#Her deity the moon looked down on him every night while he stalked through the shadows and endured so many horrible things | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonbaby26 · 3 years

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Title: The Man from the Sky

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: You were a Greek sea goddess, just enjoying a typical day of nothing when a strange new god dropped into your land.

Warnings: None yet. There is smut in future chapters already written. Will post more soon.

Notes: I’m aware that what we’d think of as ancient Greece well predates who we’d call the vikings and their like cruising around the seas. This doesn’t take place at the height of the Greek pantheon worship, but old enough in human history that some men still believed in both sets of deities.

Chapters: Next Chapter Here

My Masterlist

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You dipped your feet a little deeper into the warm water as it lapped the edges of the rock you sat upon. The sea was calm today, and the wind gentle as the nymphs chatted around you about the usual things. A bit of gossip one had heard from a local river nymph, a new shipwreck one had found, status of a fish migration from another.

You wouldn’t exactly call it boring though, you specifically chose these more remote areas when you came ashore for this very reason. It was so much more unlikely for you to run afoul of mortals here, or even others of your own kind that you may not feel like putting on airs with at this very moment.

It was so quiet in fact, that you were considering getting up to go lay in the sand on the beach in a few minutes and enjoy a nice nap in the sunlight.

That was before the boom which echoed through the air all around you. Somewhat like thunder, but not quite as all the nymphs fell silent.

When nothing came after, you felt all their eyes then turning to you. Their voices piped back up soon enough, though the tones in them changed to all nerves now.

“Do you wish to leave, milady?”

“Could it be Zeus?”

“But it didn’t sound like him.”

“Is there a volcano nearby?”

“What else could it be?”

“I don’t know what it was, I’ve never heard that sound.” You finally said, though now looking inward to the land. You were at least sure that the sound was not of the sea. But you refused to give in to the nymphs’ skittishness too quickly. And without real reason to leave, eventually you all did start to relax again.

Yet then came the cries. “Goddess, mistress please!” That cry absolutely was from the land as you looked in time to see the river nymph you’d met earlier in the day now running from the tree line and down onto the sands. She stumbled slightly, just before reaching you where the sea met the rocks.

She was panting, clearly having run some distance as she continued. “I’m so glad to still find you here,” She bowed slightly, only because she didn’t know you well enough to realize you didn’t require this.

“What is it?” You asked simply, honestly more curious now than anything else. What could she have seen that would strike her so alarming? Any nymph worth their ilk would know every creature, every natural occurrence, all that existed within their lands.

“There is a man in the forest, he came from the sky!” Yet she continued quickly, sure you would only think of Olympus. “But I do not recognize him as one of your own family. And his clothing, he is not of our territory. This I am sure, my goddess. I watched him only long enough to see that he was very angry. I am afraid of his intentions here.”

A man? But not truly a man. Mortals did not come from the sky.

“An angry god?” You said, now standing as you then stepped down from the rocks. The forest belonged to Artemis truthfully. But being this close to the sea, you thought that the older goddess would forgive you this if it came down to it. She would rather the nymphs be protected you were sure from any childish acts of a god’s wrath that may now come into play here.

You had brought no armor, the possibility of battle so far from your mind when you’d come ashore today. But that didn’t mean you travelled completely defenseless. “Bring me my spear please.” You requested of the sea nymphs.

Though they were still anxious, they responded dutifully, one sinking beneath the waves before reappearing with the glinting weapon in hand. It shone a brilliant silver, sea foam still running off its blue spear tip as she handed it to you out of the water.

“Show me the way, and I will investigate this stranger.” You spoke plainly, hopping down onto the sands as you strode barefoot towards the forest, spear in hand. “We will keep our distance as best we can, we don’t seek conflict, understood?”

“Yes, milady.” You heard, the sea nymphs staying behind you as the river nymph moved in front to lead you upward, the sand transitioning to rocky soil and the sparse vegetation and trees beginning to increase as you climbed the hillside.

For the sea nymphs, you could hear them losing their footing here and there in the loose soil, themselves of course far more adapted to swimming the ocean’s depths at your side rather than hiking up into the forests.

You did hope you were not putting any of them in danger. But if you felt they truly were in harm’s way, you would have no qualms in telling them to retreat back to the water at once.

“Up ahead,” The river nymph whispered to you, pointing towards a clearing you could now see leveling off in the distance. But the opening looked so strange with the density of the other trees now around you.

“Was that always there?” You asked her, knowing something unnatural when you saw it, even when this far from the water.

“No,” She confirmed. “When the sky opened up, it carved out the land as well. He appeared when that force receded.”

“Understood.” You replied, though in truth not really understanding at all as you motioned for all the others to proceed no further. You’d never seen something like this. “I will go alone. If he should attack me, please return to the sea to seek help.”

They fidgeted, looking unhappy but not arguing your choice. “Please be careful, goddess.”

You nodded, but kept on slowly. You tried to remember what you’d been taught as a little girl about stalking and hunting on land. So many moons ago, running through the forests with Artemis and at times Pan, being mentored before returning to the sea to your father, mother, and so many siblings.

But the closer you came, the more you realized that the stranger would likely not notice any sound of light footsteps approaching or ground shifting. As you neared, you saw his form pacing back and forth in the clearing, seemingly cursing to himself in a language that was not your own.

Yet it still sounded familiar. Abruptly you knew where you had heard a dialect like this before. It sounded so much like those voyagers from the northern seas. The ones with their longboats and course beards, sometimes with hair as red as fire as they fished and sang and fought.

And he did look as pale as them as well. But with hair like black of night, and a frame far more slender than the burly mortals you’d seen rowing those northern boats along. And just as the river nymph had warned, his clothing confused you as well. Rich green robe, but with black and gold as well. It was wholly foreign and exotic to you in its styling, as was he.

When she’d said a strange man had arrived, honestly you had also expected someone older in appearance. He looked quite youthful to be honest, even as his brow remained furrowed and his fists clenched at his sides.

And just when you thought his feet may actually cut a path in the earth from his agitated pacing, he finally slowed, then stopped all together.

This is when you froze as well, knowing you now had a decision to make. Should you keep to your hiding, just to hope he should eventually leave in whatever fashion he came? Or should you reveal yourself to question his identity and purpose here?

“Done spying yet, or do you intend to actually do something with that spear?” A cutting voice spoke abruptly to your side, so suddenly that you almost lost your footing, shocked as the same man emerged from behind other trees only feet from you.

But you still saw him in the clearing as well, at least you did momentarily before the image of him there dissolved, leaving only the form now nearest you.

“You speak my language?” Was all you questioned instead of answer him though, as he had said those last words only in your tongue. You also kept focusing on backing away as you chose to keep a safer distance. He was some sort of illusionist at least then, which could escalate the danger here very quickly if he made you lose your bearings.

And he was starting to circle you a bit you realized as he began to walk again. But you willed yourself to keep your spear at a neutral position, rather than aim at him, still not intending to provoke attack if it could be prevented. You had no idea what other strengths he might have, and your primary goal was still to keep the nymphs from getting caught in any crossfire.

“Not all of us are so uneducated,” He snapped back at you, still in your language, though you could detect that foreign accent underneath.

You were not wholly unused to rudeness though, yet it had been a very long time since you could recall being spoken to directly in such a manner. It was more the bickering between others in the palace that you were sometimes forced to be party to. Which was only another reason you often favored the relative isolation of the mortal world.

“You need not be so offended, stranger. I only came to see who had entered our land, and to protect my friends if need be.” You answered as reserved in tone as you could.

“Then you have done your duty, girl, and can now be gone. I came here to be alone. If I was actually intending to plunder this wasteland of nothingness, your little cohort never would have made it back to you to begin with.”

You stared, a little coldness entering your eyes then. So that was what had given you away. He’d already been aware of the river nymph to begin with, and had been waiting for someone to return the entire time while leaving that illusion of himself still in the clearing as distraction.

And he’d actually referred to you as ‘girl’. Did he really think you just one of the nymphs then? It was hard to say if he was intentionally trying to goad you, or if he really was so unfamiliar to not realize you for what you actually were.

You straightened a bit, replying, “Insults to our homeland aside, I will leave you to this quiet then, if you should at least tell me your name. You are clearly not of Olympus, and we still have right to know who it is who traverses into this particular land of mortals which we hold sovereignty over.”

He scoffed, clearly wishing to not speak to you even a moment longer. But in the way his chest puffed slightly, you thought it was only pride then that made him physically incapable of denying his identity.

He actually moved closer to you as well, that agitation still rising further in his voice. “Little fool, you stand before Loki! Son of Odin the Allfather. I am god of mischief, prince of Asgard. Your witless mortals should count their blessings that an Asgardian should ever see fit to even set foot here!”

You didn’t know if you’d been quick enough to mask the true surprise from your face. You had already assumed him a god. But never...never had you actually laid eyes on an Asgardian. They never came to this part of the world as far as you knew. And was he telling the truth? Was he really a son of Odin?

This stranger’s arrogance aside, if he were a child of Odin, you knew your own father would be furious with you if you were intentionally insulting now. Asgard and Olympus had never had the closest ties, but you were not enemies either. Asgard was honored by the mortals of the north, and Olympus still honored by those of the south, though perhaps not quite as much as the true olden days.

It took real will, but you bowed graciously to him in return. “It is an honor to meet you then, Loki, son of Odin.” As you straightened up, in his eyes you could see he was trying to judge you as sincere or not. But you just continued smoothly. “As promised, I shall leave you to your thoughts then. But I would be unmannered to not offer my assistance should you need a hostess in your time here as a guest in our land. My name is (Y/N), daughter of-”

You hesitated only the briefest moment, “of the sea,” is what you decided on though. Unlike Loki, you preferred a little anonymity with strangers. You didn’t wish to be targeted just for your lineage.

And with that, you turned, beginning to walk back towards the beach, even as you finished talking. “If you should need me, you need only find the sea’s edge and call for me. One of our creatures will hear you soon enough and seek me out.”

But some odd part of you regretted not being able to see his expression as you left. You wondered if you only would have seen more disdain and condescension at your offer.

Regardless, he said nothing else and soon enough you were back on the sand, the nymphs chittering in a mix of horror and awe around you.

“Who does he think he is, speaking to you that way!?”

“Do you really think he’s of Asgard? Shouldn’t we alert your father?”

“Why would he even come here? He seemed so bitter. Do you think they cast him out?”

“I’d cast him out, with a dirty attitude like that!”

You looked to the horizon, just taking a breath. “I don’t think we need to rush and tell my father just yet. But I do know where I want to go now.” You looked to the river nymph briefly though, “Please have those in the forest keep a distant eye on him. Should he leave or do anything else of note, please let us know.”

You glanced back to the sea nymphs then. “The rest of you return to the oceans. I’m going to Olympus, to the libraries there. I want to find out more about Asgard, to see if he is who he says he is. I’ll return to the water soon.”

They all nodded, “Yes, milady. Please let us know what you find!”

“I will,” you agreed, just watching them dissolve back into the waves.

Were you excited perhaps? Or just very curious? Nothing interesting in this way had happened in ages. You were determined to learn all you could on this new arrival.

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The Olympians had been a little surprised to see you gracing the halls there. So many of your cousins had dropped in time and again to say hello, curious themselves of why you were out of the water this long and seemingly such a bookworm all of the sudden.

And you did read for days. All you could find on Asgard, on Odin, the Norse mortals, and their language. You found record that Odin had born two sons, honestly an oddly low number you thought in comparison to the many children of your own kings.

But there in these tomes, were those two names, Thor and Loki. Thor, god of thunder, amusing of course in comparison to Zeus, king of all, including lightning. But also Loki, god of mischief, just as he’d said.

You were surprised, but enthralled as you actually found a drawing of Loki within the book. Though not completely accurate you thought, you still recognized that type of clothing. The green and gold, and the pale skin and black hair with his icy blue eyes. You tilted your head a little, looking at the gold helmet he wore in the artist’s depiction, with long horns curving from it like those of a great beast.

Was he really a beast? Or just a too arrogant manchild? And why did you increasingly wish to find out?

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(Continued in next chapter here)

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specsforwoo · 3 years

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Son of Morpheus | Demigod!Lee Jeno

Parent Deity: Morpheus (God of Dreams and Human Dreamers)

Allegiance: Hypnos

This boy loves to sleep

Like LOVES to sleep

He could be found sleeping anywhere

High key his mom found him sleeping on the kitchen floor one day

And ever since he was little

He was able to remember his dreams with intense detail

His family just thought it was a 4 year old’s imagination running wild

Until the night terrors started

He was tormented with them

They started around the time he was 7

They still happen today, just much less in frequency

But when he was younger

They were really bad

Like he would wake up screaming and crying

And it took ages for him to calm down

It got to the point that his mom was considering taking him to a child psychiatrist

He found a way to calm himself though

He began drawing out scenes from his dreams

No matter what they are

Light and airy or nightmarish

It helped him cope in a way

Life continued on

And he started opening up to his mom about his dreams

He talked about a young man with tan skin and dark curly hair

And wings of a white warblers

He told stories of epic battles

Of courtrooms filled with music and sleeping bodies

Of sleepless nights talking with a man sitting on the moon

Jeno couldn’t tell if he was scared of the man or not

As he entered middle school

He started being able to interpret his dreams

Other’s dreams too

He kept it a secret though

It terrified him

He learned to accept this too

As he did everything else

But then he learned he could predict others dreams

And it scared the shit out of him

He told his best friend, Jaemin first

Jaemin just gave him this knowing look and took him to his mom

His mom sat him down

And for the first time in his 14 years of life

His mother pulled out a photo of his father

And he was shocked

It was the curly haired man that he saw every night in his dreams

Sitting there next to his mother in a cafe in Greece

He was fucking confused

Like really fucking confused

Until it clicked

That was his dad

His dad had wings of a garbler

HIS DAD HAS WINGS OF A GARBLER

Am I going to grow wings too!?!?!?!?!?!?

No, you idiot. Jaemin

I’m not?

No, you have to earn them. Also Jaemin

So that night he was lying in bed

Questioning whether or not he wanted to fall asleep

Knowing he would have to confront his father there

But a cloud with a dreamcatcher with dew drops hanging from the strings shrouded with a calming silver light appeared above his head

And he fell asleep instantaneously

His father was sitting there

Talking with the man who embodied the moon

The man that he didn’t recognize made a comment and vanished after he caught sight of him

His father turned around. It was like he hadn’t aged a day since the photo see saw

Do you know who I am?

Uhhhhh. A dude with white warbler wings??? That haunts my dreams every night. Who also happens to be my father?

He didn’t mean to sound as sarcastic as it came out

Yes, that is all true, though I don’t ‘haunt’ you. But, do you know who I am?

He sat him down in the dark pavilion, explaining about the gods and goddess, the war and everything in between, even how he was born.

Do I like…. Have half-siblings??

No, but Jaemin is your cousin. His father smiled

After that, the dream faded off and he was peaceful for the rest of the night

Waking up, Jaemin was passed out on the couch in the living room

Picking up the nearest thing (a remote) he threw it at the boy on the couch, causing him to wake up

WHY IN OLYMPUS DID YOU NEVER TELL ME WE ARE TECHNICALLY COUSINS????

Not my place?

Anyways start packing, Mom said I can take you to camp with me this year :)

Yes, Jaemin calls Jeno’s mom his mom

And so he went to camp with Jaemin that year

It was nothing like what Jaemin described

It was WAY cooler

On the first day people were milling around everywhere

Jaemin led him over to a couple older kids with badges around their necks

Hey Jaemin!

Jaemin introduced them as Johnny and Ten, both sons of wind gods, both camp leaders who were helping all of the new kids get around and find their cabins

They’ll take care of you, I have to go find her.

Jaemin basically dumped Jeno on their shoulders so he could go find his girlfriend smh

Jaemin told us you were Morpheus’ kid, we were thinking about putting you in the Crios cabin? Does that sound okay? We would put you with Jaemin but he said you should get to know other campers your first year here. The shorter one spoke up

The taller one, Jaemin introduced him as Johnny, pulled out a gold coin, flicking it into the air while muttering something, and a wavering rainbow appeared in front of them

Put me through to Taeil and soon the rainbow was showing an older boy as well with a red undercut over some astrology papers

The rainbow??? Was facetime???

Ten obviously saw the shock on poor Jeno’s face, carefully explaining what an Iris message was and how to do it

After that he settled into demigod life pretty quickly

Jaemin introduced him to all of his friends, the Dream team, even some older campers who he was close with

He even liked the Crios cabin so much that he decided to stay there past the first year. The Morpheus cabin was lonely and Jaemin always had his girlfriend over trying to get her to sleep

The night terrors slowly subsided and soon his dreams were more peaceful than anything else

But one time he dreamt about a girl, right around his age, running into camp, a dark aura surrounding her but obvious scared

It wasn’t the dark aura that worried him, Kun and Jaehyun both had a dark aura, both sons of gods related to death

But her aura was different, it was mixed with madness, it was close to driving her insane

Even though it was only a dream, he couldn’t shake it off

He asked everyone that he knew, especially Jaemin, he found out a while ago that he was the one who founded the camp, what the aura could be and no one knew

He also started watching the border of camp everyday

Not stalking it or anything, just glancing over whenever he had a chance

A couple weeks past and Jeno was convinced that it was just a really weird dream

But then you actually showed up

Same way that it happened in the dream

You ran into the borders of camp like you were out of your mind, you were paranoid, no one could even touch you, not even Sicheng

When Jeno had heard what happened, he ran down to the pavilion

There you were, on the ground, covering your ears, eyes wide open, terrified to shut them, and shaking in fear

Once he had pushed his way through the crowd, he placed his hand over your eyes and shortly, you had fallen asleep

After that, Sicheng had moved you to the infirmary with Jeno’s and Johnny’s help

He found that you were severely dehydrated, and even he couldn’t describe the aura around you. It wasn’t that of Kun or Jaehyun’s but it was definitely similar

You were were in and out of consciousness for about 3 days and when everything finally settled down, a raven with a snake in its mouth appeared over your head

It was symbols that no one had seen or heard of, not even Jaemin or Taeyong

The boys spent the next couple of days researching who the symbols could belong to, and eventually they found it: Melinoe

Goddess of ghosts and spiritual passage who brought mortals nightmares that drove them insane

That would explain the way you were when you first came into camp

After that, Jeno stayed by your side every step of your recovery

He also helped you to manage the nightmares and control your powers

He had been there before, dreams were a tricky subject and nightmares made it even more complicated

But slowly you got the hang of it

And slowly Jeno started to have a crush on you, and slowly it turned into more

When he finally asked you out, you were ecstatic, it would be a lie to say that you hadn’t developed feelings for Jeno since coming to camp

And when camp closed for the summer- except for the few that stayed, he found out that you were attending the same university

He had been studying astrology while you were in the art department, soon, everyone in campus and camp knew who the two of you were

Y’all were inseparable

The Dreamies even accepted you into their group

(Jisung is your favorite don’t tell Jeno)

You eventually ended up moving in with Jaehyun

He had become like your older brother at camp

When Jeno wasn’t able to help you learn about your powers, Jaehyun was there to help

He even got his mom to visit personally and talk to you about your own mom and what he role was, and most importantly, that she wasn’t a bad person

Jaehyun knew the pain that you dealt with having a parent being a literal embodiment of death

And soon enough, it was even like Jeno had moved in with Jaehyun with how much he was at the apartment

Jaehyun was okay with it as long as he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night :)

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sage-nebula · 3 years

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I’ve been thinking about what I would have liked a sequel to InuYasha to be like, since the official sequel has been such a disappointment (to say the least), so I figured I’d go ahead and post my thoughts.

To start with, we’re keeping Moroha, and she would be the actual main character. She’s the daughter of the previous two main protagonists, her personality steals the show on the regular anyway, and the fact that she’s part demon while also having sacred priestess powers makes her far more interesting than simply doing half-demons 2.0. I’m not sorry.

So, the story. I imagine that hundreds and hundreds of years back, like well before Inuyasha was ever sealed to the Tree of Ages and all that drama with Kikyou and Naraku happened, there was a prophecy made by some kind of deity (or deity-like) figure. The prophecy was something like, when a demon had a child with a powerful priestess, that child would then end the warring period between demons and mortals—and would, in fact, put an end to demons altogether. In other words, the child of the demon and shrine maiden would lead to the modern era, where mortals still roam freely but demons are (typically) nowhere to be seen. Not many knew about this prophecy, but very powerful and high-ranking demons did (e.g. Kirinmaru, possibly Inuyasha and Sesshoumaru’s father), and because they didn’t want demons to disappear from the earth for very obvious reasons (even though the prophecy wasn’t clear on how that would happen), they made it a point to try to stop the birth of such a child from ever happening—or, if it did happen, they made it a point to kill said child as an infant before they could ever grow.

Hundreds of years passed. For a time there was great concern over whether Kikyou would bear the child that would bring about the prophecy, given that she was a powerful priestess (the most powerful priestess) who had several half-demons interested in her. Fears waned a little when Inuyasha decided to become human like Kikyou, forsaking his demon half and therefore rendering the two of them unable to bring the prophecy to pass (and there was some argumentation over whether a half-demon could bring the prophecy to pass anyway, but the danger was too great to risk it in the minds of those who knew), but then all of that drama went down before he could, and Kikyou died before she could have a child with anyone, so it became a moot point.

Regardless, those hundreds of years passed, Kikyou was reborn as Kagome, Kagome and Inuyasha fell in love, and they ended up giving birth to a child, Moroha, who inherited both demonic powers from her father and sacred powers from her mother. And while it’s not as if someone was watching Inuyasha and Kagome on CCTV to stalk their every action, other parts of the prophecy (such as the full moon and sun both being present in the sky at the moment of the birth, which happened just as day broke, or stars falling the night of conception) lined up and made it clear that the prophecied birth had come to pass. Of course, neither Inuyasha nor Kagome knew of the prophecy, nor did anyone else in the village . . . but Kirinmaru, as mentioned before, did.

So Kirinmaru shows up some time after Moroha’s birth, when she’s still a baby, with the intent on killing her and probably her parents as well, for good measure, so they can’t have another one. He’s not alone; I’m unsure of whether Sesshoumaru would be with him or not in this version (because I feel Sesshoumaru would have complicated feelings on the issue; he doesn’t want demons to disappear but also he’s doubtful Inuyasha’s child could make that happen), but Kirinmaru would at least have his top four lackeys and possibly many other demons with him. Enough so that everyone in the village would be at significant risk. Of course Kagome and Inuyasha aren’t going down without a fight, but also a battleground is no place for a baby, so Kagome takes Moroha through the well (which we’ll say was working at this point in time) in order to have her family watch her. This serves two purposes: It gives Moroha a loving family to take care of her, with Kagome herself ensuring that happens, AND it allows us to show Kagome’s family after giving a frick about her potentially dying, which Yashahime failed to show with their non-reaction to her potentially having a child.

Of course, Kagome’s family doesn’t want her to return to the feudal era if there’s some huge battle going down, but Kagome promises that she will survive, and she will come back to get Moroha. She promises. So her family agrees to babysit Moroha, and Kagome returns to the feudal era . . . only to not come back. As a result, Moroha is raised by Souta and his family, and cherished by her grandma and great-grandpa, even though there is also an ever-present sorrow and grief because they believe Kagome must have died in the battle she spoke of. And Moroha does feel the love from her family, but also recognizes that they also see her dead mother whenever they look at her, so there’s that, too.

With that said, Kagome isn’t dead! She returns to the feudal era and things are indeed going badly (in a flashback we get plenty of “INUYASHAAAA” “KAGOMEEEEE” for old time’s sake), but I don’t want to kill either her or Inuyasha off. So instead, we’ll bring the Rainbow Pearls back into it. Like in the actual sequel, Inuyasha and Kagome end up sealed in one of the Rainbow Pearls. But the reason here is because Kirinmaru finds out that Kagome sent Moroha away to a place where he can no longer reach her, and he’s furious about it. But he also feels that, when she grows up, she will seek out her parents. So he figures, he’ll take her parents, seal them in a state where they can’t escape him, and then use them as bait. He’ll lure Moroha to him and kill her then. It’s a perfect plan. (And while I would want to seal Inuyasha and Kagome into the Tree of Ages since that’s their tree, at the same time, Kirinmaru can’t exactly take a whole ass tree with him. I mean, he could, but it’d kill it and probably end the sealing power. So.)

Years pass, Moroha grows. She can pretty much pass for a human girl aside from her fangs and her super senses / abilities, so she doesn’t feel like too much of an outcast in the human world. She's a little older than in Yashahime, maybe around 16, and as such was able to do at least a year or two of high school and has a few years experience in archery and kendo clubs as a result. But though she doesn’t feel like an outcast, Moroha has always been plagued by the feeling that there’s more to her story than she and her family know. She feels like there’s something missing, like the assumption that her mother died just isn’t right. This draws her back to the Bone-Eaters Well time and time again, and the final time (the one we see) Souta follows her there. They talk about Moroha’s feelings and her desire to know, and Souta tells her he think that she can make the trip—and that she should, if she can’t rest. He gives her Inuyasha’s robe of the fire rat (which I forgot to mention Moroha was swaddled in when Kagome took her through), as well as her bow and quiver from archery, and some other provisions. Then Moroha jumps through and returns to the feudal era.

So the main plot, or at least the one that Moroha is aware of at first, would be Moroha trying to figure out what happened to her parents, where they are, et cetera (and people like Miroku, Sango, and Shippou bursting out crying when they see that Inuyasha and Kagome’s daughter did survive and is all grown up and looks so much like her parents). Then in the background of that is the prophecy and whether Moroha actually will carry it out or not. My thought is that she would, but it’s not that she kills all demons, because that’s pretty grim. Rather, it’s that the Rainbow Pearls would ultimately be used to seal or suppress demonic powers, with the implication that demons or people with demonic powers are very much still actually in the modern era, but they’re just sleeping, and could come back at any time. And perhaps this would be done at the end of her life rather than at the end of the series, I don’t know. But basically it would be written to explain the discrepancy of why there were demons and magic in the feudal era, but no longer in the modern era. It would make Kagome going back to the feudal era, meeting Inuyasha and building a family with him, something that actually needed to happen for her era to exist as it did at all. (So, a stable time loop, sort of.)

As for Sesshoumaru having daughters, I honestly really don’t think it’s necessary, but if he did they should be side characters (as in they can be part of the main group, but their story shouldn’t be the primary focus), and Kagura should be their mother. Since Kagura died, if we do still want them to be half-demons, then perhaps it could be that Sesshoumaru traveled to the modern era himself somehow to look for Moroha after Kagome sent her there (I don’t think the well would work for him, but this is a show about magic, he could find a way). He didn’t find Moroha, but he found Kagura’s modern reincarnation, a human woman who looked startlingly like her. He followed her around to figure out what was up with her, she thought he was a creep (albeit a very pretty creep), he eventually decides to leave her because she’s her own person and not Kagura, she follows him because she wants to know where he’s going, she ends up going back to the feudal era with him on accident, they travel together for a while, fall in love, have babies, etc. So I guess in that sense the mother of Sesshoumaru’s daughters wouldn’t actually be Kagura, just like Kagome is not Kikyou, but regardless, she’d be as close to Kagura as he could actually get and that’s better than the alternative that the fifteenth episode of Yashahime suggested, so I’d take it. (Granted I would have taken just about anything over that, but still.) With this scenario, Towa and Setsuna (if we kept those names) would be younger than Moroha, and would have been raised together in the feudal era. If they end up traveling with Moroha, perhaps it’s because Sesshoumaru sent them to do it by suggestion. The twins think they’re just ~bonding~ with their cousin, or at least helping her survive in an era she’s not familiar with, but also their father is using them to spy on her to see if there’s any chance she could bring about the prophecy.

So yeah, that’s what I got. If I’d been asked to come up with a sequel to Inuyasha, that’s what I would have written. Of course there are more details that would need to be ironed out, but nonetheless, we’d have a clear goal from the jump, the correct character would be the main character, and there wouldn’t be any child grooming or pedophilia. Win-win-win, honestly. We could have had it all.

#inuyasha #anti sessrin #inuyasha sequel au #moroha #moroha deserved better #so much better #anti yashahime

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enaxii · 5 years

Text

the echoes of your love

This is part of the SKK White Day fic exchange! To my giftee, Xoinks, I hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. :)

read this on ao3 here.

summary: The creases in the sheets make Chuuya’s heart ache, so he turns away from the bed and focuses on putting each button through the correct hole, his fingers trembling when any other time it would be steady. It irritates him to no end, but still, he hurries out of the room once he’s done, avoiding the lonely bed that stands as a centrepiece in the room. Briefly, he wonders what cruel deity made it so that the day of their anniversary is the day the only person that (that) Dazai Osamu cared about died.

(Maybe it’s his own deity, the one who hangs over his shoulders and whispers his skin with red streaks.)

When Chuuya wakes up, the space beside him is cold. It’s not surprising, really, but he still can’t help the disappointment that crests through him. The house is silent as Chuuya shifts in bed, leaching a few more moments from his morning before he has to start the day. It is the gentle creak of springs and the shift of feet on tiles that accompanies him through his morning routine, even as Chuuya ignores the emptiness that clings to his skin, the silence that should be punctuated with infuriating whines and condescending laughter. The coffee that sits in the coffee brewer is still warm, and Chuuya pretends that it’s warm because the maker had only just left, instead of the heating plate that hums beneath the jug.

The coffee is lukewarm, and the usually rich flavours are muted, bland against his tongue. He nurses his coffee at the table, forcing down cold toast between sips. Something makes his usually efficient morning routine lethargic, leaving him lagging at the counter, pausing at the sofa, casting an eye over the bed and its rumpled sheets. Half of it had already been made up, though it has been mussed up with Chuuya getting out of bed. The creases in the sheets make Chuuya’s heart ache, so he turns away from the bed and focuses on putting each button through the correct hole, his fingers trembling when any other time it would be steady. It irritates him to no end, but still, he hurries out of the room once he’s done, avoiding the lonely bed that stands as a centrepiece in the room.

Briefly, he wonders what cruel deity made it so that the day of their anniversary is the day the only person that ( that ) Dazai Osamu cared about died.

(Maybe it’s his own deity, the one who hangs over his shoulders and whispers his skin with red streaks.)

His coat is still slung over the rack, along with his hat, strangely unmolested. Most of the time, Chuuya would wake up to find his hat at the top of the fridge, or some other obscure, hard-to-reach place, but this time, the hat quietly mocks him right where he had left it the night before. He stares at the hat, but does not take it. The world doesn’t end, even as the door closes with a click and the hat is left behind.

As he makes his way down the apartment building, Chuuya feels strangely naked, vulnerable like a child that is being examined under a doctor’s eye. (And the doctor smiles, eyes growing wide and his smile razor sharp like the scalpel he wields.) He pauses outside the block, and- It’s Saturday. He had taken an off-day the night before, drowsy with sleep as Dazai’s fingers patted his head absentmindedly. Perhaps he had already anticipated the empty bed despite the red circle over the date on the calendar, despite the half-slurred words (“Tomorrow… Stay, won’t you?” And he feels Dazai’s fingers stutter in his hair, pause mid-stroke. He doesn’t think he hears Dazai reply.), despite the grip he knows he maintains on Dazai’s other hand, like he’s unwilling to let go.

Chuuya jams his hands into his pockets as far they can go, brows turning downwards. Already, he regrets not bringing his hat along, the sun now beginning to irritate his eyes as he squints ahead. Today is a Saturday, and there is only one place that Dazai could be. Instead, Chuuya heads in the opposite direction, towards the detective agency.

He doesn’t want to see Dazai.

(He wants to see Dazai.)

As he passes through streets, Chuuya can see couples sitting in cafes, quietly chatting, gentle smiles on their faces as they enjoy the Saturday morning without a care in the world. Chuuya aches, seeing them. Sometimes he wonders what would have happened if instead of Mafia black blood running in their veins, it’s a dark red, tinged with loving families and a perfect childhood. It would be nights that don’t end with faraway stares of someone who’s not quite there, it would be mornings that don’t start when the moon is still high above them, gunshots ringing in the bay. Chuuya turns his gaze away as a bright-eyed teen leans in close to someone hidden behind the booth, her face dusted red.

If this was a different world, the two of them would be spending time together today, just like the couples in those cafes, sharing smiles and a hot coffee, maybe. Instead, Dazai is visiting a grave, and Chuuya is alone on what should be their most important day.

When he eventually makes it to the agency, Chuuya loiters around outside for a while, deliberating, but Yosano then opens the front door and raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“We can see you from the window.”

Chuuya only tsks, and neither elect to comment on his rookie mistake.

As they wait for the lift, Yosano comments idly, “He’s not here.”

The comment is casual, not at all the loaded bomb that it should be.

Even then, Chuuya tenses, and replies, “I know.”

Yosano glances at him from the corner of her eye, but Chuuya avoids her gaze, staring straight up at the panel above the lift, numbers steadily ticking down to one. The lift ride up is not awkward per se, but Yosano can’t seem to keep her curiosity to herself and Chuuya can feel her gaze darting over, something that has him raising his hackles and grinding his teeth. When he finally stalks out of the lift, he leaves behind the barest of footprints.

Now outside the Agency, he hesitates only minutely before throwing open the door, and it cracks loudly against the wall. All eyes inside swivel around to face him, and there’s no familiar pair of brown eyes that peers at him (a light chuckle, “Aw, Chuuya missed me so much that he came to the agency?”) from behind an ever-growing pile of paperwork. He knew that even before he came to the agency, but some useless hope made him check anyway.

Now, he has the attention of the entire present agency, and he spots the Jinko’s hand twitching on the desk, like he longs to summon his claws. Kunikida’s smile is forced, his eyes drawn to the small hole that’s left in the wall where the door’s handle slammed into it with enough force to break through the plaster. Ranpo is still lounging in his chair, his hat covering his face even as one eye peeks out at him. Chuuya feels Yosano come to a stop behind him, one hand on her hips as she surveys the scene before her.

“He’s come to visit.” Yosano announces, taking her time to meet each agency member’s eyes. Chuuya can feel the tension that snaps at his heels, and his shoulders hunch up defensively, a scowl beginning to tighten on his face. The air in the office feels supercharged, crackling with electricity that springs from one agency member to another.

Eventually, the Jinko’s relaxes his fist, fingers uncurling to rest flat on the table. Kunikida’s posture also seems to ease, the false smile slipping from his face but looking altogether less wary.

“Chuuya-san. What brings you here today? I’m sure you’re already aware that Dazai wouldn’t be showing up today…”

His words are cautious, testing the fragile truce that has been laid before them.

Chuuya takes his time, eyes wandering around the office. Ranpo’s staring at his head now and-- right. Chuuya’s not wearing his hat.

“I just wanted to visit.”

He doesn’t say that he’s avoiding Dazai now, irritation beginning to simmer beneath the surface. It doesn’t take that much effort to leave a note, maybe open his mouth to flap a few words, and still, Dazai manages to completely ruin his day.

(There’s also the part of him that’s bitter at Dazai, at the four years that Dazai disappeared with, at how Dazai still disappears again so easily. Chuuya understands what it’s like to have dead friends, but he doesn’t understand Dazai.)

(All he wants is something simple. Something to tell him that he’s… appreciated .)

Kunikida nods towards Dazai’s desk, his attention already being drawn back to his paperwork.

“You can sit there if you want.”

Dazai’s chair is right next to the Jinko’s, and they warily exchange looks. The other flexes his hand again, clenching into a fist and relaxing, before giving Chuuya a wavering smile and returning to whatever he was doing.

It’s not the first time that Chuuya’s been over, but it is definitely the first time he’s been at the agency without Dazai as a buffer. The silence that now sits in the office is awkward and altogether uncomfortable, but Chuuya has experience sitting in even more awkward situations than this, so he manages to still his tapping feet and slouch in Dazai’s chair, ignoring the glances that he gets every so often.

Chuuya occupies himself with his phone, scrolling through messages and emails without really looking at them. The chair, of course, smells like Dazai, sterile bandages and a sharp hint of lemon, and- Chuuya hates how much he yearns for the real thing. He can usually handle himself better than this, goddamnit.

Maybe half an hour passes, and the Jinko’s pen starts to dip as he writes, before he finally drops it back onto the table and, collapsing into his chair, starts to swivel in lazy circles. Chuuya ignores him, staring blankly at the black screen of his phone, before a quiet mutter starts Chuuya from his daze.

“What are you really here for, Chuuya-san?”

The creaking of the swivel chair had stopped. Chuuya looks up, and the Jinko’s gaze burns, quiet and determined. When he doesn’t respond (doesn’t know how to respond, because why is he here, really?), Atsushi’s resolve seems to harden.

“You’re avoiding Dazai, aren’t you?”

The office is silent, the tick-tick-tick of the clock like a bomb that’s just about to explode.

“Of course not.”

-is what he wants to say, but the words clog up in his throat (as they always do, regarding that bastard) and Chuuya finds that he can’t speak, can’t lie.

So he shrugs, a tight roll of his shoulders that tells the truth more than his words will let him say.

Now that Atsushi has his answer, he shrinks back into his chair, uncertain of how to proceed.

“D-did something happen…?”

The chair Chuuya sits on trembles, a soft red aura enveloping its frame. Is he angry? Is he disappointed? Chuuya knew what he was getting into from the moment this relationship started, on this exact day years ago. He knew that there would be disappearances without warnings and miscommunication because they were both bad at feelings (Dazai, since forever, Chuuya, since Dazai disappeared), he knew what he was getting into , but yet…

There’s a yawn from behind him, and a lilting voice, almost mocking.

“Once people get hurt enough by something, you start expecting the pain to always happen.”

Ranpo is still sprawled in his chair, his eyes closed, but he smiles at Chuuya, the edges sharp.

“Dazai may be smart, but he’s horrendous with feelings. Of all the people he could predict, you were always one of the few that he couldn’t.”

Ranpo’s smile softens even as his expression grows cat-like.

“You should go home, Chuuya.”

And Chuuya’s gone, a wind that leaves behind footsteps imprinted in the floor.

He sprints back to the apartment, knocking past people and storming up the stairs when he can’t stand waiting for the lift.

All of a sudden, he’s standing in front of the apartment door, and his hand is shaking where it rests on the door handle. Chuuya doesn’t know what to expect, doesn’t want to raise his hopes lest they smash into pieces, and time slows outside his front door.

The handle turns, and the door opens without a sound through the thumping of Chuuya’s heart.

Dazai stands in the kitchen, a flower in one hand and scissors in another. Candles have absolutely taken over the dining table, and in two corners, plates of- pasta? The whole scene is so bizarre that it takes Chuuya a few moments for him to even realise that Dazai has dropped the flowers.

“Chuuya! Welcome home~”

Dazai’s voice was as infuriatingly unconcerned as always, but Chuuya could hear the tremor in his voice, the slight lift at the end of the sentence. He could see Dazai shifting his feet, how he avoided his eyes and how his smile was strained, nervous .

“Dazai. What’s…” Chuuya observes the fire hazard on his table, “all this?”

The other claps his hands together, “Our anniversary dinner, of course! I wasn’t quite sure what to make, Chuuya is better at cooking than I am! It might give you food poisoning, but I’m sure it’ll be fine-”

Dazai’s words cut off, and he’s staring at Chuuya now. There’s something stinging in his eyes, his heart clenching in his chest, and Chuuya feels like a fog that’s resided in his head the whole day has finally lifted. When Chuuya touches under his eyes, his fingers come away wet. Huh. Tears .

“Chuuya-”

Skinny arms snake around him, awkward and obvious in how they both know how to kill better than they know how to hug. Even so, the smell of bandages and antiseptic with a tinge of lemon soap relaxes Chuuya, and he leans into Dazai.

“I never thought that… I never thought this would ever happen.”

There’s a warm hand that’s combing through his hair, gently separating his locks and pulling down his walls.

Dazai’s voice is soft when he speaks.

“I got a bunch of angry texts from the agency. They were all quite concerned for you.

“I left early in the morning to visit his grave. I was trying to surprise you, but you woke up earlier than I expected.”

I was trying to surprise you by being there when you woke, Chuuya heard.

There’s a pause, and Dazai seems to deliberate his words.

“I… I’m sorry, Chuuya.”

The floor seems to drop out from beneath his feet, because he’s never heard Dazai apologise without contempt in his tone and a smirk on his lips. Chuuya almost wants to snort, to play it all off as a joke, but Dazai finally holds his gaze and Chuuya cannot find anything but sincerity in them. It’s so disconcerting , even as a tight knot in his heart starts to loosen, even as his grip tightens on Dazai’s sleeve.

Chuuya can hear the words that Dazai cannot speak, can hear the I’m sorry for leaving ’s and I’m sorry for hurting you all this time ’s. Dazai cannot speak these words, so instead, he says, quietly and surrounded by lit candles:

“Happy anniversary, Chuuya.”

#bungou stray dogs #soukoku #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #my writing #dazai #chuuya #yosano #kunikida #ranpo #atsushi

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the-captains-ayebrows · 7 years

Text

The Long Road Home - Canon Extension for 3x11 “Going Home”

My contribution to this year's CS Storybook! Check out the cover art by @elaine--captain--swan who makes very beautiful things, and I highly recommend looking her up on Tumblr.

A series of missing and extended scenes that mostly take place during the Season 3 "Missing Year". It begins with Emma and Killian saying good-bye as Pan's curse rolls in. Lots of internal monologue. Canon-compliant mentions of Emma and Walsh's relationship. This also contains a favorite headcanon of mine about where Blackbeard gets all those portal beans

Length ~4K words. Rated T for a few swear words. Also on [AO3]

There’s not a day that’ll go by I won’t think of you.

Good.

-- Killian --

One word. One word is all she gave him, but it’s enough. It’ll have to be enough. Because there’s no time now. There’s never enough time. Her friends and family surround her. Then she’s disappearing into that bizarre yellow carriage of hers, and then even that disappears from his view in a wash of purple smoke. But he meant it, what he said to her. He hopes she meant it, too.

-- Emma --

One word. One word is all she could offer. Because there wasn’t enough time. There’s never enough time. And everyone else is around her, hugging her, and when the hell did she become a hugger? Anyway, it’s not the time for heart-to-heart confessions. She and Henry have to run. She always runs. At least she has her son with her this time. At least she’s not alone. But, Hook… he meant it, what he said to her. Her inner lie detector was absolutely silent. She meant it, too, her one word. And she hopes he can hear in that word what she didn’t say.

Don’t forget me. Don’t give up. You have to remember for the both of us.

But most of all, Bring me home again.

-- Killian --

Will mermaids ever cease to be the bane of his existence? Bloody hell. The Crocodile and Pan are finally dead - rather considerate of the Croc to have taken himself and his accursed father out in one blow - and he would’ve thought all the tribulations he encountered from his centuries in Neverland were behind him. But no. Bloody mermaids. Can’t a man pay off a harlot in peace?

Still, if the lass is telling the truth about Blackbeard and his beloved Jolly Roger, all the sins of her piscine race shall be forgiven, at least as far as he’s concerned. From where he sits, or rather crouches, behind assorted cargo crates with this Ariel person and Smee, it would appear her information is accurate.

By the gods, it's been so long since he’s seen her, the first love of his life. Before Milah, before… that lass whose name he refuses to speak aloud, though it certainly echoes through his thoughts constantly. Before any fair maid had tempted him, there was her. The Jewel of the Realm. The Jolly Roger. His constant companion. His confidant. His home.

Even as he thinks the words, he feels a tug behind his breastbone, a fisherman’s hook (the irony is not lost on him) buried deep in his chest that pulls him in a very different direction from the gangplank before him. He ignores it. He forces the emptiness in his breast into the shape of a gracefully curving hull and towering sails, instead of the softer lines, painted in shades of red and gold and green, that have haunted him of late.

“You know you’re talking about a boat, right?”

Bloody mermaids. “You have your love and I have mine.”

And he does love her, his Jolly. He needs her. Needs to feel like himself again. He feels like he’s losing himself. Losing everything. He lost his revenge, the one thing keeping him alive over the centuries. The Croc now dead by his own hand. He’d lost his ship to Pan’s curse. He’d lost…

But now here the Jolly sits, ready to welcome him back with open yardarms. What is he without her? Without his identity as Captain Hook? He’s a pirate. He’s always been a pirate, just as he told the Prince those months back. He needs to get back to that, back to himself, back home to his beloved ship. It’s all he has left.

And Blackbeard is daft if he thinks he can stand in the way.

-- Emma --

He spilled his coffee on her. Ran smack-dab into her on the street, his latte splattered all over her bright red wool coat. It’s the most cliched of meet-cutes - actually, it reminds her of some story she heard a while back. Maybe an old friend met their fiancee that way? Whatever. But still… since her place in Boston burned down, she really does need new furniture for her new home, and the insurance money was surprisingly generous. He seems nice enough. Mostly harmless, anyway. So, when he gives her his business card and an apparently sincere offer to pay for her dry cleaning, she accepts it.

Walsh Ozman, Antiques and Fine Furniture.

But, here’s the thing… The wood puns may be too much for her to handle.

“Wizard of Oak. Really? Was ‘Shiver Me Timbers’ already taken?”

His smile at seeing her in his shop flickers for a moment, and she senses she’s said something wrong, but she can’t imagine what. Perhaps he’s the one who can’t handle it? His grin is right back in place before she can figure it out. He does, in fact, pay for her dry cleaning, and she buys an end table.

He calls her a few days later to ask if she’s satisfied with her purchase. She is, of course. Something about the scrollwork beneath the table top reminds her of ocean waves, and she finds it strangely calming. She’s caught herself more than once tracing her fingers across it absently as she reads a book on her couch. He asks her to dinner, and she says she’ll think about it.

She does. Think about it, that is. Henry is, first and foremost, the love her life. She thanks whatever deity is listening every day that she decided not to give him up all those years ago. Can’t imagine what kind of a person she’d be without her son. She’d probably be a lot more guarded, more jaded, without seeing every day all the light and hope in his sweet, brown eyes.

Still, it’s been just the two of them for years. She didn’t have time for anything resembling a love life when Henry was little, to say nothing of the lingering wounds Neal had left on her heart. Henry’s not a little kid anymore, though, and she’s in a really solid place in her life. Good apartment. Good job. Maybe a nice guy is the logical next step?

She can admit that she’s been lonely. Every once in a blue moon, when the loneliness got too much for her to bear, she’d been known to send Henry off to sleep over with a friend, while she ‘slept over’ with a stranger. Not that she ever spent the night.

It feels like ages since she’s even had that level of adult contact, though. She literally can’t remember the last time that someone made her feel, well, anything really. Not even base lust, and certainly not anything resembling an actual emotion.

Even as she thinks the words, something pricks at the back of her mind. It’s not a memory exactly. Or really, it’s more like a memory of a memory? Is that even a thing? Like a Xerox of a photograph. Faded, corrupted, colorless, but still there. Pieces of a dream, maybe. Has to be. Who the hell would wear black leather in a jungle in real life? As if she’s ever even seen a jungle.

Emma Swan is far too pragmatic to let herself get bogged down in fantasy. So yeah, after getting the official go-ahead from Henry, she agrees to go to dinner with Walsh. And he’s kind, and he likes Henry, and there’s something familiar and appealing about his dark eyebrows and messy hair.

So, she tells herself to hope that this, this is what’s been missing. This is the thing that’s finally going to make her feel like she’s found a home.

And she’s not about to let some stupid dream stand in her way.

-- Blackbeard --

By Neptune’s left testicle, look what the tide’s washed in! That bloody ponce has some gall to show his face in here. He knows full well this is the regular gaming establishment patronized by Blackbeard’s crew. Wonder how he feels seeing the Captain himself in residence this evening?

Perhaps he thought his old nemesis had been swept up in this latest curse, but even a scurvy git like Hook should know better. He’s not the only sailor on these waters with the sense to steer clear of an onslaught of purple smoke. If he only knew how easily Blackbeard could extract himself from any… unfortunate situation.

He’d have used a bean when Hook made him walk the plank if that little mermaid hadn’t saved him the trouble. He’s always got a handful on him at any given time, and when he runs low, he simply uses one to transport himself to the uncharted island where he grows the blasted things. Oh, everyone believed that all the beans had been destroyed when Prince James (the original, not his insipid twin) and his little strumpet Jack defeated the Giants of the Beanstalk. Certainly, Blackbeard’s taken great pains (and inflicted great pains - ha!) to ensure that is the only story being told.

In truth, the Prince had managed to steal a small cache of the beans before the last giant set the fields ablaze, then paid Blackbeard a ludicrous sum of gold to hide them from King George. Probably planning a patricidal coup or some such thing. Blackbeard swears the Prince would’ve made an excellent pirate, not that it matters anymore. The Prince went and got himself killed, and there was no other living soul to know Blackbeard still had possession of the beans.

So, he’d made a little investment of them. He’d located a tiny island not found on any map, gathered up a crew of… shall we say, 'indentured workers' to plow and plant for him, and now he’s got a field full of lovely little stalks growing as many beans as he could possibly need. Even used one to pay off a former fairy for a bit of cloaking magic, to ensure his plantation is never discovered.

Honestly, you’d think someone would’ve noticed by now. How he can be in Arendelle in the morning and the farthest reaches of the Maritime Kingdom by tea time. Bloody idiots, the whole lot. Heads firmly up their own arses.

Ha! Oh, but this is too delicious. Hook absolutely reeks of desperation, and apparently, one such bean is the object of his desire. No. Check that. It’s a woman. Captain-bloody-Hook has been bested by a woman!

This is rich. Simply glorious! He swears by all the gods, this is the best day of his life. He shall not take a single coin of Hook’s gold. No, no. The son of a codfish tried to kill him. His utter humiliation is a far better price. Blackbeard wants Hook’s ship - the very ship they dueled over before - and he’ll accept nothing less. Far be it for him to tell Hook he’s got hundreds of the damn beans at his disposal.

Let the fool trade away his pride. His ship. His home. And all for some damned wench! Ha!

-- Henry --

He knows. She hasn’t said anything, but he knows. Henry’s a pretty smart kid, after all. And it’s been just the two of them - he and his mom against the world - for too long for him not to notice.

Walsh really seems like a good guy. He’s got terrible taste in music and his store has, like, the lamest name ever, but Henry can tell the guy actually likes his mom. Like… like , likes her.

It just... Doesn’t seem like enough? He can’t explain it. His mom still seems like something is holding her back. Like her brain and heart aren’t talking to each other. She loves Walsh - says she does anyway - but Henry is grown up enough now to know there’s a difference between love and Capital-L Love .

Henry knows his mom loves him , though. Capital L truly loves him. No question. That doesn’t mean she isn’t still lonely. For, you know, the other kind of love. He worries about her. He’s the kid and she’s the parent - she likes to remind him of that when he’s acting ‘too grown up’ - but he still does. And she’s definitely, totally, lonely.

He just… he wishes they could find that missing piece, you know? So, he asks her to go with him to his usual thinking spot. That big fountain right beside the library. The books kind of help him focus, and the water… well, that’s what fountains are for. Wishing.

He feels - he’s always felt - like there’s something about this place. Something special. Magical. That’s stupid, he guesses, but he can’t think of a better word for it. So, he tosses his coin and makes a wish.

He knows his mom thinks he’s upset about something from school, and he should tell her he’s worried about her. He should. But there’s something holding him back, too. Something he can’t quite remember. He doesn’t know how to tell her what he thinks is missing because he really doesn’t know. There’s just this empty space, you know?

So, he tosses a coin and he wishes - more than he’s ever wished for anything - for their little family to be complete. He isn’t even sure what he means by that. He just feels like they’re waiting for something. That something is out there waiting for them. An adventure, a future, a home.

-- Emma --

What. The hell. Just happened. Emma blinks once, twice, and again, licking her lips before she can think better of it. She can’t really think of anything. Her brain feels like a cat in a YouTube video frantically scrambling on a freshly waxed floor, but never actually getting anywhere.

“Mom? Who was that?”

“No idea. Someone must’ve left the door open downstairs.”

Because no. She had no idea who he was. Just some crazy person. He had to be, but she…

Sh- she…

She froze . Emma Swan absolutely vapor locked. It was weird enough that she opened the door without looking out the peephole first - especially since the way he’d pounded on the door already had her on high alert, but even so. A strange guy dressed like a freaking pirate is standing in her hallway sighing her name as if she’s an oasis in the desert and she just, what? Stands there with her mouth hanging open, squinting at him, listening to his voice, trying to place him.

Why would she do that? Why not just slam her door in the face of the weirdo in his elaborate costume? Nope. She asked him if she knew him. As if she’d forget that face. Or that outfit.

What the hell is wrong with her? Why did he seem so familiar?

And, and, and -

God, he telegraphed that kiss. Like, every nerve ending in her body could sense it coming from the way he was looking at her alone, not to mention the awkward full body twitch before he leaned in. Even if she wasn’t a pro at reading body language, the guy practically had a neon sign over his head that said, ‘I’m about to reach for you.’

And she stood there. And let him. She didn’t step back. She didn’t grab his wrist and twist it behind him and shove his pretty face into the wall and shout for Henry to bring her handcuffs.

She stood there and closed her eyes and… time stopped. She was in a jungle, the one from her dream. Everything smelled leafy and sweaty and a mosquito was biting the back of her neck, but she didn’t give a single fuck because his lips were touching hers, and it felt like - it felt like…

Funny thing about time stopping. When it starts back up again, it zooms ahead even faster to catch up to where it should have been. It also makes a noise that sounds very much like your own voice screaming in your ear, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

The kick to his balls was a (literal) knee-jerk reaction. But even then - even then - she still stood there talking to him. A random stranger kisses her on the mouth and she gives him the chance to explain himself. Like he’d tell her the truth.

He was telling her the truth.

Just because he believes it, that doesn’t make it true.

Oh, sure, she threatened to call the cops and finally managed to remember that her door does, in fact, close. But god, the whole interaction…

There shouldn’t have been a whole interaction. Who even is she today?

Maybe she’s overly tired. She’s been working a lot of late nights recently. Maybe tonight she’ll take a sleeping pill so she’ll get a good night’s rest. No...unwanted dreams. Unwanted in the sense that she doesn’t want confirmation of exactly where she’s seen his face before.

Maybe her blood sugar is out of whack and she just needs some pancakes and hot cocoa.

“Come on. Let’s eat.”

-- Henry --

What. Was. That. Let’s eat? That’s all she’s gonna say? Henry’s twelve, he’s not deaf and blind. Fine. If that’s how she wants to be, Henry can play it cool, too. And he’ll do it better than her, without all the out-of-breath huffing. He can keep a secret after all. He hasn’t told her that Walsh is about to propose, even though it’s been a week since he asked for Henry’s blessing. So, fine. He won’t talk to her about this either.

But like… really? He knows what he heard. There was some guy at the door - he definitely heard a guy’s voice - and that guy was talking about Cs mom having a family and that her family was in trouble and, well… Henry’s also about 99% sure his mom punched the guy or something. But then she kept talking to him? What even is that?

It was kind of like she knew the guy, but she didn’t at the same time, if that makes any sense. She never opens the door for people she doesn’t know or isn’t expecting. She says it's because of all the skips she’s put in jail. Never know when one might try to come after her. Or him. She’s really protective of him. She wouldn’t even let Walsh come over until they’d been dating for months .

Really, his mom is being super weird, even now that the guy is gone. She never acts like this. Her face is flushed, she keeps licking her lips and it’s not because of the pancake syrup. She hasn’t even touched her food which is also very un-momlike behavior. She loves food. About the only time Henry ever sees her this way is when she’s really close to solving a big case, like right on the edge of figuring it out.

Maybe that’s all this is. Maybe that guy is part of some big case she’s trying to crack.

Or… maybe she’s just being weird because she’s got a date with Walsh at some fancy restaurant tonight and she’s figured out what he’s going to do. That’s probably it. He really wants his mom to be happy, and if marrying Walsh will do that, then he’s cool with it. But, he’s not sure. It could be Walsh is the missing piece for their family like Henry had wished, but it doesn’t seem to fit somehow. He’s not sure why.

Speaking of that wish, Henry can’t stop thinking about what the strange guy yelled right before his mom slammed the door. “You have to remember, ” he’d said. Like it was the most important thing ever.

Family. They have to remember. It’s all so… Henry’s not sure, but it sends a shiver down his spine. It was seriously just a couple of days ago that he’d made that wish. That their family would be complete. Because it felt like there was something out there that he couldn’t quite remember. It’s spooky and way too much of a coincidence to let slide.

So, maybe magic isn’t so stupid after all? Maybe some strange guy showing up is somehow connected to his wish? And his mom just slammed the door in the guy’s face!

-- Killian --

That went… about as poorly as he should have expected. Nothing is ever easy with that lass. Crumpled on the floor outside her door, Killian isn’t sure which hurts more, his manhood or his heart. She did a rather stunning job of crushing both.

He’s a bloody idiot. He should have known, should have realized that she didn’t… that she wasn’t…

Gods above and below, he actually attempted to give her True Love’s Kiss. They’d only ever shared one kiss of any kind. One soul-shattering, life-altering kiss, to be sure but…

A one-time thing. Don’t follow me.

It was just a kiss. How is that your darkest secret?

He should have known, but he had hoped. He’d hoped in a way that he didn’t think he would ever be capable of doing again. She’s given him that, and even as he sloshes through a mire of self-loathing disappointment, he’s grateful to her.

I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah… that is, until I met you.

She is his new dream, his beacon guiding him out of the storm into a fair harbor. It matters not that she doesn’t return his feelings. He came here to save her, not to make love to her. He will find a way. He will bring her back to the people who love her. All the people who love her. He shall bring her home and she’ll save the day once more, not because she’s ‘The Savior’, but because she’s Emma-bloody-Swan and he’s yet to see her fail.

He must not give up. He must encourage her to remember who she is, her true self, not whomever Regina’s blasted false memories have conjured her into thinking she is. Emma is a smart woman, practical, but with a keen intuition. He’ll need hard evidence to get her to listen to him. Once she does, he hopes (there’s that word again) that her innate ability for detecting lies will convince her he’s speaking the truth.

But what evidence can he possibly offer? He racks his brain as he drags his sorry carcass off the floor and stumbles down the hallway. Gods, but this is a strange land. All these people living in what amounts to nothing more than little crates all stacked on top of each other into towering monstrosities. He’s seen tenement buildings in his travels, of course, but nothing like…

Wait. He’s seen exactly this kind of tenement before. It was here, in this very land. Baelfire’s - that is to say, Neal’s - place. He found it once. Perhaps he can locate it again? He’s grasping at straws, he knows, but this may very well be his only chance. The only place he can find something to make Emma believe again.

And when she believes, when she remembers… No. He tries once more to snuff out the tiny spark inside him that should have been fully doused when her knee connected with his groin, and yet it persists.

When I win your heart, Emma, and I will win it, it will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.

There’s not a day that’ll go by I won’t think of you.

Good.

Perhaps she did want him. Perhaps she does… No. No, no, no. No. At the very least, he cannot waste time thinking on it now.

For now, he must focus on the task of getting her to believe. To remember. Once she does, he will bring her home.

Whatever happens after that, well… That’s up to her. As for him, he’s made his decision. Even before he made the deal with Blackbeard. Home is where the heart is, after all, and his heart is with Emma Swan.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs canon extension #cs canon compliant #cs storybook #The Long Road Home #lookit I wrote something short for once!

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fr-blackiebelle · 7 years

Text

The Sunrot Resurrections: Part I - Overture

First | Next | Back

@incalyscent, @tangelojack

When Juarve was a little girl, she heard the dead whispering.

She was prone to wandering, and her mama never paid much attention to where she went. Her mama never paid much attention to anything at all.

Juarve would walk out of the caverns, past the guards, past the wards, and head into the Boneyard. Some of the dead sang sweetly, humming old prayers and hymns on their long-still breath. Others would bemoan of their violent ends, while others wanted revenge for their long-ago murders.

She would come home as the sun set, and nobody missed her. She would hide among older brothers and sisters, all dressed the same in black pelts and hides. Her father had too many children too fast to keep them all straight.

Sometimes she told her mama what the dead told her, and Cosette would tell her to stop playing games that would give her nightmares. So she stopped telling her mama what she did during the day.

Once she told Ragbala, the fervent holy-healer, about the things she heard. He was a friend to all the younger dragons in the clan, and would always take their questions seriously. “There’s a logical explanation for this,” he assured her. “You aren’t mad, I’ll figure it out. Don’t you worry one bit.”

He introduced her to his friend and fellow holyhealer, Firasas. They held her steady and called her magic from her body. She had a vast surplus of plague magic, though perfectly harmless. They could drain the excess from her, with the cost of suppressing her potential as a mage. She politely declined, as she could not imagine the silence.

Years later, how she wished to turn back time.

A fae rode into Virulent on the back of an elk. He was old, with tattered wings, bleary eyes, and dented armor. A warrior once, but now he preferred to trade goods. Her father agreed to give him a place in the clan.

Juarve was curious about this stranger, and asked him what happened to his wings. Her mother never taught her tact.

The fae flicked his blackened, stubby wings, then whispered out in carefully-practiced tone of amusement; “I served dragons greater then I, child, and got my reward for it. A little squabble with some ice mages was enough to ground me.”

And so began their friendship.

She never learned what his name was, not until much later. She thought him as the stranger with the twisted back, and he thought her as the Chieftain’s last daughter.

He was a quiet ear, this stranger, and would let her ramble on for ages. He rarely spoke until she told him of the dead, of the dreams.

“I saw my mama in my dreams last night, but she was all wrong. Her skin was pale and her armor was gold and her eyes were bright red.”

The stranger had seen her parents before, he knew what they looked like, knew that this was wrong. He gave her a strange look. She continued.

“I saw my father too, and he was wearing a headdress over his face.”

The stranger took her deep into the Boneyard.

They traveled by night, by the moonlight. She was fearful of a mirror attack, but the stranger said that he would kill them if they did. The glint in his eye made her believe he wasn’t joking.

He rode atop his elk, and the elk pulled a cart. There were a few rations, but nothing filling, and only enough for a fortnight. He packed a bizarre amount of salted meat, as neither of them had teeth suited for that. There was a bale of hay for the elk, and a few more sacks that she was forbidden to look in. She walked beside the cart.

Juarve did end up looking in a sack, out of curiosity alone. There was a golden war-gauntlet, meant for a larger breed, carved with runes and battle-blessings. It was beautiful, and must have come from the Ashfall Waste judging from its craftiness. She made to touch it, to touch this gold finery and run her unworthy claws against the loveliest thing in the Wasteland. It burned.

On the pad of her thumb and forefinger, the fur was burnt away and the flesh was scorched. The pain went away as soon as she let go, but her arm tingled for days. Why the stranger had this infernal, cursed armor, she did not know. She didn’t think she wanted to.

One day, three days into the Boneyard, they found what they were looking for. Or so the stranger said. It looked like just more bones from a distance.

She saw a graveyard of bones, lined neatly by the row, whispering of their murder. Whispering of a death by ice and magic. Some of them laid on their sides, bones picked clean and white, while others laid jumbled in piles of ash, bones splintered and blackened.

They found the ruins of a great bone wall, torn down like someone wanted it to be forgotten. The stranger stalked around its width until he found where the gate used to be. Nearby were three skulls, each antlered, each burned, each with a rope through a eye socket to link it to the others. The fae cut free the skull with heavy black antlers, and let the other two lie. The fallen skulls whispered of their unrightful deaths in battle, surrounded by fire. The black-antlered skull was silent.

This was the first time in her life she had encountered this. The silent dead. It was downright bizarre, and left a sour taste in her mouth. It made her think about Ragbala’s offer to take away her magic. She took along the other two antlered skulls, tying them around her waist, just to fill this foreboding silence.

“My name is Mars,” the stranger told her, that morning during supper, unprompted. He said nothing more, but appeared heartened by the finding of the skull.

It took them another two nights of wandering to find something else, though this was even more puzzling to her, as it blended in with the rest of the Boneyard. Why they needed this one, she didn’t know.

The guardian had died on their back, the long fingers of their wings flared outward. The hot Wasteland sun had cured the thin tendons that held the bones together. Other than their skull, the skeleton was untouched.

The skull was a ghastly thing. Juarve said that the dragon must have died by being beaten with a rock, and the stranger agreed with her. Its jaw was broken in three and laid amongst its neck, and teeth laid scattered all around in a halo. The whole face was caved in to a gaping black hole. She would not had been able to identify it as a guardian besides its deep chest and shape of its horns.

“We’ll need to collect the bones,” Mars said. “We need every one of them, child.”

And by ‘we’, he meant her. She scooped up handfuls of teeth and sand, picked up long fragments of bone, and strained to lay ribs lengthwise in the cart. Mars traced out protective wards in the sand, and kept watch from his perch in the blackened skull’s antlers.

When every last piece was picked from the filth, they set off again. Mars painted a ward on her forehead, and the tingle in her arm spread to her spine. Juarve followed the cart, quietly. The guardian just as quiet, and she stared into the black, ruined depths of the skull as they walked.

It was when they saw a tendril she realized where they were going.

On the horizon was a red wall, bumpy and twisted with tendrils. The soil was starting to become a darker red then the rest of the Waste, and the air grew more humid, and stayed warmer at night. They were approaching Rotrock Rim, and the Wyrmwound could be their only destination. The tingle in her body began to grow stronger, like her leg if she sat on it too long.

“We should reach our destination in the next night,” Mars told her, examining a map. “And we’re not in the path of any known clans living around the Rim, especially the Hellreek, so we shouldn’t have any trouble.”

They reached the Wyrmwound while the moon was still high.

There were pilgrims, ragged and hungry, praying along the rim. There were preachers preaching, there were pairs throwing in food as sacrifices. A band of raiders, led by a fearsome warlord, were throwing in pink-eyed captives for success on future raids.

Mars backed the cart up to the edge, and began to throw bones into the churning liquid.

Juarve helped him, moving the largest bones. She launched the great rib-bones, each the girth and length of a small tree, and found almost fun in it as they struck the surface with almighty splashes.

While she was throwing bones, the fae stopped to trace runes into the soil. The liquid began to bubble where the bones were striking, like a pot about to boil over. Some of the pilgrims wandered close, curious as to what was happening.

As another bone disappeared, she felt something warm drip down her face, and touched her scorched hand to her forehead. It came away red, the ward painted on her forehead had begun to bleed. She held the hand up, words caught in her throat.

Mars came over and touched her forehead, no pity in his eyes. He caught a fistful of red, a fistful of blood, and climbed back into the cart. Only the ruined skill remained, staring over the Wyrmwound with its ruined face.

He spat into his bloody palm, and began to trace runes onto the skull. Down the lengths of the horns and the space between them, anywhere the bone was intact. Dragons on the other side were coming over, she could see them pointing and running.

Mars began to chant, stopping his hand from painting, talking in tongue older then draconic. A tongue that only the oldest wyrms could know. She did not know it, but somehow the words were hot in her ears. He was called the deities by their names, she realized, not by their titles. This was blasphemy, and her body ached with the plague magic inside her, making every fiber of her being sing.

“By the binding bones of Artaios, by the endless heavens of Ghurab, by the depthless seas of Rhenik, by the eternal forges of Akiri. By the will and order of the Lightweaver, I beg of thee, O Jhortanas, Mother of Rot, Sister of Life, Bringer of Plague, to grant life to this Daughter of Plague, who was struck down before she could prove her greatness and worthiness to life.”

Mars moved behind the skull, bracing himself against it, preparing to push.

“O Jhortanas, know that her resurrection will bring upon change to the Wasteland, know that your domain and your will will spread far, know that the Sister of Shadows will cower and yield to you and the Sister of Light, and that the Sister of Life will once more taste your claws.”

He pushed the skull to the end of the cart, so it teetered, about to fall.

“O Jhortanas, accept this boon and alliance, and grant this Daughter of Plague life once more.”

Mars tipped the skull over the edge of the cart, and it rolled into liquid of the Wyrmwound hard enough to splash. Juarve was struck by droplets of the magic, and her clothes began to sizzle. She did not feel it over the beating of her heart and the dull throb of magic in her bones.

For a few long seconds, nothing. Nothing at all.

Then the skull resurfaced, its empty, black, smashed in grin bobbing in the acid, its surroundings in a frenzied boil, then slender fingers of red plague magic began to trace the runes.

Fragments of bone began to slide from the depths of the Wyrmwound, from the Plaguebringer’s cauldron of rot, and fitted themselves back into place, giving shape to the guardian’s ruined features. When it was reformed enough that Juarve could see the black pits of its eyes, flesh rose from the liquid. It attached to the bone, it covered the runes and she could see the shape of muscle forming. The jaw snapped back into place, and long strands of flesh rolled down to shroud it. A tongue flashed pink behind the sun-bleached glimpse of teeth.

She was horrified, disgusted, and in shock, and she couldn’t stop watching.

As white scales began to envelope the muscle, the head started to rise from the surface. It was supported by a red neck, ivory scales striping into place up and down it. Then the wings, broad and elegant with the membrane lashing between the bones, the holes rapidly sealing. A white snake of a tail.

The resurrected Guardian moved to the lip of the Wyrmwound, and reared. Her back rose, red magic pouring off like water, her white claws digging into that dark red earth. A cry, a deep primal thing, rose from the hollow of her sun-bleached chest to tear out of her tattered throat. She climbed from the depths of all Eleven Hells, returned from the dead, and lived.

Juarve went to her knees, and so did Mars. Half of the pilgrims had fled into the night, while the rest threw themselves willingly into the Plaguebringer’s embrace.

“Toril,” Mars cried in a voice a wonder and reverence that did not suit a old wyrm.

She dipped her head, regarding the fae with a red eye, a eye as red as the magic that created her. Toril stared at him for a long few moments, then swiveled her head to look at Juarve.

Her other eye, she saw, was gold.

#Virulent Lore #Clan Lore #Mars #Juarve #Toril #goddamn that is some good lore if i do say so myself #have fun caly #and have fun tj #i threw a hellreek mention in there #which is realistic because they're RIGHT THERE and it would suck if mars's plans got found out too soon so he has to be careful about that #i don't know if you read the tags #i hope you do because my tags are quality #i'm really proud about how it's turned out #i mean #I've improve a lot since i started writing lore #since like two years ago #i've been planning this for like six months #and i wrote it in like four hours #gold star for me

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