMinerals hydrating gel tint cream.

BareMinerals hydrating setting powder, Laura Mercier setting powder, Smashbox setting powder.

Smashbox, MAC, BeautyBlender, Cool setting sprays.

Zoeva, Spectrum, Masqd make up brushes.

I hope you found this guide helpful I have tried to make it as simple as possible. I hope you are all well. Stay home and stay safe... until we meet again.

Lots of love,

Jen xx

#blogger #foundation #guide #helpful #product reviewer #sensitive skin #makeup addict #besutyblogger

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robot-unicorn-attack · 5 years

Text

CHAPTER 01 - FLOWER

(written by @bebemoon)

… CHAPTER 01.

“Oh- god, I think I’m going to be sick-”

Aura had just barely managed to shoulder her way between the pair of stylists crowding her apartment before throwing herself into the tiny lavatory to be sick.

“Pretty,” one- the blonde- muttered to the other, but not so quietly that Aura couldn’t hear. “If she throws up on that outfit, we’ll have to put her in something else- and we’re already behind schedule.”

“I don’t have a backup outfit,” said the other- a bony lavender-headed woman. “Her people told me not to put her in the black dress- it doesn’t work with the ‘pixie-whatever’ image.”

The blonde sighed, irritated.

Aura sat back against the wall and leaned her head back, waiting for the nausea to pass. The glistering, crystal bodysuit they had her fitted into was needling her skin, causing her some annoyance. She really didn’t feel up to clubbing at the moment, least of all as the fresh and always-lively “Flower”.

Death first.

“Are you just going to sit there?”

Aura lifted her head from the wall. The two women were standing together outside the lavatory with their arms folded- waiting.

If only she had managed to puke on the diamond catsuit. Those two would’ve been fired for sending her to the Demon in the wrong outfit (or naked), and she might’ve never seen them again.

“Get her up, Xera. Check the suit,” the blonde commanded. “We don’t have time for this !”

Lavender-locks rolled her eyes but stepped into the lavatory all the same. She got Aura to her feet and gave the suit a good once-over, turning Aura all the way around twice to be sure.

Satisfied, she gestured for the blonde to hand her the billowy, pale green gown that went over the silver suit. It really was just the thing a clubbing cyber sprite would wear- the gown’s bottom was hemmed with big, yellow blossoms and gossamer “wings” sprouted from the shoulder blades to stream after her like double trains.

Aura loved the dress, but the prickly catsuit was for the birds.

The stylist, Xera, fastened Aura into the feather-light dress and stood back to get the full effect alongside her blonde companion. Her face almost instantly fell into a look of disappointment, then: “Get the holo-veil. She looks like a corpse in a fairy costume.”

The blonde scurried off in search of the veil, and Xera stepped forward to adjust the fall of the dress. Quietly, she asked, “What’s with you anyway? Are you pregnant?”

Aura choked on a humourless laugh. Her overwracked nerves were causing her to lose things- sleep, meals, her mind possibly what with all the isolation she felt. Most of all, her patience was wearing thin- her tolerance level for having words tactlessly flung at her was dropping so rapidly she foresaw herself causing violence by the end of the night.

“I’m due next month,” Aura said dryly- too dryly for someone wearing such dazzling clothes. “Don’t tell anyone. Could you help me with my shoes?”

“Flower”, haloed in fluttering holo-butterflies, blossomed into existence the exact moment Aura crossed the The Neon Demon’s threshold in a would-be Cinderella moment were it not for J.J., her totally-tatted babysitter, towing her along in his wake as he cut a swath through the enormous, pink-lit crowd of club-goers.

She felt a few people touch her shoulder- perhaps to get her attention- but J.J. was focused on ushering her to the back of the club where a raised dais was roped-off for the exclusive use of RURs and their entourages. He didn’t even bother bringing Aura up the steps- he simply lifted her up onto the dais by the waist and shouted over the throbbing electro-music that he had to “piss” before disappearing back into the chaos of glowing bodies.

Aura was already starting to feel light-headed as she took in her surroundings. The dias was littered with people- not all of them racers, but Aura was the only one who was on her own. Luckily, though, she didn’t see either of her teammates- Supernova or Sunbeam. Playing court jester to the Queen and Princess of Sky World would’ve been far too much for her already-frayed nerves.

As she stood unsure of what to do with herself other than look blithe and “Flower-like” for anyone watching her, someone on the dais said her name- her real name- in a sultry tone.

“Aura.” A tall figure with glowing eyes slipped between a pair of industry suits and was making her way over.

“Sol?” Suddenly, Aura was transported to a dimly-lit discotheque a few days before her very first race.

The other girl grinned devilishly and swept an errant lock of long, dark hair over her bare shoulder- the other was bristling with spikes. “Been a while,” she sang low on a golden wink. “You’re finally back.”

Aura released a laugh that she hoped sounded genuine instead of manic, like she felt. “God, right?” she expelled, as she briefly embraced her old friend. “Finally. We need to catch up.”

Sol’s eyes seemed to flicker like little flames as her grin deepened. She had yet to drop her hand from Aura’s waist. “I’d really like that.”

Aura was suddenly acutely aware of the attention she and Sol were garnering. Really, racers from different agencies were discouraged from socialising publicly with one another. RUR fans liked drama and rivalries, not warmth and friendships. Amicableness between racers was not good for business.

Across the dais, a suit was wildly gesturing to get Sol’s attention. When she finally decided to notice him, she rolled her molten eyes. “I told him I was coming over here to try to make you cry,” she whispered. “I’ll just tell him you worked some of your fairy magic on me, and now I’m nice.” She turned and jabbed her taloned fingers into her cheeks to make dimples at the man, who dropped his arms and gave her a withering look back.

“Your fans would have my head,” Aura replied and pinched the other girls arm.

“You’re right, I’m much happier being hated. I’ll see you later, Flower,” she said, and pointed a gold-tipped finger at Aura. “This time, on Lava turf.”

The trademark wicked grin returned briefly just before she spun around and headed back to the other end of the dais.

At that moment, towards the front of the Demon, people were pressing together at the entrance, and Aura’s immediate thought was that it was one of her teammates causing a commotion with their arrival. So, she decided to retreat to a curved sofa area that was semi-obscured behind some crystally curtains that bi-sected the dais. There, a table was set with pyramids of glowing drinks, and though it was tempting, Aura imagined if J.J. caught her, she wouldn’t hear the end of it all night. Not worth it.

She set herself at one of the “c”-shaped sofas in a pool of blue lighting, and while she was in the middle of wondering just how long it takes to piss, a man appeared with two glasses in one hand. A suit, by the looks of him, but not anyone from RISE.

The man, slick-looking but clearly wrecked, propped his elbow on the back of the sofa Aura was occupying only to have it slide off. He stumbled backwards and sloshed some of the glowing alcohol on his- where were his shoes?

He blinked, opened his mouth- closed it.

“Er-” Aura began, but he cut her off with something she translated as vulgar.

The suit was getting uncomfortably close, and Aura was quickly trying to figure how much trouble she would get in for kicking some industry lush in the chest- but before she could do anything, a pale hand closed over the man’s shoulder, pulling him aside.

Snow- the Snow, appeared from behind the guy wearing a glimmering, diamond-encrusted headdress and took hold of his collar with two fingers as if it were a tissue containing a dead spider.

She said, “Hey, Aindrew. How’s your wife?”

The man- Aindrew- rolled his eyes and snorted, but didn’t reply otherwise.

Snow nodded knowingly- then glanced over at Aura.

Aura couldn’t have made up a wilder scenario in her dreams. Even through the holo-veil, she was sure that Snow could tell her eyes were actually the size of saucers.

The other girl turned away, and though Aura couldn’t hear well over the music, she seemed to be delivering some harsh words to the suit whose eyes drifted up to the weighty headpiece. He swallowed and put up his hands.

Snow released Aindrew’s collar, and he almost tripped over himself to get away from her. And once he was clear from their sights, Snow carefully lowered herself onto the sofa beside Aura.

“Your bodyguard goes on break and the wolves descend,” she said, a single silvery eyebrow lifted- almost chidingly.

Aura was almost too gobsmacked to make words- Aura-words or Flower-words. She just replied, “Thank you for that.”

Snow laughed softly, toying with the veritable chandelier of diamonds cascading from her ear. “Of course.” She offered her heavily-jeweled hand. “Hi there, I’m-”

“Snow- !” Aura burst. “Oh my god, I know. I’m a huge fan of yours.”

“‘Marivana’, I was going to say- but thank you,” she replied, dropping her hand, and then cast a look over her shoulder at the end of the dais. “Do you know Nyx well?”

Aura blinked. She had been wondering if she should tell Snow- Marivana about the little S.C. figurine she had on her nightstand when she first started out in the industry- just to prove her huge fan status. She hadn’t been expecting a question about Nyx.

“We’ve spoken before,” Aura replied, following the other girl’s diamond gaze to a tall figure posing for a photo. “Danced, also, but that was years ago.”

“I see...” Marivana turned her attention back to Aura. “I’m sorry, your name has slipped my mind.”

Made sense- why would someone like the Snow remember her name. “Flower.”

“No, I-” Marivana paused to laugh. “I know your nickname. I meant your actual name.”

“Oh- Aura. Aura Philyra.”

A woman with an earpiece came over with a flute of something icy blue and gave it to Marivana before walking off again. Marivana took a dainty sip and asked, “And where are you from?”

“Ice World.”

This seemed to surprise the other girl- her eyebrows shot up. “Really?” she said, a note of incredulousness in her tone. “You don’t strike me as someone from Ice World.”

Aura felt like an idiot, but there was no way she was telling her long-time idol that she was from some unknown moon. “Oh. No?”

“No. I buy it as much as I buy the little fairy story your management made up for you.”

“Ah, well. I’m actually embarrassed now,” Aura murmured. She fought the inclination to drop her forehead onto the table in front of them.

Marivana shook her blonde head, sending her dazzling earrings into action. “Don’t be. Every racer has a gimmick.”

“Yeah, but mine is-” Aura searched for a word. “-stupider than most. But at least the clothes are pretty.”

Marivana’s eyes flitted over Aura’s clothes and she took another sip of her drink before remarking, “They certainly are.”

Is she- Aura could feel her cheeks reddening. -wait, wait, wait...no. She’s being nice because she feels sorry for the Sky World halfwit who almost got puked on by a married, shoeless man.

“So, you’ll be racing this week?” Marivana went on.

Aura bit back a knee-jerk “Aura” comment along the lines of: “Yes, and I want to die.” Instead, she said, “Yes. I can’t stop trembling. Everyone keeps telling me how important this race is- like I need to be told.”

Oops, that was too much…

Marivana’s lips twitched upwards into a small, sympathetic smile. She placed the empty flute on the table and said, “Give me your hand.”

Aura instantly obliged, and watched, transfixed, as Marivana ran her middlemost finger gingerly over the centre of her palm, before wrapping her pale, shimmery fingers completely around her hand.

All she could really think was that Marivana’s hands were much warmer than she had expected them to be.

“Powdered chalk,” the blonde said, looking as if she was trying very hard to stifle a smile. “For your nerves. You’ll want a light coat of it over your hands, to keep them from getting clammy while holding onto your reins-”

Just then, J.J. appeared, evidently done pissing. He cast the crystal curtains aside and divided a bewildered look between the two girls who were still holding hands.

“What-”

But Marivana cut him off before he could say anything more. “I’ll see you soon, Aura. I’m sure,” she said, and only then did she let go of Aura’s hand.

Completely ignoring J.J., who had to move to avoid being hit with the headdress, Marivana stood and walked back through the tinkling crystals.

J.J. dropped himself across from Aura and spread his hands, palms up, over the table. “And what were you two talking about?” he asked. “You know Korvan doesn’t like you girls talking to racers from other agencies.”

Aura folded her arms and sat back. “How was your piss? Took a while. Maybe you should see a physician.”

“Okay, whatever,” he sighed and ran his hands over his bald head. “I don’t even care enough to report it.”

“Aw,” she crooned, lifting her shoulders adorably the way Flower would.

Given that she had almost certainly been hit on by her long-time idol, Aura was starting to feel much better about the evening- her nerves about the upcoming race were settling somewhat...

However, in the name of balance, Supernova and her retinue passed by on the other side of the crystal curtains a few minutes later, and Supernova actually paused to acknowledge Aura.

And, when she did, Aura spit sparkling water all over the front of her clothes.

#ch1 #writing #aura #flower #so long i'm so sorry #written by fanfan !

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hellomissmabel · 6 years

Text

Equinox (II)

MASTERLIST

Pairings: Devil!Bucky x fallen angel!reader, human!Peter Quill x fallen angel!reader, half angel!steve x fallen angel!reader

Warnings: I’m taking a leap with religion here so only read this if you aren’t put off by an alternate, fantasy version of God and religion. Also one single mention of the male member in the downstairs department.

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: After Lucifer defied God, he was cast out of Heaven as a fallen angel. He then summoned dark forces and became the Lord of Hell. Soon many fallen angels followed him and turned into demons. When his lover, the blue-haired angel Y/N, stands up for him, she too is doomed to live out her days as a fallen angel. But Hell is too warm for Y/N and she will never be a demon, so Y/N breaks up with Bucky, Lucifer’s human name, choosing a life on Earth instead. Yet when one of his demons steals Bucky’s most precious possession, they have to work together to prevent the end of all days and stop the coming of the Hopeless Kingdom.

A/N: Inspired by the series Lucifer, the Halsey song ‘Now or Never’ and frankly the entire album ‘Hopeless Fountain Kingdom’. Bucky’s look is as seen in the gif I use below the cut. Written for the writing challenge of @senorita-stucky and my prompt was “I saved your life” “You pushed me off a building!”.

Series masterlist can be found here

Thor was already waiting for you at the entrance of the House of Angelus, tapping his watch to indicate you’re late. “I thought you were going to come anymore,” the blond grins as his eyes crinkle at the corners. He’s happy to see you, despite his words.

You reach out to touch the shade falling from his featherlight ivory wings. They’re pulsing with power as if there’s lighting ruffling through the feathers. Even though humans can’t see the wings and it looks like you’re just awkwardly caressing thin air, you don’t care and continue to appreciate the second most beautiful wings you’ve ever seen. It’s what attracted you to Thor in the first place. A man’s wings are just as important as his cock.

“Still so handsome,” you chuckle softly, causing a blush to rise on the blond half-angel’s cheek. “But also so mean,” you add quickly as you pinch one of his feathers.

“What’s that for?,” he yelps as he soothes the sting. “What have I done to you?”

Pointing an accusatory finger at him, you squint your eyes at the man. “You sold one of my feathers!”

He looks a little like a lost puppy, bowing his head as he shamefully admits he did. “I just needed to pay off a debt, Y/N. It was nothing personal.” He shows you inside and you find your way to the living room. “That’s why you broke things off?”

After taking a seat on the white, leather couch, you don’t reply to his questions and instead fire a new one at him. “I’m here because I want to ask you about a half-angel called Steve Rogers. He sought me out and approached me at Equinox.”

“A lot of faces come and go in Angelus,” he sighs while prying his memory for any recollection that might surface. “Describe him for me, will you?”

“Ivory wings but they look like they’ve been on fire. The edges are smouldering, sizzling. Nobody has wings like that, not even the most powerful angels,” you explain to Thor and his face lights up with an idea.

He walks over to the ledger, where all visitors of the House of Angelus are asked to write their name down, and goes back a few days until he finds what he’s looking for. “I’ve had a female fallen angel bring a friend with her that had wings like that. Here.” He shows you the book and points a finger at the two names. “Sharon Carter and Steve Rogers.”

A laughs bubbles up in the back of your throat. “Sharon? Her wings are nothing compared to Steve’s.” You think back at the last time you saw Sharon Carter, when you were both still in Heaven. Her wings are tall but fragile, and an almost translucent white colour. They’re still rare and for some male angels and even demons, these kind of wings are considered to be very attractive.

“I know,” Thor answers as he puts the ledger back on its usual spot, “They were here to talk to the Maximoff brother. He didn’t seem all too pleased to see them but the woman scratched his wings with hers and he complied. They left with a suitcase.”

This piques your interest. Pietro Maximoff is a cocky guy, he would never willingly bow for anyone, male or female, even if they hurt his precious wings. “What do you think was in the suitcase?”

Thor purses his lips and moves from the opposite couch to sit next to you. “I could only catch a glimpse but I believe, from the shape of the suitcase, like a tube, I believe they were transporting a scroll.”

There’s only one scroll that could’ve been. “You think Pietro gave them the scroll that leads to the gate of the Hopeless Kingdom?”

The blond half-angel does not confirm your thoughts with words but his eyes say much more than that. He nods for you to follow him when a couple of fallen angels enters, taking you to his private chambers. This way he can speak more plainly. “Whatever was on that scroll, Pietro didn’t give it up without getting something in return.”

Rummaging trough a stack of papers, Thor pulls out a picture he printed out. On the photograph you see Pietro, Sharon and Steve discussing something. The picture was taken with a special lens, a mystical artefact that allows the photographer to capture the wings of angels on film as well as other objects hidden to the naked eye. On the picture you see Pietro’s silver wings are curved downwards as he accepts Sharon’s package, the blood on Pietro’s wings from where Sharon’s translucent ones cut him still fresh. Steve’s wings are also visible, in their full glory, and you marvel at their glistening exquisiteness.

Pietro is the mole in Wanda’s organisation. So why would he ask you for help? Unless he regrets helping Sharon and Steve, which is the only reason you can think of at the moment. Perhaps he understood the gravity of his actions and must’ve known you’d figure it out, meaning he is actually asking you to find the people Sharon and Steve are working with.

“You see what they gave to him?”

“Yeah,” you exhale deeply, “Pietro is now in possession of the Devil’s Key.” Which only begs the question, what is he going to do with it? If Sharon and Steve have already stolen the wings, what will he use it for?

You pass by your apartment before heading to the house of the Maximoffs and bump into Peter as soon as you open the door. “Hey there, champion,” you greet him with a sweet kiss on the lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I forgot my keys, babe,” Peter answers with that quirky, slightly crooked smile of his. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at Equinox?”

“I was there this morning, but Tony let me off work early. I’m going to see a friend now,” you reply smoothly. You told Peter you work at Equinox, for Tony, as a barista and occasional bartender. But you don’t, not really.

Sometimes you help out, but the money you use to pay rent is money that you got from Bucky’s night club. When you were still together, you quickly noticed how his nightclub was booming business. Bucky’s a rich man, but what does the devil do with all his wealth?

He gave half to you after the break-up.

“I have one question, babe,” Peter chuckles before stepping out of the door, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling your back to his chest. “Would you,” he presses his lips to the sweet spot under his ear, “Like to,” another kiss to your shoulder, “Go out with me to that fancy nightclub?”

Giggling as his beard tickles your skin, your agree and ask him what fancy nightclub he’s referring to? “You’ve got a couple in New York. There’s Gamora, the one that throws space parties. Or we could go to Nox? They say even the devil goes there to party.”

You stiffen when he proposes Nox as it is Bucky’s nightclub. Peter picks up on your change in demeanour and backs out of his offer. “Or we could just go out for dinner somewhere nice, if you’re not feeling like partying.”

“No, it’s fine,” you reply hastily, turning around so you can peck his lips as a sign of assurance. “You can choose.”

Your next destination is on the edge of the city and not a pleasant drive. You’ll have to pass two checkpoints and the first is just a blood test to establish your heritage. The next test is much more dangerous, as it requires you to show your wings in broad daylight. The Maximoffs have always been into dramatics, and they also like to know their opponents, hence the two checkpoints. They have gathered quite the fortune, mostly from donations of their followers, and the house they live in is nothing short of a mansion.

When you almost reach the first checkpoint, you get a call from Bucky and you put him on speaker. “Hey, Y/N, how is my favourite blue-haired fallen angel doing?”

“There’s only one blue-haired fallen angel, Buck,” you chuckle dryly but with an amused smile tugging at your lips. “And she’s doing good. Listen, I’ve got some information I wanna share with you. I know who’s got your key and if everything goes well, I’ll have it by this evening.”

“Perfect!,” Bucky exclaims into the phone, his glorious voice filling your ears. “You can come by NYX later if you want. I’ll have the champagne ready.”

There’s another car in front of you, wanting to pass through the first checkpoint, so you have to wait a little before it’s your turn. “I wouldn’t start celebrating yet, Bucky. I also have bad news.”

Immediately the mood drops and it’s evident in Bucky’s tone. “Go on…”

The person in front of you failed the blood test. They must be human. As the guards are telling the man to drive away from the premises, you ask Bucky if Nat told you about your meeting. “Yes, she did,” he sighs deeply, a little disappointed as well from the sound of it. “The Maximoffs?”

“Let’s not start with the Maximoffs,” you tell him sternly, “Let’s talk about your wings.”

You scroll down the car window and tell Bucky to wait and say nothing before you do so. You pass the blood test with ease, the guard even looking slightly impressed by the purity of your blood. Flashing him your biggest and most seductive smile, you scroll up the window again and drive on.

“Okay, Bucky, I don’t have time to yell at you now as I’m on my way to the Maximoffs, but know this, the next time I see you I am going to be very, very angry. Secondly, I am on my way to the Maximoffs.”

There’s a slight cringe in Bucky’s breathing when you mention you’re upset, but he soon recovers. “The Maximoffs?”

“Yes, I believe Pietro is or was working together with Steve Rogers and Sharon Carter,” you disclose, the second checkpoint already in sight. “Look, I don’t think Sharon is the mole in the House of Angelus. She was merely visiting. I think we ought to dig deeper. But I also know Pietro has the Devil’s Key, so I’m going to retrieve that for you first and then head back to Equinox. I have a date with Steve and I intend to find out what he’s planning.”

A touch of worry and distress laces Bucky’s words when he tries to talk you out of meeting with Steve. “You have no idea how dangerous he is.”

“I don’t. But I’ve caught a glimpse of his wings and even though they’re very impressive, I think I can handle him even if mine are clipped. I can’t fly anymore but I sure as hell can still fight if need be.”

Another sigh falls from Bucky’s lips and you assure him everything will be alright. “Peter wants to party tonight anyway, so I’ll be at NYX around 11 pm, okay? I gotta go now. Second checkpoint.”

After shutting off your phone as required before entering the second checkpoint, you shut off your car and step outside, standing in front of the guard with a smug smile. Shrugging off your jacket, you card a hand through your long, blue hair as you release your wings. The guard gapes at their pristine white colour, even whiter than a blank sheet of paper, the whitest wings in Heaven.

But he also noticed the harm done to the feathers, the touches of sky blue barely visible anymore. “What happened?,” he asks curiously, just like many others before him.

“God,” is your only reply but it’s a sufficient answer to the guard, who tells you where to park your car once you reach the mansion.

“Y/N!,” Wanda Maximoff smiles ever so sweetly, “Always a pleasure.”

“I’m not here for you, Wanda, I’m here for your brother,” you reply quickly, dismissing her ‘warm’ welcome and heading straight for Pietro’s room. You’ve only been here maybe once or twice in the past but thanks to your elephant memory you can easily find your way around again.

Wanda hurries after you and tries to stop you from entering. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” She unleashes her wings, almost as damaged as yours if not more, in an attempt to intimidate you. “Back off, Y/N.”

You do the same, your wings bigger and brighter than hers, and you effortlessly make a tear in her pretty feathers, causing her to cry out in pain and Pietro to emerge from his room. He is wearing nothing but leather trousers, his silver wings drawn out as well.

“What did you do?,” he hisses at you, his wings bending over in a threatening stance.

“The same thing Sharon did to you.” You nod towards the gash in his wings, still visible from where Sharon’s wings struck him. Wanda looks very confused as to what you mean, but Pietro tells her it’s okay and that she can wait in the living room. “Now tell me what I wanna know.”

Pietro beckons you inside his room, where you take a seat on the bed and wait for him to close the door behind him. Crossing his arms over his chest, Pietro leans the back of his head against the door. “What do you wanna know?”

“I wanna know who’s behind all of this? Who wants to open the gate to the Hopeless Kingdom?,” you charge full speed ahead, standing your ground as Pietro nods his head.

“They found your sword,” he simply replies, walking over to his study to open up the top drawer, fishing out the Devil’s Key. “Steve and Sharon.” He holds out the key for you to take and with confused eyes, you accept. “They wanted you to have the key back. They knew you’d come looking for me.”

Why would they want you to have it? Studying the key very closely, you don’t see any anomalies. Until Pietro points something out for you. “They had help from someone very high up… half-angels and fallen angels can’t absorb the dark energy from the key, but…”

“A real angel can…,” you whisper as you finish his sentence, some puzzle pieces falling into place. “Who is helping them?”

As dark energy originates from the same source as the magic angels use, they can easily take that energy and become more powerful. If an angel, a real angel, absorbed this type of pure dark energy from the Devil’s Key… then they can easily use that energy to wield the sword to break the seal to the gate of the Hopeless Kingdom.

“Do you know the story of how the angels were created?,” Pietro chuckles darkly and you smile sourly because of course you know. After all, you were one of the first angels to be created. “The scroll of the Hopeless Kingdom… I read it. I know the truth. The real story.”

With a scoff, you get up from the bed and walk towards him. “The scroll only tells half of the story.”

Pietro’s eyebrows frown in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Not all angels were created by God. God is Bucky’s father but he is not my father. Neither is he my creator.” Inching away from Pietro, you check if he really did close the door before speaking further. “Humanity was created by God but the angels were created by his wife. Well, at least most of them were.”

“Holy…,” Pietro cusses under his breath, pouring himself a glass of water to help with the sudden sore throat. “God has a wife?,” he remarks dryly.

“Yes. Long before your time, before any of our time, two celestial beings united and created Earth. God then moved on to create Adam and Eve. But he spent much more time with these two than with his own companion, so She sent the snake that deceived Eve and led to their expulsion. Adam and Eve are the beacon of humanity and all thanks to Her snake.”

“To make up for the loss of Adam and Eve, She created her own Adam and Eve. She created two angels. Their names were T’Challa, a black angel with wings of solid gold,… and me.” Pietro’s eyes widen at your admission and you can’t admit but feel a little flattered. “My wings were made of marble, of the purest light in all of Heaven.”

“God considered me his daughter and T’Challa his son and for a moment all was fine. Together they created more angels, and not just create, but also give birth to a few angels, like Bucky.” You smile to yourself at the memory, but soon your smile turns sour. “But humanity evolved and they captured God’s attention again. He was even more intrigued by them and eventually fell in love with a human.”

Your wings start to flare up as you ball your hands into fists. “She found out and killed the woman. Her punishment? Being cast out to Earth to live as a human herself. She was found by a priest who took her in a nursed her back to health after she fell. He introduced her into his community and eventually She, too, found herself a human mate. From their union, the first half-angel was born.”

“Now, according to the scroll, God killed the child and built the Hopeless Kingdom to lock her up for good. But I was there when he built the Hopeless Kingdom and he did not kill the child. The child, a half-angel, was sent away to an orphanage where nobody would ever find it. They don’t even know if it’s a boy of a girl.”

With a now quivering voice, as you are so close to reveal what actually happened, the power surges through your wings like electricity. “There were angels who took Her side, and angels who sided with God. He locked all those angels in there with Her.”

“My brother, T’Challa, is in there, too. The only reason I haven’t opened the gates to that damned place yet, is because once She is out, she will wipe the earth of all living beings. No man, woman, child, angel or demon will be spared. Nothing that has the love of God will remain alive.”

“Don’t you understand, Pietro,” you address him directly, his eyes locked to the changes in your feathers, pulsating as if they have a heartbeat. It’s been too long since you’ve shown their true nature, their true glory. “I promised God I would never tell Bucky his mother is locked up in the Hopeless Kingdom. I promised to never speak a word of this to anyone, but now I have to break my promise to save us, to save humanity.”

“Why does she want to destroy Earth? Why do Sharon and Steve want to set her free? Why would…” Pietro has to bite his tongue in order not to tell who the angel is that is helping them, but it’s already too late.

You can feel the light stretch through your feathers, inspiring both awe, fear and humility in Pietro. Veins of a soft coloured baby blue curling into the marble, that unique touch of blue skies that distinguishes you from all other angels. It’s like a breath of fresh air on the first day of spring, surrounded by blossoms, buzzing bees and singing birds. For so long, you have masked your wings because He asked you to. For so long, you have hidden your true heritage from Bucky and everyone else. But no more.

“Why would a strong angel such as Carol (Danvers) help them?”

“Because Steve is the child, Her child, and Carol has always been Her favourite,” you disclose to Pietro, the marble in your wings now fully visible. “Sharon is only helping him as well because her sister Peggy is locked in there, too.”

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#senoritastuckys1ksoiree #half angel!steve x fallen angel!reader #devil!bucky x fallen angel!reader #human!peter quill x fallen angel!reader #bucky x reader #marvel #modern au #peter quill #steve x reader #peter x reader

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ninemoons42-lestallumhaven · 6 years

Text

(for @wildixia, to carry on with colors of us. and thanks to @itsalwaysbloodmagic for giving me the idea to do a day in the life of Ignis.)

Quick Fic Pick 59: colorway

“Early today,” he murmurs, and he reaches into one of the cabinets in the corner of the room. Cleansing wipes, scentless, soft white material that he uses to scrub the chair in its oddly intricate frame of metalwork and leather cushions, and he pulls it out into the proper configuration to accommodate this morning’s first appointment. Wide seat, and a U-shaped cushion to lean forward into, and the girl who seats herself in the chair sheds her dark-blue shirt, no shiver of apprehension in her movements.

Wide line of the bandeau around her chest, that exposes her shoulders to him and the lines of his work in progress. Letters in a faux-handwritten font, spill of verses onto dark-brown skin, and it’s not her first tattoo, and the poetry seems to complement the raven in its full-throated cry, silent and vigilant where it occupies the meat of her left upper arm: Although the wind blows terribly here, the moonlight also leaks between the roof planks of this ruined house.

The line is a half-complete sketch of outlines and line variation and the little flourishes to imitate the girl’s actual handwriting; he’s still surprised he got to the end of the line in one single session, and, he remembers, so had the girl.

Second session, today, and he’s thinking about doing all the shading if he can -- and if not, he’ll settle for the important words in the verse. Wind and moonlight and house, and the rest of the words in simpler strokes.

So he scrubs his hands and his chosen tools clean, and puts on a pair of gloves, and only after he’s ready does he lean toward the girl and ask, gently, “Will you need a moment?”

“I’m good,” the girl says, the words only a little muffled by the leather of the chair. “I took your advice. Two extra-strength paracetamol before I got here.”

“Then let’s begin.”

Ink bottles in a handful of bright shades. The quiet well-maintained whine of the tattoo machine. It’s easy to correct for the first time the girl flinches, the first contact of needles against skin; and after the third flinch she stops moving. Falls into the quiet euphoria that he knows only too well, that he half-craves even as he causes her to drift in it.

Movement out of the corners of his eyes: Nyx, the beads in his braids and the paper bags in his hands announcing his presence; and the silent shadow of Cor. Between the three of them they own the shop free and clear, and he’s often grateful for the fact that they haven’t all tried to kill each other in this business partnership -- as grateful as he is that they’ve become his friends, which is really more than he can say when they’d been total strangers to him on the first meeting.

He gets as far as the word ruined before the girl holds up both hands and says, softly, “It’s too much.”

Hands in his peripheral vision before he can sit up straight, hands moving past him to offer the girl a box of fruit juice with the straw already stuck into the top, and a bright-green gel capsule. “Slowly.” The voice of Cor, low and commanding. “Drink before you take the painkiller.”

“Thank you.”

Ignis braces himself on the table on which the tattoo machine is mounted, and his knees creak warningly as he gets to his feet, as he crosses back into the inner room of the shop and Nyx is trying to eat a carton of noodles with his chopsticks in the wrong hand, because he’s also trying to scroll through something on his smartphone and Ignis rolls his eyes and accepts the offer of a jam doughnut with grace.

“That’s yours for the day, right? No one else coming in?” Nyx says, after a moment. “It’s your month to do the books.”

“They’re half-done already, I’m just going to check the math.” He licks at the corner of his mouth, chasing a blob of blueberry jam before it drips off onto his shirt. “And then I’ve got that commission to work on.”

“New? When did it come in?”

“Two weeks ago. Gladio’s friend’s boyfriend.”

“Complicated,” he hears Nyx snicker.

Cor passes him a small envelope in red-and-gold paper. “Tip.”

Ignis waves it away. “Put it in common cash.”

“Must be nice to have a very rich boyfriend,” and Cor is chuckling, openly, as he chooses a doughnut from the box on the table.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr We’re-Not-Idle-Rich,” he snorts, and goes to make himself a cup of tea, taking the carton of milk from the small refrigerator behind the desk to do so.

He responds to their middle-finger salutes in kind once he’s freed up both of his hands, and keeps on laughing even as he settles down with the shop laptop to look through the month’s cash and expenses.

Cor rises from the table after another half-hour or so, and Ignis feels rather than hears the thump of the music that arises from their shared workroom, and he shrugs back when Nyx says, “That guy on the afternoon soap opera. TV actor somebody.”

He sweeps the remains of breakfast away when Nyx leaves. Now he can spread his things out over the table, and he pulls out his sketchbooks and the battered roll-up case in which he keeps his pens and pencils, and he forgets to think about time, about the cramped desk, about the bass-beat of Cor’s music, as he fills page after page with detailed landscapes. Sea-views, and mountain ranges in their crooked peaks, and the intricate skylines of cities that have never existed except in the back of his mind: they’re good practice, he thinks, as he gradually switches from skyscraper-forms to -- wings.

Dragon-wings of membrane and claw and the bones shaped like wicked-edged mutations of his own hand. Bird-feathers in flocks and flight-paths. After a moment he switches to a fresh page, and for some reason he thinks about circuitry, about labyrinths made in solder and right angles, and -- then he blinks and the page is sporting a pair of angel-wing shapes made from the inner workings of a computer, or of his smartphone, and -- the only consideration is to check to see if he hasn’t inadvertently been too inspired by the art of some of his favorite creators.

He’s still scrolling through some of his bookmarked galleries when he hears and feels the step coming closer, the weight that makes the floor creak in warning, and he’s half-expecting Cor --

Subdued paisley in the lining of a suit jacket, multitude of reds hidden in sober navy-blue, and he blinks, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and the person sitting next to him, sunglasses and long hair and the smell of summer-river flow on the move, is still Gladiolus -- who smiles at him, and says in a very low voice, “Sorry. Don’t let me disturb you.”

“What are you doing here?” But even as he says it he knows he’s reaching for another lead holder, and he’s starting on another series of circuit boards.

“Playing hooky. Only not really. I’m working, I’m just not at the office.”

“By coming into mine,” he teases, and he chuckles, sticks his tongue out at the paper he’s sketching on, when Gladiolus laughs softly.

“Yeah.”

“Carry on then,” he says, and the diagram-like sketch beneath his hands turns into something like the shape of a flightless bird, something that makes him think of racing over hilly terrain, of fording rough swollen rivers.

“That the thing Prompto said he was looking into?”

“I don’t know yet. I imagine I’ll find out when you do,” he says, and he’s not really thinking any more. He’s letting his hands do the work. Letting his mind range freely: and Gladiolus hums next to him, and he’s a warm solid presence, anchoring him here.

He doesn’t even have the heart to pretend to be annoyed when Nyx walks back in and laughs, finding him sitting back-to-back with Gladiolus, the two of them working quietly, in opposite directions, together.

#colors of us AU #wildixia #itsalwaysbloodmagic #pairing: gladnis #pairing: nyxcor #Character: Nyx Ulric #Character: Cor Leonis #fic: mine #quick fic pick

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 7 years

Note

I was dreaming about how Hades Harry would tease Persephone YN for being all cute and shy about wanting sex but she's too bashful to straight up ask him so she's all grabby hands and tucking her face into his neck to hide 😭

SORRY FOR ANY TYPOS WJSJJWJSJWJS

Persephone couldn’t do it.

She just can’t.

She knows it’s dumb and childish of her because she’s an adult, not the mention a goddess, and everybody does it, but she just can’t find the will in her to say it.

Sex isn’t taboo; Y/N knows that much. The heritage and history of the Greek gods was formed primarily out of sex. Hell, the entire world was founded on sex. Gods, minor gods, demigods, monsters, and humans alike. This shouldn’t be something difficult to do.

But Y/N was raised sheltered from the real world most of her life, the only man to ever have touched her in an intimate way being her husband, Hades. Her mother had never spoken much to her about it and no one else had taken it upon themselves to tell her what it was, so one can imagine how confusing her wedding night had been. It had been awkward when they’d arrived to their get-away mansion for their honeymoon and Harry had pushed her against the nearest wall, groping her chest and mumbling things such as, “’M gonna fuck you so good, darling. Gonna make you a proper queen– my queen.” and “Gonna make you come so hard you’ll forget everything else except for my name.”

Persephone had stared at him bewildered, asking what on earth he was doing and what this whole business was with her “coming” (“Har, we’re already here, aren’t we? We just walked through the door… What are you talking about?”).

And that’s when she’d finally received the sex ed speech. Not from her mother or her nanny or the nymphs she often went about with, but from her husband, who’d taken it upon himself to make it a…hands-on experience.

Now, decades upon decades later, even to this day, sex was a contradictory subject for her. Y/N didn’t have a problem with it or anything– as a matter of fact, she loved it– but actions and words are two very different things.

Doing it wasn’t hard– no, she could definitely do it, and pretty well if a sweaty, breathless Harry had anything to say about it. They’d fucked in some pretty risky places, ranging from the roof of the castle (where Harry had taken her missionary style as she stared up hazily at the cavernous ceiling of the Underworld, the warm light of the eternal fire below dancing across her husband’s glistening, tan skin and lapping at his glossy emerald eyes), to the throne room (a story from another time) and even in a storage closet in the kitchen, where she’d held on to the railings of a bread shelf as Hades took her from behind with his fingers down her throat and his cold rings pinching at her clit.

But saying it was a completely different matter all together. Persephone usually never had to ask for it; her actions showed it fairly well. A drawn out blink here, licking her lips a certain way there, coasting her hand up her thigh in the middle of board meeting as Harry sat across from her, a small smirk tugging his raspberry lips. Sometimes she’d even go as far as palming him under the table during dinner, spooning her pumpkin soup into her mouth nonchalantly as her other hand pumped him over his toga, a small smile threatening to show as she felt his thighs clench and knees accidentally jump up to slam against the bottom of the mahogany dinner table.

Bottom line is, when Y/N wants it, she makes sure she communicates it. But she’d rather show it than say it because speaking the words out made her feel dirty. She doesn’t know why (probably because of the whole “being sheltered from it her whole life” thing) but uttering, “Fuck me” outside of the bedroom made her sick to her stomach. She just can’t find it in her to force the thought out of her mouth.

And the thing is, Harry knows this, and to make it worse, he takes it as a big joke. He finds it hilarious that she can drop to her knees in the middle of her garden and suck him off behind a redbud tree, but can’t come up to him on his throne and whisper, “Come fuck me in the shower” into his ear. With this in mind, he takes it upon himself to make her world a living hell (as if actually living in Hell wasn’t bad enough already).

So on this particular day, when she comes up to him after he’s walking out of a meeting through the giant double doors of the counsel chamber, Hades decides he’d play a bit of cat-and-mouse with her.

Y/N’s intentions are obvious as soon as she’s within five feet of him. He can smell her– a combination of clementine, rose and the soft scent of sex he’s familiar with from being down on his knees and nose-deep between her thighs. Invisible to anyone else’s nose, but alluringly toxic to his own. He can already feel the underside of his balls give a foreshadowing throb.

“Hey, princess,” Harry reaches out an arm for her to snuggle into, pulling her body against his and feeling her long, shimmery, frilly black dress tickle his ankles. “How are y'doing?”

“I’m good. Just…” Persephone leans forward onto her tip toes, hiding her face into the crook of his neck and biting at his earlobe slowly, her tongue licking at the spot right behind his jaw, where she knows he’s weak. “Just missing you right now.”

And that’s it. That’s the cue he should take to make an excuse to his advisors and find his way to their bedroom. But Harry simply tuts at her with fake sadness, pulling back and pressing a sloppy kiss to her forehead because he knows it annoys her. “Don’t worry! I’ll see you later tonight at dinner. Kinda busy with a fresh wave of new arrivals. A boat sank off the shore of the Mediterranean– a war ship. You can guess the numbers are pretty staggering, to say the least.”

Y/N’s arm comes up, wiping agitatedly at the wet spot his lips had left with the back of her hand, her big, innocent eyes giving him a cruel, not-so-innocent glare. “You’re a–”

Harry raises a single eyebrow cautiously, warning her to pick her next words carefully or she’d have to suffer with not seeing him at all.

She gets the message clearly, all anger melting right off her beautiful face. By the way her jaw tightens slightly, he can tell she’s gritting her teeth. Her voice comes out strained and high. “You’re a busy man. I couldn’t expect any less.”

Hades’ mouth twitches into a smug simper, his eyes trailing down his wife’s body in a gloating manner. “Wow. I didn’t like that tone. Was kinda mean and tight. Almost as tight as you.”

That one comment sets Y/N off. All of her annoyance molds into neediness, her eyes going wide and pleading as she clings to his lean arm with one hand, the other fisting the material of his fine silk toga, pulling it away from his chest. “Harry, please come meet me in our room. It’s an…emergency.”

“An emergency, y'say?” His tone is one of faux shock as he pretends to be sifting through the notes from his meeting, all to drag out the torture. “What is it? Did Cerberus get free again? I told Nyx to always double-check his chains but I swear, she’s more of a knobhead than Ares is.”

Persephone just about stomps her foot in frustration. “You know what I mean.”

He turns his body completely to face his queen as he slaps the notebook closed, towering over her smaller frame and looking down at her, bright jade irises full of pretend cluelessness. His words are slow and mocking. “’M afraid I don’t, doll. Sorry. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Y/N scowls so hard she can feel the muscles along her mouth ache. The glare she’s delivering to him could kill an entire month’s harvest, easy as a muse could play a flute. “You know I…can’t.”

“Oh, on the contrary, my love,” Harry steps forward, his broad chest pressing her backwards into the nearest corner, where they’re sheltered just out of sight. He brings a hand up to cup her chin, thumbing over her plump bottom lip and digging his two front teeth into his own, the specks of gold in his eyes expanding with raw lust and desire. “I think we both know exactly what you’re capable of.”

She doesn’t mean to, but a tiny whimper stings her tongue. This small sign of weakness is the last nail on her coffin. It’s proof to Hades that she’s close to breaking.

He doesn’t let this chance go to waste, dropping his leather-bound book onto the ground and shoving his now-free hand up her shimmering black silk dress. She lets out a loud gasp, her body surging upwards against the smooth granite of the wall. Harry shoves his thumb in her mouth, telling her quietly to shush. The hand under her dress coasts up her fleshy inner thigh, his chunky rings colder than ice as they bite their way up her skin. His fingers cup her softly, the cold ruby diamond on his middle digit pressing right against the little bulb under all her folds, sending a shiver to wring her spine.

“Harry, no–” Y/N chokes on her desperate plea, feeling him start to rub her at a tender pace. Her eyes roll into the back of her head, her shoulders slumping forward against him as her knees give out. She’s been so wound up the entire day that this small spoonful of ecstasy is enough to send her spiraling.

“No panties, hm?” Harry’s lips ghost over her jaw, nibbling lightly as he trails to her ear. “Naughty, naughty girl.”

Persephone whines over his thumb, tongue lulling around it as she tries to defend herself with words, but is rendered silent. She grasps at his taut arm as he starts to rub her faster, her nails digging into the chiseled muscles of his forearm, the veins under his skin portruding and making him look more intimidating.

She’s trying to tug his hand out feebly, her mind and body in disagreement. Her brain tells her she obviously has to stop him before this goes too far, but her body is telling her to let him play with her. It’s what she’s been craving since she woke up and she was finally getting it.

It turns out, however, that it’s not up to her to decide.

Harry suddenly stops, halting all actions beneath her dress and with his lips. He pulls his hand out from between her dripping thighs, bringing his glistening fingers up to his face. He slowly sinks three of them into his mouth, sucking her juices off with leisure and humming in approval, shimmering eyes fluttering with pleasure. When he speaks, his voice is deep, thick and taunting. “Such a sweet little thing, Y/N. Taste so good f'me.”

Y/N tries to slip out of his grasp, knowing that he’s going to keep this up until she gives in and does what he wants. She’d rather run to the bathing chamber and handle it herself.

But Hades sees her intention, quickly pressing his body harder against her’s to keep her trapped, refusing to let up. He grabs her jaw gently, bringing her face to his so that their noses brush. She can see herself on him, the glass chandelier hanging down from the ceiling shining against the liquid on his lips. His abnormally pink tongue peeks out, licking everything up, and he sucks on them to get whatever is left over. He gropes down her bottom until he’s gripping the back of her thigh, yanking her leg up onto his hip and surging forward until his groin is pressed to her’s.

“Just say it, darling. I know you’re horny for me. Nice and wet, as can be seen. Just do it.”

Persephone winces at the dirty word, feeling filthy already. She can’t say it– she won’t. It’s against her nature and she can’t push past it.

“No,” she puffs out quietly, her warm breath sighing over his lips, causing them to tingle. “I won’t.”

“Yeah?” Harry rocks his hips forward, slamming her back against the sleek black wall, the sudden bulge under his toga pressing up into her heat. His voice is a low, dominant, mocking growl. “How about now?”

Y/N whimpers freely, hating how much she loves everything he’s doing. Hating the way she throbs against him, her body begging to be compliant. Hating the euphoric shots of lightning that travel through her nerves as he digs crescents into her skin with his nails. Hating his soft, fluffy hair and his pretty, full lips and how he has her in the palm of his hand without breaking a fucking sweat. But most of all, hating how warm he is because he’s usually always cold to the touch, only getting warm when he’s around her. And now this same warmth is sinking into her, heating her up from the inside out so that sweat breaks across her hairline, tickling the sides of her neck.

Harry’s looming over her, rocking his hips against her center and igniting a slow simmer at the pit of her stomach that she just can’t shake. He looks incredibly hot with his lips in a cocky smirk, eyes glimmering like a thousand jewels, his hair groomed perfectly messy, his tattooed arms flexing as he man-handles her, and his crown glinting cruelly in the buttery light of the long corridor. And she wants him– fuck it, she wants him. Wants him so much it hurts.

But what finally cracks her is what he says next, in a quiet yet powerful voice that booms over her and seems to shake the very ground they stand on.

“Just say it and I’ll take you right there in the training chamber. Bend you over the sword chest and fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling me in your tummy for the next week. Spill so nice and deep inside that tight little cunt, I’ll be coursing through your veins for a proper month. All you gotta do is tell me you want it, and I’m all yours, baby.”

A painful shudder wracks Y/N’s shoulders, the air around her suddenly rising by thirty degrees. She feels as if her skin were melting right off her shaking bones, Harry’s intense gaze dismantling her entirely. At first when she looks at his eyes, she thinks she’s imagining it, but after her sight focuses, she can see it’s true.

The tiny bronze and golden specks in his eyes are twinkling like stars in the vast sea of willow green that are his irises, the thin band of color that hugs them glowing– actually glowing– with a verdurous, watery light. He’s so intent on having her that he’s unknowingly tapping into some of his godly power, causing his true form to slip through the cracks due to his lust-induced vulnerability. The bright light slowly spreads into the tissue of his irises, causing his eyes to crackle with power, yet it is only a slight show of the energy he holds within him.

His voice sounds as if a thousand people are talking in unison. “Do it.”

Y/N smiles– actually smiles. In the face of his unwavering power, only she could handle him so nonchalantly. “Stop being a show off.”

“It’s not on purpose.” His voice is now back to normal, but his eyes are still glowing faintly. “You do this t'me. Now say it.”

Persephone gulps, letting out a rattling breath. “I want you to…fuck me.”

A satisfied smile spreads across Harry’s beautiful, godly features, dimples pinching awake.

“Where do y'want me? Here?” He dips his tongue into her mouth, feeling her cheeks heating up against his. “Or here?” His hand trails down, giving her ass a good spank. “What about here? Fucking myself in between these?” He gropes at her chest, lapping her nipples over her dress. “Where, Y/N?”

“I-In me. In my…cunt.” She almost flinches at saying the word.

Hades grins. “That’s all y'needed to say, peach.”

He pushes back from the wall, pulling her forward. Her knees are so weak she falls right into his awaiting arms, scowling. He presses a soft peck to the damp crown of her head, murmuring into her hair. “Now go be a good girl and wait for me in the training room. When I get there, I want this,” he tugs at the material of her sleeve, “on the ground and you bent over that chest I mentioned. And don’t you dare touch yourself, got that?”

“Alright,” she squeaks, watching with wide eyes as he pulls out the key to the designated door, dropping it in her open palm.

“Alright.” He returns the phrase with finality, sending her on her way with a light, playful spank to the bottom.

As Y/N makes her way down the corridor, she looks back, calling after him. “What are you gonna do?”

Harry throws a look over his shoulder, blinking at her all slow and seductive, a knowing grin spreading his lips as he bends down and picks up his work book.

“I’m gonna go get the lubricating oil and then, I’m gonna fuck you bloody raw.”

#NAJZJA FUCK #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles dirty one shot #1d smut #one direction smut #harry styles solo #harry styles album #harry smut #harry styles masterlist #hades harry #hades!harry #prompt #harry styles drabble #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot

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cosmeticnews · 4 years

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creative-frequency · 7 years

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Bad for Me Ch. 11: Patching Up

Word count: 3470 Pairings: Nyx x OC (Eve Leonis)

Tagging badass Caitlin’s mom @sakumartti <3

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Bad for Me Masterlist

Eve sat beside the lit nightstand lamp inside the caravan trailer, and gently lifted her shirt to examine the damage. The first-aid kit was lying open next to her on the bed. She exhaled forcefully and very carefully felt her ribs. Even a light touch made her jolt from the pain. At least two of her ribs were broken. Fortunately, the potion had helped to stop the bleeding rather quickly and the dried blood was caked on her skin.

At the sound of the trailer’s door opening, Eve quickly lowered her shirt and lifted her gaze.

“How bad is it?” Nyx asked concerned. He walked straight at her.

“Not at all,” Eve could hardly hold back pulling a wry mouth.

“Eve, let me see–”

“No.”

“Come on, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Nyx coaxed and stopped in front of her.

Eve threw him an angry glare.

“And yet, only one of us is pained by the actual memories,” her voice was filled with an icy tone that the Glacian would have been proud of.

“…That might be true, but let me still patch you up,” Nyx refused to be embarrassed, but his cheeks colored a bit. Fortunately Eve was too busy being in pain to notice.

Nyx crouched in front of Eve. He glanced at her eyes in search for permission, but Eve just stared ahead, trying to keep her breath even. Nyx began to softly roll her shirt up and told her to hold still while he would clean the contusion and wounds.

“So, the Kingsglaive crest?” Nyx nodded towards Eve’s tattoo below her breasts, “What is the story behind that?”

“As obvious as it is,” Eve responded while watching Nyx carefully treat her. “I have a father in the city, but it also feels like the king took me under his wing. He gave me the chance to become who I am now. And the tattoo reminds me of that.”

“Sounds familiar,” Nyx said without elaborating, “This might sting a bit.”

Nyx tried to be as gentle as he could, and tape the wounds so that they would scar as little as possible. He noticed how Eve’s skin was mostly smooth, only a few small scars on her side breaking it.

“Where are those from?” Nyx asked, eyeing the old cuts.

Eve blew the air from her lungs in an attempt to ignore the pain.

“Is it question time now?” she asked.

“No, I’m just trying to make you think of something else,” Nyx replied in a soft voice.

Eve somehow relaxed and felt a tingle in her stomach, caused by the man’s touch on her skin. It was so careful and caring, very much unlike the usual cheeky Nyx, throwing bawdy comments at her expense and trying to make her blush.

“There. Try not to get thrown around by a behemoth anytime soon again, okay? And drink another potion,” Nyx smiled looking up at Eve. Beholding his gaze, she nodded slightly, baffled by the sudden proximity of his face.

“Thanks, Nyx.”

“You’re welcome.”

Nyx didn’t move and Eve was getting uncomfortable with all sorts of thoughts ramming through her head, mainly concentrating on his lips and the memories of them against her skin. In her excuse, it was the pain that was making her dawdle.

“No thank you kiss?” Nyx grinned startling Eve at the break of the building-up tension.

“Oh screw you!”

Eve tried to stand up, but faltered from a slash of pain in her chest and Nyx had to grab her waist to stabilize her.

“Sorry, you are just too easy to tease,” he said smiling softly and Eve steeled her legs from betraying her again.

“I shall try to be more difficult then,” she said gathering the leftovers of her dignity and left the trailer for fresh air after taking another potion with her. Nyx was left to gaze longingly after her. Eve only then realized how exhausted she really was from the long battle. The pain-masking adrenaline had settled and every inch of her body was either bruised or just aching. ‘This feels the same as when I first started training – Like I got my ass kicked by an Astral.’

Eve’s thoughts were interrupted by Caitlin who was approaching her, waving.

“Hey, is Nyx in there?” she asked and Eve flinched slightly, but Caitlin didn’t wait for a response, “We are going to barbeque the best bits tonight. Come eat your share, you’ve certainly deserved it.”

“Behemoth meat? I’ve never tried that before,” Eve remarked, “I’ll pass the note.”

Caitlin smiled eyeing the trailer door.

Eve glared at her. “I’m sure Nyx will be up for it,” she sighed as she sat on one of the plastic garden chairs. Sitting down caused her to wince from a flash of pain.

“You okay there?” Caitlin asked.

“Uh, yeah. Don’t worry about it. We’ll be there tonight,” Eve said trying to breathe as steadily as she could.

“Great. See you in a bit then.” Caitlin bounced happily away and left Eve to grumble alone.

“Oh Nyx, look at my bouncing butt, oh Nyx did you see how good a shot I am, oh Nyx, how about–“

“Who are you talking to?” the man himself landed on the ground from the trailer with raised eyebrows.

“No one,” Eve said quickly, looking at everywhere but Nyx. “Caitlin invited us to barbeque the beast tonight,” she changed the subject and opened the potion cork with her teeth.

“Okay sounds good,” Nyx said looking as Eve gulped the liquid down. He didn’t seem to be bothered by their intimate patching up -session anymore and it somehow annoyed Eve.

“That’s what I told her. I’ll go get some rest if you don’t mind. Come find me when there’s food.”

”You know… Despite the injuries you got, you did well today.” A small smile was tugging at Nyx’s lips.

Eve’s knees went weak again. ‘Damn it. Don’t look at me like that.’

“Thanks,” she smiled back shyly and climbed clumsily into the trailer.

Nyx looked after her figure, biting his lower lip.

‘And there she goes again, obviously running. I shouldn’t have teased her like that.’ He let out a sigh. ‘Maybe I should go get some rest elsewhere then and let her sleep.’

It took several hours to flay, cut and move the behemoth meat to the post. Eve was happily unconscious the whole time. Being a countryside girl originally, she wouldn’t have backed out from helping, given the chance, but she needed the rest and time for the potions to work their magic. The hunters were experts on the job and handled the meat swiftly.

The barbeque was already warming up, when Nyx decided to go wake Eve up. He entered the trailer silently and walked over to sit at the bed where she was sleeping.

‘She looks so peaceful for once.’ He fought to keep himself from sweeping some stray hairs from her cheek. Eve’s usually neat hair bun was a tangled mess and in dire need of a wash. The same could be said of her clothing that had dirt and blood all over them. ‘I guess she was too exhausted to care.’

Yet, Nyx couldn’t wake Eve from her calm slumber and told himself it wasn’t because he wanted to watch her sleep for a moment longer.

‘I really should stop staring at her like a creep.’

Suddenly Eve winced awake with a ball of fire in her hand, aimed at Nyx’s chest.

“Whoa, it’s me!” Nyx raised his hands in the air.

Eve’s eyes were big as dinner plates, before she settled down, breathing heavily.

“W-what exactly are you doing?” she panted and extinguished the fire on her palm by squeezing her hand into a fist.

“I came to wake you up, there’ll be food soon.”

“What?”–Eve sighed–“Just give a holler next time or something.”

‘And don’t sneak up on me like that,’ she wanted to add. ‘And why are you sitting on my bed anyway?’

“Sorry. Here, let me help you,” Nyx said.

Eve ignored his outreached hand and slid her still shaky, slim body down from the bed. She marched to the door. Nyx rolled his eyes and took up after her.

The Chocobo Post was filled with celebrating people – hunters, travelers, random passerbys, and of course the post staff who handled the food. Everyone was either carrying a paper plate or in the line to get one filled with grilled meat. The sun had started to set, but the atmosphere was warm. The air was filled with cheerful chatter and music.

“Smells delicious,” Eve noted. Nyx watched as excitement formed on her features and it made him smile too. Obtaining plates full of hot food made the pair realize how famished they actually had been.

“Well if it ain’t the heroes of the day. Thanks for helping our boys out,” Wiz said while serving more drinks for them.

“More like the hero and his newbie sidekick,” Eve laughed. She was in a good mood after getting a rest, despite her injuries and dire need of a bath.

‘Gorgeous sidekick,’ Nyx wanted to correct, but settled for a chuckle and a quick glance at the said partner.

“Hey Wiz, is there somewhere more spacious we could clean up?” Eve asked while she was finishing up her food, “Not that there is anything wrong with the RV, it’s just a little… cramped.”

“Of course, I was just about to offer. Use the staff bathroom. Will you be needin’ a fresh set of clothes?” Wiz nodded towards the chocobo post building.

“No thanks, we got it covered,” Eve flashed a warm smile from Wiz to Nyx. The latter gulped and had to cough to prevent from choking from the food.

“Mind if I hit the shower first?” Eve asked.

“Go ahead,” Nyx gestured.

Eve stood up, thanking Wiz for the food and went on to grab her things in order to freshen up.

‘She is in a good mood. Really haven’t seen that since our first meeting.’

“Hearty girl that one. So you guys hittin’ it off?” Wiz asked winking.

Nyx coughed again, violently beating his chest. ‘We did, once. Now she can’t stand to be in the same room with me.’

“No, we work together,” he said matter of factly.

“Uh-huh,” Wiz studied the other man, “and?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Ain’t it always?” Wiz laughed. Nyx stared at his almost empty plate with a vexed expression. Luckily Wiz dropped the subject and left to attend to other guests.

Caitlin approached Nyx.

“Lost your teammate already?” She really didn’t sound like Eve’s absence was bothering her.

“She went to clean up,” Nyx replied.

“Well I can keep you company, so you don’t have to be alone,” Caitlin gave him a flirtatious smirk and sat at the table.

“Much obliged,” Nyx smiled, “So, what’s the story behind you?”

“My late father was a hunter, learned the craft from him,” Caitlin said taking a comfortable position in the chair.

“You’re from around these parts?”

“Lestallum originally, but I mostly travel after my prey. There isn’t a town that has no need for a huntress these days,” she winked, “What about you, Nyx Ulric? You were using magic back there so that fib about being a Crownsguard can’t be true.”

Nyx smiled at her sharp notion and knowledge. “So you noticed, huh?”

“Hard not to when you were beaming around the battlefield like a pinball. Not that I’m complaining though.”

“The usual guys were busy, so they sent us. That’s about it,” Nyx said shrugging. But ‘We slept together and the captain sent us here so we would stop quarreling about everything,’ would have been more precise answer.

“Okay, let’s leave it at that then,” Caitlin consented, still eyeing the man pointedly.

“What about your cute comrade? Is she your girlfriend? You seem to fight a lot,” she asked laced with a cunning expression.

“What, you too? We must really look good together for everyone to think that,” Nyx let out a nervous laugh and turned to ensure that Eve wasn’t coming back yet.

Caitlin was leaning towards him over the table.

“Well, those longing gazes you throw at each other after bickering about something petty might give it away. If a complete stranger could catch that up, they were really in trouble. Caitlin guessed Nyx’s thoughts and said: “But I just might be sharper than most.”

“We are in the same squad and she is not my girlfriend. Can’t explain the fighting though, even if I wanted,” Nyx was biting his lip.

“Okay, another topic you don’t wish to discuss in depth I see.” Caitlin lay back in the plastic chair.

‘This woman is too sharp for her own good,’ Nyx thought.

Like a saving grace, Eve walked on the set and dropped her toiletry bag on the table. She then proceeded to dry her hair in the towel. Both Nyx and Caitlin were looking at her. Nyx captivated by the clean and shower fresh look, and Caitlin was sizing her up in the light of the recent information she had gotten out of Nyx.

“Your turn. I hope I left some hot water for you,” Eve said smiling lightly. She was wearing another pair skin tight stretch pants and a sweater with none of the usual weapon casings or potion bags strapped on her. Nyx believed that she had never looked so… civilian in his company before.

Eve sat down next to Caitlin as Nyx stood up.

“Ladies,” he bowed his head lightly and left. Caitlin looked after him shamelessly and Eve didn’t know how to react. She fidgeted with her hair brush.

“He is quite the catch,” the red-head winked.

“More like insufferable and cheeky,” Eve didn’t think much before replying and continued to brush her long hair.

“Oh wow. You guys have really done it!” Caitlin laughed manically.

Eve dropped the hair brush and quickly picked it up. Caitlin was still giggling. “And you just confirmed it.”

Eve was opening her mouth in agony like a fish out of water.

“Did Nyx–?”

“Nope, so don’t get mad at him more than you already are. He said nothing of sort,” Caitlin waved her hand nonchalantly and grinned.

“But, oh boy, I am officially intrigued. So tell me. Did he leave without saying goodbye or what’s with the attitude?”

Eve blushed vigorously and tried to just focus on untangling her hair.

“Pretty please? I’ll be hush.” Caitlin took the brush from Eve’s hands and went on to straighten her locks in long, swift draws.

“No… I did,” Eve finally confessed with a sight. Caitlin’s hand stopped for a second, but there were no condemning words or the maniac cackling that Eve had been expecting.

“Ouch. What’d you do that for? Got another man?” The red-head was bemused.

“Another? When I can’t even seem to get rid of that one,” Eve blurted.

“You must have some pretty high standards if you want to get rid of that packet,” Caitlin whistled, making Eve blush even more.

“That’s not it. I can’t be with someone I need to fight alongside with.”

“Seeing you in action today, it seemed like you worked in perfect sync.”

Caitlin started to braid Eve’s hair, and Eve thought silently about her words. It was true that despite it having been their first real battle together, they had worked together well. She could see the openings Nyx left for her to take advantage of, and she really trusted him to watch her back.

“I can see the gears rotating in your head, Eve. Just don’t overthink it, okay?” Caitlin said. “There, all done. Now I’m going to get some sleep,” she yawned on the note, “Maybe we’ll see tomorrow before you leave.”

“I don’t know. We’ll try to set out early as possible. And thanks for the… advice.”

“Anytime, Eve. Text me sometime, night!”

Eve was left sitting there and sleepily gazing at other people partying to the music. Night had silently fallen after the sun. Eve’s bruised ribs felt better after sleep, food and shower. She felt content and happy to be outside the city again. ‘Though it is a bit weird being back in Duscae. It feels the same, the woods and the rain; it still feels like home.’

Nyx noticed that Caitlin had left and paced to Eve.

“Hey, took your sweet time in there,” she said straightening her posture.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, so I went to talk to the hunters,” the man said, “You should go to rest. How are your injuries?”

“Manageable. Though I wonder if I’ll need new wound tapes,” Eve said and hurried to add: “But I can change them myself.”

Nyx nodded slowly. They gawked at different directions unable to think of anything to say. Eventually Eve just stood up and left for the RV.

The next morning she woke up early, feeling renewed and eager to be on the way back to Insomnia. Sleeping at opposite ends in the trailer, she had actually gotten a good night sleep.

‘I’m actually getting used to sleeping in the same space with him,’ Eve thought while packing up again. Nyx was still in bed. ‘Few days of driving and another night and we’ll be home.’

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Eve shouted at Nyx while stuffing her dirty and bloody clothes in a bag.

“What time is it?” Nyx pulled a pillow on his face to shield him from the morning light. His voice was coarse and he grunted in depreciation.

Eve bit her lower lip. ‘How can he sound so hot so early in the morning?’

“A bit over six.” She could hear the male glaive sigh in the sheets.

“Where are my clothes?” Nyx grunted.

“On you, I hope? How late did you stay up?” Eve noticed Nyx’s backbag and tossed it to him, “Here.”

“Long enough to hear you mumbling in your sleep again,” he rose to sit up and smirked at Eve teasingly. He had no shirt on and his chest exposed a firm set of muscles. Eve’s heart was fluttering and she turned away to hide her blush. She tried to remind herself that it was nothing she hadn’t seen before, so being a prude was really unnecessary.

‘Oh for the love of the Six, sleep with your shirt on so I don’t get a seizure.’

“I don’t want to hear it,” Eve said out loud, trying to cover her thoughts with the volume.

“You really shouldn’t strain yourself by packing so heatedly,” Nyx said pulling a shirt to cover his chest. “Come here. Let me see how you’ve healed.”

‘Uh, how about no?’ Eve turned back to look at Nyx in poorly masked horror.

“Did you already take care of changing new tapes then?” he asked. His ruffled bedhair and tad outgrown stubble only added to his charm.

‘Oh Astrals, I could take care of you right now.’

“I can take care of my injuries, thank you,” Eve said.

“So, when I came to sleep last night, at first I thought you were just snoring, but then–“

“Okay, okay! Don’t tell me!” Eve yelped and walked sheepishly over at Nyx. She lifted her shirt up as little as possible. He gently felt the ribs and inspected the nonexistent wounds on her chest. ‘How can he go from being a pest to so gentle in mere moments?’

“Does this hurt?” Nyx lightly poked her bruised skin.

Eve shook her head, captivated by his blue gaze. She felt light headed and feared he would notice her heartbeat picking up again. Nyx relaxed seeing that her injuries were almost healed. He let down her shirt hem and cleared his throat. Eve took a shaky step backwards and went back to packing.

“What is it? You seem a bit tense,” Nyx asked eyeing her.

“Uh, my back is just sore from sleeping in an uncomfortable position,” Eve scratched her cheek absent-mindedly and looked everywhere but Nyx. Her heart was fluttering. ‘Could he not worry about me?’

Nyx had half a mind to offer her a back massage, but then again he knew that the offer would just make Eve stiff even more. Looking at her rear while she was bending over to pack, made him think about other ways to loosen her stiffness up.

“You going to help or what?” Eve asked frowning.

“Yeah,” Nyx jumped off the bed, “Why don’t you go get some breakfast while I finish up here?”

“No, let’s just get this done and go order something from Wiz,” Eve smiled faintly. They didn’t have a lot of things to pack and when everything was in the car, they went back to get some breakfast before setting out to the capital of Lucis.

Next Chapter

#ffxv fanfiction #ffxv oc #nyx ulric x oc #oc #ffxv #nyx ulric #caitlin felineia #final fantasy xv #kingsglaive #fanfiction #bad for me #eve leonis #my writings

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