#Eclipse struck out on his own and never looked back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justfangirlstuffs · 2 years

Text

House Call

You have feelings for your lunar animatronic work partner, however, sadly there’s very little chance of either of you getting any serious alone time. Until they decide to take matters into their own hands.

Eclipse x Y/N

Rated E for Enabling (because that’s what I’m doing)

It was a typical Saturday night and you had clocked out for the weekend since you had the following day off. Sun and Moon, the daycare animatronic that you were in charge of handling, had begged you to stay over for the weekend. It had been so hard for you to say ‘no’ considering how attached to both of them you had become over the months you'd been working with them. You suspected they had grown rather attached to you as well if the not-so-subtle innuendos they teasingly whispered into your ear -softly enough that no children could hear- was any indication. There was also the fact they had become shamelessly physical with you. Nothing lewd of course, but they never seemed hesitant about physical contact. Little touches and caresses that made you smile and blush like the star-struck idiot that you were. Because yes, you could not deny to yourself, you had feeling for the lunar animatronics.

You suspected they knew it too. Why else would they whisper things to you that most certainly were not work-appropriate, let alone appropriate for the daycare of all places? You suspected that they took great delight in watching you turn beet red as your face burned hot as a jalapeno pepper. Sometimes you were tempted to smack that self-satisfying grin right off their faces. but of course, you could never bring yourself to do that. You could only imagine how Corporate would react if they caught wind that your animatronic work partner was hitting on you on the clock, or hitting on you at all for that matter.

“I'll be back bright and early Monday morning,” you promised, waving goodbye to Sun though you knew Moon could see and hear you as well by proxy.

You blew them a playful kiss goodbye. Sun made a show of catching it in his hand and cradling it lovingly to his chest. This made you laugh like their antics most often did. You waited until the daycare doors closed before heading off to the entrance.

Earlier that same day, they had talked about visiting your place someday. Of course, you readily told them they would be more than welcome at your home. Though the sad truth of it was that neither of them was allowed to leave the premises of the Mega Pizza Plex. It was something that was hardwired into their coding, part of company policy, a safety and security measure no doubt. So, unfortunately, your relationship was suspended strictly to working buddies. But, hey, you could dream, right?

When you got home, you were tired from your long shift, but you were also riding the ‘I just got off work’ high that would keep you up for about another hour. So, you poured yourself a bowl of your favorite cereal, settled onto the couch in your bathrobe, and began flipping through the channels to find something that would entertain you for a while. You were just getting cozy when there came a knock at the door.

Who in the heck would be knocking on your door at this hour? Clearly, someone looking to get murdered that's who. Figuratively speaking of course. You weren't a murderer. You were cautious, however. Setting aside your bowl of cereal and tying your bathrobe tightly around yourself, you grabbed your metal bat and went to the door, not ready to open it just yet.

“If you're selling something, I'm not interested,” you called loudly.

“Oh, Starlight, you know better than that,” a voice crooned from the other side of the door. You nearly dropped the bat. That voice sounded so familiar, yet alien at the same time. “You’re supposed to say ‘who's there?’”

No way, there was absolutely no freaking way. Keeping the bat clutched tight in one hand, you unlocked the bolt of the door but kept the chain lock fastened just as a precaution. Opening the door the few scant inches it would allow, you peered out. You were expecting either Sun or Moon but the figure that stood on your doorstep was neither of those.

The body was tall and sinewy, the outer casing dark and dusky, the clothes colored in deep maroons and dusty purples. Darkened orange sunrays crowned the familiar lunar-designed face, but the eyes that beheld you were neither white nor red nor black, but a bright and vivid amber. They were familiar and yet not, but they regarded you like a long-held and treasured friend. With a hint of something else… something intense.

Your breath caught in your chest, your blood pounded in your ears as your heart raced a mile a minute, your brain scrambling to try and make sense of what you were seeing. One of the being's hands -because it had FOUR of them- gripped the edge of the door, pulling the chain taught. Another reached through the opening to caress your cheek, the thumb drawing a teasing trail over your jawline.

“Surprised to see us?” the voice asked carrying the playfulness of Sun yet carrying Moon’s darker tones.

“Who,” you choked, “are you?”

“Why, darling, you wound us. Don't you recognize us?”

You continued to stare dumbfounded up at the animatronic. A deep hum reverberated from its chest area, which you noticed was… not as hard on the eyes as it probably was to touch. “We suppose we do look rather different. It's us Sun and Moon, but in this form, you may call us ‘Eclipse’.”

It was then that you realized that having Eclipse, a seven feet tall animatronic standing on your doorstep, would no doubt be cause for all kinds of attention. Even though it was practically the dead of night you did not want to risk any of your neighbors asking questions. Quickly you unfastened the door chain, throwing the door open wide. “Get inside,” you hissed, checking for any onlookers. You saw none.

“We were wondering when you were going to invite us in,” they remarked teasingly before strolling past you.

You tried your best not to ogle but found it insanely difficult. The more you watch them the more you recognized bits and pieces of the two animatronics you had become so close to. Eclipse's movements carried hints of Sun's bouncing energy, and the roving gaze, as they looked over your apartment, was very reminiscent of Moon’s attentiveness.

After bolting your door with the fervor of someone trying to hide a crime, you whirled to face your new house guest. “Okay, I need some context for what is happening right now.”

“It's very simple, darling,” Eclipse said folding, their lower arms across a set of robotic abs. You couldn't fathom exactly why an animatronic would need a set of abs, but honestly, you weren't complaining. The upper arms gesticulated as they spoke. “We couldn't bear the thought of being away from you so long, but we knew that neither one of us could step foot outside the plex. So, we tried a little experiment, where we both are active at the same time, and after a few tries, this was the result.”

They gestured to themselves and you took that as permission to give them a thorough once-over. Consensus: they were hotter than they had any right to be.

“The security protocols did not recognize us in this form, so we were able to leave the premises of the plex,” they further explained. “Then using our access to the employee database we were able to find out where you live, and here we are.”

You suppose that maybe, just maybe, you should feel a little unsettled by the fact that your work partner had followed you home uninvited. However, your brain was so preoccupied and trying to take this all in, that it ended up laser-focusing on one detail in particular.

“So, you’re both Sun and Moon?”

“That is correct, we are both aware and present. Don't you feel so lucky, Starlight?” Their arms through open wide, as if to welcome you in a hug. “You get to have us all to yourself.”

Reaching up, you tugged on the color of your bathrobe, thinking that maybe you should check on the thermostat because suddenly it was getting very, very hot in here. You leaned against the door, your bat having been long forgotten.

“But, like… this has to be against company guidelines right?” you asked.

Eclipse took several steps towards you and their lower hands settled on either side of you, while the upper hands gripped you just below the neck. You were pinned between them and the door, your back pressed against the wood. You shivered in unexpected delight as you felt fingers caress your ear.

“I wont tell if you won't,” came Eclipse’s smoky whisper. Oh… you were beginning to recognize what that intense look in their eyes was: hunger. One of the hands slid a fiery trail down your neck to toy with the collar of your robe. “Look at you all wrapped up like a present just for us.”

Yep, you were pretty sure you were red as a tomato by this point. This was going past anything that was ever done at work, and thus anything that you were mentally ready for. You took hold of the hands, gently pulling them away from your face in order to regain some ground, both physically and mentally.

“But, what if…”

You were cut off as the two lower hands grabbed you by your hips and you yelped as your feet lost purchase of the floor. Eclipse sat down on your couch with you straddling their lap. Two hands remained gripped on your hips while the other pair studied your upper half. One settled on your cheek, the thumb brushing your lower lip, and suddenly it was all you could do to remember how to breathe properly.

“Starlight, just relax,” that smooth voice crooned.

Easier fucking said than done, you thought. Your body was hot, every touch and movement sending electrical zaps of pleasure to your brain. You were fighting hard against your lizard brain which was having fun imagining what you would do if that thumb caressing your bottom lip were to push past your parted lips and then slide in across your tongue.

“Starlight, your heartbeat is absolutely racing,” Eclipse chuckled as their hand brushed along your neck over your fluttering pulse.

“I wonder whose fault that is,” you said through gritted teeth.

You only just realized that your nails were digging into their shoulders, having grabbed onto the first thing you could for some kind of purchase. You felt fingers rubbing slow, taunting circles over your hips and you had to stifle any embarrassing noises that might have come loose. You couldn't help it, the anticipation was killing you and you had no idea what to expect from them.

“W-What are you planning to do to me?” you asked in a soft, trembling voice.

Eclipse leaned in closer, so close that their mouth brushed against your ear. “We think the more important question is: what do you WANT us to do to you?”

You wondered if it was possible for a person to spontaneously combust by sheer embarrassment.

Then there was a pause, just a hint of uncertainty. “You do want this, don’t you?”

Bless them, they were checking in, making sure they weren’t crossing any lines you didn’t want to be crossed. They were still the boys you so dearly loved. Yes, LOVED.

You nodded emphatically, not wanting to lose hold of whatever moment it was you were having. A soft sigh, followed by a chuckle.

“Then don’t be shy. It's just us after all.”

Swallowing your pride, shame, and any other inhibitions you might have had on the job, you leaned forward and whispered your desires to them.

“Why you little minx,” they chuckled, fingers combing deliciously through your hair. “To think you had these naughty thoughts dancing around in that pretty little head.”

Two hands cupped your face, pulling you closer and closer until there was no room left for Jesus or anything else.

“This is the part where you close your eyes,” they whispered.

You did so, surrendering yourself to their whims.

Your poor abandoned bowl of cereal was long forgotten and would never get eaten.

The End

(Wrote this for @feralmoonlight but honestly anyone is welcome to enjoy it. In fact @certified-handler might get a kick out of it too. If you wanna check out my other works, here is my AO3.)

#eclipse x y/n #eclipse x reader #fnaf eclipse #fnaf security breach #the daycare attendant #sun x y/n #sun x reader #moon x y/n #moon x reader #sun and moon are eclipse #this is such filth #clean filth #but filth all the same #the things I do for my moots #justfangirlwritings

422 notes · View notes

anxious-lee-ler · 8 months

Text

Sunny Skies

Eclipse smirked down at his lover. He was holding Sun in his lap with his hands behind Eclipse's neck, wrists gently tied together with ribbon. "Hello my Sunflower~" Eclipse purred as he nuzzled the smaller sized daycare attendant's neck. This action alone made Sun squeak with nervousness.

"Aha- H-hello 'Clipsy-" Sun giggled as he squirmed in Eclipse's lap. He wasn't uncomfortable, Eclipse was built with plush padding after all.

"You seem squirmy~ Whatever has you so giggly~?" Eclipse started to trace Sun's sides and stomach, making the latter squeal and start giggling even louder. "I'm not even doing anything, my dear~"

Sun whined as he barked out a laugh when Eclipse hit a sweet spot. "Oh~? My, my, that sure made you jump~ I barely even touched you~! Your bellybutton dent must be bad~ I should circle it with a marker one day as I doodle~"

"NAHAO!! Th-that's evil!!" Sun squeaked out.

"Me? Evil?" Eclipse pulled his hands away in mock defense. "Oh, no, no~! What would be evil is this~!"

Sun nervously smiled and soon snorted as Eclipse started wiggling his fingers in his field of vision. As soon as Sun looked away with his rays spinning, Eclipse struck, squeezing along the sides of Sun's upper torso.

"AH! HAhahaheeee!! 'Clihihihihpsyyy!!"

"Yes, my Sunflower~?" Eclipse purred as he pulled his hands away again. "You having fun, my love~?"

Sun kicked his feet as he turned his head around to bury it in the bigger animatronic's chest. "How sweet~ I take that as a yes~"

To that, Sun dramatically huffed and turned his face back around with a blushy pout expression. Only to be met with wiggling fingers poised over his tummy again, making him shriek with surprise. Oh that little-

"ECLIPSE!!" He yelped.

"Yes, my dear~?" Eclipse chuckled with glee. He loved seeing his lover's flustered expression.

Sun pouted once again, letting his hands slump as Eclipse pulled away once again. What Sun didn't expect was for Eclipse to stiffen. "Hm?" He hummed with curiosity.

"D-dohon't worry about it, S-Suhunny-!" Eclipse giggled as he tried to move his head away without thinking.

"Hmmm…~ I hear giggly giggles~!" Sun smirked tracing Eclipse's neck with his fingers.

"YoHU! Doho NAhat!" Eclipse whined, scrunching his shoulders.

But Sun knew better. In fact he softened his features as he heard the jingling of a bell as Eclipse wagged his tail. "Such a happy baby~! Yes you are~!"

"NAHA! Dohohohon't dohoho that, meheheheanie!" Eclipse snorted.

"So Iiii'm the meanie now, hmmm~? My oh my quite the tURN!? EEEEEEEK!!!" Sun shrieked as he suddenly felt a wiggling finger in the dent on his stomach.

A blushing Eclipse leaned in to nuzzle Sun's neck, making the ladder squeaky. "Oh Sunflower… Yohuhu never learn doho you~?" Eclipse chuckled, doing the best he could to tease Sun through his own flustered giggles.

Sun squealed once more… This was definitely going to be a long night of laughs~

[End]

#fnaf tickles #lee!sun #my fic #tickle fic #ler!eclipse #my sunflower au #lee!eclipse #briefly tho

50 notes · View notes

willshipanything-blog · 8 months

Text

Breaking the Rules- Chapter 17

So, my goal was to finish this by last week... 👀 but, this is a mega bumper chapter sitting at 7500 words, so hopefully the wait was worth it!

If I could summarise this chapter in three words, all three would be 'rage', if that's any indication.

As usual, warning tags apply, so minors DNI!

Full tags, as well as the fic if you prefer, is on AO3 here.

Full tumblr chapter index can be found here.

Enjoy lovelies! ✌️✨💜

Chapter 17- Temper Temper

Both you and Max had swiveled your heads towards the sound of Al’s incensed knocking, watching the door dumbly as if it might open of its own accord. Or, more likely, as if it might be flung off its hinges and come crashing down under Al’s raging fists.

Max whirled towards you, the soft expression now vanished as his eyes flitted wildly to yours. Each of you stared silently at the other, the backdrop of curses and banging and Samson’s defensive barking almost lost as you looked into those huge brown pools brimming with worry. You attempted to set your face into a calm expression to offset Max’s distress, even though each pound on the door made you jump a little in your skin. Each dull thump on the wood akin to the van doors slamming shut, with you in the back, unable to escape- but no: you needed to keep that image away, lest you tempt fate and invite that monster back into your life. Things were ok. It wasn’t the Grabber at the door like some ominous reaper of death. It was Al. Angry as he was, he was still the man you loved.

“What the fuck is going on, Y/N?”

“He’s- he’s just worried I left, that’s all. I didn’t tell him I was coming, and with me laying low, he gets upset when he doesn’t hear from me.” Not technically a lie, but fresh from your recent confessions, the concealment of the entire truth- however necessary- tasted bitter on your tongue.

The worry on Max’s brow appeared to wane just a little at your excuse, though he looked far from placated. He clearly wasn’t fully convinced that things were ok, and perhaps with the rageful presence at his own front door, snarling your name through the wood, Max wouldn't be convinced that you were indeed as safe as you had assured him. He didn’t know you could handle that flaring temper of Al’s. In fact, Al had never exerted it like this in front of his brother before. The one time Al had enacted such violence around Max was to retaliate against his father’s abuse- and Al had ensured Max was far away from that brawl when he’d struck back. You’d do the same now- keep Max away from any hint, any idea of a monster thrumming under Al’s skin. That deep, black well that held the possibility of so much hatred and violence and rage. You and Al might drown in it, eventually- but you couldn’t let Max so much as dip a toe in those waters.

You hissed Samson’s name, whose eyes and teeth had been firmly locked on the threat behind the door, but he reluctantly obeyed and padded to you, where you held him tightly to your body. A comfort for him or yourself, you weren’t sure, but it placated the giant dog as the pounding and rattling outside continued. A tall silhouette behind the gauzy yellow curtains (Al trying to glimpse through the windows) had you thankful that Max hadn’t yet opened them. However, you were less thankful when Max gave a discontented sigh and mumbled that he was ‘gonna get to the bottom of this’ as he inched towards the door.

“Max!” you let out a desperate whisper which he ignored, still aiming for the door. Even Max had reached his limit, and his usual courtesy had been eclipsed by a determination to confront Al about this situation. You released Samson and leaped across the room as Max’s hand gripped the doorknob, your own sweaty palm landing atop his. He froze, wide-eyed at you as you continued your pleading:

“Please, Max. Don’t do this. We don’t need to make this a bigger deal,” his hand shifted beneath yours, but you held firm, your eyes burning into his, and he stilled. It was quiet then, and you realized the thunderous knocking on the door had stopped. Al was still outside- you could sense it all too easily- and you wondered how much of the inside conversation he could hear. Whether he was holding a matching anticipatory breath to his brother, just on the other side of the door.

“Please,” you continued, your voice cracking as you looked into those innocent chocolate eyes “You know I’m keeping secrets from you. You have your own secrets you don’t wish to tell,” you cringed inside at the thought of using Max’s private preferences in such an insidious, almost threatening way, but swallowed the bile in your throat and persevered “And Al is keeping things from everyone. Can we just let things go back to how they were before, for everyone’s sake? Let me take care of all of…this,” you motioned with your head to the door, to the man you both knew still stood behind it.

It was a toxic circle of secrets, though they weren’t equivalent; yours outweighed Max’s by a hefty margin, and Al’s were so heavy, so incalculable it was dizzying to think about. You hated how you’d lumped them together like this, all for the sake of self-preservation and protection. Max’s secret wasn’t illegal, or shameful, or wrong- but if he didn’t want to confess everything to Al and to the world, if the thought of judgment or fear of openness made him wary of confessing who he was, maybe at least he’d understand a little of your pleas to let things lie.

Your other hand grasped Max’s forearm; a beseeching squeeze of your clasping fingers and a final imploring look from you had him nodding his head slowly in consenting (but clearly uncomfortable) acquiescence. You followed his silent gesture to step back as Max opened the door. The security chain allowed it to open just a few inches, enough for Max to face his brother, but from where you stood in the room, you could only hear that low growl speak to Max.

“Let me in.” His fists might have stopped pounding, but that voice still held a cold flame of anger, and you pictured those same fists balled at his sides, the taut muscles in his forearms ready to knock down the door if need be. Knock down the whole house perhaps, if the wolf was denied entry.

“Al, you need to take a breath, man.”

“I just wanna talk to her.”

“Sure doesn’t sound like you ‘just wanna talk’ to me.”

A silence between the brothers, save for the few heaving breaths you heard from outside- the aftermath of Al’s frantic bout with the door. You didn’t see the silent look Al and Max shared, and almost thought Max had refused Al when the door clicked shut. But Max slid the chain and reopened it. Apparently that charm of Al’s, that persuasive allure, extended to his brother as well as you.

Al’s body hung in the threshold for just a moment before he strode into the room towards you. You couldn’t say whether it took a split second or a long while, couldn’t count it in seconds or breaths, not when you were holding yours. He reached out, his hands gripping your upper arms as if to shake some sense into you. But he didn’t. The grip was neither a comforting hold nor a disciplining hand. A little rough, but it was that protective, possessive, even obsessive touch that was undeniably Al. He simply held you still, as if making sure you were real, hadn’t run away and disappeared forever from him. You weren’t at home, but you were still here with him, and his eyes softened a fraction at that realization.

The rage had been left at the doorstep it seemed, worry now clouding those blue eyes as he looked you over. Worry- as if the emotional hurt he’d inflicted might have created a real scar upon your body. That thought made you shudder; if emotional anguish created real wounds, your skin would be littered in more marks than any physical assault had ever caused. The remembrance of why you’d run- the lies heaped on more lies, the pushing back of imaginary concerns, only for them to push back as real, undeniable truths. Your conversation with Max had doused your anger with guilt, but Al’s presence served only to rekindle that raging emotion again. Whatever fury Al had left at the door had seemingly floated over and been imbued into you. You shrugged out of Al’s grip with a disgusted scoff.

“What the hell was that, Y/N?”

“I just needed some time away from the house. And from you,” you spat.

“You didn’t need to leave. I thought you’d gone…” Al paused, unable to finish that sentence. Was it the thought of you leaving, or him being caught that upset him more?

“I can leave when I like, Al. I’m not your prisoner a-” you barely stopped yourself from adding ‘anymore’ to the end of that phrase. But Al jerked at your words, knowing that you could have. Not like he could have argued against that indisputable fact. He gave a sidelong glance to his brother, and your own eyes tracked that invisible trail. Both of you wondering whether Max had picked up on your verbal faux pas, had deduced where the tail end of your retort might have led. He stood awkwardly near the door, not wanting to interject in your argument, but not making to leave after bearing witness to that fury his brother possessed. A small twitch of his brows; could you see the cogs whirring in his head, trying to unstick themselves, piece together the scene before him?

“And you,” Al pointed a finger towards Max, the sudden accusatory words and gesture breaking any concentration that might have had Max coming closer to a reasonable answer. “Why didn’t you call when she got here?”

“I didn’t realize Scout needed a permission slip to visit a friend,” Max snapped, surprising you at the brusqueness of the reply (and seemingly himself, based on the way he stepped back just a fraction, as if he hadn’t meant to sound so argumentative). “She was upset, and I was just trying to cheer her up.”

Without an immediate retort, Al surveyed the small living room, gaze lingering on the coffee table where a couple of beer cans and a half-full ashtray lay strewn atop it. Clearly, where Max hadn’t yet cleared up from the previous night.

“Cheer her up with drinking? Jesus, Max, it’s barely past noon! I suppose I might have to start worrying about drugs too now, huh?”

Nope. That was too far. You didn’t care how pissed off Al was with you, with your actions- even mentioning that old vice of Max’s (one he’d fought hard to overcome), was NOT going to be a valid argument for Al to try and project his own faults and frustrations on. Your own voice could ignite a similar flare of icy wrath as Al’s, and you let him have it. Not even for your own defense, but for him daring to stoop so low as to bring Max’s prior shortcomings into this argument.

“Leave. Him. Alone.”

Al whipped his head back to you, to the seething, roiling words that you spoke. He could drag you into this argument, like how he’d already dragged you into the madness of this relationship. For your part, you’d allowed yourself to be hauled to that blissful underworld, freely swam to those depths of your own volition- but you would make Max no part of this. You looked at the younger Shaw brother, that earnest worry and innocence helping soften your anger as you asked him to give you and Al the room, for just a little while. He’d nodded, making some excuse to take Samson into the backyard, leaving after a long look at Al. A plea, perhaps. Or maybe a warning.

There wasn’t enough room in the cramped space for you to be nearly as distant from Al as you wanted. He’d left a gap between your bodies, but still you had to incline your head to look into those eyes. For once, you were struggling to pinpoint the exact emotion in that look, and wondered whether Al, looking down at you, felt the same. Even you didn’t quite know how to feel- still enraged by the lies, remorseful for your abrupt departure, guilty for saddling Max with this. You stayed silent, letting Al dictate the next move.

“We’re going home.”

“Which home is that, Al? You have two of them.”

Al’s eyes widened, a brow crooked in surprise at the flagrant mention of that second address. Was your defiance really so unexpected? Did he think, after all this, that you’d still be his good girl? That he’d command you to jump, and you’d ask how high in a fraction of a heartbeat? Perhaps Al could sense, through that invisible bond that tethered you both together, that your temerity wouldn’t waver, wouldn’t break down through his attempts at placation. But if placation wouldn’t work, he always had his old tricks up his sleeve. Al eyed a cursory glance towards the door through which Max had left. Satisfied his brother wasn’t around, he leaned in close to you, whispering in an insidious rasp:

“I am taking you home. Right. Now. You can choose whether you go in the front or the back of that van.”

You snorted at Al’s audacity to try and manipulate you- with images that he knew had caused you so much anxiety the last time you’d ridden in the black van. You’d hoped the snort sounded like an incredulous huff of laughter, but a part of you knew your effrontery was masking a small flash of fear that had bolted through you at those threatening words, the purposefully menacing, slow gestures and low rumble of breath as Al spoke them. You’d barely huffed out that dismissive breath before a hand shot out, encircling tightly around your wrist as he spoke once more.

“I don’t remember telling a joke.”

“So that’s it? If I say no, you’re gonna drag me into the back kicking and screaming?”

“Don’t tempt me, dove.”

You froze as the grip around your wrist tightened. The lilting intonation had returned to Al’s voice, your stupefied body capable of nothing except staring into the cold blue of his eyes, almost manifesting a shadowy pair of devil horns atop his head, a phantom of a wide, false smile ghosting over his gritted teeth.

It was one thing for the memory of the Grabber to remain lurking in the shadows, but for Al himself to allude to those past actions? He was usually the one veering your own worried thoughts far away from any trace of that beast. The Grabber had lain dormant for months, but you supposed even volcanoes could stay inert for years before erupting. And Al had put you in the van before- would he do it again? You didn’t think so, though his mad glare contradicted that belief, eyes darkening with building rage as his eyes lowered to where he was gripping you-

Al recoiled at the touch between you both, his hand loosening around your wrist, eyeing the livid red mark he’d imprinted on your skin with a look of horror. An incoherent apology was lost in a choke; his voice too broken to speak. Here was a man who had forgotten his own bestial strength, who had been unable to hide the bared fangs and claws when provoked. But his tail was now firmly between his legs at the realization of his mistake. That moment of clarity, the realization of what had briefly surfaced within him, and how it might have hurt you. It had plastered a lost, forlorn look on his face.

One half of you was still livid at the deceit, at Al’s irrational anger. But the other half of you understood the mess of emotions inside this man, who, even now, couldn’t ever define the Grabber as a past life, when he struggled so greatly suppressing that demon inside him.

Wavering between rage and sympathy, a lingering look at Al’s rueful expression gave way to the latter feeling.

It was time to go. What else could you do, apart from go with him? His home was your home too now. You’d accede to his request, but you were going to make it clear this argument was far from over, waiting for you both at the threshold of your own front door instead of Max’s.

“Al,” you grunted, yanking your arm free from his hold, his empty limb still hovering in the air as if not realizing it was no longer being used to grab you. “I’ll come back. But only because you’re making a scene, and Max doesn’t need to see that. Give me a minute to freshen up.” You didn’t wait for his permittance before turning swiftly and walking towards the bedroom, as if making your way to the attached bathroom within. You didn’t need to use it, but needed a moment to even your breathing and swallow down some of the rage that would have to hold off, for at least a little while.

You discerned Max re-entering the living room, heard low tones in hushed voices between the two brothers. Their conversation, muffled as it was, sounded tense. You dared the door open a crack, finding yourself in the midst of their discussion.

“-fine, everything is fine Max.”

“Yeah? Looks sorta broken to me.”

“Oh, cause you know how to fix everything?” Al’s voice, rough and dangerous as a serrated knife’s edge, was still directing his malice towards Max. You thought about interrupting there and then, but held off a little longer.

“I’m just trying to help.” “About twenty five years too late for that, Max. Surprised you didn’t bolt as soon as you smelled the start of a problem.”

You cringed silently at that cutting remark, another barb Al had thrown at his brother. Max was silent only a moment before speaking. Not trying to argue the point, but steering the conversation back towards you.

“Who else is she gonna talk to, Al? She only has you and me. She calls me if she wants to talk about stuff she can’t with you. If she wants to talk about you two, or about her family, it’s natural she’d come here for-”

“Her family? Her and me? When were these calls?”

You’d heard enough. Max didn’t need the wrath of his brother for deigning to take a phone call from you, for daring to listen to your problems. You stomped from the bedroom, both heads turning at your unsubtle exit. On the other side of the door, you’d imagined Al looming over Max, but a proud feeling blossomed in your chest upon seeing Max squared up to his big brother, mustering that courage for your sake.

“Al, let’s go.” you said flatly, betraying none of your own blistering anger in front of Max- that was for Al to face soon. Max received a small smile from you in offering, and a murmured promise to call him soon, to let him know that everything was ok. A woeful goodbye, but it would have to do for today. You barged past Al and drifted to the front door and out of it without a backwards glance at whether he was following or not.

Slamming the passenger side door closed after you climbed into the van, Al followed suit to your left a moment later. If he looked at you, it went unseen; your back ramrod straight and your eyes locked on the windshield directly in front of you. The disregard was met in equal measure, and Al didn’t speak as the engine stuttered to life and he pulled away from the curb.

You’d only been a willing passenger in the black van once before. That journey had been full of soft words and tender reassurances from Al, who had steered your mind away from the images the van had conjured. He didn’t try the same tactic now, but it was no longer needed- the fury surging through your veins, boiling your blood, had evaporated any trace of worry or fear. Each turn the van took lurched your stomach, churning that anger anew. Each time the van braked, the traffic lights reflected in your vision, you saw red, and that fiery fury stayed lit. You wondered who was angrier: your rage could match Al’s when needed, and the tar-black rage pent up inside of you would be home soon, where it could be unleashed, run rampage. Would it meet Al’s own manifestation of the same emotion? Strong as Al was, it wasn’t like he’d physically fight you. These things always seemed to end in a war of words, and you were equally equipped as him on that front. You found a twisted sort of solace in that thought, and it helped tamp down your anger for the rest of the journey.

No solace was to be found outside of your own head. No assuring hand reached out across the center console this time. No radio either; just the dead silence stewing between you both, only a staticy tangle of thoughts broadcasting in your mind. You wondered whether Al was experiencing the same angry sentiments as you, though you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showcasing that curiosity by looking his way. It felt like another game, one you weren’t about to lose by breaking first. You wouldn’t be the first to lose your nerve, not when he was the one in the wrong. Or at least, more wrong than you.

Al pulled into the driveway, and your stoicism faltered for just a second when you tried the van’s door handle, only to be met with an empty click. The child lock mechanism had your breath catching, but you suppressed a gasp as you waited mutely for Al to come around and open the door. He didn’t rush this time, not fearful of your claustrophobic panicking that brought forth images of your initial kidnapping. Still, he opened the door wordlessly and you hopped down, averting your gaze as you did so. Once again, you walked in front, opening the front door to the house with your own key, not worrying whether Al had fallen in step behind you. Too determined to keep tight hold of the reins of your anger to sneak a glimpse of the house across the street, lest you douse that anger with a deluge of fear and allow Al’s rage to burn more fiercely than your own.

“You wanna explain to me just what the hell has been going on?” Al had slammed the door behind him before stalking you through the house to the kitchen. You spun, shoes squeaking on the linoleum as you did, to find Al fixed in the doorway, his arms hanging loose by his sides. A relaxed, casual stance considering the loaded question. It only felt a little like entrapment: the basement door lurking in the corner, the kitchen where those games had started out for Al’s sick pleasure, the only escape route blocked by his broad figure in the doorframe.

Still, you weren’t afraid of those things, and you weren’t going to explain yourself to Al. He was a snake charmer, finding the words to persuade you, make you think a situation wasn’t his fault. You’d seen the trick, his silver tongue no longer convincing you with its distractions and diversions. Charmed no longer, you would bite back, ready to spew back your own venom at his deceit.

“Do I wanna explain!?” You resisted the urge to cross your arms in frustration, holding them by your sides in a similar gesture of confidence as Al. “All of this has happened because of you.”

“I just- I can’t believe you left this fucking house. Y’know how reckless that was? I should-”

“Should what, Al? Should lock me up again? If you remember, you were the one who gave me a key. Or was that just to give me the illusion of freedom? Here,” You fished your door key from your front pocket, hurling it at Al’s chest. He caught it as it bounced off his body. “That’s what you want, right? For me to never leave this house again?”

Al’s fist clenched around the small key in his palm, skin so white the jagged teeth of the key might have drawn blood. He exhaled a frustrated huff, snapping the key down on the sideboard beside him before speaking again.

“Dove…” Al said, leaving the tail end of the sentence to linger. You weren’t sure if it would’ve ended with a plea or a warning, but the use of his cute nickname for you enraged you enough to not care. You wanted to snatch that pet name from mid air and snap its damn neck.

“Don’t ‘dove’ me! Flattery isn’t going to work this time, Al,” Al’s fingers curled a little as they hung by his sides, made tense by your immunity to his attempts at placation as you continued the tirade. “This is all on you. You lied about that house,” Tighter now, and balled fists appeared at his sides, knuckles white with strain. “I haven’t even had time to think why you lied, but the fact that you did it to my face, for weeks-”

“You wanna talk about lies, Y/N? What about that first night you met Max, huh?”

“Tch!” you scoffed disbelievingly at that. “I lied to protect you. I painted such awful stories about my family so I didn’t have to tell your brother how I actually met you. Or would you rather me have told him about the first time I was in that van, hm?” Your own mocking tone had started to imitate Al’s own inflections of speech.

“But what you’re talking to him about? One wrong step and you could ruin everything!”

“My god, Al! I didn’t tell him about the fucking Grabber. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Yes- stupid for changing your story.”

“So you’ve berated me for lying to Max, and now you’re doing the same when I’m trying to be honest. You’ve got to pick one, Al- are you upset that I lied, or that I told him some truths?” Al visibly stiffened, his body clamming up at that counter. Because how could he answer such a question, when the whole premise of your argument was built on this twisted logic of contradictory terms? He simply clenched his jaw in silent frustration, his nostrils flaring as he breathed out a heavy sigh. Whether your harsh truths or the tone of your words held Al in suspended silence, you were unsure. But you had his full attention, and you weren’t going to waste it. If he was so concerned with lies, a few home truths would surely be more than welcome.

“Why do you think I talk to Max about things, huh? I can’t keep it all bottled up like you do, or it’s going to suffocate me. Look what not talking did to Max- he was a complete wreck for a long time. And you-” You didn’t need to voice what years of holding in the hurt had done to Al. The flash of sadness in his blue eyes almost had you sympathizing at the mention of that warped evil inside Al, but your indignation was stronger, and you continued.

“You’re not going to take away my voice, or my choices. Not if you want to keep me as yours. Something has to give, Al. Or I might as well be locked in here with that monster. ”

“I don’t want that, little dove. But you need to see-”

“Stop!” Why- why did it always fall on your shoulders to change, to adapt, to see things differently? “I see things just fine, Al. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. Or who to talk to. Or where to go.” Maybe you should have finished listing off the examples there, but the vitriol was bleeding from you now, and you weren’t about to cover a wound that so badly needed airing. “I don’t have to eat what you put in front of me, kneeling at your feet. I don’t bathe when you allow it. I don’t fuck you when you demand it of me.”

“Stop saying those things, Y/N,” The icy cool voice should have indicated your mentioning of those past transgressions were affecting Al in the worst ways, but you barely registered it, blinded by the red mist encircling your whole being. Every answer Al gave, each excuse, sounded more and more like accusation, as if you were the one who had done something unforgivable. Maybe a part of him knew that once angered, your own awakened wrath wouldn’t back down. Maybe a part of him wanted- needed- the fight. You’d happily oblige.

“You really have some fucking nerve, you know that? Trying to twist any part of this as my fault, or even thinking back there of blaming your brother. When we know, don’t we, who’s really at fault. Who’s got the biggest character flaw out of the three of us- and it isn’t. Even. Close.”

Again, you’d mimicked Al’s way of speaking, punctuating your final rebuttal with a clipped, acerbic reminder of Al��s monstrous form. You marveled, during your scathing tirade, that Al hadn’t approached you. That he hadn’t gripped you like he had at Max’s, rattling you like a child shaking a broken toy in frustration. That’s what you’d been, after all: a thing for him to toy with, to mold and shape as he wished until you’d learned to love being his plaything. But as much as you loved Al, as much as you obeyed his whims (whether during your games or otherwise), you were done playing nice.

Al had remained motionless, his hulking figure heaving in the doorway. So at odds with his earlier rage, that silent stance both eerie and infuriating in equal measure, when you craved the fight as much as you knew he did.

“Really- no answer for me? You’re still lying to me and to yourself, Al. Still hiding,” No response. If he wouldn’t rise to the bait, you’d leave with a snappy retort and a dramatic exit on par with Al’s usual theatrics; your anger would simmer for a long while yet, and you could summon that temper again when Al wanted to have it out with you. “In fact, why don’t I go get one of your masks you can hide behind-”

Your attempt to shove past Al was cut short when a swift arm snaked around your stomach. Al moved preternaturally fast for a man of his size. The strength in that arm pulled you towards him, his shoulder length hair brushing your cheek as he spoke in your ear.

“I don’t think so.” No fear, or trace of remorse; no fissure in his voice. Just a flat, guttural rasp whose coldness threatened to send any icy chill skittering through your veins. But your hot-bloodedness kept that frosty fear at bay, and though you squirmed in Al’s superhuman grip, your rage still dared to fight back with your words.

“Let go. I’m not your kidnapped little victim anymore!”

“Oh yeah?” The flat tone had shifted to a maniacal, almost musical lilt. Since getting home, Al’s emotions had been wavering between silent seething, and genuine inner turmoil at the guilt and shock of acting like the beast who had previously inhabited his body. But that was the final straw, it seemed, and your words and actions had finally reignited the rage that had charged like a bull through Max’s door earlier. His arm encircled tighter whilst his other hand gripped a fistful of your hair. In every scenario you pictured your argument taking, you genuinely believed this to be an impossibility, that this hideous savageness within Al had been tamed for good. A speck, just a speck of it, was allowed to awaken during your games. But not for real. Not to hurt you.

“You’re fucking crazy!”

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that to somehow you knew was as unstable as Al, where the real crazy had- did?- simmer underneath the skin. You might have just given the crazy a little more gas, allowing it to bubble over and escape. A breathy laugh ghosted your ear as Al picked up your frame, the laugh a melodic thing composed of lunacy and rage, telling you something had snapped inside him. Maybe it wasn’t quite Al anymore. Or at least not only Al in the room with you now.

Your rage could match his, but your strength certainly couldn’t. Your flailing arms could only scratch the door frame, unable to latch onto anything as you were dragged backwards all too easily. Realizing where Al was headed hit you like a punch in the jaw, and you writhed desperately as you were heaved towards the basement door. You weren’t above begging, not where those dank depths were concerned, but your sudden onslaught of fear was still braided with deep anger.

“Please, Al! Stop!” you cried, a threshing foot knocking over a kitchen stool with a heavy clatter.

“Things were good,” he said, a little breathless, but not tired from carrying your weight across the room, “Why can’t you be good?”

Your paltry strength was useless to you, and you had only your words and quick thinking to fend off this attack, to stop this ending down there. Your scalp burned as Al pulled a hand away from you, using it to open the wooden door that led down the stairs to the basement. Scrambling for words, anything to stop this madness, your mind flicked frantically through ideas, like a Rolodex of memories and images, until an idea clicked into place. What Al had just said, the knowledge you had- it might just work.

“I- am-good!” you struggled with the tight grip around your diaphragm, gripping the doorframe that bisected the two lives you’d lived in this house, above and below. “The basement is only for- Naughty Boys-” your fingers were pried from the frame with your depleted strength, only enough useful breath for a final few words. Better make them count. “Isn’t it- Albert?”

His name- his full Christian name- had Al stopping mid step at the top of the stairwell with you still bundled in his arms. That name, its use so foreign on your tongue, had Al frozen. It wasn’t the surprise of hearing that almost-obsolete version of it, but rather, what is represented. The images must be flashing through Al’s mind, you figured, from the ragged breaths escaping him, his grip loosening a fraction in reaction to the allusions you were gouging into his mind. Because who ever called him Albert aside from his father? His father, whose steps Al was shadowing decades later, dragging someone smaller, weaker down those wooden steps.

Al sucked in a huge intake of breath, as if coming up for air after being underwater a long time, surfacing from whatever awful memory he was reliving thanks to your reminder. It was cruel, perhaps, but needed at that moment. Halfway between that frozen stupor and consciousness, Al released your body with such a force that you stumbled a few steps before dropping onto the linoleum of the kitchen floor, just a couple feet away from the doorway. Unfortunately, you’d awkwardly clawed backwards in your freefall, catching Al’s shirt in a tight grasp as you plummeted. In his frozen, paralytic state, he tumbled down after you, barely catching himself on an arm, holding himself above you, hanging there like a possessed spirit. His eyes were dull; he hadn’t yet returned fully back, still trapped in his own past, in a mental séance you’d created with your words that had summoned past demons.

A thin taper of bronze sunset light filtered through the kitchen blinds, slashing across Al’s vision. The stupor subsided, and with a renewed consciousness, he gave you a crushing look. It was the same one he’d shown at Max’s, when he’d realized he’d gripped your arm a little too tightly, had taken it a step too far with an alluding threat of the Grabber. And now, he’d gone even further. He’d never taken it so close to that knife’s edge, not since you’d chosen to stay of your own free will. If Al kept wading into those dangerous waters, you wondered whether eventually the tide might carry him away completely. Away from his sanity. Away from you forever.

Al hovered above you, and you lied below. Silent, save for both of your heaving chests, grazing lightly against the other’s. After an age, he spoke.

“Y/N, I-”

SMACK. Your flat palm cut short an apology you didn’t want from him. Not yet, when you realized your rage hadn’t subsided. Just because Al had suppressed that thing inside of him, didn’t mean you were about to toss aside your own justified anger at things still left unsaid. His head had reeled in shock from the slap, but he turned his face back to you, a small growl escaping through gritted teeth. Your eyes locked to his, though he began to trace a path downwards with his eyes, down the slope of your nose and coming to focus on your mouth, your lips. Your own stare descended too, finding those crooked teeth through thinly-parted lips, a shadowy suggestion of a red handprint on the cheek beside it.

This was a bad idea, in extremely poor taste even for a depraved pair such as you two. You both knew you shouldn’t, but it was going to happen. You’d argued. You’d seethed and you’d fought. Why not fuck? It seemed as good (or as bad) a suggestion as those other outlets. Your matching tempers still needed a release, so right there, on the chafing linoleum of the kitchen floor, you and Al let loose your rage, a different iteration of sparring between you both.

You couldn’t have defined it as love making, savage and wild as it was. Those lethal hands- one fisting your hair, the other curled around your neck, squeezed and grabbed as your own hands gripped his shirt in tightly clenched fists. No sweet kisses exchanged between your lips, only possessive bites plied on your neck, your shoulder, your jaw as your nails raked roughly through Al’s ashen locks and bit him right back. You were at each other’s throats in an entirely new way now.

Impressive, really, how quickly you could undress in your tempestuous states- Al ripped your blouse open, buttons flying as you yanked down your shorts. Then his turn, kneeling upright to pull off his shirt as you worked his belt loose, freeing his cock with a yank on his trousers. He shuffled out of them quickly as you worked free your bra, then a sharp tug had you flat on your back as Al ripped your underwear from your body, almost beastly, as if shredding them to ribbons with claws.

Even if you hated him at this moment, you didn’t hate this; the usual wetness having built during the carnal undressing and aggressive foreplay. Al dragged your body closer, back burning from the friction of skin on linoleum as he lined up with your hot, aching core. In one vigorous push he was inside of you, barely giving you time to adjust before beginning the assault. Neither of you spoke, no loving words from Al of how perfect you felt around his cock, no sweet hums of pleasure from you letting Al know how wonderful he made you feel. Only low grunts accompanied the sound of your sweat-slicked bodies slapping into each other with every thrust. Your hips would bruise from the pressure of Al’s hands gripping them, but you’d repay the favor; one set of fingernails curled around a bicep, leaving dripping red crescents in their wake, whilst your other hand clawed into his muscular back. Whether wet from sweat or blood, you didn’t care to know.

It was sex through gritted teeth and furious scowls, your matching lust only rivaled by identical dark, raging glowers as you stared daggers at the other, pupils blown in equal parts ecstasy and rage. Until Al pulled out completely, dragging a keening moan from you: it felt almost like a losing move, admitting your disappointment at him leaving you wanting. But he resumed soon enough, only stopping a moment to flip you over, shove a palm between your shoulder blades to push your ass into the air, before grabbing your hips again and taking you from behind. Propped on your elbows, your forearms chafed on the rubbery floor, but from this angle, Al’s cock was connecting with that spot deep inside you, obliterating the pain with the animalistic pleasure. You figured- if you were going to scrap like animals, you might as well fuck like them too.

Pleasure rippled through both of you, the splintering sensation almost as deep and far-reaching as your scorching rage. You stilled, Al leaning over you with his hot breath on your back, only ragged breaths permeating the silent, muggy air. The sweat dripping from you felt like a skin shedding, sloughing off a layer of residual anger that you’d been holding onto. And left underneath? An emptiness inside that you weren’t sure how to refill. You pushed backwards, Al relenting and falling back on his ass as you rose on shaky legs. A lingering, hollow look into those ocean blue eyes before you left wordlessly. Al didn’t follow you this time.

Al remained on the kitchen floor a while, naked and alone, as Y/N slipped silently away into the house. As good as that release felt, Al was more relieved he had sex to fall back on, a way to temper that anger and placate that beast. Because he nearly fucking did it, didn’t he? He’d nearly put her down there, and it was only his dove’s desperate mind games that had pulled him out of the drowning depths of his own broken psyche. If she hadn’t, and Al had continued that downward spiral, right down the stairwell and into the basement… if he’d have put her in there, locked the door… she would have had no choice, no match against his strength. Which ‘he’ was being referred to was a sore subject as Al pondered it, because it was all him. Yet, somehow not really him at all. Al really thought that other part of himself was dead and buried, yet there he lived, a faint thrum of him under his skin, waiting and watching, always.

If he’d have done it, put her in the basement, he would have let her out once that beast had retreated to a dark corner of his mind. But she wouldn’t trust him again, and would probably be spurred on to leave for real next time. He was already a difficult man to love, and that might just break the fragile foundation on which their relationship stood. Maybe no amount of groveling or apologetic pleading would be enough to fix such a shattered thing as that broken vow.

His dove had gone, and for once, Al was happy that she wasn’t with him. He would let her be alone for a little while, if that’s what she wanted. He’d deny her nothing, even wishes to be far away from him right now, much as that thought pained him, squeezed his heart as if clasped inside a curled, vengeful fist. Being alone also meant he could direct his rage elsewhere, away from her who deserved none of his rageful spite or hideous violence.

Al rose, shuffled into his trousers, and stumbled over to a sideboard where a pack of cigarettes and his brass lighter lay. Leaning against the sideboard, Al thought hard as he puffed a plume of smoke into the stuffy kitchen air, darkening in the dusky light. He’d been so adept at taking away choices- from her, mostly, as she’d so correctly reminded him earlier, when she’d listed just a fraction of his past violations back at him. Well, he would take away a choice from himself this time- the choice to put her back in that basement. He’d eradicate that possibility- forever.

A distant sound of running water (his little thing running a bath, probably), and Al made his decision. Stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray, Al moved with purpose now, squatting down to root through the cupboard under the sink for what he needed. He stood with a grunt as his knees clicked softly, the heavy hammer grasped firmly in his hand, and knew what he needed to do. He’d destroyed so much in his life, inflicted countless pain and suffering, even to himself. But maybe wreaking this type of destruction would help, for once, to repair something he’d broken.

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #the black phone #albert shaw x reader #albert shaw #black phone fanfic #the grabber x you #albert shaw x you #the black phone fanfic #black phone

39 notes · View notes

theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

Text

This is way out of my comfort zone, but for all you Nezriel lovers... here ya go! Nesta vs the Buffer - Part Two (18+)

Nesta had been about to extinguish the little lamp beside her bed when the door had knocked. She wasn’t sure if she had heard it correctly, the brush of knuckles had been so gentle like the sweep of the wind.

A male was at her door, dark head bowed as she opened it. Azriel’s hazel eyes flickered to hers.

‘Have you been sent to kill me?’

A crease pressed between his brows. ‘Do you think I would knock if that was the case?’

‘Well, you are very polite.’

It struck Nesta that they had never really had a conversation, just the two of them before. They had spoken, sure, but usually as part of a group or if other people were present. He was tall in his own right; not as physically imposing as Cassian, but he reached as high as the door frame. A thick sweeping of hair fell across his forehead. She’d always thought him the prettiest.

They stood in a strange stalemate. Two of her neighbours were arguing in their apartment; it was a common occurrence she had found out, though only occurred late at night. It would go on and on. On the second night, she had knocked to see if the female shrieking needed help – only to be told by both of them to mind her damn business.

‘Are you here for a reason?’

Azriel swallowed. A shadow eclipsed him briefly. ‘I suppose I wanted to see if you were okay.’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

That dinner had been downright awful. Right from the start where she had tipped mushroom soup over herself and ended up wearing a dress that was too risqué, from being told the wrong time, for being forgotten and overlooked, all the way to her little eruption at dessert. None of it made her too embarrassed – except perhaps asking Varian if he slept with Cresseida. That was maybe slightly too far.

‘Can I stay here tonight?’

‘What?’ Nesta’s voice blurted, far too loudly. She tightened her dressing gown around her body then shifted back a step.

At her reaction, Azriel had grimaced slightly. ‘I continued what you started at the restaurant tonight. I don’t want to speak to them. And I know this is the last place they would expect me to be.’

Her apartment became a refuge for the shadow singer. When duty called, he returned to the inner circle. That wall of ice that surrounded him would not yield. He reported back to Rhys, winnowed wherever he had to for missions, but in his free time, he could be always found at Nesta’s apartment rather than spending another moment in their company. He didn’t share what happened at the restaurant. Nesta didn’t particularly care. She had said her piece and left the door open for him to swoop in

It was startingly easy to move around him. They orbited each other silently. Nesta might go out for a few hours, returning with a new book or Azriel would bring hot food with him from a café in Velaris. They never squabbled over using the bathroom, they ate the same food, had the same tastes, and were content to be in a reserved quiet. He didn’t get in her way, didn’t take up too much space. She only bothered him to offer him a drink or snack. Azriel always tidied the blankets on the couch each morning though Nesta doubted he slept much. Sometimes she could hear him, treading almost silently around the living room. It was only because she was still awake herself that she ever heard him.

One night when he’d knocked on late, she’d handed him a key, blinking at the bright lights in the corridor. ‘I’m sick of getting out of bed in the middle of the night. Let yourself in from now on.’

His eyes had passed over the key like Nesta had given him an heirloom. The pad of his thumb stroked along the collar and the bit. ‘Thank you.’

Another week passed with quiet conversations. She saw him only in the moments before she went to bed. A bat by looks and by nature, she had said, drawing a smile from him. Nesta liked those smiles because they were so rare. She had yet to see the shadow singer throw back his head in full-bellied laugher or to even show his teeth when he grinned. Azriel guarded himself carefully. It was a practise she knew very well.

Perhaps that was the reason why, that in such short space of time, they had warmed to each other. Nesta did not pry. Azriel did not either. He read reports. She read her books. She cooked. He cleaned. Sometimes he would disappear in the middle of the night, leaving the door on the latch, coming back before dawn, but Nesta didn’t interrogate.

‘Not that I want you gone, but I have to ask how long you do plan to be here for?’

A shadow danced near his ear, but Azriel swatted it away like a fly. How long will you remain angry with your family, she wondered. Would an equal measure of five hundred years dull the pain?

‘What I mean is, I feel terrible that you sleep on this dreadful couch. At your great age, it must play havoc with your back.’ A slight smirk from the shadow singer sent a wave of pride rushing over her. ‘If you planned on a long-term scenario… We could find another place with two bedrooms.’

‘You’d want to live with me?’

‘Why not? We already are.’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, threading a hand through his ebony hair. ‘The others tell me to loosen up, to lighten up, to be louder.’

A cocoon of silence always followed him. He never rushed his words or said more than he needed to.

‘I like you as you are,’ Nesta admitted.

Something charged passed through their gaze. Nesta felt it spike in her veins like a spark. Shadows blurred him from view so she took that as her cue to go to bed.

***

‘Why do you leave the room when I light a fire?’ Azriel couldn’t keep the question in. He had been staying there for almost three weeks now. With the arrival of colder weather, he’d fought against his revulsion for fire to keep the apartment warm for them. And every time that first tendril of flame had come to life, Nesta would depart to the bedroom. ‘Is it my hands?’

He kept his hands balled into fists, the scars taut over his bones. Nesta froze in the doorway to her bedroom, a book clutched to her chest. Instinct had her gaze darting to his hands then she shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘My hands,’ he repeated, the words unsure on his lips. He hated this. Hated drawing attention to them.

Nesta drew nearer hesitantly. She set the book down on the small table. ‘I don’t know what happened to your hands. I don’t have an issue with them, Azriel.’

Azriel tensed. He had thought all the sisters knew. The story had been given wings in secret as if it would spare Azriel’s feelings if they all knew without him having to share the story.

‘What happened to your hands?’ Her voice was gentle. It was the gentle tone Nesta only ever reserved for Elain. Firmly, she caught hold of each hand and pressed them both between her own. It was the first time that somebody hadn’t examined them, hadn’t tried to cast an inconspicuous look upon them when they were the topic of conversation. She had acknowledged them, but hadn’t given them value. He was more than his scars.

‘My father and his wife kept me imprisoned in darkness for years. My brothers poured oil on my hands then lit them.’

The words were rough. He’d told the story only once before – over five hundred years ago when he had finally trusted Rhys and Cassian enough to share it with them.

Azriel could not look at Nesta. Could not bear to see if she was about to inspect his hands. He braced himself for the words that so many said. They were words that ruined him, no matter how well intended they were – have you seen a healer? Can they not be glamoured away? Why don’t you wear gloves?

Nesta merely squeezed his hands tighter with her own and said, ‘I cannot be near a fire because when it cracks, I am back on that field. I am watching the King of Hybern break my father’s neck. When I hear the logs split, I am waiting to die at the hands of the king.’

Not all scars could be seen. What his blood had done to him had ruptured a part so deep that it would never heal. What Nesta had been exposed to in the war festered in her chest too.

They had showed their insecurity to the other. It was strange to let her in – strange to let anybody in, least of all the cold and imperious Nesta Archeron.

On the couch, they sat in silence. He allowed Nesta to look at his hands without hiding them away. Her fingers found patterns in the brutal scarring rather than being repulsed by it. Azriel was sure that there wasn’t a scar that she hadn’t touched. If she was faking it, hiding her disgust, she was a good actress. Even Mor had always faltered slightly before touching them as if they might catch and her unblemished hands would be ruined.

Every time the fire spat, Nesta’s body would tense. She’d grip onto his hands until she had coasted through the wave of anguish. They were each other’s anchor that night.

The following morning, they did not acknowledge the moment they had shared. Azriel wasn’t even sure if he had dreamt it. A mutual trust had grown between them without realising. He found himself watching her butter toast with an expression that anybody else might read as severe. Nesta always looked as if she was scrutinising something even if she wasn’t. Her smiles were there, but locked away. On the rare occasion that Azriel had prised a genuine laugh from her, it bathed him with warmth. She would tip back her head and screw her eyes shut. Her laughs were beautiful.

He postponed his trip to Illyria slightly. Nesta had made them both breakfast, unexpectedly, and he was too guilty to leave it untouched. They had sat together at the narrow table tucked by the kitchen, eating in a peaceful silence.

‘I’ll be back before dinner today. If that’s alright?’

‘I won’t complain,’ she said.

There was a note in her voice that gave Azriel pause, gave him a reason to drink her in a minute longer. He thought of the way that she had cradled his hands last night. The gentle side of her that so rarely saw the light of day. How she had leaned on him for support – and he’d been happy to steady her.

‘Then I’ll come back as soon as I can.’

‘Good.’

In one syllable, Azriel’s mind raced. One syllable had him postulating over a thousand different outcomes.

Shadows enveloped him, prising him away to Illyria. The prickles that covered his body whenever he reached his homeland seemed softer today, wrapped in silk rather than iron. He glanced down at his hands as if remembering the feel of Nesta’s fingers there like she was following rivers on a map.

‘I’ve seen that look before,’ a low voice murmured.

Azriel snapped his head up, jerking away slightly.

‘No,’ Rhys breathed in awe. ‘I caught you by surprise. Five hundred years and I have finally made you jump.’

Azriel rolled his eyes. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘So, who is she? What beguiling female has put that dreamy look in your eyes?’

His shadows curled around him, whispering that they would strike if he wanted them to. They had always protected him.

‘Where’s Devlon? Let’s get this over with.’

Rhys did not drop the subject as they marched across the windy paths of Windhaven, pausing occasionally to inspect the sparring rings they passed. ‘One day, you will finally bring a female home for us to meet.’

‘Keep waiting.’

Cassian dropped out of the sky with a heavy thud. At the sight of him, Azriel felt hot and sick all at once. He kept his face trained on the young male nearest them who was examining weapons.

After their rooftop argument, Cassian had given him the space that he knew he needed. When the time was right, he had sought him out at the River House, likely after arranging with Rhys to summon him there. Cassian had been genuine with his apology. Whenever their paths had crossed since, his brother always begged him to come back home. To the House of Wind. To the River House. Just to come home.

Yet, when Azriel had asked Nesta if Cassian had apologised to her for hurting her feelings – for letting Mor come between whatever had been budding there - she’d folded her arms across her chest and said no.

‘I don’t want an apology from him. I don’t want anything from him.’

That memory diverted his guilt into righteousness. Nesta had held his hands only – and she had every right to do that. She was not promised to Cassian. Azriel was not tangled with anyone. They were friends. Friends doing nothing wrong. Still, he couldn’t manage to look into Cassian’s eyes for very long.

The day was busy examining new recruits. Their days would follow a similar pattern until the worst of the winter came, Az knew the schedule well. They’d visit each camp to see what lecherous males each camp lord had recruited that autumn then they would assess the likelihood of any of them making the Blood Rite the following year.

‘Come for dinner,’ said Rhys. It was an order rather than an invitation.

Cass slung an arm around his shoulders. ‘We can make a night of it. Mor’s not there. She’s in the Continent still.’

The reproachful look from Rhys hadn’t faded quick enough for Azriel to miss. Mor had cried on the roof, apologised, said she wanted to be his friend. Like a bucket of water had been thrown on hot coals, any lingering feelings for her had been extinguished. More than anything, Azriel was a fool.

For years, he had nurtured a hope of them. He thought perhaps she still needed time. Needed time to meet new people after a youth spent in captivity, after what her family had done to her. Time to explore the world, time to have fun. It had not mattered to him how many lovers she had taken to bed. On the occasions that she blew hot and cold towards him, he was always unable to figure Mor out. She would invite him close then push back. He blamed it on her past, blamed it on her mother and father. Often, he blamed himself too. She would not see him as anything more than a lesser fae savage so Azriel held back. Once, he had tried to confess how he felt.

The memory of that day was scarred into his mind; of confessing that he knew he was unsuitable for her, but he still wanted her. Without a word, Mor had walked away. A bastard lesser fae savage whose father hated him enough to lock him up. The shame had burnt him. That shame of daring to believe that Mor might have given him a chance – that any female would risk sullying themselves with a male like him.

Each time that Mor flirted with his brother, those feelings wilted more and more. Cassian was like him – and that was what he could never understand. They were both Illyrians. Both bastards. Yet Azriel was somehow less worthy of her touch. He'd blamed it on his hands, blamed it on the shadows that made others uncomfortable. Then he’d even thought that maybe he had imagined the soft smiles and loving touches that she gave to him; that he was so desperate for Mor that he was creating a love story that didn’t exist.

‘I didn’t want things to change,’ she’d wept on the roof, gripping the buttons of his shirt. ‘I like how things are between us.’

Those words had cracked the ice. She liked him to be her shield against her family, against Eris. Azriel had been her knife too. But she did not want him. She would use Cassian to put him off regardless of the strain it put on the brothers. That was what she liked, because the alternative was facing up to the fact that for five hundred years, she had let him believe he was not worthy of her rather than being honest. She would strike out at Nesta because she realised that Nesta would take away the one barrier that stopped the truth from leaking out.

‘I have places to be,’ he said coldly.

***

Azriel was one the most difficult people to read that Nesta had ever encountered. When he had arrived home that evening, tension had bracketed his body. It wasn’t unusual. It didn’t offer anything to his mood.

She was learning to observe his shadows. Sometimes they were excitable, moving quickly without restraint when Azriel was in a more playful mood. Other times, they stayed close by to comfort or to protect. Tonight, they were gone. Nesta didn’t know what that meant.

They ate quietly. Azriel did not divulge on his day, but he had thanked her for cooking and asked how her own day had been. Nesta had been into the city. The male had insisted on providing coin for his opulent lodging of the broken couch, so she had spent some money on wooden children’s games to occupy the time with the approach of winter. Nesta was happy to find that many were similar to mortal games she had played with servants.

‘You don’t want to play cards with me,’ said Azriel after his shower. His dark hair was damp and curled around his face. ‘I cheat.’

‘You’re a very honest cheat,’ she acknowledged, shuffling the cards. ‘Since I have no other company, you will have to do.’

They knew similar games and established rules. It had been a long time since Nesta had played games. She thought of the elderly servant who had seemingly always been a part of the household staff when she was little. Somehow, he had learnt sleight of hand tricks. Nesta had believed it to be faerie magic and would watch in wonder as he’d always guess what her card had been or how he’d transform her card into a toffee for her to gobble. He’d had a hacking cough, veiny hands, and grew thinner each time Nesta sought him out in the gardens. One day, he never came to the manor again. When she’d asked her father, he’d simply said the servant was gone.

‘Why do you keep glancing over your shoulder?’ Azriel’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you expecting somebody?’

She bit down on her lower lip. ‘I’m trying to work out how you cheat. I keep thinking there will be a shadow behind me, spying on my cards.’

‘They don’t make you uncomfortable?’

They were a part of him. ‘Of course not.’

Once games became tiresome, Nesta asked the male about the Blood Rite. She had purchased books about Illyria to better understand that part of the land. Their training was brutal, lives were short for many. She couldn’t fathom dumping a child in a war camp. It reminded her of baby birds that were pushed out of the nest and forced to fly. Many more didn’t.

‘These ones,’ Azriel said, gesturing to the whorls of black ink running over his bare arms, ‘are standard for most warriors. They’re associated with luck and glory. After the Blood Rite, males receive more in a ceremony. Bodies are flagging but you have to stand up for one more night of drinking and tattoos. That’s the final test.’

‘You have those?’

Azriel nodded, eyes searching her face. ‘You receive more depending on your status. The three of us touched Ramiel so we received the highest honours.’

‘Show me them.’

***

Obliging, Azriel pulled off his shirt. Nesta’s eyes canvassed his chest, tracking the details in the ink. Wrong. So wrong. Their conversation was minimal as she committed the hard planes of his body to memory. Both of them knew they were crossing a boundary tonight. From Nesta’s fervour, as she touched his skin, Azriel surmised she didn’t care.

Fingers traced the whorls with an intensity that a scholar might brush the letters of an ancient text, seeking answers. Her knuckles tracked up Azriel’s neck and he lifted his chin as she reached his jaw.

‘What do you want?’ His voice was a quiet warning in the dark.

A muted smile was his response. ‘You’ll make me beg for it?’

Azriel followed the pattern his thumb drew on Nesta’s collar bone, the daring sweep of it below the cut of her gown. His eyes flickered back to her. ‘I want to hear it from your lips.’

Wanted to hear if she was brave enough to voice it. Wanted confirmation that it was not just him getting lost down a path they never should have wandered down. Wanted to know that he wasn’t wasting his feelings once more on someone who didn’t value him.

Nesta brushed his hand aside. She appraised him with the same steel look that she had given to every high lord in the Dawn Court meeting.

In a swift motion, she straddled his lap. Now, she was the one pushing him to his limit. Seeing how brave he would be. A hand stroked against his hair then it was holding him in place.

‘I want you to kiss me.’

So, he’d obliged. Nesta had leant forwards and everything had felt as if it was moving at a different pace. The fire’s movements were slow and sluggish. The world even stopped turning on its axis.

They had moved too fast. Azriel’s lips crushing against Nesta. A flush spreading up her cheeks as he kissed down to her neck in a fevered motion. Her hand had raked through his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers.

Her hips had circled his lap. His hands curved around to grip her waist, to help the motion that was undoing him. Nesta’s soft moans were a beacon to him, calling for more.

It was a mistake. Every kiss, every tantalising touch was a mistake. He should have stopped.

She’d been confident, tugging him to the bedroom, hands gliding up his bare back. She hadn’t said stop when he lifted her against the wall, kissing so deeply time halted. Hadn’t protested when he’d roughly pulled her dress off, not when he’d run his scarred hands over her beautiful body.

He hadn’t known. Hadn’t realised she was a maiden until he had given the first thrust, felt her body shudder around him, the sharp spike of her breath against his ear. He’d seen the blood after and nearly vomited. He should have been softer. Shouldn’t have rushed straight into bedding her. Shouldn’t have pressed his body so tightly to Nesta’s that her hips ground into his skin. He’d crossed a line. His mind buzzed with a thousand feelings, a thousand scenarios.

Revenge. Was that what Cassian would think? Some sick payback for him sleeping with Mor all those years ago?

Nesta leaned over the bed, fumbling for anything to regain her modesty. He couldn’t let her think she was a pawn in a game of vengeance. Azriel rushed to the bathroom, found a cloth to soak with tepid water. He hesitated from cleaning her himself and instead pressed it into her hands.

‘I didn’t know you were a maiden.’

Why was it worse that she was? Because Azriel knew how the others would view it when it came to light. Knew that for a once-mortal female, this should have been special and he had been rough with passion.

‘Not anymore,’ she muttered.

Azriel faced the wall, allowing Nesta the privacy she deserved. He heard the slide of a drawer then a night gown being pulled over her head. He fixed her with a look. ‘Did I hurt you?’

For a fraction of a second, her face faltered. ‘Just at the start.’

His chest tightened at the admission. ‘Sorry.’

Azriel knew he should leave. Knew he should not have ever come to her apartment. It had been a dangerous game, right from the start. Night after night, they’d edged further down a path that there was no returning from with their growing companionship. But if he left and never came back then Nesta would think she’d been used. That had not been his intention. Never would be his intention.

When Nesta tugged the sheets from the bed, balling them up to hide the blood, Azriel started on the pillow cases too. It was a way of atoning. Remove all traces of the illicit night they had shared.

‘You don’t need to do that.’

‘I want to,’ he murmured.

Silently, they stripped the bed then placed fresh sheets onto it. Nesta didn’t ask him to stay in her bed and he didn’t want her to.

He flew as far as he could, to the furthest reach of Illyria. He had well and truly fucked up everything.

***

Any soreness did not linger. Nesta found herself unable to concentrate without memories of her night spent with Azriel pulsing to the surface. Heat flooded her body when she remembered the way he had moaned against her skin as he entered her. Her breath shuddered each time she recalled the flicker of his tongue against her ear.

When she imagined her first time with a male, it ought to have been a wedding night to a bland mortal man her parents had arranged for her. As a fae, the vision had shifted to a fantasy of a dreamy male who loved and cherished Nesta. He’d have lit candles around the room, proposed maybe, scattered petals and moved his hips a few times until he found release while she had lay beneath him like a plank of wood.

Her imagination had disappointed her. It hadn’t been able to conjure the thrill that Azriel’s hands had. Hadn’t crafted the same pounding excitement when Nesta had taken control and climbed onto his lap. It was more intimate than anything she could have dared to dream. The shadow singer had caressed all of her, unable to settle on one place he wanted to touch. Desire had been the tinder and want the flame. They’d moved together in waves finding pleasure in each other’s bodies. There had been no reluctance or shyness, only lust.

She supposed she would not see him again. The white horror sheeting his face when he had realised that she had been a maiden was enough to deter him. It would be a secret warded in the dark whenever they were in shared spaces.

@canvashearts

#nesta vs the buffer #azriel x nesta #nezriel #nesta archeron #azriel #there will be a few more parts to this

240 notes · View notes

smilesatdawn · 11 months

Text

(A Sneak-peek into the next Chapter of my The Day The World Eclipsed Fanfic)

“He wouldn’t… he would never…” Liu’er refused to believe it was true.

Oh but he isn’t the man you knew anymore, is he?

The voice that pulled at his mind wasn’t his own, but wasn’t foreign either. It was followed by a sharp burning sensation in his pocket. The key from the witch was glowing a sickening blue. He ripped it out of his pocket to glare at, seething. “You keep your mouth shut, Witch. This has nothing to do with you.”

I only point out what you yourself have told me. It was your own mate that struck you down in cold blood. Do you truly believe if he could find the resolve to do that, he couldn’t continue on that path?

Liu’er recoiled like those words physically injured him. “No..! Wukong wouldn’t-”

Where is your child, Macaque?

He inhaled sharply, looking up to the waterfall. Fear overcame him and he stumbled, falling back

#lego monkie kid #lmk #qi xiaotian #sun wukong #lego monkie kid mk #lego monkey kid baby mk #lego monkie kid macaque #lego monkie kid writing #mk #lego monkey kid fanfic

29 notes · View notes

kneamet · 2 years

Note

Hi hi hi :D I loved my beautiful madness, by the way <3 I'm not sure if i could request again but can i put in another request but this time it's for Obi-Wan Kenobi or Patrick Mckenna? I had this idea from listening to the song Meant to be yours and it made me think of two ideas: a. Sith!Obi-Wan hunting down Jedi Knight!Reader as she hides during order 66, but then Obi-Wan starts professing his feelings for the reader in a very very twisted way (The lyric i based this idea from was "You were meant to be mine, i am all that you need! You cut open my heart, [you] can't just leave me to bleed!") There could be two endings to it (it's up to you if you want to add this part in hihi) 1. Reader comes out of hiding and willingly surrenders to Obi-Wan, something happens that makes the reader give in to the dark side (can be the obsessive joy that comes from Obi-Wan, or can be a short kiss) 2. Reader manages to make Obi-Wan snap and he accidentally *ahem* kills the reader; Obi-Wan has to live with the guilt of losing his love for the rest of his life AND b, Patrick and reader are dating (well, in Patrick's perspective he and the reader are dating), but then the Reader says she wants to separate herself from him, which angers Patrick and scares the reader into staying with him (Based on the lyric "You toss me out like i was trash, for that, you should be dead) and then it ends with Patrick just trying to calm the reader down from his outburst Hehe thanks so much!

The stars all belong to the Gods

Trigger Warning: angst, fear, yandere, obsession

Word Count: 2345

Character: sith!obi-wan kenobi/reader

Summary: Death could not be denied, death could not be avoided; Obi-Wan was death. Frightened by his own power, turned to the dark side, fell under the power of Darth Sidious, he was lost. Obi-Wan was mired in darkness, wrapped in the thinnest threads of madness, but he never forgot about you. The distant stars fell under his tears when he, unable to touch, watched you.

When Obi-Wan rose, the stars lit up in the sky. A great Jedi who lost a master at a young age, fought a Sith, did not succumb to the dark side — there were legends about Obi-Wan in the temple. And while the adult Jedi were whispering about him, the younglings were inspired by his story until they learned the terrible news — their revered symbol turned to the dark side, betrayed the codex and thrust a lightsaber into a student on a fiery Mustafar. When Obi-Wan fell, the only thing you felt was emptiness. An all-consuming, all-encompassing, dreary emptiness. The words struck you like thunder, and while the master was leaving, you looked at the floor in an eclipse, did not believe.

Old acquaintances, padawans with a forbidden connection, you did not hide secrets from each other, trusted each other, supported each other. Even when Obi-Wan had a student, even when there were moments of sadness and separation, you always knew: you have him, he has you — and your forbidden bond is one. Bitter nights, as soon as the walls were cold, pressed, and the dream was the worst nightmare, he came to you, saved you from a fictional villain and hugged, kissed the top of your head with weathered lips. His big rough hands stroked back, and his head lay on his shoulder — and the rest of the dream passed.

You swear when the sand of Tatooine winds in your squinting eyes, leaving grains of sand in the folds of your nondescript clothes. Boots tread on hard sand. The house — the cave, to tell the truth — in which you live was far from the city and all thanks to Order 66; an order that changed your entire former life. Sighing, you look down. There is very little time left before home and your day repeats itself from time to time: dawn is the beginning of wakefulness, day is work, sunset is sleep.

You had the fate of a martyr, and it was unclear why you continue to exist — to create or destroy? How many deaths were on your hands — and it doesn't matter, Sith, civilians — how many destroyed houses, broken destinies. How many children... Victims of your stupidity, naivety! disbelief that Obi-Wan could betray the rules, the Council, and you. His ashen body — which was in peacetime, your time, glowing, freckled — burned to scars.

Deprived of all the benefits, ruined by your own aspirations, stopped by the masters, you exiled yourself, hid in the darkness of darkness, having no light. The Jedi are gone, life is over. Reproaching yourself, eating your soul and heart with memories of poor children, you had to hide on Tatooine, in a world of sand and sadness, forgotten ideas and people. The sun was your eternal companion, withstood all the aching pain, absorbed doubts and worries, disturbed the heart.

The Sith became the lords of thoughts; seized power, possessed minds, exterminated former Jedi. There were quite a few rumors about one of the most formidable Sith — Darth Lant, famous for his elegant cruelty, exhaustion and seductive voice. He was a fallen Jedi, General Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi, your Obi. He forgot everything, burned fiercely and left half-ruined cities in ashes behind him, but succumbed to the influence of your charms, gently and menacingly, to the point of trembling, whispering words of love and gently caressing.

His straw-colored hair has become stiff, long, and his hands are always wearing gloves. Obi-Wan came to you in your dreams, talked with the intonation of approaching danger and continued to talk about meeting soon. He, like the white knight, saved you from terrible monsters — which he was — and began to attack you with special pleasure. It was a shame to admit it, but the old, such familiar movements brought back the lost dignity and excitement, brought out of the terrifying confusion and pain in which the heart had been fully immersed for the last two years, and you again recalled those carefree days with little Kenobi.

He directed dreams, created them for you and built castles in the air. He came up to you with a grin, took advantage of confusion and defenselessness: he walked around from the side of the leading hand and put a sword to his throat. He enjoyed, he rejoiced, played like a child. He is your death, your time, your space, your pain. And he will be your executioner.

Your door creaks, and you immediately feel something wrong. Straining your gut, connecting with the Force — I am one with the Force — you inspect a familiar house: a bed, a carpet, wooden cabinets and a wardrobe. Your hands sweat, breathing slows down when you forcefully hear the world you know, a familiar personality, a favorite whisper. Clenching your teeth, you squeeze your lips and want to rush to the closet, but you stood there, as if chained... or someone else's the Force.

"Oh, darling, you have no idea what it's like to see you alive and completely at my mercy," a voice murmured from behind. There was a rustling, incomprehensible sounds. Obi-Wan was coming out of the second room, smiling and playfully shaking his head. "I've been dreaming about meeting you for a long time... You've changed so much in the last two years... You look different in holograms. I keep every one of them."

Long, matted hair covered an overgrown face, on which there were several scars; one healed scar crossed an eye. The light eyes turned yellow — dangerous, possessed and vindictive, such as only Sith have. The eyes of an animal, not a human. His clothes were dark, malicious, worn, and there were scars on the exposed parts of his body. Having lost his beauty, he remembered the annoying words of the code. It was driven into the head, securely fixed in it.

"I can touch you!" Obi-Wan said with childish delight, touching your face distorted in anger. His hand was shaking, but you could see the broken, bitten nails on his fingers. He barely touched you, as his face immediately transformed: he licked his lips, opened his mouth and looked at you with an incomprehensible shade of sadness. His palm continued to stroke cheek, gently and weightlessly, as if he was afraid to touch you. "You're so real..."

"Let me go, Obi-Wan," you said through the pain in your throat, through Kenobi's the Force, but he only frowned. The fingers pressed lightly on the skin. "Please..."

"Darling, don't, you won't run away. You know perfectly well that I am stronger than you. All the masters talked about it. Or should I remind you of our sparring sessions?"

"I remember them well, Obi-Wan, and I remember that you lost in the last."

"Obi-Wan lost, darling, but Darth Lant didn't lose. I could fight you now," he ran his hand over your shoulder, slowly descending lower and lower, "but I don't see any fun in it. You're weak, but you're so adorable!

It was getting painful to stand. Obi-Wan kept saying something, turning away from you, but his words flew by, didn't seem true. He stood slouched, his shoulders were heavy, his posture tense. Kenobi looked like a king surrounded by disappointed subjects; even now, no matter how much he tried to appear mocking, goofy, menacing, there was universal fatigue in him. Fatigue from the world, fatigue from the laws, fatigue from misunderstanding. Obi-Wan was promised freedom, but he continued to feel the shackles on ankles.

There was a sweet lie in the words of Darth Sidious, which he fell for. The Dark Lord looked solid, scary and creepy; Obi-Wan was kneeling in front of him, humbly lowering his head and whispering words of forgiveness with his lips, he did everything right, he did it for you! it seemed to him few years ago. But death had no love, she was a vile, mocking creature, whose wounds he successfully mashed.

In the dark, where only red and gold existed, Obi-Wan was the hero of the ashes; he emerged from the heat and pain as a champion, but continued to dream of happiness. His life was hectic and not alive, and death remained adamant. For death life was a scar — people don't live, but heal; life is a sore, a burr, a blister or a pimple. Obi-Wan had all the time in the world to retire and subdue his thoughts, but they continued to remain intrusive, free.

In moments of sadness, in moments of pain and despair, the only thing he thought about was you — your face and a sweet smile, a brisk temper and a sharp laugh, warm hugs and eternal criticism of the objectionable. Obi-Wan couldn't do anything with himself; during the fights, the murders, in the midst of the corpses of adults and children, the screams of men and the crying of women, while his trembling hand clutched a lightsaber and his face was sweaty, he thought about you. Tossing and turning on hard beds, getting lost and connecting with you in dreams; and while Darth Lant was conquering the world, Obi-Wan couldn't conquer you. His heart sank every time you turned away from him.

His palate had its throat cut long ago.

The silence was deafening. Obi-Wan, lost in thought to the core, suddenly turned to you with a confused face. His eyes seemed bright again for a couple of seconds, mired in blue and calm, and his face seemed transformed — he seemed young, handsome and yours again. The former Obi, who was not afraid to show love, who overcame madness and doubts; the former Obi-Wan, who loved you, and you loved him. What has changed?

"You... Do you want to come with me?" he was naive, he came up again and touched you. His the Force was weakening, but you continued to stay in place and not move. "I can give you the whole world!" his gaze is soulless and cold, but there is beauty in it; beauty is different, unknown. Frightening beauty. "I'll give you everything you want, I'll give you everything that's left! Just let me love you up close again... Just be mine again, please..."

He was different from what he was in dreams. You looked at him carefully and, like a second, he will fall to his knees in front of you. The rumors that spread from mouth to mouth in the city were not confirmed: in the stories of your friends, sellers in the market, ordinary workers, he appeared in the form of a terrible figure, carrying thousands of deaths, cold and torture. An evil Sith who abandoned the Codex and the Jedi; a big, scary and ironic man for whom life is just entertainment, and demise is a snap of two fingers.

"Obi-Wan, please..."

"No! Why don't you want to listen to me?! What did I do wrong?" he exclaimed, and his eyes watered for a second from the sunlight from the window. There's a damn empty desert there, no souls and only peace. Did he really want this outcome? Why did he serve the Sith? "You were meant to be mine, I am all that you need!"

A second — and something squeezes the neck, something tightens. The body rises up, you try unsuccessfully to grab air with your mouth. The breath disappears, the nose lays, the words are lost and useless. The lower jaw and stomach are shaking, the body is numb. Thousands of moments and memories flash before eyes, millions of images from a past life flash by; a life so happy, serene... That life when you were naive, because you thought you could save a fallen warrior, heal wounds.

The second second — the two of you are lying in his apartment, wrapped in a warm blanket and looking at the dark ceiling. Your hands are tightly clasped, and while Obi-Wan whispers to you sweet passions, stupidities and promises stars, you purse your lips, looking at his face — in his eyes, giving off blue, like water in the purest sea, you selflessly drown. His voice — his alluring, forbidden and such a charming voice — extraordinary.

"You cut my heart! Left me!"

The third second — and Obi-Wan's face is distorted in anger. You take your last breath, it gets dark in your eyes, and your body falls to the dirty floor. You forget yourself, you die, you don't see how Obi-Wan's eyes turn blue again, yours. He runs up to you with an invisible expression, says something, begs for help, tries to lift you up, staggers and wraps his rough hands around you. No, no, no! The thought of death pierces through the heart, empties and almost stops beating; there is a deafening ringing in the ears.

His head bends down, and Obi-Wan touches your body with it — soulless, inanimate... He wants to scream, turn off in the languor of self-immolation, turn back time and change everything. A shaking hand ran through your tangled, clean hair, Obi-Wan hoped that you could feel him, forgive him. He hugged you, throwing the sword far away, and cried.

He kissed your back, and now he inflicted thousands of wounds there. He whispered words of tenderness to you, and now he muttered threats. Beauty remained with you even now, at the moment lost for him, when it is unknown where to move now? and will he be able to forgive himself for this nightmare? Obi-Wan returns to the house and everything is the end of life: he, absorbed and brought up by the darkness, dies, only Darth Lant remains.

Obi-Wan looked at your exhausted body and tried to preserve it. A person had a choice — a choice to love, a choice to die, a choice to be or to be, a choice to keep cold or to burn, but Obi-Wan had no choice. There was no free will. Devoid of love, devoid of emotions, devoid of home and sleep, he gets up by force, grabbing a sword, and looks at you for the last time. Darth Lant pressed his lips together and, looking away, left the cave, leaving behind his fears, his beloved and his choice.

When Obi-Wan fell, the stars cried, died.

and here im back, hooray! @jjeresano-euler, im sorry if there was something wrong and u can always ask for something else and ill write (including your second idea with patrick). i hope you enjoyed it!

122 notes · View notes

forgettingpetal · 7 months

Text

--- THE KIDS WERE SLEEPING. Eclipse was off with his boyfriend, under the watch of the Zielo Chao. Zielo was off doing things. So she had decided to hand down to the river to wash the boards and such. Scrap had offered her company , but she told him it was alright and she would be back soon.

Scrap was an odd one but. She liked him enough.

One thing that WAS odd , was that Celios had not been by lately. It had been weeks now and she could tell it unnerved Zielo.

she made her way to the river, and began to scrub. her mind wandering about her current situation. and her mother .... and Heephis. she still had night terrors and she reckoned she still would for as long as he was around.

humming and singing softly , she didn't notice the slight ripples of the water. But something that made her pause ....

was the silence of nature. not even crickets chirped. and was the air heavier and hotter ? she wiped her forehead and looked around , slowly unsheathing a small blade.

.... quiet. far too quiet. " ...Zielo ? " she called softly. " if this is another attempt to scare me , this time i promise my dagger will -- . "

a wave of flames surged forward and she jumped and then rolled out of the way. her fur singed but no wounds. she scrambled to her feet and stared at the being before her , making his way through the flames.

Iblis nodded to her. "forgive my sudden approach , m'lady. I was simply meaning to greet you. "

... she knew this face. " ah. do you always throw flames when greeting someone then ? "

he cant his head , seeming to ponder. " only to those i wish to kill. "

she stiffened , blade gripped tigher. " ... i see. " see , now she had no reason to give him a chance. he made it clear what he was here for. they stared at each other.

with a flick of her wrist , the dagger went soaring towards him. it never struck him , melting within an inch of his face. he only looked at her. " ... you can do better than that , surely. where is that merc vigor , hm ? "

with a flick of his own wrist , flames circled her and sliced her side , as if a blade. she cried out in pain , hand gripping. her blood already like a river.

he made his way through , gripping her wrist. his flames seeming to burn WITHIN her. his talons digging into her wrists. she screamed in pain. he only looked at her , tsking.

" i love a good story , don't you ? stories have such a way of ... embarking us on our own. Have you ever embarked on your own story , Whisper ? "

the pain ... it was so much. with the flames seeming to slice her and the feeling of flames inside her. she could barely focus.

" i think you have. if your current situation is anything to go off by. You are familiar with the story of the Elder Brothers then ? I mean Heephis , Celios , and Zielo. How Heephis sought to slaughter his brothers , but in the end. Zielo won. But twisted and dark. "

he kneeled down now , watching as her blood flowed and she tried to break free. " Zielo is your protector from Heephis. something Celios thought was an amazing idea. But i can't help but wonder. if something else lurks between you both. romance , perhaps ? Lovers in the making ? "

this was rhetorical. he knew the answer. Zielo would not have reacted in such a way towards him if not. Interesting.

he grabbed her chin. " do me a favor , won't you dear ? scream his name. i want him to hear you in agony and suffering. let him know that he's worthless. and can not save anyone nor anything. "

now Whisper glared at him. " you're wrong about him. "

" am i ? i think Celios is living proof of that. "

she unsheathed one last weapon. a weapon she had gotten long ago. a mystical blade. and with it , she stabbed Iblis in the chest and twisted it. The Flames of Disaster was caught of guard and roared in pain. her blade only going deeper into him with the force she pushed. glaring at him.

--- and then. it stopped. a splattering sound echoing.

embedded within her stomach , was Iblis' talons. her blade clattering to the ground.

" i was mistaken. you do have bite in you. "

she coughed up heaps of blood. before falling to ground. Iblis only watching her. uninterested.

" i do hope you know it was nothing too personal. " he kneeled down , one elbow propped upon his knee as he gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face. " just business. "

as he left , she only stared at the singed spot. hearing her heart beat slowing down. her breaths becoming slower.

... her eyes finally closed.

#godofev #mini event #blood tw #heart beat tw #ask to tag #shes not dead dw #just within an inch of it #no one may respond to this unless Silver #if they want to #otherwise #consider this a drabble

14 notes · View notes

starrspice · 1 year

Note

So, Eclipse is from a totally different pirate ship than Sun and Moo, does he have any rivalry with them? They are brothers? How long have the three sailed?

SO YES!

Eclipse does have an entirely different ship from Sun and Moon!

He doesn't have a REAL rivalry, deep down they all care for eachother, but he does get his kicks messing with them

None of them are brothers or technically related, but they all grew up together and have been friends for as long as they can remember. So yhey do have a very brotherly relationship! Sun and Moon have always been far more in sync with eachother but when Eclipse gets thrown into the mix it's certainly never boring!

They actually started off all running the same ship, but they came to disagree on what they wanted to do overtime so Eclipse struck out on his own.

He ran off to become a famous treasure hunter specializing in magical or mythical artifacts. (He actually gets really bent out of shape if you call him a pirate)

As for how long they have all been sailing probably well over a decade maybe two. As soon as they had the means to get a ship they were out of there and never looked back

One thing all 3 of them and Y/N have in common is a love of traveling and seeing the world! Its part of what brought them all together you know?

And if you're curious where Eclipse's ship is while he's trying to Woo Y/N he's left it under the charge of his right hand man! When he's ready to take back over its waiting for him!

#ask starr #askbox #fnaf sb #moondrop #sundrop #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #eclipse #fnaf eclipse #pirate moondrop #pirate sundrop #pirate eclipse #silent shanty au #silent shanty #siren au #fnaf pirate au

123 notes · View notes

tsarisfanfiction · 10 months

Text

Eclipse: Chapter 22

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Adventure Characters: Apollo, Hades Another chapter I had a lot of fun with! Got to do a little more worldbuilding in here... I have a discord server for all my fics, including this one! If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi! <<Chapter 21

HADES XXII A Light Is Found in The Most Surprising of Places

“You can’t defeat me!” Alcyoneus boomed, the sound of glaciers colliding.

Ignoring the ichor dripping from his lower face – he was a god, wounds like this hurt but they would never stop him – Hades drove his sword downwards, shrinking in size rapidly enough that the second blow from the staff whistled harmlessly over his head, and impaled the red serpent that made his bane’s left leg.

The giant howled, the wounded serpent lashing out and coiling around his own legs, yanking him down. Hades slashed at it again, rolling out of the way as Alcyoneus stumbled down to one knee, and ending up back on his feet again, outside the immediate range of the staff.

“You can’t defeat me!” the giant repeated. “Have you forgotten, Hades? I cannot be felled in my home.”

Hades snorted derisively. That was not a fact he was likely to forget any time soon – he remembered the seemingly unkillable nature of his giant the first time they’d met, how even with one of the most powerful demigods of the age fighting alongside him (the one and only time he had ever willingly worked with one of his youngest brother’s demigod spawn), they had been unable to take him down until Herakles bodily carried the giant many times his size over the border.

No, he was well aware that Alcyoneus could not be defeated in the land of his home. His concern was not with whether or not Alcyoneus could be killed, but how he was going to break through the nigh unbreakable skin to reach and crush the trio of diamonds he could sense tantalisingly within, pulsing with oil in a facsimile of a mortal heart.

Last time, he had both Herakles’ insane mortal strength and the ground itself under his command. Alcyoneus’ skin was not impossible to penetrate when diamonds and other adamant were utilised against it, but in Tartarus, Hades had access to nothing save his own Stygian Iron sword, which appeared to be struggling to even score the metal for reasons Hades was not entirely certain of, but suspected had something to do with how the giant was of the Underworld in a way nothing else was, and a weakened Apollo.

Another arrow streaked past him, this one missing Alcyoneus entirely, and the giant laughed his rock-grinding laugh.

“Little sun god,” he sighed condescendingly. “You’re embarrassing yourself. I will deal with you after I crush Hades. Be patient.” The damnable staff struck out at Hades again, and he bodily deflected it with his sword, unwilling to receive another blow from the powerful weapon.

He heard a rasped shout – wordless, but unmistakably angry, and Apollo.

“No,” his nephew snarled, hoarse and rough in a way that made it sound menacing. Dangerous. “No, I will not patiently sit down and wait.”

The darkness of Tartarus seemed a little fainter, a little less there. Hades dismissed it and stabbed at Alcyoneus’ more vulnerable serpentine legs again, which slithered out of the way of the dark metal.

His sword absorbed the darkness that surrounded it, but there was definitely less of it now. Alcyoneus faltered a little, a new shine ricocheting off his metallic body, and the giant’s red, gem-encrusted hair whipped around as he turned his head away from Hades to face the light that had suddenly invaded the Delta.

“Little sun god,” Apollo repeated, venom in each rasped word. His bow was nowhere to be seen, Hades noticed – perhaps his nephew had grown tired of firing shots that didn’t land where he wanted them – but even without a weapon, he looked furious, and threatening. “If the sun is what you want, you miserable pile of rocks, then here it is!”

The steadily increasing glow emitting from his nephew exploded at his roar, the raw essence of the god of the sun both blinding and scorching, burning like the Phlegethon but infinitely brighter. Hades’ vision whited out entirely, leaving him reliant on his other senses as he sensed an opportunity and slashed at Alcyoneus’ legs again.

The giant bellowed, trampling around ungainly. From the way he moved, a chasm of cold and dark against the prevailing onslaught of light and heat, Hades was certain that he, too, had been blinded and unbalanced by Apollo’s sudden offensive interference.

Alcyoneus was of the Underworld, of the darkness beneath the ground where the sun never reached, never dared invade. He was greed and pain and suffering, Asphodel and the Fields of Punishment, of the lip of Tartarus. He was the Hades equivalent of the giants, but they were not the same.

Hades knew the sun, remembered days under Helios’ chariot before taking the Underworld for his own, remembered both its harsh burns and its soft warmth from a time before the Underworld became his home. Apollo’s sun was not so familiar to him, but he knew his nephew, too.

Alcyoneus might have survived in the sunlight of the Overworld – although Hades doubted it was a coincidence that the home he had chosen for himself, had manipulated Hazel into resurrecting him within, was Alaska, a part of America known for cold weather and short days – but he was not of the Overworld.

His sword scraped against brass again, vibrating in his hand as it skated across the surface before something changed, the blade finding purchase and biting in. The oil Hades could feel within Alcyoneus suddenly had a few beads squeeze outside their given routes inside his body.

A wound.

The giant roared again, stumbling backwards, away from the supernova of light that was Apollo, and giving Hades a moment to think.

It was the light that had changed things, but Alcyoneus was his bane, and his bane alone. They were evenly matched but they were poised to destroy each other using abilities they shared. In theory, by the Fates that bound them, Alcyoneus’ weaknesses should be Hades’ strengths, the same way Alcyoneus’ strengths sought Hades’ weaknesses.

So where did light come into things, enough that it weakened Alcyoneus-

No.

The light had not weakened Alcyoneus, Hades realised suddenly, thoughts of light and warmth racing through him. Thoughts of healing, of the way his essence had been warm when he’d used it to bolster his nephew, of the Underworld in its entirety, and not just the cold darkness Alcyoneus drew into himself.

It had strengthened Hades.

The Fields of Asphodel were overcrowded, souls so densely packed they almost merged together, a sea that needed constantly organising and expanding to accommodate the ever increasing number of souls that took up eternal residence there. The Fields of Punishment often requested his personal attention, souls in need of eternal damnation who sought to free themselves again and again and again.

Elysium was the area of the Underworld he tended to the least; the souls there were happy, blessed and still in full recollection of who they were, who they had been. Hades had little need to pay it much attention, and the awareness of souls there the Laws forbade him interacting with even after death (or so his paranoid brother’s interpretation of said Laws had become).

Hades was the god of the Underworld – all of the Underworld, not just the miserable and the tormented, but the joyous, the blessed, the hope and love and reunions.

There was more that he could draw on than just the dark.

He reached within himself, feeling for a lightness within his essence he all too frequently dismissed. Already summoned from the deepest depths of himself by the lure of Apollo’s sun, the real thing even Elysium and the Isles of the Blessed could only generate an imitation of, it came easily at his call, growing and expanding as Hades acknowledged it, drew upon it.

It was unfamiliar in its familiarity, feelings of hope and joy and contentment that were part of Hades, because it was part of the Underworld, but unacknowledged for so long as Hades fell into bitterness and the areas that needed work. It felt right, as it settled over him, reaching out greedily for the sun it never saw.

Apollo’s sun responded, obligingly dancing with the light of Elysium and bolstering it, drawing out a brightness Hades had never thought he, of all gods, could generate. His sight faded back into clarity, night vision and light vision overlapping as his domain settled into the trichotomy of light, dark, and the neutral grey in between.

Before him – before them, Apollo stood at his side, tall and proud and powerful in a way that would force Zeus into conniptions to even contemplate – Alcyoneus made like a rabid animal, cornered and starving and vicious. The black opals of his eyes reflected their light back at them, blinding the giant, but he was a creature from Tartarus, from the dark, and needed his sight no more than the god of the Underworld did.

Rejuvenation, rebirth, the feeling of a soul returning to the Overworld anew, washed over Hades’ jaw, restoring it and stemming the steady flow of ichor. It was barely an observation as he stepped back, evading the desperate lash of a serpentine foot and ducking smoothly under the flailing of the iron staff.

Stepping inside Alcyoneus’ reach, and once more growing to match the giant’s size, Hades thrust his sword, point first, into the giant’s abdomen. The brass resisted, held out for a moment, and then another, before the tip of the weapon broke through, driving into the giant’s body with all the strength Hades could muster.

Pitch dark oil spilled down the brass, shimmering over the surface of the sword as Hades pulled it back, but Alcyoneus was a powerful giant and such a wound would not fell him.

Hades lunged again, ducking under the adamantine knuckles that flew towards him, and slashed at the giant’s hip. The blade sank in, and Alcyoneus roared.

“You cannot defeat me!” he repeated again, the voice of conviction overlapping with the waver of uncertainty when the oil continued to run unhindered down towards the ground. “Tartarus is my home.”

Apollo scoffed, Hades’ nephew seemingly not entering the fight directly but continuing to be a vibrant source of lighting that the Pit had no doubt never seen before. His essence thrummed with controlled fury, but there was also an acknowledgement that this was not, strictly, his fight.

He was Hades’ bane, it was Hades’ only living child that this giant was threatening, luring to death and eternal torment beyond, separated from his father’s domain for all of time.

This was Hades’ fight, and Hades was going to finish it.

That did not, apparently, mean that Apollo was going to sit back and be quiet.

“Is it?” the sun god asked, in a condescending tone Hades had almost forgotten his kind nephew capable of. “Look at yourself, if you can.”

Apollo was holding back from the fight out of a clear respect for Hades, but it was also obvious that his anger towards the giant was no less sated. It swirled through his essence, agitated but also vindictively amused; his nephew had also clearly realised what Alcyoneus had not.

When the giant had been drawn up by Hazel, his home had been Alaska. Upon his defeat, dragged out of Alaska and over the nearby border to Canada, per Thanatos’ report – a careful report, which had neglected to mention the name or parentage of the demigod Arion had permitted to ride him – he had been killed and returned to Tartarus. Had that been the end of Alcyoneus’ part in the second gigantomachy, then his claim would no doubt hold true – as the place of his latest rebirth, Tartarus would classify as his home.

But the giant had not been content to remain within Tartarus while his brethren continued to wage war above, and had passed through the Doors of Death, reborn in the Overworld in Greece.

He had not died in Greece. He, per his own Fate, could not have been killed in Greece. Arion and his rider had pushed him hard, but they had not been able to kill him. Hades, too, had not killed him; his role in the battle had simply been to dismiss the fallen giants back to Tartarus and, yes, in most cases, those giants had been felled by a god and demigod combination, much the same way Hades had once fought alongside Herakles, but that had not been the case for Alcyoneus.

Alcyoneus had still been alive as Hades dragged the ground beneath him open, plummeting him back down to Tartarus, and it appeared, from the brass skin, that the Fates had not deemed that a death.

Blinded, Alcyoneus could not look down at his skin, nor at his unhealing wounds, but the desperate roar he released at Apollo’s words suggested that he had not needed to. After all, he could feel that his wounds were still gaping injuries, leaking oil down to the membrane of Tartarus and running into the waiting, silent lake at the base of the Delta.

“Impossible!” he bellowed, but Hades didn’t care to listen to his rugged, rumbling voice any further and continued his attack, evading most of the giant’s frantic hits and regenerating near-instantly from anything that connected as rebirth settled over him like a shroud. That, too, had mingled with Apollo’s healing, he could feel, and the faint realisation that Apollo’s voice had not been a raw rasp the last time he spoke flitted through his mind as he kept pressing forwards.

For every hit Alcyoneus managed to land on Hades, he managed several in return, until the ground was slick with oil. Eventually, the giant stumbled, falling down to the ground as his serpentine legs buckled and lost the ability to bear his weight, and Hades pounced, driving the tip of his sword straight down through Alcyoneus’ left breast, directly towards the diamond cluster that made the giant’s heart.

He felt them break apart, overwhelmed at the end of the assault, and for a long moment everything was still.

The gemstones ensnarled in red hair were the first ones to fall, bouncing lightly off the membrane before coming to a halt, glinting in the combined light of the two gods. Unlike most giants, Alcyoneus did not disintegrate into dust upon his death. Instead, he broke apart, piece by piece of the amalgamation of gemstones and metallic elements falling away until he no longer represented a humanoid figure, but an assortment of discarded rocks.

In the centre of the array, three oil-slicked diamonds split in two, now six smaller, flawed diamonds. Hades reached out for them with his power and watched them roll away haphazardly in different directions. One fell into the Delta itself, which churned for a moment before laying still once more – watchful, waiting.

Hades had no doubt that least one of the river gods and goddesses were in there, watching. He could feel eyes upon him, upon both of them, but ignored them in favour of facing Apollo.

His nephew had stopped shining quite so brightly, once again a form rather than mere essence. In one hand was his golden bow, a sheen to it that had been lacking, while at his hip his quiver was once again bristling with gold-fletched arrows.

Something about him felt different. He stood as tall as he always tended to, in the form of a young man just into adulthood, mortal-sized once more, but the brightness had dulled drastically. For a moment, Hades wondered if it was simply a change in his perception, now he was aware of Elysium’s light swirling near the surface of his own essence, delighted at being let out and acknowledged after so long, but there was a twist to Apollo’s face that was almost a grimace.

“You do not look well,” he observed, stepping away from the water and the remains of Alcyoneus, shrinking back to a mortal size himself as he surveyed his nephew critically.

Apollo gave him a smile, one that looked genuine, but after their recent inadvertent sharing of emotions, Hades was not sure if he should trust it. “I’m fine,” he said.

That did not clear up any of Hades’ misgivings, but Apollo stepped past him, casting a wary eye towards the rivers but mostly focusing on the scattered rocks.

“Where do we go from here?” he asked. Hades frowned.

“Alcyoneus is dead,” he said. “My son is no longer being summoned. That satisfies the point of this venture, does it not?”

“The prophecy has not been fulfilled,” Apollo said quietly, and Hades felt a surge of irritation.

“I do not care about that blasted prophecy,” he snapped. “My son is safe; why should we continue to taunt the denizen with our presence?”

Apollo glowered, streaks of golden light beginning to radiate out from his form again. “Whether or not you care about the prophecy is irrelevant!” he retorted, clearly incensed at Hades’ dismissal. “The prophecy exists and will come to pass regardless of your cares or lack thereof. Prophecies, no matter their form, are inevitable, Hades.”

His voice had fully recovered, Hades noticed absently. Dark eyes glittered in the depths of the Delta behind his irate nephew, but he paid all of that no mind.

“This does not concern me,” he insisted, knuckles tight around the hilt of his sword.

“It concerns your son,” Apollo lashed back. “If we are not the sunshine and darkness the lines describe, then Will and Nico remain at risk of being so instead and this trip was for naught.”

Hades felt his own power start to rise, dark and grey and light all intertwined. “You are the one that constantly insists that those blasted things cannot be controlled,” he spat out. “Yet now you talk as though things are a forgone conclusion unless we do something.”

“Prophecies cannot be controlled,” Apollo confirmed irritably, with the air of words spoken many times. “But,” he continued before Hades could point out his hypocrisy, “they can be claimed.”

Hades paused. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Take the Great Prophecy that you cursed my Pythia over,” his nephew continued, no small amount of ire in the words. “By rights, it should have fallen to Thalia, as the eldest of the generation. She chose to reject it, joined my sister to evade it, and it passed on to Percy. Percy then claimed it for himself, at which point the rest of the prophecy began to set into motion to align with his sixteenth birthday.”

The concept of people claiming prophecies as their own was not one Hades was familiar with, largely because he could not see an appeal in intentionally throwing himself into one – although he grudgingly accepted that part of the reason he had accompanied Apollo into Tartarus in the first place was because of that same prophecy that had specified sunshine and darkness.

A prophecy Apollo was now telling him had not begun yet. Or was he trying to say that it had not necessarily begun, but if they decided that their actions did fulfil the spirit of the lines, that the prophecy would retroactively begin?

“Are you saying,” he began, drawing the words out as his mind raced through the possibilities Apollo appeared to be implying, “that if we leave now, the prophecy will not come to pass yet?”

Apollo was shaking his head before he had even finished speaking.

“Prophecies aren’t that simple,” he said – a fact Hades knew, because the blasted things always seemed to have a way of flipping things in directions they should not go. “If we leave now, the prophecy may trigger regardless, treating us as sunshine and darkness, because the Fates have decreed that the events will come to pass at this time. Or it may trigger in a few more days, weeks, months, years - perhaps with us, or perhaps with a different interpretation of sunshine and darkness. Our choice may not change anything, or it may change everything, and we would never know the alternative solutions.”

“Not even you?” Hades asked, a little disbelieving. He knew Apollo had a great degree of foresight, that the god of prophecy saw discarded future potentials at least as often as he saw what truly came to pass.

“If you’re asking if I’ve seen something I could with certainty say would be a consequence of this prophecy, the answer is no,” Apollo said flatly. Hades did not fail to notice his specification of with certainty, but suspected Apollo would not elaborate no matter how pressed and decided to let it pass uncommented.

“And if we claimed this prophecy?” he asked instead.

“We would guarantee that the events of the prophecy are in motion, and that we are indeed the sunshine and darkness mentioned,” Apollo said bluntly. “The future from this point would unfold in the direction that possibility entails, whatever that might be.”

Hades failed to see where the distinction lay between claiming a prophecy and controlling a prophecy, if the former forced its events to begin at the time of the claimant’s choosing, but for all his dislike of them, he could at least respect that it was Apollo’s domain and his nephew had a far greater understanding of the involved nuances than he could ever hope to grasp.

It was not so difficult to see the natural progression that might well fall if he and Apollo were not, in fact, sunshine and darkness, and left it nebulously up to the Fates to divine. Hades remembered Apollo informing him that his son had been one of the ones to receive the prophecy – either it would naturally fall upon Nico’s shoulders as the next in line to the claim of darkness, or his son, attached as he was to Iapetus for reasons Hades had never been able to fathom, would take it upon himself to claim the prophecy if he believed it would lead to the titan’s rescue.

Even if the prophecy did not actually reference Iapetus or result in his rescue – although as Hades distinctly remembered the Piercer being a silver titan, he suspected it was not foolish to proceed with the awareness that it well could relate to Iapetus – seeing it through to its completion would still prevent Nico from becoming tangled up in the blasted thing, again.

Prophecies had hurt his son too many times already.

Looking at his nephew, he suspected that Apollo had already chosen what he wanted to do. The younger god had thrown himself back into Tartarus directly on the heels of a previous, no doubt traumatic (the edge of Chaos, of all places) visit, all because he refused to let his own son enter the Pit.

Olympus, he had even sworn an oath on the Styx about the matter – Hades remembered the boom of the sealed oath reverberating through his palace. It was possible, he realised, that Apollo had already made his claim, in the eyes of the Fates, back then.

It was also likely, Hades realised, that if that held true for Apollo, then he, too, had made the claim in the eyes of the Fates at the same time, when he had decreed that Nico would not return either, regardless of the fact that he had never sworn an oath on the matter.

His nephew had phrased it as a choice, but, Hades realised resignedly, he had made the choice before entering the Pit. There could be no turning away now, not without placing Nico back in danger.

“Very well,” he said, sheathing his sword. “We shall continue, and may this confounded prophecy of yours pass our sons by in exchange.”

Apollo gave a fierce grin, one that did not bode well for anything – even the Fates – that further threatened the demigods. “May it indeed.”

The dark, glittering eyes in the Delta behind his nephew faded away silently. Hades did not watch Styx go, exactly, but he recalled Apollo’s most recent oath, and how choosing to turn back could have triggered events into sending William into Tartarus regardless, and wondered if she had been watching and waiting to see if he would break that oath, too.

Apollo’s voice had been restored at some point during the mingling of their powers, healing and rebirth likely the two in particular responsible, and his grip on his bow was no longer unsure, although Hades had not yet seen him fire another arrow. If Styx felt any displeasure at her consequences passing so soon, she hadn’t acted upon it.

For the moment, Hades decided it would be best to put it from his mind until they next crossed paths with the goddess.

Chapter 23>>

#trials of apollo #trials of apollo fanfiction #riordanverse #riordanverse fanfic #pjo hades #pjo apollo #pjo alcyoneus #tsari writes fanfiction #eclipse

14 notes · View notes

freudyou · 2 hours

Text

"Make it look like a freak lighting accident"

It’s been years since I’ve revisited Due South, but the @ds30below event sparked my interest again, and I decided to watch a few episodes with my bud @flownwrong to celebrate. We watched three episodes that stuck in my mind the most over the years after being absent from the show for so long: Bird in the Hand, Eclipse, and The Ladies’ Man, and I found all three to be a very rewarding rewatch, even though my memory of the rest of the series is a bit hazy.

Bird in the Hand:

When we started our mini marathon, I didn’t realize that this was the only ep of the three where Fraser’s dad plays a role, and I forgot how solid Pinsent was at pulling comic relief duty. The scene where he popped up demanding that Fraser murder Gerard immediately after Gerard was droning on about how Robert’s dogged nobility was his ultimate downfall had me rolling, as did the bit where he—probably correctly— asserted that Ray would shoot Gerard for him if Fraser really asked him to (aww). If Ray had actually done it (aww). One thing in particular about his character that struck me while watching this episode were the moments where he actually interacted with the environment around him in a way that impacted people other than Fraser by implanting the idea to retreat in McFadden’s mind and having Gerard attempt to grab his hand while dangling in the air. In my memory, it was a lot more ambiguous whether Robert was actually a spirit or a figment of Fraser’s imagination, so that ended up being kind of a fun twist for me.

Since the other two episodes we watched were very Ray K centric, I’m glad we did one that had a focus on Fraser’s emotional state. The scene where he confronted Robert about stubbornly refusing help in life and said “I never loved anyone as much as I love you” while Robert was still trying to find ways to derail the conversation is a fan favorite for a reason; it’s a rare, intensely vulnerable moment for Fraser and I really enjoyed the way that Paul Gross pulled back from it a little. In another show with another character, it’s easy to imagine a scene like this being a more blatant, emotional showstopper, with the neglected son saying this in a fit of tearful anger that’s meant to make his father rear back in surprise. Instead, Paul Gross delivers the line in an understated way that’s almost more like puzzled frustration, as if Fraser is trying to piece something together about himself instead, which I thought was a really nice touch to the scene that made it feel very Fraser. I also love the cunning way that Fraser brought it back around just a few minutes later by weaponizing male emotional repression in order to freak out everyone else in the room and gain the upper hand (as well as have an opportunity to annoy Ghost Dad by calling him short) while also delivering some genuine truths: Gerard really did break his heart.

Last but certainly not least, I adore how Ray kept trying to take care of Fraser throughout the episode in his own grumpy, special way. Sure, trying to orchestrate some Fraser-on-Gerard police brutality didn’t end up being the most well received suggestion, but it’s sweet that he acted extra vengeful to make up for Fraser’s dutiful restraint. I also forgot that the “Mentally Deficient” sticker gag and the tape recorder conversation were both in this episode. The Bickering Married Couple vibes between them were always such a classic part of the show, so it was nice to see that on display.

Bird in the Hand really held up strongly against my fond memories of it, and I was a little surprised at how easy it was to slide back into this world and be immersed in it after being away for so long. Sometimes I guess you actually can go back home again.

#due south #ds30below #i will post my observations about Eclipse and The Ladies’ Man separately hopefully either tonight or tomorrow #but i had a blast watching all three #thanks alina!

2 notes · View notes

drylan · 2 years

Photo

Total Eclipse | Sequel to A Full Moon’s Night & Wintery Woof

Ship: Dylan Lenivy/Ryan Ezraheler

Tags: Post-Canon, Werewolf!Dylan, Canon-Typical Violence, Flirting, Established Relationship, Kissing, Past Character Deaths, Adult Situations/Intimacy

Rating: Explicit

Synopsis: With a lunar eclipse during the full moon, Dylan seems to be transforming before the sun fully sets. The young couple must find a way to navigate this sudden development to the curse. Meanwhile, Ryan scours through Travis Hackett’s werewolf journal in private, hoping to find a solution to Dylan’s predicament.

Winter had begun to give way to spring, but not in its entirety. Night could still be bitter, cold, breath visible and a snowflake or two may fall from the sky. With that in mind, Ryan didn’t want to risk Dylan’s wellbeing during the March full moon. So, back to Hackett House they went.

“Man, we might have to make some repairs soon.” Dylan blinked up at the living room ceiling where a crack was beginning to outline in the plaster.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll just whip out my wealth of repairman knowledge.” Ryan snorted as he took stock of their supplies, tossing a package of jerky to Dylan, who eagerly tore it open and began eating. His appetite was always increased tenfold around the moon.

“What, I’ve seen like...ten episodes of Bob the Builder.” Dylan feigned to be in deep thought as he pretended to measure the crack in the ceiling. “Can we fix it?”

Which led to Dylan singing the entirety of Can We Fix It while Ryan laid out his sleeping bag and notes from class. He figured he might as well study since he never got much sleep on full moons anyways.

“You’re insufferable, you know that, right?” Ryan chuckled as Dylan finished the last chorus and his bag of jerky. Ryan wasn’t a fan of cured meats, but he didn’t mind them when the taste was from Dylan’s lips. The couple kissed deeply, before they parted and Ryan’s eyes slowly slid open to meet Dylan’s kind gaze.

Yellow. Dylan’s eyes were yellow. Already. The full moon wasn’t due for another couple hours.

“Wow, was the kiss that bad-”

Ryan flustered at that, still struck speechless as he turned on his phone and switched the camera so Dylan could see himself. “W-What...”

“What the fuck?” Dylan stammered. “The sun hasn’t even set fully, what the fuck? What the fuck? How the fuck is this-”

Dylan began to pace back and forth, not unlike last summer in the radio hut. Ryan would never say it aloud, would never bring up the painful past unnecessarily. But fuck, how much trouble would he have spared Dylan had he just cut his hand off like he had begged?

But there was no time to dwell on that now as he shook off his own shock. “Look, hey, it’s okay. Maybe, you know, the sun is just setting faster than meteorologists predicted, okay? Let’s just...deep breaths, okay? You’re okay.”

Dylan followed as Ryan instructed, ceasing his pacing and took deep breaths and counted backwards from ten. “Okay, okay, maybe you’re right. I-It’s nothing, just a bit earlier, right? Um...we should get down to the cages, yeah?”

“Yeah, let’s...let’s get you down there.”

They worked triple speed. Ryan couldn’t help but wince as Dylan hastily cut his hand and offered up vials of blood, one of which Ryan automatically smeared across his face. Just to be safe.

“Easy, hey, deep breathes, remember?” Ryan stopped as Dylan nearly tore his shirt in half as he struggled with the buttons.

“Yes, you just...” Dylan swallowed, unable to meet Ryan’s eyes with his own golden ones. “...smell so good. Too good. Even with the blood, man, it’s...never been like this. It’s sorta freaking me out a little.”

“A little?” Ryan had taken over unbuttoning Dylan’s shirt, knowing the other teen would never forgive him if he let it get ruined.

“Okay, a lot.”

Ryan helped him shrug off his shirt and before he thought better of it, he leant in and offered a gentle kiss to the long column of Dylan’s pale throat, paler now than normal with more pronounced veins. Dylan let out a relieved sigh and seemed a bit more relaxed then.

Sure, Ryan was freaked out himself. He could tell Dylan was different. This was different than other full moons. But both of them freaking out got them nowhere. Dylan depended on him and Ryan would be damned before he would let him down. He had already let Dylan down once, but not cutting off his fucking hand like he had asked.

Shit, again. No time to think about it.

He led the taller teen downstairs through the trapdoor and into the cages, locking it slowly. Dylan sat down on the air mattress they had already set up for the occasion, staring up at Ryan through his long lashes. Fuck, had they always been that long? Had Dylan legs always been so long, too? His lips so fucking pretty?

Holy fuck, what was going on with Ryan? And what was going on with Dylan? They hadn’t been prepared for this at all, which was a terrifying thought as they had forced themselves to get better and better at preparing every full moon. More supplies. Getting to Hackett’s Quarry earlier and earlier. Perfecting their lies to their families to justify the repeated excursions miles away from their apartment and colleges.

But this was out of left field and they were flying blind.

“Jus-Just, stay down here...” Ryan managed as he watched Dylan stretch out on the mattress, dressed in nothing but his tracking collar and a thin pair of sleep shorts that rode up the thighs of his very long legs.

“Can’t really go anywhere...” Dylan smacked his lips and rolled over onto his stomach, hands running along the edge of the concrete floor, drawing mesmerizing circles that left Ryan in a bit of a trance. “...not unless you want me somewhere, baby.” He winked, the gold glint shining in the overhead light, voice a deep husk.

“R-Right, right...” Ryan replied awkwardly before he jetted back upstairs. Fuck, he had actually contemplated opening the cage and getting in there with Dylan and kissing him silly. Sure, he had the blood to protect him, but that was a normal full moon. And apparently this was anything but.

He rummaged through his bag and fetched out that werewolf journal, which he had learned belonged to Mr. H’s younger brother, Travis Hackett. It had a wealth of knowledge in it, but Ryan hadn’t even deciphered a quarter of it all. He hadn’t told Dylan about it yet. Not that he didn’t trust the other boy with the knowledge, but Dylan had enough to worry about without Ryan possibly getting his hopes up for nothing.

Ryan also pulled out paper copies of the forecast and sunrise and sunset predictions. They always gave themselves generous time between what meteorologists predicted, just in case, which is why it was all the more shocking that Dylan seemed to be on the cusp of turning.

He scrambled a bit, looking between the forecast and the closed cover of the journal, as if he would be able to absorb the information that would solve the current predicament just through frantic flicks of his eyes. No, this would get him nowhere.

“C’mon, c’mon...” The sun had set fully and Ryan closed the windows, turning on a couple lights that their generator graciously provided power for. He poured over the forecast again, before he froze. “...holy shit.” A total, local lunar eclipse.

That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

Even if it was, it was more information than he had before. With a lunar eclipse in mind, he flipped through the journal. God, there were so many meticulous details. It was overwhelming as Ryan tried to skim page after page, but he found a raggedy section in the middle of the journal labeled ‘ECLIPSE’ in big bold letters.

There was nothing about solar eclipses, but under heading ‘LUNAR’ Travis had detailed an evening report of a lunar eclipse in 2019. In it, he detailed how much smoother it was, that his brother was more his brother than he had seen in any full moon since the bite. But he also wasn’t.

Caution and close supervision were still necessary, but a lunar eclipse seemed to mash man and beast in a way that was more manageable. Full transformation didn’t happen, but some wolf characteristics still shined through, inhibitions were lowered and those infected with the curse were far more likely to give into baser instincts, but retained their memories and a sense of autonomy.

Ryan was both relieved, but also a little overwhelmed at the prospect of this all. What did this mean for Dylan and he? Travis detailed this from the perspective of family members and familial dynamics, obviously. But would the behaviors be different between he and Dylan?

He thought back to how Dylan had looked down in the cage, coy and playful, eyes like starlight. Yeah, it...it definitely impacted them differently.

But he had an answer. And now that he thought of it, the sun had been down for nearly an hour and Dylan might have been counting down the time until he transformed. According to the journal, though, that wouldn’t be the case.

“Dylan, Dylan!” Ryan froze, Dylan laid out on the mattress, writhing and gasping. “...hey, um...”

“Ryan!” He groan softly, gold eyes lighting up as he took in his boyfriend. “...still haven’t turned. Think I’m broken or something. Trying turn me on and off again...” His eyes were blown wide, racking over Ryan’s form in a way that made the teen feel hot in the best of ways. “Although, dunno how you’d manage to turn me off, though.”

“Perv.” Ryan chuckled, taking the rest of the steps down and plopping down in front of Dylan. “You’re not broken, it’s the lunar eclipse, I think.”

“Oh.” Dylan didn’t even seem to question it, which was unlike Dylan. That was fine with Ryan. Again, he didn’t want to trouble him with that journal or everything else. “So, I’m stuck here, hot and bothered and wanting you for the next several hours. Doesn’t seem fair.” He pouted, the fangs of his half shifted teeth hanging over his kissable bottom lips.

“I could always join you in there.”

That snapped Dylan slightly out of his trance. “No, no, Ryan...I can’t risk hurting you.”

“Something tells me you won’t.” Ryan really just couldn’t handle seeing Dylan writhing like this. Sure, he was joking and playful, but it was obvious being separated like this was causing him pain. Overstimulated and understimulated at the same time and Ryan wanted to help him solve that.

“But-”

“You said it was different this time, right? So, so what do you want?”

“I want you to touch me.” The sincere honesty there, the desperation, it compelled Ryan to be a bit reckless. He fumbled with the keys only for a moment before unlocking the cell and stepping inside.

Dylan scrambled for a moment, before pushing himself up against the corner of the cell, eyes still the vibrant, enticing gold. “Ryan, no, no...”

“Do you think you’re going to hurt me right now?” Ryan asked firmly. He did have silver in one pocket and an extra vial of blood in his other if he needed them, but based on what Travis had written and Dylan’s own behavior, it didn’t seem like they were needed.

“Of course not, I-”

“Then what’s the point of leaving you in here all alone, when I can just as easily touch you, huh?” Ryan was surprised at how low his voice dipped as he stepped in closer, brushing back Dylan’s hair. The half-wolf moaned, tilting his head back and nuzzling into Ryan’s hand. “C’mere, lemme touch you.”

“Yeah, yeah...okay. P-Please.” Dylan gasped, letting himself be led back to the mattress where Ryan began to kiss him easily, lips trailing down and marking up his pale throat. Fuck, Dylan was so long...there was so much of him, Ryan couldn’t help but touch and kiss him all over.

This was far from the first time he and Dylan had been intimate. Their first time had been months ago and they had worked together to figure out what they both liked. It was fun, and sweet, and hot as hell.

But through all their experimentation Dylan hadn’t quite been like this. So uncontrolled and uncoordinated. Ryan had to take the lead, helping to take his own pants off and sliding off Dylan’s sleep soft shorts.

Every touch seemed to send a shock through Dylan’s body, whimpers and gasps following. He was definitely too far gone to do anything but to rut against Ryan, but that was fine as far as Ryan was concerned. He managed to get some lube between them while Dylan panted.

“Kiss me, lick me, please, I-I need...” Dylan gasped as his voice grew higher, pinned down by Ryan as he bucked and writhed. It was really going to Ryan’s head how goddamn hot this all was, how amazing Dylan was with his miles of pale skin and inhuman eyes that still held the warmness Ryan knew and loved.

He obeyed as Dylan pleaded, sucking more marks into his neck and throat, a collar of red and purple that the taller teen seemed to adore each addition to.

After they both came, Dylan filled out moments later, panting into Ryan’s ear. “Please, more...I-I...need you. My mate, please.”

Mate. That was a new one, probably attributable to this whacky eclipse nonsense. Ryan took it in stride, though, sliding a few lubed fingers inside and taking Dylan into his mouth, the other boy almost howling his pleasure.

They were in for a long, pleasurable, exhausting night.

💛

“We’re definitely gonna have to get a new air mattress, huh?” Dylan snorted, as he lugged another bag into

“Yeah, I think it might have met it’s jizz quota by like, midnight.” Ryan snorted.

“Gross, but yeah, you’re right.” He chuckled, flopping into the passenger seat while Ryan slid behind the wheel. “Thanks, again, for...taking care of me last night. I know it was a lot, but...not that you were complaining.”

“I wasn’t.” He agreed with a smirk, not missing the heated gaze behind Dylan’s equally beautiful dark browns. “But I don’t know how often I can keep up with that wolf stamina of yours.”

“Yeah, it was a bit impressive. Even for me.” He grinned, but seemed to hesitate just a moment, before letting out a soft sigh. “How did you know I wouldn’t hurt you? I mean, last night was fun, but super risky, dude.”

Ryan’s hands clenched on the wheel. Yeah, he should have figured Dylan would probe and ask. But he didn’t have to worry about that journal. He shouldn’t have to worry anymore than he already does. Ryan had it covered. “Just, intuition.”

“You sure about that?” He could feel Dylan’s eyes burrowing into the side of his skull as he pulled out of the overgrown brush in front of the Hackett’s house. “I would prefer if my boyfriend valued his life a little more than intuition, that can, you know, be wrong.”

“But I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Sure, yeah.” Dylan let it drop, chewing into his bottom lip. It was silent for a few minutes before he turns on the music to some sweet tunes and then they’re back on the road.

He sung along to the music, a nice balm to Ryan’s slightly frazzled mind. He really needed to delve deeper into the journal when Dylan wasn’t around. Who knows what other useful information is in there.

“You know,” Dylan’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “I love you right? And...and you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Ryan whispered softly, reaching a hand over and squeezing one of Dylan’s. “And, I-I love you, too.” And he meant it.

Dylan smiled and seemed to relax. He pulled the passenger visor down and looked at himself in the mirror. “Wow, really left a mark on me.”

“My bad, thought they would heal. Guess, more of the eclipse weirdness.” Ryan reasoned. Dylan’s hands healed from gathering werewolf blood, but Ryan’s hickies hadn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t have left so many marks if he had known.

“No worries.” Dylan smirked and proudly observed his neck more before closing the visor. “I like it.”

“You would.”

“You’re not innocent in this, you know. Marking me all up. Naughty Ryan. Bad. Or good.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ryan laughed.

💛

“I’m gonna go fetch Toffee from the neighbors.” Ryan gave Dylan a soft kiss as the taller teen began to unload their bags from the Jeep.

“Ah, yes, I’ve missed that furry little bastard.” Dylan grinned, before lugging up their bags the few flights up to their apartment. He overexerted himself a little, though, and stumbled into the apartment when he managed to open the door. “Shit!”

Dylan scrambled to try and pick up Ryan’s things that had fallen to the floor in their living room. He felt like such a goddamn klutz, but quickly began putting things away. He paused, though, once he came upon an old, worn, leather book. It was strange and looked like nothing Ryan had ever owned. He knew he shouldn’t snoop, but...Dylan is definitely a curious person.

He flipped it open, and confused dawned on him. A name in the inside cover had Hackett in it, and it detailed things about wolves. What the fuck? How had Ryan gotten this? When did he-

“Oh, shit...” Ryan breathed out, cat in tow. He slid the front door closed and swallowed nervously.

“So, uh, when were you gonna tell me about this, bud?”

Ryan sighed and let the cat out to get acclimated to their apartment once more. “I just...I-I...”

“Ryan. What the fuck?” Dylan snapped. “When did you find this, man? There’s...there’s notes in here from you. From months ago! Did you just...decide to keep this hidden from me? Why?”

Ryan hadn’t seen Dylan this flustered and overwhelmed since that night last summer. Fuck, it made him feel like shit. “I just...I found it at the Hackett House in December.”

Dylan fought the urge to respond, motioning outward for Ryan to continue.

“So, I um, I’ve been trying to decipher everything about um, wolves in it...” Ryan concluded quietly, unable to meet Dylan’s intense gaze.

He sighed slowly, running a hand over his face. “So, why did you hide it?”

“I didn’t...didn’t want you to worry, okay. Or get your hopes up if there wasn’t anything helpful-”

“Ryan, I’m the wolf here! And you...you should have told me-why didn’t you tell me?” Dylan was a bit frantic. “Why are you shouldering so much of this? You already do so much for me, Ryan, you shouldn’t have to deal with this alone-”

“Because it’s my fault you’re like this, Dylan!” Ryan’s voice echoed throughout the rooms of their apartment and Dylan froze. He had never heard Ryan raise his voice like that, not ever. “Fuck, if I had just listened to you, if I had just cut off your hand like you asked-” The fight in Ryan seemed to drain out, tears stinging at his eyes.

“No, no, you can’t blame yourself for this.” Dylan said quickly, grabbing Ryan in his arms. “It was unfair for me to ask you to do that, okay?”

“I-If I had just done it-”

“I could have bled out. Or maybe not survived the night. Who knows, it doesn’t matter now. You can’t shoulder this all alone because of what happened that night.” Dylan smiled through his own tears, cradling Ryan closer. “Besides, I’m the wolf here, right? Big and strong...gotta protect you. Just like you’ve protected me, right?”

“Right.” Ryan said softly.

“We’ll get through this together, man, I know we will.” Dylan offered his lips up and Ryan took them in a tender kiss.

A weight lifted off of Ryan’s shoulders that day, a weight he didn’t even know was there. And he and Dylan were that much more resolved and committed to each other, prepared for anything, and to hopefully cure Dylan.

#dylan lenivy #ryan erzahler #the quarry #the quarry video game #dylan x ryan #ryan x dylan #ryan the quarry #dylan the quarry #the quarry ryan #the quarry dylan #drylan #fanfic #fanfiction #my stuff

52 notes · View notes

princess-of-the-corner · 2 years

Text

Kingdom Hearts Final Mix Recap: Destiny Islands (Homecoming)

Sora leads Donald and Goofy to the Secret Place as bits and pieces of the island fade away around them.

Upon reaching the entrance to the Secret Place, however.

"This world has been connected."

One of the man-made structures fades away.

"Tied to the darkness."

The seaside shack is gone.

"Soon to be completely eclipsed."

The ocean itself is no more, only a purple void beneath the blue sky.

"A meaningless effort, one who knows nothing can understand nothing."

The island crumbles along the edges, and Riku-Ansem is now looking over the expanse of what was once the sea.

Sora, Donald, and Goofy approach Riku-Ansem, and a cutscene begins.

Back in Hollow Bastion, Riku-Ansem spoke with both Riku's and Ansem's voices, but only Ansem's voice emoted.

With Riku's heart gone, however, only Ansem's voice can be heard, and he goes on to monologue:

"Look at this tiny place. To the heart seeking freedom, this island is a prison, surrounded by water. And so this boy sought out a way to escape this prison. He sought a way to cross over to other worlds. And he opened his heart to darkness."

He turns to face Sora, Donald, and Goofy, transforming Riku's body to look more like his own.

When Sora calls out to Riku, Ansem retorts that his voice can no longer reach Riku where he sent him.

"His heart belongs again to darkness. All worlds begin in darkness and all so end, the heart is no different."

The trio turn around to find Ansem is now standing behind them.

"Darkness, is the heart's true essence."

Sora objects:

"That's not true! I've learned that deep within every heart is a light that NEVER goes out."

Ansem is displeased, and begins to float above the trio as he crosses his arm.

"So you've come this far, and still you understand nothing. Every light must fade, every heart return to darkness!"

A shadowy creature bursts out of Ansem's body, bandages sealing its mouth shut and wrapped around its chest, a heart-shaped hole in its belly, and a tattered, whispy tail taking the place of legs.

This Heartless-like creature is the Dark Figure ("The One Behind" in Japanese), an extension of Ansem's dark power. It's also known as "Ansem's Shadow", "The Monster Behind Ansem", "the small, Darkside-like being", and "shadow", but Ansem (and by extension, must of the fanbase) just calls it the "Guardian".

Ansem attacks almost exclusively through the Dark Figure, having it throw disks of Energy at the heroes, block their attacks with its own body, and having it launch white flames across the ground.

However, there is one other trick Ansem has up his sleeves.

"You insolent little..." is when he enters the wind-up phase of one of his most dangerous attacks.

"SUBMIT!" is what he shouts as he sends the Dark Figure after Sora, which will swipe at him three times, but Donald or Goofy can intercept the attack.

If any one of those three attacks hits, the Dark Figure will possess whoever it struck and crawl inside him.

Occasionally, their regular attack will be replaced by the "Freeze" command.

If its host tries to attack while this happens, the Dark Figure will physically restrain them.

If the host doesn't try to attack, the Dark Figure will damage them.

In addition to this, until the Dark Figure returns to him, Ansem will menacingly float towards Sora and periodically summon an energy barrier around himself to attack.

Attacking Ansem will shorten the amount of time it takes for the Dark Figure to abandon its host to protect Ansem.

Eventually, Sora, Donald, and Goofy are able to defeat Ansem, who retreats to the center of the island as it splits open to reveal the purple rot inside.

The battle pauses, giving the player one final chance to change out their equipment and rearrange their abilities.

Sora is able to pursue Ansem into the newly opened scar on the island, but Donald and Goofy strike an invisible barrier, and the Darkside returns for one final rematch.

The Darkside is only slightly stronger than when it was fought at Destiny Islands, and doesn't have any new tricks.

As such Sora does not have that much trouble slaying the massive Heartless, vanquishing the one Heartless that got away all that time ago.

Unfortunately, Ansem only summoned the Darkside to soften Sora up, and is back for round two.

He has all of the same tricks as his first fight, and simply being alone makes the battle that much harder.

Plus, he has one other trick:

"My strength returns." is what Ansem says when he starts using Dark Shadow, floating to the center of the arena as the Dark Figure shoots up into the air.

Dark portals open under Sora's feet, forcing him to keep dodging as the Dark Figure shoots out of the ground.

"What do you hope to accomplish?" he questions as Sora dodges, "Do not deny your fear!"

The Dark Figure eventually returns behind Ansem.

"The final darkness is nigh!" Ansem declares as he releases a shockwave of dark energy.

However, Sora is eventually able to defeat Ansem, which is THANKFULLY a save point because when I first played the game I died on the very next phase (which is REALLY embarrassing given that Sora's HP is ALSO refilled after beating this phase).

Ahem, regardless, after defeating Ansem again, the dark simulation of Destiny Islands vanishes, leaving Sora, Donald, and Goofy floating in the darkness as Ansem starts his next lecture.

"Behold the endless abyss! Within it lies the heart of all worlds: Kingdom Hearts!"

We've seen Kingdom Hearts written a couple of times in text (first in Ansem's report and then in the World Terminus), but this is the first time it's spoken aloud.

How appropriate that the first time it is uttered allowed occurs in front of the Door to Darkness, beyond which lies both the Realm of Darkness the Heartless call home and Kingdom Hearts itself?

"Look as hard as you are able. You'll not find even the smallest glimmer of light. From those dark depths are all hearts born. Even yours."

Sora sees his final opponent.

"Darkness conquers all worlds!"

The World of Chaos is a giant, fleshy Heartless shaped like a boat. The bow of the boat is a head, two tiny legs are growing out of the hull, and the deck of a ship has a ribcage contain all the vital organs, sealed within an invisible barrier.

Fused to this ribcage is the Dark Figure Ansem commands, now having grown giant and shed its bandages, it's arms having become fleshy wings. It is made of the same parody of flesh as the rest of the World of Chaos. (Also, there's a ribcage inside the heart-shaped hole.)

Connected to the Heart-shaped hole in its belly by intestine like tendrils is Ansem himself, now shirtless and grown to massive size, his eyes a solid orange.

Suddenly, the law of gravity reapplies itself to Sora, Donald, and Goofy, the latter two falling into a dark portal as Sora plummets into the abyss.

"C'mon Sora," Riku teases, "I thought you were stronger than that."

Sora soars out of the abyss and flies straight at Ansem, summoning his Keyblade to clash with the Seeker of Darkness.

In this battle, Ansem wields a double-bladed staff, with each blade being a copy of Riku's Soul Eater.

In addition, he can summon teardrop-shaped, bat-like Heartless known as "Bit Snipers" to protect him, and the World of Chaos is covered in pimple-like turrets that fire homing projectiles.

Fly too far from Ansem will lead to several lasers firing at Sora until he gets back within range of the dark seeker's attacks.

Sora is eventually able to defeat Ansem, who retreats into the heart-shaped cavity ribcage in order to recuperate, a Heartless Emblem shielding his resting body.

A dark portal opens and sucks in Sora.

Inside this dark portal, Sora must battle Shadows atop a Heartless Emblem.

Once the last Heartless falls, the Emblem peels off the ground to become an energy core.

Sora can then destroy the energy core to blow up the pocket dimension, releasing him back into the void to continue fighting the World of Chaos.

The Dark Figure causes several of those pimple-like turrets to grow out of the World of Chaos, a faint miasma covering its body.

To defeat the Dark Figure, Sora must destroy every last turret.

However, the Dark Figure can flap its weird arm-wing things to send Sora away, and within range of the lasers that fire when you get too far away from the boss.

When the last turret is destroyed, another dark portal opens, and more turrets grow out of the World of Chaos to keep Sora from going in.

In order to progress the battle, you must enter the dark portal.

Goofy is trapped in this room, locked in battle against multiple Darkballs (balloon like Heartless from Hollow Bastion that can turn into intangible wisps, basically being airborne shadows in execution. They are not Emblem Heartless). Once the last one is defeated, the Emblem once again turns into a core.

Once Sora and Goofy destroy it, they fly out of the pocket dimension, and the face at the front of the World of Chaos ROARS.

The face summons down bolts of lightning to deter Donald and Goofy as they fight back against it.

Eventually, they are able to defeat it, and it goes limp, its jaw hanging open, a dark portal inside its mouth.

On the other side of this portal is Donald Duck, battling multiple Invisibles (sword wielding Heartless from Hollow Bastion that, in spite of their name, are actually very visible. They can even stab their swords into the ground and disperse into circles of fire).

Once the last of these Heartless falls, another core appears for our heroes to destroy.

Sora, Donald, and Goofy fly out of the World of Chaos' mouth, the face exploding behind them, and the barrier keeping them from attacking the World of Chaos' vital organs dropping.

In order to complete this phase, Sora, Donald, and Goofy must defeat the pulsating core with the unhappy face painted on it.

It's...

It's creepier than it sounds when you see it pulsing and convulsing. Seriously, it just doesn't look right.

The core can't really protect itself, instead reliant on the artillery surrounding it. Regardless, Sora, Donald, and Goofy are eventually able to destroy the core, causing it to explode, and shattering the Heartless Emblem Ansem was hiding behind.

Ansem limply floats out of the cavity he was resting in, and summons his weapon to make one last stand.

He mostly has the same moveset as the first phase, but now has one extra trick: He can summon a black hole to suck in the party, detonate it, and launch out a dark beam. He's not invincible while doing this, and you can dodge the attack by hiding under the World of Chaos, but it is the most dangerous move in his arsenal.

In the end, however, Sora, Donald, and Goofy are able to defeat him.

With Ansem too weak to hold the mortally wounded Heartless together, explosions erupt all over its body, and all over the Dark Figure's body, before the whole thing explodes.

Ansem just barely manages to survive the explosion, and floats up to Sora, Donald, and Goofy, ready for one more round.

He warns Sora that the Keyblade alone will not be enough to seal the Door to Darkness, and calls out to Kingdom Hearts to fill him with the power of darkness.

The Door to Darkness slowly opens, dark wisps seeping out as Ansem basks in his coming victory, ready to finish off these meddlesome heroes who've irritated him every step of the way.

Sora, however, isn't afraid.

"You're wrong! I know now, without a doubt, Kingdom Hearts... Is light!"

A bright light bursts from the Door to Darkness, and Ansem is immediately bathed in it.

The seeker of darkness recoils away from the light, unable to withstand the true form of Kingdom Hearts as it fills him with light.

Ansem, having become pure darkness in his pursuit of omniscience, is ultimately obliterated by the light of the worlds. Destroyed by his own obsession.

A fitting end for such a fool.

Sora, Donald, and Goofy then rush over to the Door to Darkness to try and push it shut. Because even if Kingdom Hearts is light, it's STILL located inside of the Realm of Darkness, and leaving the Door to Darkness open threatens to unleash a flood of Heartless on all worlds

And the Heartless are coming.

However, no matter how hard they push, the door refuses to close.

Fortunately, Riku regained his body upon Ansem's demise, and grabs onto the door from his side to pull it shut. Hearts of light cannot pass through it, but he can still do his part to protect the remaining worlds.

Unfortunately, the Heartless choose that moment to arrive, with two Darksides rising up to crush the ones who DARE to deny them their feast.

Riku can't fight them all on his own, and Sora and his friends can't cross the threshold to fight them off.

One of the Darksides prepares to attack, only to be instantly struck down, the other following shortly after.

Donald and Goofy peer through the door, already knowing their savior's identity.

"NOW SORA! Let's close this door for good!" his majesty King Mickey Mouse declares as he holds up his own Keyblade, the Kingdom Key D. This Keyblade is gold where the Kingdom Key is silver, and silver where the Kingdom Key is gold.

Donald and Goofy assure Sora that he can trust King Mickey, and Riku warns them to hurry, because more Heartless are coming.

Mickey thanks Donald and Goofy for everything, and remarks that there will always be a Door to the Light.

As the Door to Darkness closes, Riku only has the following to say.

"Take care of her."

The Kingdom Keys wielded by Sora and Mickey are visually based off of Catholicism's Keys to Heaven, said to be held by Saint Peter at the gates to Heaven.

Here, they're used to close the Door to Darkness, with Sora sealing it from the Realm of Light, while Mickey seals from the Realm of Darkness.

Locked on both sides, the Door to Darkness dissolves into light.

In Final Mix, Sora flashes back to all the good times he had with Riku. Including a mix of scenes from Destiny Islands and new scenes that must have happened pre game.

After the flashback (or after the Door to Darkness is sealed in the original release) Sora looks behind him to see Kairi standing on a small patch of land.

He rushes over to her, with Goofy stopping Donald from following him, both wearing forlorn expressions on their faces as they're engulfed by the light.

An FMV begins as Sora approaches Kairi, calling out to her. he catches her hand when she trips, promising to find her way back to him. Kairi's response?

A tearful: "I know you will!"

Their torn from each other as Simple and Clean starts playing, Kairi on the reforming Destiny Islands, and Sora staying behind. Bits of light fly up as the world reforms, with Kairi continuing to look to Sora until he's no longer visible, the ocean reappearing, and a reverse meteor shower putting all of the stars back in the sky.

She steps into the Secret Place as the sun rises, and notices something she hadn't before.

Sora's little addition to their drawing.

She imagines Sora smiling at her, and she sheds a tear with a smile on her face as she makes her own addition.

An arm coming from her head, presenting a Paopu Fruit to Sora.

And then, the credits roll.

During the second half of the credits, after Simple and Clean gives way to March Caprice for Piano and Orchestra, the following scenes play:

Aladdin and Jasmine reunite in Agrabah, with the Genie covering his own and Abu's eyes.

Huey, Dewey, and Louie have returned to Disney Castle, running through the gardens while Queen Minnie and Lady Daisy wait for Mickey, Donald, and Goofy to come home.

Leon, Yuffie, Aerith, and Cid are in Hollow Bastion's library when Cloud arrives, him and Aerith having their own cute little reunion (Aerith was one of his possible love interests in Final Fantasy VII).

The other five Princesses of Heart return home, with Alice giving a little curtsy.

Tidus, Wakka, and Selphie were restored alongside their home!

After the credits, we get an epilogue, featuring Sora, Donald, and Goofy walking down a path in an open field, continuing their search for Riku and the King.

Unfortunately, they don't have any leads.

However, who else would appear but Pluto! With another letter from the King in his jaws!

Donald and Goofy are elated.

Sora beckons them to come along as Pluto awkwardly slides up the hill in the background because they forgot to animate his walk cycle.

Sora, Donald, and Goofy race after Pluto as the camera pans up to the blue sky.

Remember Sora, you are the one who will open the Door to Light.

And with that, the story is over.

There is nothing left to recap.

Except the Secret Ending.

Again, no idea how kids beat this game.

Also why am I crying????

#submission

5 notes · View notes