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mardereads19 · 3 years

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Elriel Month 🌸🦇

Day 25:

Continuation of Day 8: Invisible String.

Cassian followed Elain as she circled in silent feet the camp along the shore of Koschei’s lake. They kept hidden behind the trees, but shadows surrounded both of them, blocking out any other noise that might escape by mistake while also keeping them out of sight.

Earlier today, when Elain had exited the tent after her vision, and had done as the shadow had bade her to do —follow— Elain discovered that there was more than one of them waiting for her. Shadows began to appear without notice, and Elain could not tell if they were Azriel’s shadows escaping from wherever Koschei was holding them captive or if they were new shadows coming over to help her. What she did know, however, was that she could communicate with them, and that they followed her lead.

Azriel, one of them whispered in her ear and Elain came to a stop, crouching low to look over a fallen tree trunk at the conglomeration of tents.

Cassian’s brows had been furrowed in grim determination and fury ever since Amren had confirmed there had been fear in Azriel’s tent, but now he scanned the dark glade, lifting an eyebrow. “Koschei has gathered forces since we last saw him.”

The Inner Circle had barely wasted an hour back at their glade to come up with a plan to rescue Azriel. They had expected a few other males to fight aside the death-lord, but this many soldiers? It was riskier than any of them had anticipated. It also did not help at all that it was the dead of night with no moon to help them see. There were only a few lamps every several feet and a bonfire by the center of this camp.

“Shit,” Cassian whispered, a slight quiver in his voice. Elain looked at him and by his expression she gathered that it was fear that had made his voice shake. Elain’s shoulder sagged. What could possibly make a determined Cassian blanch in fear? He swallowed and pointed ahead. Elain glanced to where he was pointing expecting the worst, but she saw nothing urgent. Only a flag she did not know waving in the soft breeze in a quiet tent. “Rask.”

Elain understood, then. One of the three countries they had feared could join with Hybern during the war was already allied with Koschei. It would be a matter of time before the other two also joined in.

“This must only be a small fraction of its army,” Cassian murmured, shaking his head. “Shit.”

Elain dispelled the worry that entered her mind at the new knowledge and instead focused on the task at hand. Azriel. There would be time to worry after he was safely in her arms.

When Elain had been in Hybern and her sister and shadowsinger had come to save her, Feyre had been able to shift into that priestess that she had known well. But neither Cassian nor Elain could shift and neither of them knew anyone here to use as leverage. Going in and out of this camp was a work meant for stealth. Meant for spies.

Meant for shadows.

I have need of you, she whispered to her friends. The ones surrounding her stilled, listening. She relaid her plan to them, wondering if the shadows would approve —if Azriel would approve— but they made no comment before Elain observed as a few of them slipped away and into the camp, staying close to the ground and hidden in the darkness.

Cassian stopped looking at the Rask flag and glanced between the retreating shadows and Elain. She knew he had questions, just like the rest of the inner circle had. None had said them out loud, but the time would come for them to do so. What would Elain answer? She didn’t know how she had gained the power to understand the shadows. The only thing she did know was that she was the only one who could help Azriel and that the shadows had sensed this. They had winnowed her and Cassian here.

Other than that, she was just as confused as her friends and family were.

A few murmurs made their way over to them, the conversation not quite discernible, but she strained to hear it. Two males, by the sound of it. She heard their steps —twigs snapping under the soles of their boots— and the sound of a heartbeat began to register in her mind.

She turned to Cassian. “Can you hear those males speaking?”

He frowned, tilting his head. “I don’t pick up anything.” He blinked at her, eyes contemplative. “Can you?”

Elain nodded. It was her hearing then, it was sharpening like it did almost every night. Those males must be on the other side of the camp if Cassian could not hear them. Other soft noises began to become clear for her —snoring, pacing, tossing and turning.

The heartbeat.

Her own heart responded to that one heartbeat.

She focused on that, trying to remember Nuala and Cerridwen’s instructions on how to concentrate on a sound and fade the others into the background. It was difficult and Elain hadn’t practiced much, since she had those ear plugs to block out noice back at the river house.

Movement caught her eye, and Elain saw a shadow approach them.

Follow, it whispered.

And Elain meant to do so as her surroundings went black.

***

Azriel had been left chained to the roof of the tent, a sturdy pole holding the structure to ensure he couldn’t collapse the whole thing.

Except, he couldn’t even try. Whatever hold of Azriel Koschei had seized remained. He could not move, could not speak. The only thing he could do was breathe and blink. He felt as useless as he had when he had been locked in that gods forsaken cell.

He wasn’t alone here either. His shadows had been left with him, but he had noticed how some had vanished. Azriel could not tell whether they were doing it out of their own free will or if Koschei was commanding them through his control over Azriel.

If the shadows were leaving out of their own free will, what did that mean? Azriel had seen them do things without his approval lately. They would follow Elain, or bring her flowers, or guard her door. They had begun acting without directions. But did that mean that they’d abandon him now at last?

Azriel pushed the worry away.

***

“Is this where they are keeping Azriel?” Cassian asked as he followed after Elain. His wings shifted, as if it were difficult to hold back the urge to burst into the sky and take a better look at the camp. But the sound of wings flapping would give them away.

They both followed the instructions the shadows gave her. Sometimes they commanded them to stop, telling Elain a soldier was turning a corner, and sometimes they changed directions entirely to avoid colliding with anyone. Elain listened to them and did as was told, the shadows blocking out the sounds of their steps, even though Elain applied every lesson by Azriel and her friends to her every move.

“Not exactly,” she answered Cassian as they neared a big white tent. Elain could hear Azriel’s heart beating a steady rhythm, but it was fading behind her instead of getting louder. She hoped she was not making a mistake in trusting her instinct and the vision she had just seen.

A box of black stone. She had seen that before. This time, she had seen where it was.

This tent.

Two males stood guarding the entry and the shadows stopped Elain and Cassian some feet away, hidden behind another smaller tent —snores coming from within.

“What do you mean not exactly?”

Elain ignored the slight angry tone with which Cassian spoke. “I just need to get something first.” He grumbled and she turned around. “Just— Trust me. Please.”

Cassian’s eyes softened and he nodded, but Elain saw his hesitancy. She understood. She also wondered whether she was losing precious time.

***

Azriel kept pushing against the leash that controlled him. Slamming his hands against the wall that now held him captive in his own mind. But it was powerful, ancient magic and he could not break free. He wasn’t sure if even Rhysand’s powers could find a way around this mind control. Could Helion break this wall?

His shadows slithered around the ground, but none lifted up to his ear, none spoke to him. Where they quiet because of Koschei or in spite of Koschei? Azriel didn’t want to find out if Koschei could hear everything Azriel listened to. If the shadows revealed anything about his family’s knowledge...

He was losing his mind in this silence. The only thing that surrounded him was darkness with the exception of the thin line of light that came in through the tiny gap between flaps of the tent.

It was like being back in his cell, except worse.

He didn’t know where Elain was or if she was safe.

Had Koschei ordered more of his lackeys to go back for her? To apprehend her and his family, his friends?

My boss knows who you are. And now, he knows what makes you weak, too.

Azriel had done this, it had been his fault, because he could not control his emotions, he could not see Elain was playing a part. He had showed his hand, he had revealed their plan. He deserved to be held captive. He deserved to be abused this way, because it had been his—

The tent’s flap opened and a shadow gazed into the room before leaving again.

Strange. But not strange at all. Koschei was using his shadows then, spying on Azriel through his own shadows. Using them for whatever reason.

The ones that were still in the tent filtered out after the one that visited and Azriel’s heart began to thunder against his chest. Now he was truly alone. Alone in this darkness. And Elain?

He had been taken away from the light once more.

The flap moved again and Azriel prepared to meet koschei. To suffer whatever torture he would implement to Azriel by making him do his bidding.

But the scent that hit him was known to him, familiar and lovely and it woke up his most visceral impulses. To protect, to guard, to touch, to kiss, to—

Elain hurried over to him, a sob coming out of her mouth. A pair of wings with a talon at their apexes almost cut the tent’s material overhead, and Cassian cursed under his breath, his eyes shining with relief.

Something in him lit up with curiosity, watching.

Azriel’s heart was a drum as Elain lifted her hands to his face, her thumb brushing his cheek.

“Azriel.” Her voice was a melody in his ear, a caress against that wall around his mind.

Azriel felt a tear slip down his cheek as he took in her beautiful face, her warm brown eyes, glowing with tears of her own. Her lips twisted up slightly.

Her gaze dropped to his torso, exactly where he had been stabbed. She frowned as she touched the fixed skin, but her shoulders relaxed. She met his eyes again.

“Are you hurt?” She removed the gag from his mouth, but he could not move. Could not speak the words that were in his heart.

You came for me.

But she saw it in his eyes and she dipped her chin in a small nod. Cassian stared as she lifted herself on her tiptoes and kissed Azriel’s lips, with enough pressure to reassure herself and him that they were both here, that it was real.

His light had come for him.

But he couldn’t kiss her back.

Cassian cleared his throat, his expression full of confusion and shock. “We should hurry.” Red flared from his Siphons.

Elain stepped away and began inspecting his chains. Azriel was trying his best to break free from Koschei’s hold on him, but he could not move. Cassian noticed.

“Shit,” Cassian said, approaching Azriel and waving a hand before his eyes. “Koschei has a hold on him.”

Elain stepped before Azriel again, cupping his face. “Azriel, can you hear me?” He beat and beat against the wall, roaring her name over and over, but he could do nothing but watch her as her shoulders stiffened in anger. She went back to working on the chains. “We’re going to get you out of here, Azriel. Don’t worry.”

Cassian shook his head, pain distorting his face. “If we take him like this, he’ll stay this way.”

Elain whirled on him. “I am not leaving him here!”

“Of course not,” Cassian said fiercely. “But we have to find a way to break Koschei’s control over him.”

Shadows burst into the tent, every one of them twirling with a sense of urgency. Azriel heard their warning just as Koschei stepped into the tent, a cruel smile on his face.

“How do you plan to do that?”

#elrielmonth #elrielmonth21 #elain archeron #Elain #Azriel #elriel #elriel endgame #pro elriel #elriel fanfic #elriel oneshot #my writing

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jimbotnik-fanboy-smh · 3 years

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Hello there! Can I request a Male Reader x Robotnik where Robotnik wants to slow dance with their reader for the first time and eventually have the reader get their first kiss from Robotnik?

Of course!! This is!!! So cute!! :))!!Warnings: none. There are none. It’s all fluff. I guess there are a lot of repressed feelings and mabye some repressed homosexuality.Male!Reader!!

---[+]--- It had been a while since you’d been hired by one of the biggest, strangest tech lords in the ‘’fantastic’’ united states of the great America. Of course, this was.... Sarcasm. You didn’t really like it in the USA. But, it was whatever. The Doctor wouldn’t exactly let you leave. He made sure to have you by his side at all times. For some reason. He was always either stoeic, or absolutely unhinged. So you made sure to keep him calm. His actual name was Ivo, but he wouldn’t let you call him that. It was all Doctor and Sir and Dr. Robotnik. Weird names for a weird guy, you assumed. But, of course, there was something that ruined this otherwise... Normal-ish assisstant job. You were sort of into The Doctor. Aka your boss. He was just... Your type. Tall, lanky, a bit nonsensical, dark eyes, a bit dark in general.... Kinda evil. It wasn’t your fault that every single movie villain was so goddamn sexy. You sighed, looking down at the tray you were holding. God, sometimes you felt like a butler. Honestly, you didn’t really mind, but... Whatever. You quickly knocked on the door, hearing a muttered ``come in....`` from the other side of the metal sliding door. It opened, and you walked in, giving the Doctor a quick smile. ``Your lunch, Sir. I got your red bull, that one chicken salad you requested last time, a ham and cheese sandwich and some painkillers.`` Your posture straightened up the second you walked into the room, and your voice became more clear and proffessional. You had learned from many run-ins with him that being meek wouldn’t make him happy. He’d just tell you to pin yourself against the wall and lecture you on the importance of standing up for yourself. Usually followed by a sort of sad look from him, and then being thrown out of his office. So yeah.... Best to stay proffessional. ``Just leave it on the table, Agent.`` The Doctor replied, clearly busy with something. He waved a gloved hand toward a messy table, and you held back a sigh, seeing the mess of old plates, utensils and old cans of redbull. You moved it all out of the way as best as you could, placing the tray down. You could feel his eyes on you. Strange. Usually he’d be much too absorbed in his work... You looked back, seeing him fiddling with his hands, leaning on his workstation. ``What are you working on, Sir?`` You asked, seemingly snapping him out of his thoughts. He shook his head, turning back to his work, looking at it for a moment. You walked up behind him, looking at the work. It was messy. Just a clump of wires and a red eyeball looking thing. You shot a worried look over at him, and he seemed to flinch a bit, straightening up. ``It’s... Not important.`` He answered, waving the thoughts away with his hand, the leather squeaking slightly as he curled it into a half-hearted fist. You walked back to the table with the tray with a light smile, starting to pick up some plates and such, looking back at him. He was looking at you. His eyes were set... A bit lower than usual. You were probably just imagining things. This wasn’t about you anyways. He seemed.... Really out of it today. And not the normal sort of out of it that he could usually get into. He seemed... Nervous. ``Wait. Agent. Set the plates down. I have a request..`` You did as you were told, placing the plates down and folding your arms behind your back, calmly looking at him. ``I’m all ears, Sir. I’m here to help after all.`` You said, giving a light chuckle. For a second, in the bright glow of the floating screens, he looked almost... Embarrassed. Shy, even. God, you needed to stop imagining things. He was probably just going to ask for an extra sandwich or something. But why would he be so nervous about that? Something had to be going on. ``Well.... I was wondering if you.. Perhaps. Wanted to... Dance. With me.`` He said, grabbing a peice from the unfinished robot, fiddling with it. You didn’t even notice the suprise on your face before Ivo jolted a bit, tossing the peice. ``Augh- Forget it. Forget it. That was an idiotic question. You’re... free to go.`` He said, whirling back to his creation. You could tell he wasn’t actually working when his hands started moving. He was just tearing the thing apart. ``Sir I-`` You started, taking a deep breath. How could you possibly make this sound proffessional at all... ``I would love to have this dance with you.`` You slowly said, reaching out your hand as you moved a bit closer. Ivo turned slowly, looking down at your hand blinking. You gave a smile and a slow, encouraging nod. He took your hand. He actually took it. The leather of his gloves felt soft against your hand. It felt nice.. You pulled him in a bit closer, smiling up at him as you took the first step of a dance you learned long, long ago. Before any of this. He sheepishly followed along, learning the pattern of the dance just as quickly as you had hoped. You brought him in a bit closer, feeling how tense he was. His shoulders were pulled up so high, they damn near touched the top of his head. You brought up a gentle hand to his shoulder, and he seemed to flinch just a little before slowly lowering his shoulders. ``Relax, Doctor. You’re doing amazing.`` You muttered, smiling yet again, rubbing your thumb against his shoulder, drawing small circles with it. Slowly, you closed your eyes, starting to hum a gentle melody, syncing it up with the steps of the dance. This seemed to relax him a bit more, and somewhat helped his rythm. He really couldn’t focous when he wa nervous and you knew this. So it was your job to make sure he was relaxing. You figured you were doing a pretty good job. Plus, he didn’t need to know how much you were enjoying this. You leaned in, resting your head on his chest, feeling his hand shyly drift down to your waist. That made you shiver... He must’ve noticed. You could feel his heartbeat pick up ever so slightly. Different music started flowing through the lab. The same song you’d been humming, but it was the actual version, the one with instruments and shit. Not just you, humming aganst your Boss’ chest. You looked up, and Ivo was smiling. You smiled back, laughing lightly as you pickd up the pace, causing him to trip a little. A mischevious laugh escaped you, and he laughed aswell, pulling you in. ``Oh, you’re getting it now, Mister.`` He said, his voice teasing and filled with a mischeif that was highly unusual for him. Before you could reply, he was spinning you around, leading the dance. He was a really good dancer, and you knew, but you didn’t know he could dance like this. You barely even thought he liked other people, much less dancing with them. But here you were, laughing as Ivo spun you around, bringing you in before spinning you again, Sometimes the dance slowed down a bit, but there was always a sense of humour to it. Always a whirring sense of energy in the air. Up until the song ended. He spun you around, dipping you down as the last note hit. You gave a laugh, calming down a bit, slowling your breathing. It was quiet for a bit, nothing but the two of your catching your breaths. Then you looked up at him. At his face. At his eyes, hiding behind those dark, intimidating glasses. And you saw him. Fully saw him. Not as a two-sided coin of either manic energy or stoeic nature, but as the complex being he always had been. He looked so much.. Smaller now. Tired. Nervous. Just like you. You slowly brought a hand up to his face, hesitantly removing his glasses. he let you. His eyes were greyish, a little darker than you would’ve thought. You met his eyes, and knew what was going to happen. You had both been waiting for it for so long.... He hesitantly moved in, and you closed the gap, feeling him melt as he brought you up to a standing position, pulling back a bit. ``I..... Thank you. For the dance.... And.... That. I’ve never.... Done that before. It was.. Enjoyable. You’re good at it.`` He said, awkwardly coughing as he turned to look at the screen, his face almost entirely flushed. You gave a light laugh, turning his face and gently pressing your lips against his. He melted yet again. What a big softie... ``You’re not bad yourself, Sir.`` He gave a chuckle, bringing you into a light hug. ``Please... Call me Ivo.`` ---[+]--- Wowa wowa!! Uhhhh Mad pogz, Ig?? Honestly, I just love writing soft Botnik, and this was perfect. Thank you so much for the request!! I hope this scratched your Jimbotnik Fluff itch!! #jimbotnik #dr robotnik #fluff #x reader #x Male!reader #dancing #slowdancing #fanfiction #sonicmovie #thesonicmovie #jimbotnik x reader #jimbotnik x Male!reader #dr robotnik x reader #dr robotnik x male!reader

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whenitcounts33 · 3 years

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last name (1)

Summary: When Alice and Bella dragged Rose to Vegas to celebrate graduation, Rose never imagined anything actually happening like in the movies. Then she wakes up the morning before they leave, married to the very good looking man from the bar.

Rose bit her lip, cringing when the plane's wheels touched down on the tarmac and sent up a thank-you to whatever God was listening. Flying was the worst way to travel in her book and she hoped she could talk Alice and Bella into letting her drive back to Seattle. She knew it wasn't likely, but a girl could dream.

Alice turned around in her seat to grin at Rose, earning a grimace from her best friend. Bella, sitting next to Rose, rolled her eyes and elbowed the blonde playfully. "It wasn't that bad, Ro," she said with a smile.

Rose glowered and held out her hand to show Bella the half-moon marks her nails left in her palms. "Over-dramatic," Bella said helpfully, making Rose snort. She was right, of course, but Rose wouldn't admit it.

"Maybe," she allowed, standing up when prompted and stretching her arms above her head. "I'm just glad Bella's bad luck didn't strike the plane down." Bella glared at her, and at Alice when she laughed, muttering "har har" under her breath.

They made their way off the plane and to the luggage claim, Alice chattering a mile a minute about their plans. "Check-in at the hotel is at 11:30 and we have reservations for dinner at 6," she paused for breath, cheeks pink with excitement. "Tomorrow we have a date with the strip and sight-seeing. Dinner at 6 again."

Rose gave a non-committal hum, grabbing her bag when she saw it. Alice and Bella grabbed theirs and Alice grabbed onto both of them, towing them along towards the automatic doors of the exit.

The awfully hot air of the dessert hit her in the face like a brick and Rose immediately started to sweat. "Why did we have to come here again?" She demanded as they waited for the large family ahead of them to get into the minivan taxi waiting at the curb.

Alice gave her a glare that would have sent a weaker person running but Rose was used to her and just glared back. "You are going to have fun Rosalie Hale, or so help me," she warned, a small finger poking into Rose's chest. "We are finally finished with school and we are going to celebrate!"

Rose fought back a small smile, and nodded for Alice's benefit. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, brushing Alice away with a flick of her wrist.

Bella watched them with a small smile, amused by their antics and knowing nothing Rose said or did would change the plans. Alice was a force to be reckoned with and Bella, and Rose, knew to just lay back and let Hurricane Alice go down it's path. Though that never stopped Rose from teasing her best friend when she got a tad bit out of control and or enthusiastic.

The hotel was a block away from the strip and two nightclubs, huge and intimidating with the bright lights and people streaming in and out. Rose welcomed the AC with a sigh of relief, letting the cold air raise goosebumps on her arms and shoulders. She fluffed out her hair, wincing at the sweat wetting it and the back of her neck. "Couldn't have picked out a cooler climate, Al?" She asked, already knowing the answer. "Like maybe the Antarctic?"

Alice ignored her, stomping towards the front desk, mumbling under her breath about ungrateful friends and how they are traitors that don't know how to have a good time.

The lobby was huge, with shops and restaurants and big flat screen TVs with couches and armchairs everywhere. Rose thought it was too much, but what did she know of interior design?

Bella was watching her, a crease over her brown eyes and a frown on her lips. It was a look she got every time Rose and Alice butted heads. Or when her boyfriend, Edward, was being melodramatic and over the top. Which was all the time.

"Just try to have fun," Bella told her, tugging on a lock of Rose's hair with a smile. "Alice really wants to do this and it won't hurt to have a small vacation, just us girls." Rose sighed, knowing Bella was right, and nodded. "I'll try," she promised, letting Bella tug her towards the front desk where Alice was.

It's not that she didn't want to have a girls-vacation, Rose was just really excited, and anxious, to start her new job. She fought so hard for this, to show the men that she deserved a spot in the "boys club" of mechanics. She wanted to show them that she could be just as good, better even, than all of them combined.

The room, a suite really, was quite nice. Bigger than her whole apartment, and better furnished. She dropped onto the large bed with a sigh and spread out her arms and legs so she took up the whole mattress. It felt heavenly against her body and the sheets smelled like lavender. She could hear Bella and Alice walking around, oohing and aww-ing at everything.

She sat up after a moment, blinking to wake herself back up. They could see the strip from the balcony, the light and signs dazzling and hard to miss. She missed Seattle, with it's muted colors and smaller buildings. She missed her small apartment and the diner two blocks away with the amazing coffee and omelets.

"Get a grip, Rose," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. No need to feel home-sick, she'd be back home in four-days, all snuggled up in her own bed. She watched Bella look at herself in the mirror in the bathroom, pursing her lips and shaking out her hair. Alice was somewhere in the living room, stuffing luggage under the coffee table.

"We can stay in the hotel for now, then leave at 5:20 to get to the restaurant." Alice was saying, now in the bathroom and putting all their toiletries in a neat little line for later use. "I wanna see the little boutique they have in the lobby," Bella interjected, sitting on the bed next to Rose. "It was cute," Rose agreed, shrugging. She wouldn't buy anything though, knowing stores in hotels always over charged everything and Rose did not want this trip to put a considerable gap in her bank account.

Her father made good money as a banker, but they were a middle-class family, not rich by any means but far from poor. Her mom came from nothing though and instilled it in her daughter to always make sure she had enough money to live off of in her accounts, no matter what happened. She raised Rose to appreciate every check and every coin. Rose lived by that rule and tried to never spend money on anything that she didn't truly need. Alice, who came from old money and never had to worry, always laughed when she heard that, but Bella, who was raised on a one-parent income, understood better than any of their other friends.

"Boutique it is," Alice said, standing in front of them like a little tyrant, hands on her hips and a determined tilt to her head.

On the third day Rose openly admitted that the trip had been a good idea and that Alice was right. Alice had made Rose repeat it all with her phone trained on her face as she was recorded. "For the next time we argue and you say I'm never right," is what Alice had said to justify it. Rose, tipsy and easily agreeable, had laughed and hugged Alice, thanking her for forcing her to Vegas.

They were at a nightclub a few blocks from the hotel, hips swaying to the music and alcohol running through their veins. Rose felt warm, like someone had lit a match and set her blood on fire. It was a good warmth, one that started in her chest and went through her arms to her fingertips, down her chest and into her legs. Her head felt fuzzy and everything was bright and loud, calling to her like a siren song to keep on dancing and drinking.

She could feel someone watching her, the hair on the back of her neck standing up and the skin erupting in goosebumps. Her adrenaline spiked, unbidden memories bubbling up to the surface and she turned slowly, nails digging into her skin hard enough to hurt.

There were so many people in the club that it took her a minute to see who her watcher was. She finally found him, standing at the bar, tall and built like a line-backer, all hard muscle with a handsome face. The fact that he was so handsome did not quell her fear, it made it worse because pretty boys knew they could get away with more. It made them cruel.

The guy flushed, fair cheeks turning pink, when his eyes met hers and he realized he'd been caught staring. Rose watches him look away, biting his lower lip. His dark curls are sweaty, flopping down onto his forehead and sticking to the back of his neck. It makes her feel safer when he doesn't try to come over to her or stare at her again. She tells herself that he had just been spaced-out, merely looking in her direction, not at her. Lord knows she's done that plenty of times.

She tells herself later that it was the alcohol, not him being not creepy, that moves her feet over to him. Through the throng of people, away from the safety of her friends who don't notice her leave, and towards the giant of a man.

The smell of alcohol is stronger there, sharp and bitter and mixing with the salty tang of sweat, and her nose wrinkles against it. The guy turns his head to look at her when he notices a new person. His eyes are brown, reminding her of the forest surrounding Washington, and he has a very nice smile. Her heart flutters in response and she gives him a small smile back.

"I'm Emmett and I am sorry for being a creep and staring at you. My Ma taught me better," he says, voice smooth like honey and deep. He has a Southern twang that makes his words rise and fall in weird places, but Rose likes it. "If you wanna hit me, that's perfectly fine ma'am, I can take it," he adds before Rose can say anything. He stands up straight, arms at his side like a soldier. He's so tall he's half a head over her five-foot-eight and she feels small near him, which she likes more than she thought she would.

Rose let out a snort and he looked down at her so quickly he must have gotten whiplash. "I'm Rose and I won't hit you, my mom taught me better than that," she says, voice equals parts playful and haughty.

He gives her a slow grin and her stomach flips itself at the same time her heart skyrockets. So pretty her mind whispered, noting how the smile makes his eyes crinkle and how the left side of his mouth rises higher than the right.

"Well Rose," he says, and she tries to ignores the way his mouth wraps around her name, how pretty it sounds in that Southern twang. "Looks like I'll have to make it up to you in some other way."

The way he says it is dangerous, like some dark promise he's bound to keep. But Rose isn't afraid. Not of Emmett, who thinks highly of his mom, who smiles with his whole being and blushes when he looks her right in the eye.

So Rose smiles, and stands up to her full height so she can better look him in the eye. "Looks like it," she murmurs, and commits the happy gleam in his eyes to memory.

#last name #rosalie hale #emmett cullen #married in vegas au #twilight #alice cullen #bella swan

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667-darkavenue · 5 years

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shadow image

inspired by a couple of the headcanons from this post by @crowleyandaziraphaleruinedme

Agra, 1659. Locked in a tower, a fallen king gazes through the bars of his exquisite prison. No other captive would have the luxury of being held at the top of a marble palace, surrounded by a sprawling view of the capital city. Sometimes, he is allowed to sit on the veranda for fresh air. His daughter comes to see him most days, which helps with the loneliness. Most evenings, the family tutor is allowed to visit. He brings Shah Jahan new books to read. They discuss the Quran and pray together.

The fallen king always liked Aziraphale. He’d been there before the death of the queen and he’d stuck with Shah Jahan after, always reassuring. Even when the world doubted his sanity for dedicating his life to what seemed like a wasteful pipe dream that would come at a colossal price, Aziraphale understood and encouraged. Perhaps, a little too much.

“A clear view of her tomb from my prison, all day and all night.” Shah Jahan frowns at the Taj Mahal gleaming beneath the moonlight. “As far as torture goes, at least the pain is sweet.”

Aziraphale finishes slipping the last of the books he brought through a gap in the bars. “I’ve invited someone to come see it, actually. I’m afraid that’s why I cannot stay tonight.”

The fallen king is unperturbed. “Tell your friend about the lost dream.”

Reluctantly, Aziraphale nods. “Not a friend, but I’ll do that.”

At the correction, Shah Jahan gives a wistful smile, which means he has now misinterpreted what Aziraphale meant even more deeply than at first.

He waits on the edge of the bazaar that night, expecting that he will be the one spotted first. Aziraphale’s appearance doesn’t change much over time, but he is never sure what to look for when it comes to a certain demon.

“Hey, a guard just told me it’s closed at night,” a familiar voice complains at Aziraphale’s side.

He did predict that Crowley would be draped in black, but the veil is a surprise. It’s of the same material as the dark, diaphanous sari Crowley wears across a full sleeved, black velvet top.

“Well, hello. It’s alright, they know I’m working with the royal family.”

“Oh, you’re fancy.”

On their stroll to the great gate, Aziraphale fills Crowley in on the past decade’s local gossip. The king and queen’s epic love, most unusual for a political marriage.

“That’s what brought you here, is it?”

“Oh, no. It took me quite by surprise. It is the reason I stayed, I admit. There’s something remarkable here.”

“There was. And now we’re standing at the gates to her tomb.” Crowley tilts his head back to get a good look at the great gate, a massive red monument that blocks the view of the Taj Mahal behind it.

An inscription in the marble catches his eye.

“O soul, thou art at rest. Return to the Lord at peace with Him, and He at peace with you,” he reads aloud, then turns to Aziraphale with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “You sure I’m allowed in here, then?”

“It’s somewhat an artistic statement. This gate is supposed to represent a transition from the material world,” Aziraphale vaguely waves a hand in the direction of the bazaar outside, “to the afterlife.”

There’s an interesting little optical illusion that he pauses to point out to Crowley. The first view of the resplendent Taj Mahal is framed by elegant arch of the main gate. Standing in the shadows of the gate, the moon-white monument looks like a picture perfectly framed in black. As they step closer, the Taj seems to grow smaller. Even Crowley, who isn’t typically fazed by tricks, finds himself walking back to the entrance to do a double take. It seems to grow bigger as he walks backwards, away from the Taj.

“How are you doing this?”

“It isn’t me!” Aziraphale gleefully insists. “I pitched in some ideas—call it divine inspiration—but they’re so brilliant here, they figured out how to make it real all on their own.”

Crowley walks through the gate again, taking the illusion in once more. “It is a little brilliant, I’ll give ‘em that. Like a human miracle.”

“And you’re only at the entrance. Just wait.” Aziraphale barely restrains himself from skipping as he leads the way through the lush garden beyond the gate.

He chatters on about how the garden is a representation of Jannah and the water channels along the two paths symbolise the four rivers that flow through it.

“Doesn’t look anything like it, but I suppose it’s a rough interpretation.”

“It’s a symbol, Crowley.”

“I’m not hating. I like this better, even.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

More up close to the Taj now, Aziraphale can see Crowley becoming spellbound. Beneath the veil, his eyes drink up the synthesis of grace and scale as if it could quench his soul. It is a masterpiece of a kind this world hasn’t seen before. Aziraphale shows him the splendid interior, all the way into the inner sanctum that holds the queen’s final resting place. He explains how everything from the foundation to the dome is a feat of engineering. He shares the other illusions he knows the building holds and finds that this magic on a monumental scope is actually quite fascinating to Crowley.

Then, the pair row a boat to the moonlight garden across the river, designed for a perfect view of the full structure. The full moon shines above, the breeze is balmy all around, and the water laps quietly at the riverbank beneath the garden. The Taj Mahal looms directly across from them, a tangible love song that invites anyone in the world to physically walk through its verses.

“I like this,” Crowley admits. “Hamlet exceeded expectations, too.”

“Oh, you liked it?” Aziraphale attempts to sound pleasantly surprised, but it comes off as pleasantly smug.

“Yeah, yeah. So, what did you need here? Consider me sold” He turns his attention to Aziraphale, ready to talk business.

They normally get that out of the way before the fun stuff, but Crowley has no complaints about the change of pace.

Aziraphale’s mouth flaps silently a couple of times before his tongue starts fumbling a response. “Er—I—Well, it’s… Nothing.”

“Oh, spit it out.”

“I don’t need a favor.”

“Sure, you don’t. You told me to come all this way for what? Just to hang out?”

“What’s that tone for?” Offended, Aziraphale splays a hand over his own chest. “We’ve ‘just hung out’ before.”

“Yeah, when we bump into each other.” Crowley throws his hands up only to let them fall back at his side, in an impatient gesture that clinks the silver bangles around his wrists. “I was on a different continent, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale takes a deep inhale. Crowley waits for a sigh that never comes. He just holds it in.

“You miss me?” Crowley prods, eyes gleaming behind the veil.

He looks away. “I asked you to come here because I wanted to know if it was just me.”

“Just you what?”

“This place… The humans poured their hearts and souls into making an earthly representation of heaven. But the thing is—I never saw anything this sublime in heaven. Not even close.” He gazes up and down the radiant marble mausoleum on the opposite bank. “This isn’t made of the cosmos, or the divine. It’s only stone on stone. And it beats heaven.”

Such things, he could never say aloud to the devout king that he prays with. He could never admit to his own kind. He has nothing to lose from sharing it with Crowley.

“It isn’t just you,” Crowley concedes with ease. “They didn’t snap their fingers and miracle it into existence. And still, they made a wonder. That’s pretty amazing. How many people worked on this, and for how long?”

“Too many for too long,” Aziraphale mumbles, casting his eyes down. “Shah Jahan became obsessed. He practically ran the empire into the ground to build it.”

“Classic aftermath of hubris.”

“I think I caused it. I pushed it too far, Crowley.” Aziraphale chews his lip, face wracked with guilt.

Helplessly confessing mistakes to this demon has somehow become a troubling habit. It would be easier to break if Crowley didn’t choose these moments to suddenly become a patient listener.

“I was so set on this idea of this… of an ageless message of pure love, unaffected by time or war—or by the rise and fall of empires. I… I kept suggesting more. It spiralled out of hand and so many people suffered for the emperor’s devotion.”

“But, Aziraphale, I saw you in there. You love it. You’re brimming with delight in there.”

“I can’t help it,” his voice comes dangerously close to being described as a whine, “Ever since its completion, it has this—this effect. I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s so enveloping, so enormous, that I can feel it from here. I can feel it in the streets. Even in the farthest corners of the city, I’m unsuspectingly pricked by traces of it.”

“What is ‘it?’”

“Oh. It’s love.”

Crowley furrows his brow, not sensing any of what’s obvious to the angel. “The old emperor’s love?”

“No, everyone’s love. The people who come here each day and see this, they leave with the notion of love in their hearts. So much of it that it pours a trail wherever they go. And it is so concentrated, right here.”

“Job well done for you, then. Jot that on your report and they’ll eat it up.”

“Of course, they will. I just—The dark side is still there, even if I don’t tell anyone.”

“You told me. Blame it on me, over here trying to spoil a good thing.”

“Shah Jahan has the best intentions. I mean, he was named king of the world and he wants his legacy to be his great love. All this, and he never even had the chance to complete his life’s work,” Aziraphale laments. “He was deposed and imprisoned by his own family, to save the empire from the extravagance of his grief.”

“He never—You mean this isn’t done?” Crowley blinks incredulously across the river, unable to fathom what could possibly be missing from the Taj.

Aziraphale shake’s his head. “Everything in its design is symmetrical. This garden, where we’re standing… This is where he planned to build another identical mausoleum, hewn from black marble, where he would be entombed directly across from his love. The black Taj would be a mirror image of the white Taj, down to the very last speck.”

“Ah.” Crowley gives a curt nod the moment the understanding hits. “If he brought the empire to the edge of ruin to finish the white one, I see how that idea could be the last straw for his family.”

Aziraphale nods back solemnly. “They aren’t wrong. Now, I wonder where he would be if I’d never suggested it.”

“I still think it was a good idea,” Crowley says with a shrug.

For a wordless minute, they gaze at the flawless, glowing Taj on the opposite bank. Alone.

Crowley’s the one to break the silence. “I could make a Black Taj.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Aziraphale clicks his tongue. “That’s an enormous miracle. You couldn’t explain yourself when they question what it’s for.”

“Nah, it’s not.” Crowley brings his hand up to his forehead, then slowly down.

It looks as though he is beginning to do the sign of the cross, except that his hand never moves to either side. It continues down in a straight line.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale looks over his shoulder, fearfully expecting to see a black monument rising.

“Other way, angel.”

Aziraphale’s face whips around to the white Taj, thankfully unchanged across the river. The full moon above it is sinking low, real low, and impossibly fast. Crowley pulls the moon down across the sky until it dips behind the Taj Mahal, framing the immaculate marble in its glow.

“Do you see it?” he asks.

At first, Aziraphale doesn’t see anything at all. Not until he looks at Crowley’s face and sees that his golden eyes are pointed downwards. Aziraphale follows his line of sight to the river running beneath them. He sees the Taj Mahal’s reflection in the wine-dark waters of the Yamuna, and his lips part in awe. The halo of moonlight around it creates a wavy shadow image of a black Taj Mahal.

Aziraphale turns his gaze to the fort in the distance, where he knows the fallen king spends his nights gazing at the Taj from his tower, and hopes that he is witnessing this miracle.

“It’s even better than we could’ve imagined,” he tells Crowley. “It’s magical.”

Crowley hums, making an effort not to look too pleased with Aziraphale’s delight. “I don’t move celestial bodies for anyone, you know.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale

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linelpisffxiv · 4 years

Text

FFXIVWrite2020 25: A Dream Made Flesh

G’raha had never been to Ishgard before. The way Lin was welcomed by several reminded him of how many times he had read Heavensward as the Exarch. Even meeting the author himself.

However, Lin hardly spent a day there before insisting he follow her to the airship landing.

“So, do you remember that place I took you to in the Burn a week ago?”

He nods his head. “You told me that the Allagan lab there was... trying to do something? Make land fly? Something about dragons? And Bahamut?”

She nods her head, a smile on her face. “Yes, it is. Among other things, a prison for the dragons of Meracydia, who tried to avenge their fallen father, tricked by Ascians to try and call him back. However, there’s more to it. Three other imprisoned primals. That I killed. But it seems something is keeping the power going.”

“It could be reserves. Do you know where this place is?”

Lin nods her head.

“Is it a stationary?”

It takes a moment for Lin to think. “I believe so. Somewhere north of Vylbrand if I recall correctly. But I wanted to show you more. There’s an Allagan Museum there. I’m sure you’d love it.”

A museum? The whole place must be one now.

It takes a few hours of flying on chocobos again before he sees the islands on the horizon. A large ship with chains and anchors to all of them, charging the power to float to everything around it. He can feel the ionization of the air.

Lin lands in a covered place, a landing of some sort. “Welcome, G’raha, to part of your birthright. Welcome to Azys Lla.”

He’d read about the place before, but it was considered a myth while he was at the Studium. And Lin had found it.

“Hm, now, where was the Fractal Continuum? I’m sure you’d love it. Even if I did... kinda beat up some of the exhibits?” She gives a nervous grin.

“Why did you fight the exhibits?”

“Well, the first time, I was trying to save a node Wedge cared for. Second time I was trying to protect an Ixal researcher who thought maybe this was their promised land.”

“It was,” G’raha says. He can feel the memories of his blood there. “The Ixalion were powerful creations. That some became spoken was a miracle that none know the truth of.”

Lin takes a few steps away, as if looking for someone.

Does something still work here?

“Ah, excuse me my lord.”

The words are as clear as day. Electronic.

A node.

There was the one that made its way to the First with him. He’s familiar with their tone.

He turns around. “Ah, pardon me, but did you call me ‘My Lord’?”

The node, one egg-shaped, with a strong point on top, chirps and spins. “Indeed. It has been three thousand two hundred and twenty seven years since Allagn Royalty last visited. What brings you here?”

Lin rushes over. “Ah, there’s one. We were looking for the Fr--”

“Excuse me, miss. I was speaking to the King. He may have gifted you his blood, but that does not mean you are royalty.”

Lin huffs.

“Could you take us to the Fractal Continuum, good node?”

The node chirps again. “I believe the Navigation Node would be the best guide for royalty these days, but do keep your consort under control.”

He can hear Lin choke at those words. He looks over and her hand itches to grab her rapier. A few seconds and she lets it pass.

The somewhat conical node introduces them to a round one with blue markings, the Navigation node in question.

It leads the way, both of them on their chocobos again.

“If you would put your hand here, Your Majesty, we will let you in. Please note, there have been reports of break-outs in the past few years. But I assure you, everything will be safe.”

He does so, and looks around. It is late allagan, when decadence overtook them. But still, the Continuum is an archaeological site in itself, ignoring the rest Azys Lla. Preserved stories and mindsets.

The first two hallways have signs of battle. If Lin hadn’t warned him about her previous ventures, he probably would have been more shocked, but the node’s narration does a wonderful job of filling in the gaps.

The third, however, is pristine. Full of plants and smaller animals from Meracydia, according to the node. Insects and a couple galago species rustle around them in the amber light of the Museum.

“I haven’t been to this part,” Lin says to herself as they walk around. “But it’s beautiful. How did you manage to keep all this going for thousands of years?”

The node replies to her. The answer, of course, lies in the energy of the warring triad, but also nodes caring for the specimens around them.

G’raha stops and takes Lin’s hand. He’s not sure why he brought the small bag with the necklace with him on this stretch of their trip, but he’s glad he did.

“Raha?”

He clears his throat. “Ah, when I was a boy, many long years ago, I yearned to stand tall as heroes of eld.”

She blinks. “What are you doing, Raha?”

Raha continues, his tail starting to swish. “But like a fool seeking to pluck stars from the heavens, my every attempt to reprise their actions fell short.”

“No, they didn’t. You are as much a hero as I am. Please don’t--”

He takes his hand from hers and places it on her lips, His legs feel heavy, and he falls to his knees, as he pulls the bag from his pocket.

“And then, one day, an all-but-forgotten dream from my youth stood before me in the flesh, and she told me I could do that. I can pluck stars from the heavens and reprise every deed. That she would help me every step of the way.”

He opens the bag and pulls out the necklace. “And I would give much and more for her to stay by my side every step of the way.”

“Raha, are you-- Is this--?”

He tries to stand up, but his legs feel locked in position. “Perhaps I am weak, unable to believe in myself without you next to me, but please, Lin. I know it will not be your first time marrying, but I would give much and more to call you my wife.”

She kneels next to him, kisses him on his lips. “I promise every day will be an adventurer as long as I can call you husband.”

He places the necklace around her, smiling at the stones sparkling in the artificial light. Elsewhere, it would be even more gorgeous, but this is good.

“Ah, I had wondered if she were a consort or more. This is the fifth royal betrothal in this very room.”

Lin chokes again. “C-conso--” She starts to laugh.

He joins her. He hadn’t thought it a tradition of his blood. He hadn’t planned on today, or here. Just soon.

“Now, if you two are quite done, I can take you to another wing. Perhaps the one with the Ultima Warrior perhaps.”

#FFXIVWrite2020 #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #Post-5.3 #5.3 Spoilers #WoLExarch #WoL x Graha

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thepilgrimofwar · 4 years

Text

The Holdouts of the Black Banner - Edited Roll20 Log

[Event Start!]

The journey up to the Cloudrend Glades starts with cobbled path up a minor slope, to a winding road snaking its way up a mountainside, then, as Zarannis takes the Heroes of the Emberglades off the beaten path- a climb with steps made from ancient wooden boards to terraform the soil itself into steps. Before long, they were hundreds above sea level and could see the whole realm from an outlook in the mountainous woods. Mist shrouded lakes of the Cloudrends, beyond that, hills and woods, beyond that the half-burned fields of the Heartlands, and beyond those was The Great Sea.

Zarannis turned back to the others. “Not far now,” she said, carrying upon her back her black greatsword as well as the Black Banner of Lord Tar’saren. One that Sederis had once carried into battle. The hope was that the sight of it would lure out one of their patrols to at least speak with them- at worse, ambush them thinking they were Alliance lackeys who had stolen it.

Then, as they drew to a narrowing between two minor cliffs, something felt off to any observant enough to feel it.

[Perception Roll]

[A figure steps out of the woods. An unshaven elven man armed with a crossbow.]

Gerren Shatterspear lowers his weapon, a crossbow of shoddy construction maintained by animal sinew and hewn wood from the surrounding trees. “Lady Highdawn?”

Zarannis looks back to the member of her entourage.

Thanidiel just fucking squints - the blaze of her fel-green eye dimming some through her golden greathelm. A very simple, direct-to-the-point, statement sounds: "Who the shit are you?" Which, if anything, confirms the man's guess.

Ethalarian:"Making friends everywhere you go, Thanidiel."

Gerren Shatterspear regards the others around her and further lowers his weapon to his side. “Gerren Shatterspear. You don't know me, but we know of you...You were there at the Battle for the Isle. You were there when Lord Emberheart fell.” He pauses for a long moment, as rusty cogs begun churning within his mind. “We didn’t we? We actually won?”

Thanidiel lets out a long 'Mmmmm' that reverberates deep through her chest and comes out muffled from her armour. Perhaps debating Ethalarian's choice of the word 'friends.' "The Kingdom of Quel'Thalas stands, the North from the efforts of the Black Banner preserved; the South diminished by foul magicks."

Zarannis nods at Thanidiel's response. “In short, yes we did. Months ago. Hadn’t you heard?”

Gerren Shatterspear shakes his head. “It’s hard to receive news when you’re constantly fighting for your life.”

Zarannis narrows her eyes. “If you consider stealing grain and cutting down crops fighting- I’m afraid to tell you that you’re inflicting misery upon the local peasantry.”

Gerren Shatterspear frowns. “No, even if they aren’t the Alliance subjugated serfs we thought they were, the peasants were a means to an end.” He thumbs behind him into the deep woods. “You know of the Troll Tunnels that run beneath the Glades?”

Zarannis gives him a look. “I am familiar.”

Gerren Shatterspear “So you know they were infested with the Undead, even after Sederis’ campaign to make them safer.”

Ethalarian perks up.

Zarannis lowers her head. “They’re still down there then.”

Gerren Shatterspear gives her an ominous look. “Them and more. Truth be told, I’ve been sent to get help. From the Alliance. But it’s clear that you’ll make a good substitute. Because the Amani are hunting us down.”

Zarannis also perks up. “The Amani? Here? Impossible, the Amani who lived in the Cloudrends were wiped out in the Fall. Sederis and I went in search of them.”

Gerren Shatterspear nods. “They hunt us from beyond the grave.”

Iriina pipes up. "Going to be hard to get help from the Alliance when they've run off with their tails between their legs."

Gerren Shatterspear shrugs. "Then it is pure luck that I've run into you and yours then."

Thanidiel:"I would not turn down putting down beasts; I believe we were aware it may come to such when we were first briefed."

Following Gerren, the Heroes of the Emberglades find themselves at the entrance of a grand tunnel. Black obsidian tiles marked with intricate designs and pagan runes that held no more meaning for the living. “Follow me close.”

Gerren Shatterspear speaks, half-preoccupied with a lost zombie. Giving some direction to the party. "My company is up ahead. Left tunnel, then turn right once you hit the end and following on through until you hit a cross section.

"Are we moving as one or shall I delve as far as I can go?" asks Thanidiel.

"I can run with you if necessary," Iriina replies

Zarannis nods, "as far as you can go as long as we can support you."

“Then it will be so." Thanidiel shoulders past Ethalarian, taking at Zarannis' heels and eventually outpacing the Farstrider down the tunnelway.

[Combat Start]

The group moves as one initially. Cutting down the Undead that wandered the halls that seemed to grow thicker in number the deeper they went. But as Thanidiel and Zarannis spearheaded their way into the darkness, they quickly leave behind others who begin exploring smaller offshoot tunnels. Zombies start coming at them from all directions, and though they were large in numbers, the party deals with them easily. Save for Iriina who is eventually covered in viscera as she holds back the ones that explode.

Eventually they regroup at a junction where a centralized force of Undead seemed to be fighting the Undead Amani Trolls that Gerren had spoken about. Capitalizing on this, the group engages them while they are occupied. Tearing into them and drawing the attention of their leader.

[Undead Mage Encountered]

A skeletal mage in ragged robes and a blue fire in its chest steps round the corner. Confused to why half of his warriors had ceased to be in the last two minutes. Siviri Stormsinger screeches. “Who in Fel are you lot?” It verbalizes through a blue flame at its heart. It’s teeth clattering as he spoke as if by habit.

Gerren Shatterspear blinks. It is obvious that the soldier had never run into an undead in the tunnels that spoke. He decides not to shoot it on sight. "The living?" Gerren responds, as he wrapped his mind around this.

Thanidiel notes this, "and now we have a target." She leans sidelong, looking behind her and down the corridor to Ethalarian in the distance, "Dawnstalker!" She barks, "Double time, we've the leader of this band ahead."

Ethalarian wastes no time in blitzing down the corridor, Faithbreaker a veritable beacon in the dim light by this point so hot is are the winding flames along the blade's edge. Leader. The mage? The mage. Once in range, he steps hard with his front foot and snaps his hips, putting every ounce of his weight into this blow.

Siviri Stormsinger screeches and responds with a spell, freezing the air around Ethalarian.

Ethalarian grimaces as the air around him immediately turns to ice, freezing his exposed skin and biting all the way down to the bone.

Thanidiel moves forward to support Ethalarian, her poleaxe starting to flare with the same holy flame as her companion. The weapon swings to crumple its weight down into the mage's guard.

The Mage’s Boneguard disintegrates into a pile of bones and armor pieces in a pillar of flaming light.

Ethalarian had wavered for a moment after the ice lance punched through his armor. His Light flickered in the dark, and his knees threatened to buckle. Before they buckled entirely, he managed to brace himself against the wall. "You'll find I'm not so easily killed, stranger," he says to the blonde as he downs the phial of viscous crimson liquid and presses forward down the corridor behind Thanidiel. When he catches sight of the group of trolls just beyond his colleagues, however, he doesn't waste a moment in blitzing past them to engage the newly emerged threat.

[The Bone Mage is Slayed. The group travels forth, and engages the Undead Trolls now]

Highdawn rounds the corner and see's a barricaded section of tunnel, besieged by Undead Trolls. "Are the men behind that barricade?"

Gerren Shatterspear yells. "Then we don't have much time!"

Zin'dayat bellows, her voice carrying through all the nearby tunnels. "More living? Slay them too! Trespassers, all of them!"

Thanidiel yells back at the party. "Hurry up, I'm taking attention off the barricade."

Facing two Troll Warlords from beyond the grave, the party tears into their numbers. Unleashing explosive arcs of Light that sanctifies the waves of minions that are sent to slow them down. Thanidiel charges in, placing herself between the barricades of the Black Banner Holdouts and the worst of the assault. Giving the reckless paladin cover with their crossbows, the Undead Trolls soon find themselves surrounded and attacked from both sides, their retreat down the main tunnels cut off.

In the final moments of the battle, the barricades are breached. But instead of a retreat the Black Bannermen surge through the gap and engage Zin’dayat with bolts and steel. Joining in as the party brings Taufik and his raptor low and putting an end to the would be Warlord of the Amani Tunnels underneath The Emberglades.

[Combat Ends!]

Gerren Shatterspear waits for a moment more as silence begins to finally fill the hallways of the tunnels. Then when it is clear that there was no more fighting to be done, he starts to laugh. "To think we could have ever lost the war. He looks to the heroes around him as the other Black Bannerhold outs retreat to the rest of the company- Many of them not at the barricades themselves wounded, or tending to them.

Zarannis lowers her weapon. "We came to get you home. I'd say that as long as your commanding officer doesn't believe that we're somehow Alliance spies- We've succeeded this day."

Muroco speaks. "Do I look like an Alliance spy to you?"

"That's how they get you," Thanidiel says, dry and humourless.

Gerren Shatterspear gives the Tauren a look. "No, and I'm sure the company won't believe that either." He shakes his head and gives Zarannis a look. "And there is no commanding officer. We're a collective- And we don't have a home- Lord Tar'saren made sure of it to deny Lady Everleigh entry to the Glades."

Muroco gets a cloudy thought bubble over his head as he thinks about all the Alliance members that want him dead. "If someone like me was able to ingratiate myself into the Sunguard for years and act as an Alliance spy then your race truly is doomed."

Zarannis snorts at Muroco's comment.

Iriina is busy helping tend to the wounded, but she starts laughing at Muroco's comments anyway.

Isilos speaks. "Our race is doomed for many reasons, but that is not one of them."

Zarannis turns back to Gerren, raising the Black Banner off her back and giving it to Gerren. "Then we'll build a new one. I've been offered Lord Tar'saren's title." She does not mention that she had not taken it, nor that she had been avoiding it. Until now.

Thanidiel gives the girl her support. "Commander Wintergale proved herself like no other after Tar'saren fell in the Kingdom Greater."

Gerren Shatterspear scratches his chin. "We've heard rumors of reports but had believed them to be fabrications of the Invaders to lure us out of hiding. But I see that the reputation of not only her, but all of you were true to life."

Zarannis points to the others around here. "We're all here to fight for Stenden. Rightful ruler of the Emberglades. I'm sure you've seen signs of fighting down in the Heartlands. Now I won't press you to fight for us, seeing that you've never stopped fighting as it is. But any support you can give me will be appreciated."

Ethalarian:"I'd definitely recommend not fighting against us at the very least."

Gerren Shatterspear shakes his head. "You misunderstand, Commander Wintergale." The girl doesn't seemed phased by the description any longer. "Fighting is what we do." He shoots her a smile. "If there's no home to return to- Warfare is the next best place we can go to."

With that, Zarannis gains the command of a Company of Black Bannermen. Though it might take some time to gather up the wounded and get them back to fighting shape, it gave her the power she could use on her family's behalf.

[Event End]

#Epilogue #Roll20 #Zarannis

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seokoloqy · 6 years

Text

after dark // jjk (m)

➳ GENRE: vampire/knight!AU

➳ PAIRING: jungkook x y/n

➳ WORD COUNT: 8.2k

➳ WARNINGS: smut, blood

➳ SUMMARY: Jungkook has served the royal family for generations, seen them live and die countless times. When it comes to you, he can’t watch you wither away too, but your lust for one another makes it harder and harder to stay apart.

➳ A/N: while i was writing this spotify had the audacity to play an ad about Christian music. i think it’s a little too late for the good words of our lord and savior jesus christ to save me now (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

—

Your feet pad against the rugged carpet extending from the foyer to the end of the dim hall. You pass portraits of your family, generations of them hang on that wall, standing proudly for the artist who painted them with precision and detail. The newest addition to the collection hangs below your father with a crown adorned on his head—a much smaller painting of you and your guard, Jungkook. You demanded they add him in the collection after generations of loyalty and servitude to your family. He stood behind your smiling face remaining stoic and professional, but you knew he was secretly elated to finally be included.

You smile at the portrait and gently run your finger along the curve of his cheek. Even in a simple photo he somehow makes your heart race, not that you can ever admit to these feelings aloud. You don’t need to admit them anyway, he already knows, but Jungkook will never allow it to get that far. He sees it—the longing—in your eyes whenever you glance at him across a crowded room. A relationship is not only unprofessional, but his loyalty to your family stops him every time.

You continue the journey to his quarters at the end of the hall, your silk dress flowing behind you. The uncomfortable heels belonging to your outfit clutched in your hands sway beside you. You’re rushing to see him because of the infuriating news you had just heard, the shoes only slow you down.

Your father has planned for you to go off tomorrow and meet another prince as a way to introduce you to bachelors and potential husbands. You knew this day would come, but not so soon after your twenty-first birthday—not when you felt this way about Jungkook.

A sliver of his door is open, letting out light letting you know he is awake and you could barge in unannounced. Maybe you’d crawl into his useless bed too, he has no use for it seeing as he doesn’t need sleep. You could stay there the whole night without anyone disturbing you. No maids coming in to wake you, no mother there to pester you into marrying a man you’ve never met, and feeling the comforting presence of Jungkook was enough to lull you to bed easily.

And as you approach the pounding of your heart in your chest isn’t loud enough to hide the breathy moan from inside. You stop in your tracks, heart stuck in your throat, standing outside his door with your hand against the wood. Another soft whimper reverberates through your ears, like pleasure mixed with pain. Curiosity getting the best of you, you peer through the sliver in the door hoping to find the source of the voice.

His room is void of any personal belongings—just a bed and a closet. Despite his years with your family, he was no collector of fine items. Preferring to keep his space clean so if the situation ever arose where he will have to leave, he will leave nothing behind, it will be easier to cut ties this way. Which is why he chooses to distance himself from you as well. He’s seen generations of your family live and die. Feeling any sort of sorrow when they pass is only weakness, and knowing your time will be up before he can even blink destroys him.

Your eyes first go to the flickering kerosene lamp beside the bedside then upon the blood, dripping to the floor as Jungkook pulls his fangs away from the bleeding neck of the guest straddling his lap. He looks mesmerized by the wound he has created, his pupils nearly black and swimming in desire. With fingers tangled in her hair, he cranes the woman’s neck further back and licks along the trail of blood that has escaped his greedy lips.

He’s feeding off one of the townspeople. They’re selected either by raffle or volunteer to feed the soldiers. You’d heard from maids who have been fed off of that it was merciless but you never realized the act could also seem so intimate and as the woman released another wanton moan you couldn’t help but wish it were you.

You wish it were you he was holding, gliding his rough hands along the curve of your spine to the base of your ass, as he utters in a hoarse voice, “You taste so fucking good.”

He grabs her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip to shift her onto one of his thighs. The woman shudders, gripping his shoulders as she moves against his thigh.

You’ve never seen him so carnal and seductive anywhere else, it’s mesmerizing. The feeling—that foreign pit in your stomach—begins to grow as you lean against the wall catching your breath, thighs clenching instinctively to satisfy the throbbing between your legs. He doesn’t seem to hear you, too lost in his own lust.

His other hand, not occupied in her hair, pushes the velvet material of her dress higher up her thighs until they’re revealing the seductive lace of her underwear. His eyes roam freely over the design.

“You didn’t wear these for me, did you?” He teases, the satisfied smile adorning his lips makes your heart flutter. You know that smile, but not in this context. That smile is for the times he praises you for acing your studies or when he cracks a wise joke to cheer you up. Perhaps it is a hundred times better seeing that smile here.

You don't realize your pesky heels slipping through your fingers until they’ve hit the floor with a thud and the shock of it seems to echo through the halls and chill you to the core. Jungkook’s head snaps up first, locking onto your figure peeking through the gap in his door, then it’s his partner scrambling off his thigh and onto the bed, flustered.

With your cover blown, you don’t know whether or not to play it off and act as if you weren’t standing there the whole time. Maybe he doesn’t suspect anything and you can pretend that you haven’t seen a thing.

He’s quick to his feet, expression unreadable, as he crosses the room to the door where you’re stood. The blank look on his face convinces you he must be angry. You intruded on his personal time and during his feeding. You scramble to pick your shoe up from the floor as he swings open the door, feeling the guilt weigh down on you.

“Shall I walk you back to your room, princess?” He asks, all the signs of lust and desires vacant in his voice and he returns to his simple tone as he addresses you endearingly. Ever so the excellent and professional guard with you—almost infuriating.

“N-no, I just… No.” You stutter, unable to meet his gaze. “Have a good night.”

You turn and begin to walk away, wishing you had said ‘yes, take me back and finish what you started’. What would it be like to finally have him for yourself?

You thought about him that night, pressing himself against you as his fiery hands roamed your body freely and without shame. You thought about his voice and the way it deepened as he spoke, imagining him instructing your hands to slide off the material of your nightgown and press a finger to your clit while encouraging the silent moans falling from your lips. And as you brought yourself over the edge, you remember the stoic expression he wore as he looked at you, his voice devoid of any real feelings. Would he ever see you this way?

—

A knock comes to your door just as the sun rises. You can’t be bothered with your chattering maids after last night, bringing the sheets higher over your head to avoid the sunlight peeking through the curtains.

“The carriage has arrived.”

You jolt out of bed, surprised by the voice of Jungkook at the foot of your bed. He’s in not in full armor yet, just a simple white tunic hanging low across the smooth expanse of his captivating chest with a hand over the hilt of his sword hanging at his hips. His eyes are immediately drawn to your exposed breasts, jaw clenching as he forces himself to look up at your startled expression and remain in control. The sheets that pool around your waist taunt his imagination and the hand around his sword becomes tighter as his thoughts cloud and judgment has nearly left him.

You don’t realize that you’ve left your nightgown discarded on the floor until the weight of his gaze on you becomes suffocating. You pull the sheets up around your chest, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks which he could undoubtedly hear including the erratic beating of your heart.

“I’ll be just a minute.” You clear your throat, looking at the sheer nightgown laying on the floor. How could you be so careless? You shut your eyes and sigh, this is not how you should present yourself as the princess even in the eyes of your personal guard. You let yourself succumb to your powerful desires, but it won’t happen again. You know your feelings are wrong. The immortal guard who has served generations of your family was meant to be just that and maybe the care he had for you was only part of the job, but the kindness wasn’t. He didn’t need to comfort you everytime your mother would go off on a tangent about meeting suitors or hold you in his arms when you felt frustrated and powerless as every diplomat turned your suggestions away and called you a child. He is far too kind for the tough exterior he wants you to believe in.

When your eyes open again, Jungkook appears at your bedside, nightgown in hand. He extends his arm and leaves it in the palm of your outstretched hand. He doesn’t utter another word and turns, taking long strides out of your room trying to rid plaguing thoughts of you naked and writhing underneath him.

—

“Wow,” the young prince exclaims, reaching for your outstretched hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, finally. I’m Jimin and I’ve been so excited to welcome you to my beautiful kingdom.”

He seizes your hand abruptly to plant a kiss on your knuckles, perhaps a little too eagerly because your body jolts forward slightly and both your heads collide. You wince on impact as his pointed crown lightly scrapes the surface of your forehead and Jungkook comes in front of you immediately to block Jimin from making another move towards you.

Jungkook takes your chin in his hand and inspects the minuscule red scratch on your head. The gentle touch of his fingertips brushing against the mark soothe your nerves. This entire trip is stressing you out. It’s not what you want and no matter how much you protest to your mother and father they refuse to let up. But as long as you have Jungkook by your side, you’ll always feel better.

“Should I kill him?” He whispers under his breath, searching for signs of distress on your face that will give him permission to throttle the awkward prince.

“W-What? No! It was just an accident,” you stammer. You wish the look on his face tells you he is only joking or is just overreacting because he’s on new, unfamiliar territory, but his facade doesn’t crack into a lopsided grin nor have a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jimin regains his composure, adjusting the lopsided crown atop his head and makes haste to apologize to you despite the guard in his way. This will certainly put a damper on your relationship already and he was hoping he wouldn’t make a fool of himself during the first impression.

“Forgive me, princess! I’m just so clumsy sometimes; I forget my own strength.” He pokes his head over Jungkook’s shoulder, pleading eyes staring at you.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” you assure both parties, pressing your hand flat against the cool metal of Jungkook’s breastplate to move him aside. Instead of retreating back to his original position behind you, he sticks to your side with a curious eye on Jimin, who can feel the hostility rolling off of the guard.

Ignoring the glinting look in Jungkook’s eyes, Jimin kindly offers to tour you around the gardens, his favorite part of the palace. The rest of the day consists of Jimin leading you and Jungkook through various twists and turns of each hedge maze in the expansive garden, trying to entertain you with exciting facts about each flower you come across. He barely tries to woo you with any ridiculous tactics or blatantly flirt. Although during the tour, when he notices you admiring a pink azalea flower from the bushes, he plucks off a flower to offer you.

“As a proper welcome to our kingdom, we’re throwing a party in your honor,” Jimin says, as he escorts you to the dining room.

Your footsteps falter besides his, “A party? For me?”

He sees your bewildered expression and laughs, “Don’t worry about it too much. The people here love to party until dawn and you don’t have to be the center of attention if you don’t want to.”

Jimin’s words ease your nerves only a little, but you’re still wary. A whole party just because of you? Maybe the young prince is going a little overboard with your visit or just too eager to welcome you.

The dining room doors are left ajar, revealing the entire display of food at the table. You gawk at the copious amount of food on the table. It’s enough to feed the entire kingdom, not just two people. Jimin is quick to pull out a chair for you to sit. And just as Jungkook makes his way to the wall next to the butlers to idly stand by and wait for any hint of danger, the young prince lifts his hand.

“No, no, your knight is guest in my home as well,” he says to you. “Come to join us for dinner.”

You cringe looking at the lavish display of food across the table—none of it suitable for Jungkook’s abnormal appetite. The prince must not realize the kind of being he’s let wander into his home.

“I’m sorry for not informing you earlier, your highness, but you must realize that he isn’t human,” you explain, looking towards the prince who has his lips parted in surprise. Realization crosses his delicate features and he begins to nod rapidly, not a single piece of his perfectly gelled hair comes undone.

“Oh, yes! I’ve heard of you—the famous vampire guard from Aglastia!” He clears his throat, looking a bit sheepish as he glances at the food laid out. “I suppose we can have something more suitable brought out for you too.”

“That won’t be necessary, your highness,” Jungkook speaks to Jimin for the first time since you’ve arrived, an unnecessary tinge of annoyance in his voice as he stares at the prince devoid of any compassion.

Perhaps Jimin heard the icy tone in your guard's voice as he scrambles for another solution.

“Or do you prefer blood fresh from the source?” Jimin beckons a server over to him with a simple finger. The frightened servant who hasn’t signed up for the unlucky job of being a snack unwillingly shuffles over at Jimin’s order. “My staff would gladly allow you to-”

“You don’t seem to understand how feeding works.” Jungkook looks to you now, his irritation subsiding. “It’s messy and I need a willing participant who’d allow me to do whatever I please. It’s not just about me or the blood. Vampires mix pain with pleasure, your highness, we’re not savages.” He takes on a sardonic tone when he looks back at the prince whose interest he has piqued.

“Enough,” you demand, curling your hand around the wooden armrest.

“Usually they’ll strip naked, and then I’ll have my fingers in-” he continues, ignoring your demand to challenge the prince. Jungkook’s own jealousy clouding his judgment.

“I said that’s enough, Jungkook! Go! now,” you shout, slamming your hand down onto the table causing the silverware to clash against the wood. All heads turn to you, startled by your sudden outburst.

You’ve never been so frustrated with him. Why is he doing this now? Taunting you about last night and embarrassing you in front of everybody here, he’s getting out of line. Which is unlike the Jungkook you’re so used to.

He stares at you with indignation but doesn’t fight it, stalking out of the room to wander the rest of the castle alone.

The prince sinks back into his chair, defeated, the hospitality he struggled to show your guard dwindles to nothing.

You’re quick to comfort him, “I apologize for his behavior. He usually isn’t so blunt.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” he takes the glass cup and raises it in the air, regaining a touch of his usual charm and confidence. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

—

Dinner is over quickly when it’s just Jimin gushing about how he admires your kingdoms use of a vampire army and somehow the conversation turns to himself again as he rambles about his kingdom.

You haven’t seen Jungkook since you dismissed him at dinner. His attitude unnerved you, perhaps it’s revenge for last night, taunting you with images that will only ever be your wild imagination.

Jimin had excused himself at dinner to freshen up and allowed you free reign to explore the castle by yourself. As you venture through the castle without Jungkook attached to your hip or Jimin chattering about absolutely anything that comes to mind, you take in the lavish decorum Jimin had briefly spoken about at dinner. The midnight blue walls complemented the golden frames surrounding each painting that hangs across his walls, mostly just images of the garden you can spy from out the window across the way. He told you he had taken an interest in nature and life itself and commissioned a young local artist to paint them.

But what catches your eye isn’t the yellow brushstrokes of sunflowers reaching towards the sky or the colors smoothly blended into the sunset, it is the single painting in the middle of it all that holds a smiling portrait of Jimin and his family. Unlike the painting back home with your family, he is grinning ear to ear, the painting encapsulates the very youth and beauty he radiates. You admire the work and precision the artist took in sculpting his delicate features.

“Do you consider his highness a potential suitor?”

For the second time today Jungkook has managed to sneak up on you and make you jump. He looks up at the painting, glowering like a petulant child.

You hesitate with your answer; he certainly is charming and thoughtful, but you can’t imagine a future with a man who incessantly speaks without a breath in between.

“Luckily he is handsome…” you admit, hoping it will calm the tension you still feel from dinner. It’s the only thing you can say about the prince you know for a fact. To consider him a potential match for you is pushing it over the edge.

Jungkook scoffs, “He’s full of himself. You can do so much better than him, Y/N.”

As his eyes gaze over the painting, he looks at the bright cheeks and smiling eyes of the young prince and grimaces. This human is everything Jungkook will never live up to, someone who can provide for you and not silently watch as you grow old and he stays young: a man with a crown and withering mortality.

But he just can’t stand it. Half of him is telling him Jimin is what you deserve, but the other half wants you to himself, to stop denying himself of you.

“Why are you behaving like this? His Highness has done nothing but show us hospitality and kindness and you dismissed him at dinner. It isn’t like you.”

“Why should I like him,” he turns to you and you can see his slightly sweat-matted hair, wicked ferocity in his eyes as something has changed within him. “When he’s trying to take you away from me?”

The air escaped your lungs, as you stare into the crimson abyss of his eyes. Is there something wrong with him? You know how he feels towards you—nothing. The times he would ignore your subtle hints or the disapproving looks he would give you when you came too close during events. You’ve seen it enough to back off, to know he doesn’t feel the same and stay within your unspoken boundaries. It’s nothing but pain hearing his enticing words.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I would never lie to you, Y/N.” His hand reaches for yours, an action you’ve been accustomed to whenever he tried comforting you after your father dismissed your propositions to help the kingdom. You rip your hand from his calloused ones, roughened from all the training he’s done over centuries. His red eyes look pleadingly at you, however, you don’t notice it too overcome with frustration.

“But you’d never tell me the truth either.”

If he feels the same, even an ounce of what you feel for him, he should tell you and relieve the pain you feel from this one-sided love. You don’t want to get your hopes up and make a fool of yourself in front of him anymore.

You leave him without a goodbye and exit the hall, dreading the rest of the night to come.

—

Jimin was not lying when he said his kingdom loved to party until dawn. When you emerged from your bedroom in the dress you found neatly wrapped and laying on your bed, a gift from Jimin for the night, the roaring laughter and music echoed through the halls. You walked to the ballroom alone, Jungkook nowhere in sight, and even after your dispute you expected him to be at your door to escort you because he’d never let something as trivial as an argument get in the way of his duties.

The room is in chaos with patrons flooding the floor cheerfully moving to the rhythm of the music. Wallflowers stick to the side, but still chattering and laughing amongst themselves as they pass the time drinking themselves into ruin.

“Y/N! You look beautiful!” Jimin suddenly appears at your side, swaying slightly on his feet as his arm hooks around yours to steady himself. “The party is just getting started! Let’s get you a drink.” He shouts over the blaring music.

“I’d rather not,” you reply, tilting your head away from the alcohol lingering on his breath as his face nears yours. “Have you seen Ju- my guard?”

Jimin leans his tired head on your shoulder, sighing heavily, “No, I’m afraid I haven’t, but you’re awfully close to that guard, aren’t you?” He hiccups, “I suppose it’s only fair for me to give up this foolish proposal, you’re already in love. Poor me, I guess.”

You’re listening to a drunk man wallow about the feelings you wouldn’t dare admit out loud.

“I-I’m truly sorry, Jimin. You’ve been so hospitable and y-you threw this whole party on my behalf. I feel like I’ve just used you to avoid my true feelings.”

“Don’t feel bad, princess, I’ll use any excuse to throw a party. I guess we’ve just used each other,” Jimin pries himself away from you, giving you one last glance over with a look in his eye thinking of what could have been. “I need a drink.” He grunts, disappearing for another drink that certainly won’t be the last for the night.

Another scan around the room and there is still no sign of Jungkook lingering in the corner with his eyes trained solely on you. You wonder where he can be. The palace may be enormously vast and confusing, but he would never stray too far from you.

If you’re supposed to find him, it won’t be in here. You doubt he’d stick around in this crowd if he could help it. He would never like hearing the sound of all these beating hearts in one room.

The glass door that leads into the veranda is left open to air out the room and it reminds you of how peaceful the garden was in the morning. Jungkook will most likely be wandering there for space.

You gather your skirts and excuse your yourself through every sweaty and intoxicated guest blocking the exit. They’re all too occupied dancing and drunk to acknowledge or care about you.

A glint of metal from his armor reflecting the ballroom lights catches your eye as it stumbles into the hedge maze. You finally get past the crowd and head straight to the path Jungkook had just taken.

“Jungkook, are you alright?” You call out, the narrow entry shows no sign of him. With the hedges towering over you there’s no chance of looking over the top. Your best chance is to follow your intuition and call out to him.

The area is barely lit, the only light peaking through the hedges comes from the moonlight above.

You walk straight down the path until a fork appears and you either go left or right. “Jungkook?” You try again receiving silence in return.

You choose the path to your right and follow it all the way to a dead end. A disgruntled sigh escapes your lips as you spin on your heels to return to your original position. To your surprise, Jungkook is standing behind you already.

“Oh,” you press a hand to your diamond covered chest. “There you are. I was worried about you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me I’m fine,” he huffs, his breathing turns ragged. “I apologize for not escorting you to the ball, I just - don’t trust myself to protect you right now.”

His sunken, amber eyes tell you all you need to know. He only gets this way when he’s hungry, a look you’ve rarely seen because he always hid it so he wouldn’t scare you when you were younger.

“You’re hungry,” you affirm. He should have accepted Jimin’s offer at dinner. He hasn’t eaten since last night and it’s already taking a toll on him. It must have been affecting him even during dinner, which can explain his irrational behavior.

“Only a little,” he nods distractedly, eyes lingering over your neck.

Images of him with the woman last night flash through your mind. That same hunger and lust from last night is the same way he looks at you right now.

Taking a deep breath and tilting your neck to the side, you nod, “Go ahead.”

He’s never fed from you before, having been forbidden from feeding off any of his charges. If anyone finds out he has bitten you, they’d string him up and burn him alive. But he’s so hungry and the longer he stares, the harder it seems to resist your tantalizing offer.

You stand there feeling completely vulnerable to him. Your dress has a low neckline and your sleeves fall off your shoulders, leaving your neck free and exposed.

He wants it, badly. He craves even the slightest drop of blood, missing the metallic taste of it on his tongue and the way it warms his body as it flows through his system. Temptation drives him mad and you are the source of all his wicked desires.

You brace yourself for it. The searing, unbearable pain from a bite that will paralyze you.

“Fuck,” he hisses, feeling his hands begin to tremble. He is starving. “Not here where everyone will see.”

“What?” You open your eyes finding Jungkook’s amber ones fixated on your delicate neck. You are confused. Why doesn’t he do it now? No one will see him behind the bushes when all the guests are too busy drinking.

Jungkook has a little self-control left in him not to make foolish mistakes. A mark like his will be noticed in an instant by your family.

“I’ll leave a scar on your neck.” He sighs, brushing a finger along your collarbone. Your arms are exposed as well and he can’t risk that either, but he is so, so hungry; desperate for a drink. He falls to his knees and clutches your skirts. “Sit down.” He commands.

You comply with his demand and sit on the stone bench, waiting for his next move. It is like you are frozen, not in fear, but in anticipation for what will happen next. There is a dark allure surrounding him, always casting a shadow over him.

“Will it hurt?”

He hums, distracted by the thrumming of your blood flowing through your veins, “Not unless you move.”

The material of your dress is pushed up your legs to your mid-thigh. You shiver as his cold palms presses against your thighs and when you reflexively shut them, his touch foreign and intimate to you. His mouth hangs open, revealing his sharp canines.

“Keep your legs open,” he grunts, becoming impatient with your squirming ghosting his lips over your knee and dragging his teeth towards the center of your thigh.

His hand keeps a firm hold on your leg, hooking his arm under your knee as he positions himself between your legs and giving you no time to react, he sinks his teeth into your flesh. The pain is instant, prickling throughout your entire body. You struggle to stay still, it hurts to move, but it is an instinct to run away from the pain.

You stifle your cries with your hand. The other clutching your skirts, hoping for some way to relieve your pain. As he continues to drain your body, you feel lightheaded. Your vision becomes blurry and you can no longer support the weight of yourself.

Jungkook is lost in a haze of ecstasy, overwhelmed by the addicting taste of you on his tongue. He can’t stop himself, he is starving. A day without blood is the longest he has ever gone. Being a guard in your kingdom ensures he has a constant supply of blood and he never goes too hungry, the feeling is foreign and the deprivation only makes him crave more.

“J-Jungkook, stop,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder. Your eyelids feel heavy and you desperately grab at his hair, tugging and whining. “P-please, stop.”

It takes everything to pull himself away. Your blood drips onto the pavement and from his lips. He sighs heavily, still high off the taste as he licks the remainder of you off his lips. With his head in the clouds, he fails to realize you are on the verge of passing out from blood loss.

You slump over, coming in and out of consciousness with your arms limp at your sides.

“Damn it,” Jungkook hisses, holding you up to prevent you from collapsing on top of him. “You can’t go back in like this.”

He keeps his hand over the wound to stop the blood from flowing out. His other hand reaches to touch your cheek, wiping away tears that had fallen. He feels a tug at his heart as he gazes at your weak, fatigued face, cursing himself for being too greedy.

“Princess, we’re abo- oh!” Jimin finds you in quite the compromising position with your dress pooling at your waist and Jungkook’s hand between your legs but it isn’t what it looks like.

He falls flustered, struggling to find his words. He turns away instantly at the sight, but if his eyes had lingered a little longer he would have noticed the blood on the floor and staining Jungkook’s chin. He would have noticed your pale skin and the way you were limp in Jungkook’s arms. Jimin flees instead of finding his words and doesn’t turn back, hoping it’s all just a bad side effect of the all the alcohol he’s consumed.

“Ju-Jungkook? I’m t-tired,” you say breathlessly, weakly unaware of what has just happened, reaching for his arm that securely holds you up.

“Shh,” he silences you. “Don’t waste your energy. Come here, I’ll carry you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and he lifts you up, carrying you bridal style towards the guest bedroom Jimin had assigned you earlier, away from the commotion of your party. They will no doubt continue the madness without you.

—

The sound of a tray hitting the vanity table rouses you from a deep sleep. As you shift in bed, pain shoots up from your leg. You throw off the sweltering blanket to find your thigh wrapped in white gauze. That’s not all you notice. The dress Jimin had gifted you is discarded to the corner of the room, leaving you in nothing but your underwear and camisole.

“You’re awake,” Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief, coming to the bedside and offering you a glass of water off the tray. He helps you sit up, arms wrapping around your back and you wince as you shift weight onto your leg. You take the cool glass and gulp up every drop until your throat no longer feels tight and dry and manage to croak out a thank you.

The room is lit only by the kerosene lamp beside the bed, curtains are drawn in and you are unaware whether or not it is morning and if the party's over. Jungkook looks gloomy in the darkness despite having just fed on you. His energy is back, but somehow he felt weak and powerless as he watched you sleep. He is supposed to protect you, not be the cause of your suffering.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words come out before he can even think about it. His hand rests on your bandaged thigh, lightly stroking over the area he had bitten. He slowly unwraps the wound to inspect the area, still red but healed nicely with the two puncture marks already fading. “I should have stopped myself, but you just tasted so good.”

“You taste so fucking good.”

Those words again this time he’s talking to you with the same guttural and lustful tone. You shudder as his hand brushes the inner part of your thigh, it doesn’t go unnoticed. He moves his hand higher until his fingers lightly skim the edge of your clothed core. You bite back a moan as he kneels on the bed.

“I just couldn’t get enough of you, Y/N. And this morning,” he sneers, hooking his finger around the strap of your camisole, pulling you closer to his face. “When I walked into your bedroom I could smell you and I wanted you under me so badly.”

In the flickering light, his features are sharpened and the fine angle of his jaw ticks as he analyzes your innocent expression. The amber in his eyes shifts a shade darker into a rich crimson once your lips part.

“J-Jungkook, it was an accident.”

You’re lying if you say you didn’t like the thrill of it though. The way his eyes roamed over you and how they struggled to look away. You held so much power over him at that moment. You could have had him falling on his knees for you and that’s exactly what you want.

“Was it an accident when you spied on me last night too?” He asks, bringing the hand not wrapped around your shoulder strap to your waist carefully bringing the material of your camisole up. “What if I told you I knew you were watching and I wanted you to watch me as I fucked her.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He confessed to knowing you were there the whole time. You couldn’t help but feel turned on by his words.

His cool fingers run along your side. “Tell me you don’t want this.” He leans down, lips nearly brushing yours.

You press your lips together, not saying anything. In the distance, you can hear the commotion of the party still going on and you tune back into the situation right in front of you.

How can you deny it when Jungkook is in front of you, offering himself to you? An image you only dreamed of since you were a teenager. You want it as bad as him.

That’s why it’s you who leans in, capturing him in a rough, breathtaking kiss, teeth clashing together as you wrap both arms around his neck to bring him closer until you’re pressed against each other and sharing the heat between one another. All the years of pent-up desire and love finally burst from you as you pour it all into this kiss.

You’re crossing the line and he knows it, but fuck it all. When you’re in his arms, desperately clinging to him and tangling your fingers through his hair he can care less about the line between love and loyalty.

His hands pull your camisole up, lips parting for a moment as he throws the thin material off your body. You have no time to feel insecure or embarrassed because Jungkook has his hands caressing your breasts, running his thumb over your pert nipples and muttering how beautiful you are between your lips. You love the way his words fall into a mantra of adoration just for you.

“You’re so perfect. So beautiful.”

He drags his lips away from yours to line kisses along your jaw and neck. You moan as he licks a stripe from the base of your throat to the sensitive spot behind your ear before sucking a dark bruise over it. He pushes you back onto the pillows and hovers over you, desperate to finally have a taste of you.

You watch as his eyes roam your body pressed against the white sheets, a carnal desire brewing behind his crimson eyes. Feeling yourself dampening your panties under his gaze, you squirm around hoping to get him to do something. You’re completely at his mercy and silently begging him to fuck you right into the mattress.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, running your hand down his hard chest to the waistband of his pants, growing tired of waiting.

Only one finger gets past the material of his pants before he grabs your hand, pinning it beside your head and tisks, “So impatient, princess.”

With his hand still around your wrists, he plants wet kisses down the valley of your breasts to your navel, loving the way you squirm each time his lips meet your feverish skin. His other hand circles the edge of your underwear before he rips it off without warning. The sudden breeze and hot breaths coming from Jungkook’s mouth hovering over your core make you shudder as he spreads your legs apart. He licks his lips, eyeing your dripping core as your wetness leaks onto the bed.

Under the predatory gaze, your legs instinctively close around his head but he keeps them open with his hands, fingers ghosting over the long forgotten bite mark on the inside of your thigh.

“Keep your legs open. Remember?” He growls, eyes flickering up towards yours. This time instead of taking blood for himself he’d make sure to take care of you instead.

You cry out, gripping the bedsheets for support as Jungkook’s mouth abruptly comes down on to your clit as his tongue flicks the sensitive bud over and over. His fingers tease your entrance, running down your slit and slowly inserts his index finger into you.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans when you clench around just one finger, wondering what it will feel like when he can finally sink his cock in you. All of his lustful thoughts from this morning finally become a reality with each whimper and moan that fall from your captivating lips as his finger pumps into you relentlessly, curling between your tight walls.

You’re moaning—screaming—his name, prompting him to add another finger, making you cry out even louder and drowning out the background noise of the party with your screams. His other hand releases your wrists and comes down to your waist to stop yours from bucking your hips into his fingers.

With your hand freed, they intertwine with the dark locks of his hair and you try and pull him away from your overstimulated clit. His mouth is too much, you can feel the knot forming in your stomach as his fingers continue their attack.

“Jungkook, please… I-I’m-” You pant.

The words die on your lips as soon as he adds a third finger, the stretch of his fingers inside you has your back arching off the bed and your orgasm rips through you soon after. Your eyes flutter shut, the white-hot pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body. He removes his slick coated fingers from you and his mouth comes over your hole and laps your juices up like he has been starved of it for years.

He moves back up to kiss you, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. It’s slow and sensual, unlike the first time, and he slowly rubs your stomach, allowing you to adjust after your high.

Jungkook hums, “Better than blood.”

The raspiness of his baritone voice sends chills down to your core again.

“Really?” You ask, still trying to catch your breath.

“Mhm,” he hums, kissing your neck again. His hand slips behind your back to lift you up until you’re straddling his lap with his hardness brushing your core and tired head leaning against his shoulder. “Nothing compares to you, not even all the blood in the kingdom. You’re special to me, Y/N, more than you think.”

Your heart thrums in your chest hearing his soft-spoken words. It’s a relief to finally hear what you mean to him. Not just a charge, not just a duty, but as something more. Your arms wrap around his waist as you take a second to sit and embrace his presence. You put your trust in him to protect you with every fiber of his being, and now you're putting your trust in him to love you just the same. You want to give yourself over to him completely.

“I-I want you, Jungkook,” you whisper, your finger delicately tracing patterns along the expanse of his back. “All of you.”

“Are you sure?” He pulls back to look you in the eyes, worry and lust mixed behind his dark eyes. There’s no going back. He needs to be absolutely sure this is what you want.

You nod, leaning in to capture a kiss from him again and your hands tug at the hem of his white tunic. It’s not fair he’s fully clothed and you are the only one exposed.

He helps you tug off the shirt and his well toned, tan chest is revealed finally to you. With his hands on your cheeks, he pulls you in for a kiss which you accept fully. Your mouths move in sync together and as your clit brushes against his straining cock, begging to be freed from his pants, the sensation arouses you once more and you desperately rock against him for more stimulation.

Jungkook tugs his bottoms off hastily, wanting nothing more than for you to sink on to him. He grabs your hips roughly, fingers digging into your sides enough to leave bruises.

He positions you right above his cock and catches your hungry gaze, verifying your need, and slowly lets you sink down on him. You gasp at the excruciating stretch, it’s nothing like his fingers. You can barely get past the tip before you’re whimpering for him to wait.

“Ah, st-stop,” you grasp the hand at your hips, screwing your eyes shut.

“Fuck,” he hisses, forcing himself to stop for you. He’s holding back so much for you. He can’t hurt you. He’d never hurt you.

You can see the pain contorted on his face as he strains to hold himself back. So, you push yourself further down on him, sliding easily from your slickness and clenching around his length. The pain is quickly replaced with pleasure as you screw your eyes shut, moaning a string of incoherent words. You slide off of him before going back down, faster than you had intended and you both groan in unison. Your breasts rub against his chest each time you go down on him and you watch with fascination as your bodies come together each time and he disappears inside you.

He feels his canines extending as the sudden bloodlust hits him with your tightness wrapped around him. Usually, when he’s fucking, he’s feeding off some random citizen as he does it. But you’re not just a blood bag for him to fuck and discard.

He shuts his eyes, stilling himself for a moment and tries to force away his sudden hunger. He’s already fed from you and taken too much to the point you passed out.

You stop your ministrations, noticing how tense he’s become. The canines peeking from under his lip are prominent and you understand what’s wrong.

“You can drink from me.”

“No,” he gulps, jerking his hips up in attempt to distract himself from the hunger. The speed he moves at is inhuman and you tremble with each powerful thrust. Your orgasm slowly builds up and you push his head closer to your neck, allowing him the perfect place to sink his teeth in.

“Do it, Jungkook,” you breathe deeply, waiting for his fangs to sink into your flesh.

He pulls you off of him unexpectedly and you whimper from the loss. Before you even realize, you’re pressed against the bed again with Jungkook thrusting into you harder than before. As the bed creaks under the intensity of each swift movement, your hands reach to claw at his back for something to anchor on to, leaving angry red marks for tomorrow.

You cry out his name over and over, but he doesn’t hear it. The only thing he can focus on is the sound of your rapid heartbeats and the feeling of you clenching and unclenching around him.

The familiar tightness in your stomach returns as you near your orgasm, and Jungkook notices from the way you tremble underneath him. He grabs your leg and hooks it over his shoulder, allowing him deeper access to push into you.

“K-keep going,” you choke out, feeling him hit the perfect spot at this new angle.

He loves hearing you whimper and beg for him. The pace he sets is even faster, but not enough to break you with his strength. He knows himself enough to not take it too far despite the monster in him telling him to let go and tear you in half.

Another sharp movement of Jungkook’s hip and you come undone beneath him, jerking your hips up to match his thrusts and riding out your high for as long as you can. With a couple more thrusts, Jungkook comes inside you, coating your walls and filling you up.

Overcome by this euphoria, he leans down to your neck and sinks his teeth in taking no blood, instead he bonds with you. A mark that will claim you as his forever.

You’re unaware of this, however, still getting over your own orgasm to realize he’s just sealed your future together.

When he removes his mouth carefully from your neck, licking up the droplets of blood, he falls over onto his back, feeling a new sense of energy flow through him. If he were human, he’d be breathless.

You press your forehead against his chest, wrapping an arm around his torso and close your eyes. There’s no heartbeat, but you’re content believing if he had one, it would be racing just as much as yours in this moment.

“I love you.”

For the first time, it is Jungkook who makes himself vulnerable, bearing all his emotions to you. It’s impossible to know what your future together will be like. He’s marked you and now that scar will forever be a part of you. It won’t be long before your family notices. They’ll realize right away what Jungkook has done to their precious daughter and there’s no doubt they’ll want to punish him—kill him, throw him in prison, or end his centuries of service. No matter the punishment, the mark on your neck ensures that you will be together through all those troubles.

You press yourself closer to him. You don’t need to say anything because he already knows how you feel, he’s always known.

—

The next morning, while the rest of the palace is stuck in bed hungover, Jimin at least makes a groggy effort to wish you safe travels back home. He’s still dressed in his rumpled attire from the night before, squinting as the sunlight aids his pounding headache.

As he looks between your beaming face and Jungkook’s fond expression as he gazes down at you, a hazy image from last night appears when he thought he saw you in the gardens with your guard between your legs. He shakes the image away though, finding himself heating up at the thought. Maybe he had too much to drink last night and began seeing things, but as you wave your final goodbyes and thanks to him and turn towards the carriage with Jungkook’s hand carefully pressed against the small of your back, he catches an unmistakable glimpse of a purple bruise blooming on your neck and fading puncture marks. And for once, the young prince has nothing left to say.

—

tags: @winternightmagic

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slashersfuckmeup · 5 years

Text

Took me awhile to build up courage but here’s my writing

Character/s: Michael Myers x reader

Plot: you and Michael knew each other from the sanitarium (you being another patient and one of the only ones Michael likes)

Warnings ⚠️: violent themes, blood, murder, mentions of sexual assault, and mentions of suicide

Please be careful while trying to read this, it’s my first time writing and I don’t have good mind on limitations, feedback would be appreciated and some things may not make sense as I haven’t proofread yet, but anyways enjoy! 💕

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You had heard of Michael from staff that would come and check on you, calling him pure evil, and a demon, the way he was described terrified you, even though you had never met the man, you decided you where best if you never met him, but of course fate had other plans. You had been in your room, painting (weather good or bad you did not care) when you where dragged from you thoughts, literally. The man who usually cleaned the halls had decided today you would be their victim, you had this memory scrambled for the most part, but you still had nightmares, their hot breath and sticky saliva, it made you gag to think about.

then as a added ‘treat’ they threw you into his room, at first you hadn’t realised, simply groaning from your new found bruises then you spotted him, starring you down, you didn’t say anything as you just simply looked at him before backing away into the closest corner. This was strange to him, usually when people were throw to him, one of three things would happen, they’d scream bloody murder and bang on the walls, or they would cry by to door begging for a doctor, and some had even tried to attack him, but non before had ignored him completely, curious he kept his eyes on you, noticing your bruised neck and slightly open clothes. You stayed quite but examined the room closely, noticing the masks along the walls that broke the plainness of the dull rooms, every so often flicking you eyes back to the so called demon.

In curiosity you attempted to move, bad idea. Your body erupted in pain and caused you too cripple to the floor, and you began to whimper out loud, then you noticed him moving to you, what did he want, had your noise angered him, was it because you moved? So engrossed in your thoughts you only snapped out of them when your body hit the soft surface of the bed, blinking you looked to the other, and finally able to see him fully you had to hold back a gasp, he was truly beautiful, blue eyes, and you could see his hair was dirty blonde, not light brown that you had thought it to be, he was angelic, and called a demon? Shaking you head you watched him, his eyes full of curiousness, you simply smiled and muttered a thank you.

A few minutes had passed and a doctor came to get you when you weren’t in your room, surprised to see you had fallen asleep on Myers bed, carefully he entered, passing Michael and prodding you awake before leading you out. Little did you know that would not be the last you saw of Michael. He was interested about you, and would sometimes ask dr loomis questions about you, dr loomis revealed you where in a accident that had killed you mother, you blamed yourself and you father didn’t help you deal with the death, your original plan was to you your father and then yourself to be with her. Michael had tried to ask for more on that story but dr loomis admited he already told to much, but he gave him your name, (Y/N), he liked it, he liked listening to himself say it, the way it rolled off his tongue and into the air, it gave him satisfaction.

However, loomis was curious on Michaels obsession with you, and would often run some, unorthodox tests, to figure out what it was Michael actually felt, he was a man of pure evil according to him, he couldn’t have feeling for you could he? These tests, were often at your expense, you mind was strained and body always felt weak, Michael hated that, you being hurt, it drove him crazy.

This didn’t last forever though, the day of Michael escape would be something you’d treasure forever, though at first you didn’t know it was micheal, there was a sickening screaming outside your room, you couldn’t help but be curious, wanting to investigate, you pushed yourself away from your bed, and screamed, you had learnt that when you had ‘a fit’ you were removed from your room, a man came running to your room so you hid, waiting for him to enter before you made a go to leave, shutting the door and locking him in. once out, and down the hall, the metallic smell of blood filled your senses, enjoying it somewhat, you looked at the body’s, unfazed, you stepped over them, covering the bottoms and shoes of your white suit, you didn’t care, feeling a breeze of freedom... and you walked.

You weren’t even sure for how long but you walked, unfazed by tiredness and hunger, you weren’t even sure what you were walking to, eventually, you were in haddonfield, it was turning light and still dressed in the sanitariums clothes you ducked into the tree line. Somehow you were quite in the trees, completely silent, and thought drifted to the scenes you had seen before leavings

Blood, blood, body’s, the smell that intoxicating smell, their eyes white, glazed like they had been frozen, frozen in the death.

A twig snapped and in turn snapped you from your daydream, turning you saw nothing and moved on, you looked into the backs of houses tilting your head, watching mothers wake up and children groan, it hurt to think about ‘lucky’ was all that would muster before you imagined it, sticking the knife deep into the chest of that Brunnette woman with the pink lipstick and yellowed teeth, the scream of the little fat ginger brat she had as you grabbed his shirt and opened him up, letting everything spill out onto the floor, apparently you didn’t have to imagine it, suddenly the scene lay before you, you dropped the knife and it’s clang was the only noise for awhile… then, a giggle.

Nothing insane or hysterical, but one single giggle escaped your mouth, you felt power, as you stood above the body’s. Feeling at your waist, your hand made contact with something smooth, you remembered it as you yanked it off the belt, a mask, Michael had given you, he found masks comforted him, why couldn’t it do the same for you? Slowly you lifted it to your face and clipped in on, and your life had more purpose, killing the ungrateful, not grateful for life, then maybe when death came for then they’d be grateful for that, you exited the house with a new found spring in your step.

A couple of weeks passed, people assumed you were dead with other victims, and your killings were getting claimed by, the shape, you had thought nothing, that it was just a old tale you had helped bring to life, of course, it had not crossed your mind that he could be real. Over your time, you had grown a liking to a old axe you had found in a shed while hiding, perfect for opening people up! You approached a house, you had your eye on it for awhile, only to find something strange, entering the home you got that sweet smell of blood and looked around, seeing the victims and their killer, it was a tall bulking man, with a pale white face, and when he looked at you his eyes were solid black.

Your grip on the axe tightened, as he walked to you, glint of his blade caught your attention, you didn’t say a thing, until suddenly you felt a grip on your mask, and not quick enough to swipe it back, you looked down allowing your hair to cover your face, shaking now, and in a horse tone you spoke “give it back…” there was no response from the man, or movement. This only enraged you more, he stole your kill and now your mask? “Give. It. BACK!” You screeched, swinging your axe up at him missing and hitting the stairs he stood by, looking behind his masks eyes you saw them widen, the small furrow of his brow barely noticeable but to you it was easy.

At this point, your breathing was heavy and uneven and you tried to level it, however not a part of you had prepared for what was coming, the man yanked away your axe, somehow with ease, and placed it down with your mask, before reaching for his own, you blinked lightly backing up, watching closely, looking at his scared lip, stubble, light sweat, then his nose, long, thin, and his eyes, by god those eyes you’d remember them anywhere,before the mask was fully off the name slipped your tongue “Michael..?” He stopped his movements quiet for a moment, he missed how you said his name, and missed saying yours, the mask was brought off fully before looking down at you, he swore when you first met you were only slightly smaller, now it was such a large gap, you both stood a moment before you did something you had not done for awhile, you cried, you sobbed hysterically into the shoulder of the man you called a friend in your hell, he held you close by the waist, hesitant at first but leaning into it lord, realising time was limited, he lifted your things, out on his own mask, picked you up and left for the Myers house.

Once there, you both took a moment to collect yourselves , you already knew Michael would not be the same Michael, not completely anyway, and he understood the same for you, but in time you grew close again, and closer then you had before.

~~~~~~~|||

A/N: okay so I low-key don’t like this but have decided to post anyway

#slashers #jason voorhees #micheal myers #halloween #freddy krueger #x reader #slasher x so #micheal myers x so #nightmare on elm street #friday the 13th #bubba sawyer #tcm

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saxxxology · 5 years

Text

THE CURSED - Ch.6

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~2500

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

Buy Sam’s scent from my Etsy shop

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THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

The next morning, Y/N was jolted awake by the quick rapping upon her door.

“Lady?” A female voice chirped outside, “Lady, I’ve come with your dress.”

Rubbing her tear-swollen eyes, Y/N stumbled from the bed and opened the door. Morgana, the redheaded handmaiden who had been keeping a close eye on her since she’d arrived strode into the room, arms full with a large, white wedding gown. It was intricately laced with gold thread and had short, puffy sleeves, A long veil accompanied it, the edges furled and attached to a flowered crown interwoven with gold leaves.

“Is that—?” Y/N swallowed and watched as Morgana shoved the heavy curtains aside, filling the room with light.

“‘Tis,” Morgana confirmed, “come m’lady, you must wash.”

Y/N slipped her nightgown off her arms, letting the fabric crumple to the ground as Morgana filled her washbasin with warm water from the tap. “What time is it?”

“A little past eight, ma’am.” Morgana watched as Y/N stood in the tub.

“What time is the wedding?”

“At ten, ma’am.”

Y/N felt her eyes well with fresh tears. Less than two hours until she would be bonded to another man. Morgana heard her breath hitch and she straightened up, a pitcher of water clutched in her hands.

“What is it, miss?”

Y/N choked on a sob and knelt at the bottom of the wooden tub. “I don’t want to marry him, Morgana. I can’t marry him, I can’t.”

Morgana poured lukewarm over her shoulders. “May I ask why?”

Y/N straightened up and wiped her eyes. “Morgana, you’re married, right?”

The maid smiled and crossed herself. “Goin’ on seven years, ma’am. Happy as can be.”

“You love the man you married.”

She smiled proudly. “Best man in the world, miss. Takes care of our four pups while I’m here.”

Y/N took a deep breath. “I love another man. An Alpha.”

Morgana’s eyes widened. “And are you… are you mated with this man?”

With a shuddering sob, Y/N nodded and pulled her hair up to reveal the crescent marks of Sam’s claim mark on the back of her neck. She heard Morgana inhale sharply and let her hair fall back into place. “He’s one of the Rangers who brought me here, and I… I can’t do this.”

Morgana was silent for several seconds. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N sniffed and blinked more tears out of her eyes. “But I can’t marry Alec. I don’t care if I die, I won’t allow myself to marry someone I don’t love.”

***

Sam waited in the pew of the church, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh. The long, crowded hall was buzzing with people, but he swore he could hear his heart banging in his chest over the din. Dean was by his side, tense with apprehension; Sam had barely slept the night before, but was somehow alert, and Dean was prepared for anything that could happen.

“Calm down,” Dean handed him a tankard of water and watched as his brother gulped it down, “don’t start a scene.”

“I won’t,” Sam muttered, sitting down in the pew. “What time is it?”

Dean shrugged. “Wait for the bells.”

Sam growled under his breath and shifted his weight. Every minute that passed seemed like a day, and when the bells finally tolled ten o’clock, his attention snapped to the high wooden doors his Omega would emerge through any second.

When they finally creaked open and the wedding march began to play, Sam nearly toppled over at the sight of Y/N in her flowing gown, her face draped with a sheer lace veil. She was carrying a small bouquet of white roses; her hands were shaking. She walked steadily to the altar, where she met her to-be-husband, who was finely dressed in a silver and green tunic.

Sam couldn’t help but think the man looked like a wet rat.

Sam’s heart raced in his chest as Y/N and Alec gazed at each other, and when he reached out to lift the veil from her face, Sam felt his stomach twist. Hand in hand, they turned to face their audience, and Y/N sought Sam’s eyes, finally locking with his intense stare as she mouthed the words, I’m sorry.

Sorry for what, my love? He silently questioned.

A priest waited for them to turn back to face each other before he began. Sam didn’t realize he was gripping the metal tankard so hard until he felt the ache in his fingers as the thin material began to buckle under the force. Alec, greasy-haired as ever, recited his marriage vows, and Sam imagined that he could come up with much better ones.

But when it was Y/N’s turn to say ‘I do,’ Sam was appalled at the tears that brimmed in her eyes as she gently pulled her hands from Alec’s.

“I am sorry, my Lord,” she murmured, loud enough for the hall to hear, “but I do not. I cannot marry you.”

The audience gasped, and Sam shifted in his seat. “Oh no, love, what are you doing?” He whispered.

Y/N pulled her hair to the side and adjusted her veil, exposing the white crescent mark on her neck. “I’ve been claimed. I belong to someone else.”

The audience erupted as the King rose, shouting angrily as Alec stook there, in complete shock.

“You—” he stared at the mark on her skin, and anger turned his pale skin red. “You whore!”

He took her by the wrist and led her down the stairs, ignoring her cries of pain as he forced her to her knees. Roughly, he grabbed her hair and pulled her head to the side, exposing Sam’s claim mark for everyone to see.

“She is no virgin,” he cried, “she is a whore! Her family has given us a whore!” He glared down at Y/N, and Sam gripped the pew in front of him as everyone rose, attempting to get a better look. “Is he here? Is the Alpha who claimed you here?”

Y/N cried out as he roughly shook her, tears falling from her eyes, “Let me go!”

“Where!?”

Y/N struggled, her veil askew as Alec held her tight. “Let me go, please! You’re hurting me!”

“Quiet!” The King bellowed, advancing on her. “Where is he?”

Sam couldn’t stand to see his Omega in any more pain. He rose and walked into the aisle. The audience rumbled quietly as he stepped forward and knelt, locking eyes with Y/N. “I’m here, my Lord.”

Alec laughed, pure anger in his eyes. “I see! An Alpha in rut sees a common whore and takes her as he pleases! She’s been casting eyes at him,” he loudly told the audience, “the Devil’s been in her mind!”

“You’re wrong,” Sam returned, “she was dying, I saved her life.”

“Dying?” The Queen interjected. “Why? How?”

“She was ill,” Sam appealed to the Queen’s role as an Omega, “her heat came upon her and I feared she was close to death. It was my choice to take her.” He swallowed. “But I never intended to claim her, my Lord. I—”

“Let me guess,” the King interjected, “you lost control. You know what you did, boy?”

“I took an Omega outside of marriage,” Sam replied, no shame in his voice, “I admit, I only came to that realization after… after I had claimed her.” He stared at Alec. “I also disobeyed my orders and wrongfully took her from her intended mate. But you must understand that she was apprehensive about merely being handed off to settle a score she had no part of.”

Alec growled. “That is no excuse!” He roughly yanked Y/N to face him and gripped her face, hard, “filthy slut,” he spat in her face, “you’ll spend an eternity in Hell, you will. Both of you.”

“My Lord, do not harm her,” Sam attempted to distract the enraged man. “It is me you should be angry with.”

Alec turned on him. “Did she want you? Did she want to rut with you like animals?!”

Sam shook his head. “We made love together.”

Alec raised a hand and slapped Y/N across the face, hard enough to send her to the floor. She screamed in pain and fear and raised a hand to cover her cheek.

Sam snapped.

With an enraged shout, he rose from the floor and charged the Prince, who could not cover his face fast enough. Sam landed a solid blow on the side of Alec’s face, taking him to the floor and pinning him there against the cold stone.

Alec was much shorter than Sam, enabling him to miss the next blow the Alpha aimed at his face. He recovered quickly and brought his leg up, kicking Sam in the stomach and sending him back against the short altar, which toppled over and splintered on the stone floor.

“You’ll pay for striking me,” Alec spat blood from his mouth and pointed at Y/N, “and so will she.”

The crowd around them screamed and panicked as the men rushed each other, grappling with their arms wrapped around each other. Alec howled as Sam kicked him fiercely between the legs, and the smaller Beta fell to his knees. Snarling, Sam went for his knife and wrapped one hand around his opponent's throat as he raised it high above his head. Y/N saw, for the second time, his eyes turn from a beautiful greenish-blue to glowing yellow.

“Sam! No!”

Dean grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the young Prince. Sam growled ferociously and struggled to get free, but Dean managed to pry his fingers open, forcing the blade out of his hand. It clattered loudly on the floor, and Sam let out a feral shout as Alec scrambled to his feet, backing away at the sight of the yellow eyed man.

The King drew his sword and advanced on Sam, about to run him through, but he was stopped by a blur of white lace and satin. Y/N had leapt in front of the blade, and lay protectively over Sam’s body.

“If you kill him, you’ll kill me too!” she shouted defiantly, “I belong to him, your Lordship, nothing you do will ever change that!”

For a second, the King looked as if he was going to kill them both, but after several long seconds of deliberation, he lowered his weapon and backed away. His brown eyes remained fixed on Sam’s glowing yellow ones, and Y/N thought she saw a shiver of fear run through him.

“Fàg an àite seo,” he growled, “air pian bàis, chan eil agad a shealltainn aghaidh an seo a-rithist.” The man’s tone was unmistakable, and both Sam and Y/N understood him instantly.

Leave this place. On pain of death, do not show your face here again

She stood, and Dean pulled his brother up. With her head down, Y/N fled down the aisle, ignoring the stares and jeers as she left the towering church, the brothers close behind

“The horses—” Dean began.

“I know.” Sam took off towards the stables, Dean and Y/N close behind him. He quickly fastened their provisions (they’d been prepared to leave since the day before) to the saddles and roughly hauled Y/N up into the saddle, ignoring her whimper of pain as his grip wrapped a little too tightly around her waist. He swung up behind her and with a grunt, he dug the stirrups into Shadow’s side, forcing the mare forward.

They cantered down the dusty road and out of the main gates as people poured from the church doors, and Y/N blinked back more tears as she heard the loud jeers and swears echoing behind her.

They stopped ten miles later to allow the horses to cool off, and Sam crossed to the small stream and splashed water over his face. Y/N slid from Shadow’s saddle and let her trot to the stream as she walked towards her Alpha.

“Sam, I—”

“Quiet!” He rounded on her, towering over her petite frame. “What you did back there was reckless and foolish! You could have gotten all three of us killed!”

Dean placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Sam—”

Sam shook him off and advanced on Y/N, and for the first time, she was scared of what he might do. “I told you I would handle it!”

“I’m sorry,” she wept, “but I couldn’t, Sam! I couldn’t let myself marry him!”

“Sam, calm down!” Dean yelled. “She’s hurt, don’t you see that?”

Sam blinked, and the mark on Y/N’s cheek where her husband-to-be had struck her seemed redder than ever. He exhaled sharply as tears of guilt and shame filled his eyes, and he brushed the backs of his fingers over her face. She flinched, squeezing her eyes shut as if fearing he might hurt her as well.

“He hit you.”

“And you nearly killed—”

“He earned it,” Sam growled. “He earned every mark I left on him.”

He pulled a cloth from his pocket and soaked it in the creek, then brought it to her cheek. “Here,” he seemed almost apologetic as he stroked her hair, “I’m so sorry, love.”

Dean cleared his throat, pulling Sam’s attention away from Y/N. “We should go home, to Dolgellau.”

“Dolgellau,” Y/N murmured, “that’s almost three-hundred miles—”

Dean interrupted her. “We’ve traveled farther. We need to get you as far away from this kingdom as possible. Now, let’s get back on the horses and go.”

***

Just as the sun began to set, they found an abandoned cabin on the edge of a lake. Dean tethered the horses to one of the trees outside and helped Sam carry their bedrolls inside while Y/N started a fire in the old stone hearth. Dean went out to try and find them something to eat while it was still light, leaving Sam and Y/N alone.

Her dress was soaked and ripped, and her slippers were barely holding together. She kicked them to the corner of the room and fought to get the heavy wedding gown off. After several seconds of struggling with the tangled strings in the back, she felt Sam’s hand on her shoulder.

“Let me,” he whispered. His fingers deftly unraveled the ties and he pulled the corset off. Y/N reached under the skirt of the dress and ripped the heavy cotton fabric from underneath, letting the dress hang limply by her legs.

“Sam, I’m—”

“I know,” he kissed the side of her neck and took the extra skirts from her. “I know, you don’t have to say anything, Y/N. It’s over. We’re alive.”

She saw him reach up and tug his fur coat from his shoulders, laying it out several feet from the fire. She sat beside him, her body turned towards his. Pala snorted outside, and the sound of crickets and the wind whistling outside filled their ears.

“Are you still angry with me?” Y/N asked anyway.

Sam chuckled and slipped his arm around her waist. “I was… and then I realized that what happened, it saved us.” He glanced down at her, “you saved us.”

“If I hadn’t done anything, would you have?”

“Yes.” Sam smiled and kissed her forehead. “But we needn’t think about that now. I have you, and you have me. That’s what matters.”

Y/N felt her heart swell and buried her face in his chest. “I love you, Alpha.”

Sam tilted her head back so he could kiss her. “And I love you, Omega.”

If you want to see chapter 7, reblog and leave a comment! Feedback is my fuel!

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#the cursed series #alpha!sam x omega!reader

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ayearofpike · 5 years

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Alosha

Tom Doherty Associates, 2004 303 pages, 21 chapters + epilogue ISBN 0-765-34960-4 LOC: PS3566.I486 A78 2004 OCLC: 54007210 Released October 1, 2004 (per B&N)

Ali Warner has an affinity for the forest, and so she’s spending her summer vacation trying to stop logging companies from cutting down the oldest trees. But she doesn’t expect to run into something else out there, something that might be seeking to cut her down. As Ali and her friends try to uncover the mystery of who - or what - is out to get her, she starts to learn just why she is so fond of these woods, and how deep that connection goes.

We’re back to YA, only this time it’s more along the shifted expectations of what YA is and who it should be for. I’ve talked variously about how Harry Potter really changed the way authors and publishers approached books for kids and teens, but it really is hard to overstate just what a major shift this was in the market. Like, suddenly it was not just acceptable but even cool to read a book that was aimed at a younger audience, and the young ones themselves got on board faster than anyone else. Like: you’re writing a book for me, about me, and you’re not underestimating how much I can handle or what kinds of thoughts I bring into this world? It’s no wonder it caught on so fast, and it’s no wonder adults also suddenly glommed on: we had to make up for all those juv/teen/YA years of our own when we were trying to power through some Stephen King or Danielle Steel because the stuff in our school library was for babies.

That said, we did have a temporal shift in our own lives as well as the market shift. That four-year gap in Pike production, as mentioned in the comments of the last entry, probably made a lot of readers forget about him as a modern author. Also, that whole market thing meant selling bigger and fancier books first: the hardcover edition of Alosha was released like a year before the paperback. I’m pretty sure this was the first Pike book I got out of the library rather than buying it for just that reason — I didn’t want to mess up the look of my Pike shelf by throwing a big ol’ hardback on it, and I wasn’t ready to drop $18 on a Pike book. (Of course, that all went out the window when I found The Secret of Ka at a big-box discounter in hardback, not even realizing it had come out, and was unable to walk away. And at any rate, nothing printed after 2010 came out in the smaller paperback, so I was screwed no matter what I did.)

Alosha follows the Potter wave in a couple of ways. It’s the start of a series, yes, and it’s got a teen who is beginning to realize magical origins and powers. But it goes a little deeper than that: where Rowling peppers in a handful of magical creatures to vary the world and spice up occasional interactions, Pike goes all-in on the magic race war. No surprise, if you’ve been paying attention: dude managed to work a Lord of the Rings reference into almost every Archway book, and he even got it into his Cheerleaders joint. But I think that I gave him a little more credit than he deserved the first time I read this book, largely because I hadn’t read Spooksville yet — because this is Pan’s Realm, fleshed out and beefed up and given localized importance through Ali, who is connected to the alternate dimension with the elves and dwarfs dwarves, and who will have to realize her power and importance across the series in order to seal the connection and heal the cross-dimensional wounds and hurts. I assume. (I’m not sure I’ve read all of these.)

Let’s begin. Ali is preparing for her long day of protesting by buying a sandwich at a local shop. When she comes out, she’s accosted by a tiny man who is attempting to sell her a watch and then a CD Walkman, but he doesn’t seem to know what the latter is. She rebuffs him and suggests he try to sell at the pawn shop, and then offers him her food because he’s obviously hungry. When he leaves, she realizes he’s stolen her money too, but doesn’t have time to go chasing because the lumberjacks will be showing up soon.

On her way up the mountain, she encounters the lumber manager, who asks that she please stay off the road to avoid making any trucks swerve and crash. What he means, obviously, is go home and quit bugging us, but Ali interprets his words to mean that she can still pester the lumberjacks if she just goes cross-country. But on the way she hears or maybe just senses something following her. Pike’s made her easy to see, with waist-length maroon hair (that’s literally how he writes it), so no surprise unless she wasn’t expecting loggers up in this part of the woods. She’s traversing a narrow ledge when a noise above her makes her look up — and some kind of giant hairy thing leaps out of the way seconds before a torrent of earth and rock comes down over her. She ducks into a hollow in the rock, but she’s still buried and needs to figure out how to breathe before she can figure out how to dig herself out. Luckily there’s a length of hollow bamboo unburied right next to her. Somehow. In the Pacific Northwest. (Maybe? He never exactly says. It could be coastal California, and this town could be Spooksville all over again, but it always struck me as Oregon for some reason.)

So she manages to get out and then makes her way back home, where we learn that her mom has died a year before and her dad is trying to make ends meet as a long-haul trucker, so Ali is alone a lot. She has to spend the night at her best friend’s house, in fact, because her dad is taking off again, and she tells Cindy (see? Spooksville) all about what happened to her. They agree that maybe Ali saw a bigfoot, and they’ll go the next day with their friend Steve to find footprints.

Ali’s on her way home the next morning to get supplies when she runs into the boy of her dreams, Karl Tanner. She mentions the bigfoots to him, and he seems amused but uninterested. So Ali has to go without this amazing boy, and instead goes with her dizzy friend and the fat kid who has a crush on her to try to take pictures of bigfoot prints. Sure enough, they find some, right where it would have had to be standing to dump a giant pile of dirt on Ali. But now Steve thinks that to make this irrefutable they have to find some hair. So the kids follow the tracks back down toward the river, but suddenly Ali is grabbed from behind and thrown into it.

It’s a swift river, a steep gorge, and there’s a waterfall coming up. What is she going to do? Luckily, there’s a tree bridging the banks just before the falls, and Ali manages to leap and grab it at the last second, and scooch herself to safety. But now as she’s trying to return to her friends, the bigfoots are back — three of them, forcing her back into the river. But she feels strong and secure: the current isn’t taking her anywhere this time, and she starts throwing rocks with unexpected power and accuracy. So the bigfoots take off, and now Ali is wiped out and falls asleep in the sun trying to dry out.

When she wakes up, there’s this tree she’s never noticed before, about thirty feet tall but as big around as a house, with a hole big enough to crawl into. She does it and finds this carved room inside the tree, where she sits quietly and starts asking questions — and the tree answers them. It addresses her as Alosha, which is a name she remembers but doesn’t recognize, and tells her its name is Nemi, which means “no one.” It also tells her that she’s more than she knows, and she will have to face the trials of the elements to truly know who and what she is. She’s already passed the trials of water and earth, and yet to come are fire, air, time, space, and the mystery of who she is. This is a good thing, because she also has to go to the top of the nearby mountain, 14,000 feet up, and close the Yanti, the interdimensional gate that is allowing these crazy bigfoots and thieving midgets into our world. If she doesn’t, Nemi warns, the elf and dwarf army will be using it to cross over and will then attempt to wipe out all of humanity for its sins. (I know, doesn’t sound so bad necessarily in 2018.)

But for now, Ali has to go back to her friends and plan what to do. She’s undecided right up until Steve calls with the news: a tree has fallen on the logging boss and he might not survive. Ali knows this isn’t a coincidence, and she has to act. She feels like she can trust Karl, for some reason, maybe because he’s just that much of a dreamsicle, and she tells him everything that’s going on and the task she’s been set. Karl doesn’t even fucking blink. Like, maybe he should have been named Bryce. He just starts collecting hiking and camping gear and asking when they want to go.

Steve and Cindy grudgingly come on board, but when they’re trying to buy food for the expedition they get robbed. Three guesses who. Ali is at the pawnshop in a blink, and sure enough there’s the little dude, preparing to unload a purse and a wallet. Ali finds her new strength and threatens him, and the guy breaks: of course he’s a leprechaun, hiding behind terrible stage makeup, and he’s crossed over to this dimension to be the first one to amass a pot of gold before the other leprechauns show up. He senses Ali’s power though, and that there’s more to her than she knows yet, and agrees to help on their journey when she asks. After all, someone from the other dimension might be able to help them understand what they’re facing.

So finally four kids and a leprechaun take a taxi up the side of the mountain as far as they can. Karl warns that they still have a 20-mile hike ahead of them, and they have to traverse it in two days, before the full moon totally opens the Yanti. They make it about nine before Fat Steve needs to stop, so they make camp and prepare to spend the night, with Karl taking first watch. Ali dreams about the night her mother died: a car accident, a blinding red flash, waking up in the hospital hours later. When she wakes up, the leprechaun is sneaking back into camp, but Karl doesn’t think that was a big deal — at least, not until the dark fairies show up and start shooting at them with fire lasers. Karl suggests they split up, that Ali go ahead with Cindy while he and the others work to distract the fairies so the girls can make it farther.

Of course this is a fail. It’s nighttime and Ali doesn’t know the trail, so they ultimately end up making a circle back to the camp, which is totally on fire. Oh, and there’s a bigfoot trapped inside the fire, wearing the sweater Ali lost in the rock slide. She feels bad and wants to save him, so she leaps into the circle of fire and suddenly feels strong again, like she could just ask the fire to stop burning and it would. And it does. The bigfoot is actually a troll, and after securing his promise to not eat anyone, Ali conscripts him to come along.

The dark fairies attack again, but now Ali has a fire shield, and she can still throw rocks. She knocks one fairy out of the air and steals the stones it is using to make the fire lasers. They eventually make it to the intended campsite, where the boys are waiting. Karl has taken a shot to the stomach, but everybody else is OK — even Steve, who somehow beat Karl to this point and doesn’t have a scratch on him. However, all of their gear is gone, except the backpack Ali is wearing. It’s too late to turn back now, though. They sleep a little bit longer and then press on.

As they approach the tree line, they start to hear elf warriors coming up behind them. It becomes really obvious when the arrows start flying. The only thing Ali can think of is to get across the river gorge, to where the trees are thicker and they’ll be protected. So she cuts down a tree with the fire stones and everybody gets across this bridge. But they still have to get up the mountain, and the troll is going to turn to stone if he is out in the sun too long. Both of the creatures know about a cave, though, that passes through the mountain and climbs up a bit, emerging on the backside where the travelers might be more protected. Nobody’s psyched about going in, but Ali makes them do it anyway.

They come to a set of three doors where only the middle one is unlocked, so they keep going, Then there’s another set, of seven.The first and third are open, and even though everyone is pushing and clamoring for the third, Ali insists that they use the first. And this is where the shit hits the fan. They come to a giant crevasse before too long, with a bridge fallen down on the opposite side. Karl has a rope, and manages to catch one of the hooks in the floor, but before the gang can get all the way across, the dwarf army shows up. Ali is safely on the far side, but the weight of three kids, a leprechaun and a troll is too much for the rope, and the dwarf general throwing his ax and chopping it off on the other side means all of Ali’s friends are falling into darkness. She runs, but doesn’t get far before she’s hijacked by the dark fairies, who subdue her easily as the fire stones don’t work on this side of the first door. Shit.

Ali is taken to the dark fairy hive, where she’s hung from her ankles and taunted by the queen. She seems to feel like she should know something more than she does, and the dark fairy queen sees it too, that she’s forgotten important information. It doesn’t matter, because Ali will still make a delicious dinner. She takes off and leaves Ali to dread her fate, during which time she realizes that she survived that car crash for a reason. That it wasn’t the car crashing into something — it was being crashed by someONE, someone outside, someone who had the power to make red flashes, maybe with stones. This gives her the strength to want justice, and she manages to free herself and then waylay the fairy queen when she returns, forcing her to fly Ali back up to the gorge where she lost her friends.

See, Ali has realized something. She’s noticed her watch is running backward, and the buttons she’s ripped off her shirt to mark the gang’s progress have mysteriously reappeared. So not only do the fire stones not work on this side of this door, but also time runs backwards. If she can get up to the set of seven doors before the gang gets there the first time, maybe she will be able to convince herself to make the right choice. Unfortunately, none of the group can see her, because she’s still time-shifted too far out of sync. However, Ali-2 does hear the button fall on the floor just inside the third door, right when she’s ripped it off to drop it inside the first. So she calls her friends back and they go the right way, all the way to the outside of the cave, where it is dark but they still have about 2000 feet to climb to the peak.

Before the Alis leave the cave, though, they rejoin each other, with the knowledge and test completions that both have now done. And Ali has realized something else: one of her friends is working against the effort. As they climb the last distance to the summit, she confides in Karl: Steve is a traitor, and she needs him to be held hostage before they get up to the Yanti. Karl is only too ready to help, and tapes him up to be guarded by the creatures before he climbs the last stone dome (which looks to Ali kind of like a giant igloo) with the girls.

And sure enough, there on a pedestal in the middle of the roof is the Yanti: a seven-sided band surrounding a triangle surrounding a single diamond, none of them touching but still connected all the same. Only Ali can get close enough to see it, though: the other two are stopped by some kind of force field. Karl wants to know why Ali isn’t grabbing it to stop the dimensional portal opening, and that’s when he reveals himself to be the total shitbag and not Steve. In a former life, Karl was Ali’s chief advisor in the realm of the elementals, and when she wouldn’t heed his advice to cross dimensional borders and support war against the humans, he went to the dark fairies to get done what he needed to do. And now he wants the Yanti and all its power, and he’s got a gun to Cindy’s head and will blow her pretty brains all over the mountain if Ali doesn’t give it up.

Only guess what: Ali already knew that. Gagging Steve was a ruse to make Karl overconfident. And guess what else: she already found the gun and took all the bullets out of it. You don’t have to guess, though, that her super strength and powers are way too much for Karl — but just before she kills him, he drops the bombshell that her mother is still alive. He took her out of the burning wreck and substituted some other body that the dark fairies provided. If she kills him, he warns, she’ll never find her mother. So she lets Karl walk, just before a giant rainbow halo surrounds the moon and lights up the entire mountain, and just like that the elemental army is here.

Ali wants to talk to the lord of the elves, to try to talk him out of the war. He’s all, nah dude, we’ve been over this and reborning yourself as a human girl isn’t going to change my mind. But Ali tries more persuasion: it’s because she’s taken the human form, she argues, that she KNOWS humans aren’t totally bad, and that there is some hope for the earth and all its dimensions if they’ll just stop now. But the elves are determined to fuck some shit up, and it’s too late for Ali to do anything about it.

Or is it?

By whispering her secret name into the Yanti, Ali turns it back on, just like a light switch. She commands the elementals to be gone, and they all fade out — all except the elf king, who has used his OWN secret name to stick around and then suddenly has Ali at knifepoint. She knows he isn’t going to kill her, because she knows they have a history, and sure enough the dude drops his knife and backs off. For now. He is still convinced that there is a dark evil overtaking his dimension, and the only way to get rid of it is to get rid of humans. Because, dear Ali, the darkness is a product of this dimension, and destroying its origin is necessary. So we haven’t seen the last of the elf king, or Karl probably.

But we do still have a problem: we’re stuck on top of this 14,000 foot peak with no food or water. No sweat: Ali asked for a canoe, and it’s sitting right there. They literally snowboard it down to the river and then ride the rapids all the way back to town, undoing in three hours what took them two days to traverse. Then Ali goes to the hospital to see the logging boss, and with the magic of the Yanti manages to heal his ills and save his life.Then she goes home, where her father is frantically waiting for her, and he notices that her hair has gone from maroon to bright red. Just like her mother’s.

And that’s the end of Alosha! We certainly have a neat story here, tied off while still leaving enough open ends to explore further in future tales. Obviously Ali is going to have to battle the dark evil, and obviously she’s going to attempt to find her mother and thwart Creepy Karl. Still, I don’t really know if that’s all going to get wrapped up in three books. (Spoiler: I know it won’t, because Pike has written a fourth, which he’s holding hostage until whoever has the movie rights to this one makes a move and gets it produced.) I guess all we can really do right now as Pike fans is keep moving along, and hopefully we won’t have to go back in time too far to undo our own mistakes.

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louthegreatfurrry · 6 years

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(doctor) healer Pt.7

@justafictionalthing things take an unexpected turn and some things are revealed.

The next week is a happy mess, Megamind spending more time out of bed than in it. They bond, the two of them, across books and bandages and herbs being plucked from the garden. And, well, across other things as well…

Cat pins Megamind’s hands against the wall, stepping closer and tilting her head back to give him a knowing grin. “Louis is at the market,” she whispers, leaning forward and breathing a puff of air against his neck, “meaning we’ve got the house all to ourselves…” She trails off, then looks up at him through her bangs, offering him the biggest bedroom eyes she’s ever offered anyone.

His cheeks are flushed that pretty purple she adores so much, a smug grin on his lips. “Oh no,” he breathes, raising his eyebrows playfully, “whatever will we do?”

Cat laughs lightly, then presses closer. “Oh,” she says, twisting her hands so that their fingers intertwine, “I have a few ideas…”

“Oh, that smells nice.”

Cat looks up from the pot sizzling over the stove to give Megamind a fond smile. “It’s a eucalyptus balm, I don’t think you want to eat it.”

Megamind shrugs carelessly. “Still smells good,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest. It’s still bare, but the bandages have been swapped out with a plaster the size of her palm. Well, Cat’s not about to complain – gorgeous blue skin is gorgeous blue skin, after all.

She laughs. “Git,” she says, turning to stir the pot a few times again. “Are you hungry?”

“Depends on what you want me to eat,” he says, a suggestive tone to his voice.

Cat chokes, ducking her head briefly to hide her flushed cheeks. “You – just – get out of my kitchen!” she cries, laughing brightly as she pretends to chase him out of the room with her spatula. “We can discuss that later, I’m cooking!”

“You said it was eucalyptus balm!” comes Megamind’s affronted answer, distant and from the living room.

Cat takes a few deep breaths before she returns to the pot. She’s still smiling when the balm is done.

They’re in the garden, Megamind on his knees and with dirt up to his elbows, Cat with only a sleeveless shirt and no cloak. It’s about time to sow the plants for the upcoming autumn, and Megamind offered to help her.

She is one hundred percent certain he did it only so he could show off his body. It’s shimmering gently in the light, even through the thin layer of dirt covering his arms. Cat pauses every now and then just to throw him a soft look.

He looks so incredibly focused on his work, biting his lip and furrowing his brows while trying to find out how the tools works.

Wait.

“Oh – Megamind, that’s not how you use – ”

The market is bustling with activity, people rushing from place to place like their houses are on fire.

Cat has been repeatedly telling a man to fuck off. “Look, I’m not interested in you whatsoever, okay?” she says, pointedly looking at the stand in front of her, rather than at him.

He considers her for a moment, his gaze burning holes in her clothes. “Mmm… but you could be.”

She puffs out her cheeks, spins on her heel, and glares at him. And then, before she can think about what she’s doing, she blurts, “I have a boyfriend.”

(the statement somehow doesn’t feel like a lie.)

For a moment the man only grins, seemingly not believing her, but then the grin freezes. He takes a step back, the cockiness draining from his face, faint fear taking its place. “Oi – you’re that Healer, ain’t you?”

She flushes furiously, still glaring up at him but now also fighting the urge to beat him up. “No,” she says, spitting the word as if it might somehow protect her, “I’m a doctor.”

“Yeah,” the man says, nodding frantically and now stepping further away from her. “The Healer, the one who killed – ”

(time freezes, tilts, and for a moment she sees only black, darkness, the infinite emptiness she woke up from –)

“I know what I did,” she whispers harshly, lowering her voice as far as she can, and she can taste the chill of the words on her tongue. Without waiting for him to respond she spins on her heel, marching off towards her house. That’s enough shopping for one day.

(she knows what she did she knows what she did she knows what she did - )

(and that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?)

Anyway.

She referred to Megamind as her boyfriend, and… it hadn’t felt like a lie? So that poses a very important question – what are they?

“Megamind, what are we?”

“Atoms formed into creatures trying to find a meaning in life, I suppose.”

Perhaps asking that question while they were stargazing out in the fields had been a poor choice. “Uh – no,” Cat says, “what are – what are we, what’s our relationship status?”

Megamind, laying beside her in the tall grass, stills. “…what do you want it to be?” he asks, voice soft and breathless, as if –

(as if he’s afraid of the answer.)

(but she knows that tone of voice, will always recognize it, and –)

- he’s willing to be whatever she wants him to be.

And above them the starry sky stretches, the dots of scattered light so far away and yet so close – but Cat’s world stills, shrinks into the tiny pinhead that is right here and now, and her heart beats.

“I would very much like us to be dating,” she whispers.

And her world becomes even smaller, it becomes the heart beating in her chest and the breath of Megamind beside her – for a moment that is all she knows and all she has ever known, two entities so different and yet so similar.

Then Megamind laughs – but it’s not a ridiculing laugh, not a shocked ‘what, are you serious?’ laugh. It’s breathless. Almost awed. “I have a confession to make,” he says, and there’s the sound of rustling that signals that he’s rolled over. Cat turns as well, so that they’re both laying on their sides and facing the other. “Being shot? It didn’t come unexpected. I knew what was going on, and I knew I would most likely die.” The silence rings around them; Cat doesn’t answer, only stares at him, at the gorgeous blue skin and the enthralling green eyes and the most beautiful heart she’s ever known resting beneath the surface. “When I woke up – when I saw you – I thought you were an angel,” he admits, and something slow and soft and warm settles within her. “And I knew that I wasn’t dead,” Megamind continues, “because – there are no angels in hell.”

“Oh, Megamind,” Cat whispers, reaching for his hand. Their fingers intertwine, resting in the grass between them – and in the dim light cast from the stars their skin looks almost the same. “I’m no angel.”

Megamind smiles softly. “And yet,” he breathes, shifting to brush his free thumb over her cheekbone, “you saved my life.” He tilts her head, and the soft smile fades into an even gentler expression. “You saved me.”

(unspoken; she knows he doesn’t mean him, the crime lord but – him, as in his sanity, as in his happiness, as in him)

Cat sits up and pulls Megamind after her by his elbows, leaning closer until their lips are almost touching. “It was worth it,” she whispers, closing the gap between them before Megamind can muster a reply.

When she pulls back a light blooms between them, stretching out and becoming a delicate chain fastening around their wrists, translucent and pale white, glowing brightly in the night.

“Oh,” Cat breathes, because she knows exactly what’s going on.

The light cast from the chain illuminates the two of them, brining Megamind’s expression of surprise and confusion into the world.

The surprise and confusion, Cat knows, is not echoed in her expression.

After a moment of the chains being there, the same glow appears in their free palms – Cat knows, without looking, that it’s a tattoo in the shape of a key.

“What – what’s going on?” Megamind asks, staring at his palm in shock.

Cat looks up at him. “Magic,” she whispers.

The chains are still there, glowing the brightest light she has ever seen. Gods, how compatible are they, if the light is so fierce? “I don’t believe in magic,” Megamind rushes, his eyes wide and still terribly confused.

“I advice you to re-think that,” Cat mutters. “Brace yourself, the blast will be – ” Before she can finish the sentence the light from the chains explode outward, a bright beaming beacon that can likely be seen from the whole town and even further. It hurts to look at it, and Cat flings herself to the ground, covering the back of her head with her arms upon instinct.

When the light fades, the chains are gone – but the silvery-white key remains tattooed in their palms.

Cat stares at her hands, slowly standing up on steady feet.

She is positively bursting with power.

Megamind, still crouching in the grass a few feet away, blinks up at her in confusion. “Wh – what was that?” he asks. “I feel – different – ”

Cat looks down at him, trying to say something, anything – but it wells up within her, everything she’s barely thought about, every part of her that she refused to accept but always felt like home –

and she raises one hand towards the sky, pulls on the strings of reality, and –

a shield snaps into place with a sharp crackzzum, the hemisphere the largest she’s ever created, encasing both her and Megamind and most of the field. Ripples tear across the air, shimmering golden-purple and bright.

She stares up at it for a moment or two, pride and disbelief and hope burning through her veins.

Then, slowly, without cancelling the shield, Cat lowers her hand and turns to Megamind.

His eyes are wide, chest heaving with each breath. There’s shock and awe in his eyes, surprise and confusion.

(and her powers, rising and roaring in her, like the tide or the sea at night –)

“I felt that,” Megamind whispers.

“I’m afraid, Megamind,” Cat says breathlessly, “that you’re an Ancora.”

Later, when Cat has taken down the shield and they have ventured back into the house, the two of them sit on the guest bed cradling cups of cocoa in their hands.

“I’m not a human,” Cat says, looking down into the cup rather than at Megamind. “I look like one, and act like one, and think like one… but I’m not.” She swallows. Outside it has begun to rain, and now the patter of raindrops against glass is the only sound breaking the silence. “I’m a Healer.”

“I… I don’t know what that means,” Megamind admits, sounding distinctly apologetic.

“I… well… it’s a gene, sort of, that’s passed down by blood,” Cat begins, slowly running her fingernail along the rim of the cup. “Healers, they – we have the need to help anything and everything that needs us. And most of us also have – powers.” She looks up from her cup, now, to give Megamind a small smile. “What you saw – what I did – that was a shield. I’m a special case, though – I’ve got two powers, and the other one is – is – ” She swallows again, once more turning away to gaze into the depths of her cocoa.

“…yes?”

“Fire control,” Cat whispers. “… but there was never much control.”

The rain hammers outside. “I suppose, going from its name, that an Ancora is a Healer’s… helper?”

“Companion,” Cat interjects quickly, “it’s – they have the largest mana pools known to existence, but they rarely, if ever, have any powers. It’s a good match for Healers, who have very small mana pools but powers that require lots of it.” She sighs. “If… if a Healer and an Ancora are compatible, they’ll bond whenever they’re in the same state of health. Uh, both physically and mentally – it’s important they’re both well.”

It’s silent a bit more, then Megamind makes a small sound. “I’m an Ancora?” Cat nods. “I’m your Ancora?”

“…if you so wish,” Cat says, desperate to keep the fear out of her voice.

(control over her powers control over her powers, her powers – )

“What’s my job?”

“Keep me grounded,” Cat explains, “and let me access your mana pool. You do both unconsciously; there’s nothing you actually need to do.”

He straightens up, and his expression, which has been tender and still this far, hardens into something like determination. “Well then,” he says. “If you want me, I’d be happy to be your anchor.” The determination slips and he blinks. “Uh. Ancora. Sorry.”

Cat stares at him. “Are you serious?” she whispers. “You’re – willing to stay bonded to me – ”

“Sure,” Megamind says, shrugging lightly before shooting her a joking grin. “Your food is delicious.”

“You haven’t tasted a lot of food before, then,” Cat mutters drily. “Okay, but – if you ever want to end the bond, for whatever reason, hold your wrist with the hand with the tattoo and think of breaking the bond.” She demonstrates by wrapping her fingers around her other wrist.

Megamind looks down at his hand, at the intricate and pattern-colored key looking as though it’s always been part of him. “So that’s what it is,” he says. “It’s pretty, but I won’t use it.”

Cat gives him a wobbly smile, wraps her arms around his torso, and gives herself over.

And things are alright.

The only question is – will it last?

#megamind #meg og mitt #my writing #(doctor) healer

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lhupics · 4 years

Text

Draft 2 Bodyguard fic

~*******~

“These creatures are unlike any I've seen before.”

Anrivan pulled his sword out of the body of the last man he had slain and kicked the corpse, so it rolled off of the stairs to join the pile of dead creatures that already ended up there. His eyes scanned the throne room in this temporary moment of respite.

When a captain of the guard came to his room to tell him the throne room was under attack he believed it a bad joke and didn't heed the captain's plea for him to flee while he still had the chance. He went to the throne room instead and found it was no joke at all. It wasn't even a nightmare; no, it was much worse than that.

His parents lay face down on the floor in puddles of their own blood. Not far from them lay his younger siblings in much the same fashion. The guards were still fighting when he arrived in the room and managed to close and bar the entrance, but died in the process.

The only ones left alive at this moment were his loyal bodyguard Andokai and himself and they had their own battle prowess and experience to thank for that. How much longer they'd remain like that was still the question.

Loud screams came from the other side of the large door, as well as the incessant pounding of an object against it. It would only be a matter of time until they'd break through the door and force their way inside, ready for a new wave of attack. “They are called the Morna'zjar.” Anrivan averted his gaze from the door so he could focus on Andokai, who was going through the bodies at their feet. She was only a few inches smaller than he was, with a body hardened by long years of battle despite her young age. Actually, he did not know her age, but she still looked young, around his age, and so he always thought of her that way.

His eyes narrowed when he heard her speak. A set of curses he picked up while serving in his father's army escaped his lips and he squeezed his eyes shut in anger. “Who are they? Where do they come from?”

Andokai studied the corpses carefully and frowned. “They are not from around here. The Morna'zjar are a race bred for war. Their raptor legs give them inhuman speed and agility. Their skin has been hardened with tiny scales and their tail gives them balance. As for their humanoid torso, that was to make them look pleasing to the eye as well. They are completely loyal to their masters and have no qualms about fighting to the death.”

It surprised Anrivan to learn that Andokai knew whom they were dealing with here. Then again, she'd traveled a lot more than he did, so it made sense. He took a closer look at their opponents. “Who are their masters? And why did they kill my family?”

He knew there would be no answer. The dead would not give that to him.

Anrivan sighed deeply and knelt down near the bodies of his family. His entire body shook with grief and anger; his eyes were fighting to hold back the tears he wanted to cry for his loved ones. This was not how he imagined losing his parents. He always thought that his father would die old in bed and his mother as well. Now they were lying here in puddles of their own blood. It looked like they tried to flee, with his father protecting mother and the youngsters, but were slain in the process.

“I want answers, Andokai.” The young prince got back onto his feet and turned around to face his bodyguard and companion.

She positioned herself back before the thrones, her heart pounding in her chest, and she increased the tightness of her grasp on the swords she always wielded in battle as the sounds on the other side of the door grew louder. Andokai looked straight into Anrivan's eyes as he returned to standing next to her. “We will have to fight and stay alive until our true enemy decides to reveal themselves and that may be a long time.”

“I don't plan to die before I've gotten my answers, Ando. I don't care how long it takes or how many more people I'll need to kill before these 'masters' come out of hiding.” His voice sounded firm and determined. There was a violent and angry streak to it that Anrivan's voice rarely had, yet considering the situation it made sense.

The young prince returned to gaze upon the young woman standing beside him. She'd been at his side for so long already and it seemed fitting that she was with him now at this darkest hour, the end of their world as they knew it. At the same time he struggled with her presence. Anrivan bit his bottom lip and returned to stare at the door, although he didn't see it. “Andokai,” he spoke distantly. “I cannot ask you to stay here.”

She blinked a few times, not believing what she was hearing. “What did you say?”

He continued to refuse to look at her. “I cannot ask you to put your life at stake here. My family is dead and I will be shortly as well, as I don't expect a lot of mercy. If my family was murdered so brutally then my life will not be worth a lot either. They do not seek your death and if you stay here you will surely die. You should flee now you have the chance.”

Andokai lowered her head and knelt down in front of him. “You are relieving me of my duty, your Highness?”

A pained groan escaped Anrivan's throat as he too bowed his head. Her words and the tone of her voice reached his very core. “Don't call me that, Andokai. Have I not told you to stop addressing me with titles such as lord and your highness?”

No answer came to his question. It wasn't necessary, because he knew the answer already anyway. After a long pause he regained some of his composure. “Yes, I am relieving you of your duty. I wish for you to leave my side and seek shelter elsewhere.”

“Have I been remiss in my duties that you send me from your side?” She sounded young, just like she did when she first became his bodyguard. Even her language was as respectful as then. They had not spoken to each other like that for ages.

Anrivan fell down upon his knees and grabbed her hands. “No, by the Seven, no, Andokai. You have never failed me.”

She looked up at him, her lips pursed together and her eyes were already filling with tears. “Then why are you sending me away?”

He buried his hand in the mass of her hair and kept her where she was, so he'd be able to look into her eyes better. “It is for that very reason I am sending you away. I do not want you to die.”

She shook her head. “Is that not my decision to make?”

“Please do this, for me.” He looked at her pleading eyes, squeezing her hands. “You do not need to die here.”

Andokai took a deep breath and smiled. “I am not going. I will stay here, right at your side. Where else should I go? My place is with you and I will not leave my post. If I should die I'd rather die at your side than in some place avenging your death.” She pulled away from his grasp and got back onto her feet, her head tilted slightly in aristocratic fashion, as he'd sometimes seen her do whenever she got into a certain mood. “I am disobeying my orders, lord, and there is nothing you can do about that.”

She returned to her station next to him. “Let them come.”

Anrivan took the same position, leaning on his two handed sword, and smiled. He should have known she wouldn't leave, not even if he ordered her to go. Following orders was never one of her strongest suits. As much as he was concerned for her life he was also glad she was with him. This way he would not need to face the end on his own.

The great door to the throne room cracked and the wood shattered about, leaving a great gap. Once the enemy soldiers broke through the battering ram they used was thrown aside and they flooded the throne room, gathering up in front of the two people that were still alive inside.

~******~

The battle was going badly.

Anrivan breathed heavily as he slew yet another one of his foes. There were so many of them. Blood poured out of a head wound, but he didn't pay much heed to it. There were more pressing matters at hand and by now he was bleeding out of many wounds.

His eyes widened when he found himself up against one male warrior from the Morna'zjar with dark colours and feathers on his tail as well as behind his ears. The warrior's battleprowess astounded him so much that he was caught off guard and for that he cursed himself, for he was thrown onto the ground and the enemy fell down upon him, keeping him from getting back up again.

Next to him Andokai wasn't faring much better. She wasn't the tallest person around and that often worked to her advantage when dealing with enemies, for they underestimated her many times, but there were way too many of them, even for someone as skilled as her. She was driven backwards, where she almost stumbled over the bodies of the royal family.

It was not fair they already had one battle behind them and the people they were fighting now were still fresh.

Anrivan crawled out from underneath his attackers and tried to get over to his friend's side, yet even as he crawled the attackers swarmed towards him like bees to honey, or moths to the flame. He was too busy to keep them off of him to do any real fighting.

“Andokai,” he groaned as he reached her, barely able to keep on standing, even if he was already down on all fours.

She jumped next to him to fend the people off of him and grabbed his arm to help him up. They stood with their backs against the wall of the throne room, behind the thrones and looked at the number of enemies appearing in front of them, ready to take them out.

Anrivan groaned again. The blow that caused his head wound left him dizzy and disorientated. At this rate they would go down in no time. He grabbed hold of Andokai's shoulder pads. “You should have left when you had the chance,” he grunted.

“No,” she answered, although her voice was failing her at this moment. She was getting exhausted as well. “I would rather die than leave your side.”

They braced themselves with their backs against the wall and kept their weapons aimed at the warriors in front of them, still managing to look menacing despite their injuries and weariness. It looked like the death strikes could come any second, as the distance between themselves and their attackers was decreased.

Yet the death strike did not come.

Anrivan growled and lashed out with his sword, striking several men in front of him. “What are you waiting for? You have us here, where there is no escape for us. Why do you not kill us? Go ahead I dare you! End it!”

The Morna'zjar warrior he fought against earlier came into the prince's line of view again. He signaled the rest of the attackers to stand down, yet to keep their weapons aimed at the two people standing with their backs against the wall. They seemed to be waiting for something, or maybe someone.

“What are you waiting for?” Despair filled Anrivan's voice and he lowered his weapon. What was going on here? Why didn't they make a move? They came here to kill him, right? He was the heir to the throne and the last remaining member of the royal family. He was the only one standing in their way of taking over the country. “Don't you want me dead? Kill me! Why will you not strike?”

“Because they were told not to, dear boy.” The deep melodious voice came from behind the group of warriors.

As soon as it was heard the soldiers scattered, creating a path between themselves, so the new arrival could step forward. It was an older woman, or at least she looked older than him, with dark hair pulled up in elegant fashion and wearing a tiara beset with many gems. Her dress was made of the finest silk. She moved gracefully, with an arrogant tinge to it, and she looked down upon the prince and his bodyguard.

A simple hand gesture was enough to tell the Morna'zjar with the feathers to make them prisoners.

Anrivan narrowed his eyes as he was stripped of his weapon and his arms were bound behind his back, while he was forced upon his knees. He looked at the woman carefully; she seemed familiar, yet he couldn't remember where he'd seen her before. “So we're your prisoners now then?”

The woman approached the prince and chuckled as she placed a finger underneath his chin, to keep him where she wanted him. One finger was all that was necessary. “Tsk tsk, Anrivan. Show a little more respect to your elders.”

He growled at her rebelliously. “I'll show respect where respect is due. And you should call me 'your highness'. I am still heir to the throne of Alkumar.”

The smile the woman conjured upon her face was as cold as her eyes. She tapped Anrivan on his shoulders. “Careful, my young prince. You will find that things are not as they used to be anymore with your family dead. Your old station is meaningless now. The Royal House of Alkumar is dead and we, the Illirudari, will take control of the country.”

Anrivan looked at Andokai, who sat upon her knees silently beside him. She had never been one to speak much in front of people who considered her to be of a low station, as she was only a bodyguard. She left the talking to him mostly. It often seemed like he was the voice and she was the weapon he commanded, yet he didn't consider it as such. The young prince returned a fiery gaze at the woman in front of him. “Then what will you do to us if you will not kill us?”

“Oh, I could care less about your female bodyguard, Anrivan. She means nothing to me and she is of no use to me either. For you, however, I have something special in mind. My people insisted that you should be killed, but I managed to convince them to follow my plan.”

Anrivan's eyes narrowed once more and he glared at the woman. “I will make no move without Andokai. Whatever you have planned for me does not matter to me, but you will not exclude my bodyguard. She goes where I go.” That statement seemed to take the woman by surprise, even if it only showed for a moment. She started laughing immediately afterwards. “As you wish.”

The next moment Anrivan and Andokai were both knocked out cold and carried out of the throne room.

~*****~

Anrivan immerged himself in the clear water of the pool. This place was unlike anything he’d seen for and he’d taken some time to properly admire it. He had no idea the great forest of Naclos harbored places like this pool with the waterfall. It was so peaceful with only the sounds of the forest sounding through.

When he first set foot upon the forest's soil he'd felt uneasy, as if his every move was being watched by many pairs of eyes. The forest was a lot darker too and seemed menacing, as if it was trying to keep unwanted visitors out. Why did it allow him to enter then if he was not wanted here in the first place?

Now that was gone.

He couldn't really say when that changed, just that it had, so he was able to cleanse himself underneath the waterfall. It didn’t take long before he discovered he was no longer alone in this tranquil place. He threw a glance across his shoulder to find out who followed him, yet it was difficult to see with his eyes full of water. Deep down he hoped it wasn't the young esquire in their company, who seemed completely out of place here and the boy simply got on his nerves. That boy was in a continuous state of fear here. It was as amusing as it was annoying. Although he figured each and every one in his company would get a heart attack if they found out he was gone and they'd cause an uproar trying to find him.

Anrivan wiped the water out of his eyes and blinked a few times as he stepped out from underneath the waterfall only to lower himself into the water. A flash of sunlight fell upon a piece of armour near one of the trees nearby.

He chuckled. “You can come out now, Andokai. I know you're here.”

His words had the desired effect; she emerged from the shadows into his line of view, her head tilted back slightly and her arms crossed in front of her chest. “You know you shouldn't wander off on your own here.”

“How can I wander off when I have you with me following my every more? It's like you're my own personal peeping Tom.” Anrivan turned around to face his peeping Tom, looking at her while he tilted his head.

She was the one to chuckle now. “You're the heir to throne, I thought you'd be used to it by now that people watch your every move. It shouldn't unsettle you anymore.”

The young prince moved through the water into Andokai’s direction. “I never said it unsettled me. Besides, I'd rather have you following me around than say that nervous little bundle of a boy we have with us today or the old man waiting back at the camp.” There was a short pause. “Since you're out here now anyway why don't you join me? I'm sure you can use a bath after all that travelling and the water is lovely.”

Andokai remained silent for a little while and smiled all of a sudden. “No, thank you.”

He reached the shore, yet remained in the water to keep his nether regions out of sight. She hadn't been assigned to him for very long yet and they were still getting to know each other. Considering they were going to spending a lot of time together and they'd see each other washing many times Anrivan figured this was one way to do that. He was used to having people around while he was washing anyway and he thought she was too, considering she grew up in a military order as one of the few females there. They'd even trained together many times now, so they should be used to each other by now. “Are you afraid of me?”

It was just a taunt and they both knew it. Andokai tapped onto her arm with her fingers. “Please, you know better than that.”

“Come join me then. You deserve some time to relax”

No answer came and that seemed strange to him. This wasn't how that afternoon went. He remembered that afternoon well, in fact he would never forget it. Anrivan turned around and looked about himself. “Andokai” he called out. “Andokai!”

She wasn't there. Somehow she suddenly disappeared when she was there just moments ago. A cold wind picked up and chilled both water and the prince bathing in it. Not only that, the water grew dark and the trees regained that menacing aura that unsettled him earlier. It was as if they were humming to a song he couldn't hear, but he could definitely feel it.

“Andokai? Where are you? What's happening?”

He was alone, standing in the middle of dark vicious water now, up until his chest and the water was still rising. Everything else was gone. There were no more trees,there was no waterfall and there was no sunset. There was only a dark sky with purple hues around him; air so thick it was almost suffocating him.

Another voice was carried to him by the wind and echoed around him. “She is not here, my young prince. She is gone, she has left you behind.”

Anrivan shook his head. “No, I don't believe you! She would not leave me behind. She said she'd stay at my side.”

It was then that she materalized in front of him.

That woman.

She reached out to him with her long slender fingers and wrapped them around his chin as she stood upon the water, lifting him out of it with the greatest ease as if he was a feather and not a young man in the prime of his youth, where he knows there are limits to his strength but where has not found those yet.

“What are you doing here? Stay out of my head.” It was difficult to speak while he was held up by his jaw, but he tried nonetheless.

Her smile was eerie and her voice very much the same way. “So very persistent. You seemed much easier to break in the throne room just now. You should just stop resisting, Anrivan. It is pointless. You're all alone.”

Anrivan lowered his head. “Stop talking. I don't want to hear your voice anymore. Everything you tell me is a lie.”

A shiver ran down his spine as she traced the shell of his ear with a finger nail, then his jawline, only to move to his lips afterwards. He struggled, trying to get away from her, but some kind of force kept him where she wanted him to be.

She looked different he thought all of a sudden. Of course she still wore the clothes that she wore in the throne room, but her nails were longer and dark. Horns protruded from her brow as well wings on her back. Upon her brow something shone as well and he could see upon further inspection that it was a crystal of some kind, purple, like the hues in the sky that now turned to lightning.

What was this place? If it was a place at all.

Anrivan groaned deeply. Something was pulling at his chest, somewhere, yet when he looked down upon himself he couldn't see anything unusual on his body, yet the hurt was there. He couldn't be imagining that. What was going on?

“I spared your life, Anrivan. It now belongs to me, to do with as I will. As such you will also do as I will.”

~*****~

An agonizing cry echoed through the citadel.

Below the ground Anrivan's body was chained to a wooden table. Behind him upon iron footwork stood a purple crystal. A great rune was drawn onto the floor underneath the crystal and energy rose ever higher, encircling the trashing body on the table.

Various Illirudari had taken position upon the rune on the floor and chanted incantations, to keep the magical energies flowing.

Anrivan screamed.

It felt as if his body was being torn to pieces, yet he could not lie still. He wanted to get away from this place, this event, away from whatever was being done to him. Now he was completely conscious he could feel it even more; he could even see what was happening to him as the crystal showed his reflection.

He was changing.

Into what he didn't know: all he could say was that his eyes were different. They were no longer grey, but purple. His hair was no longer black, but white. At the same time his hair was short, with a few tresses still long, but mostly his hair was now unkempt and wild. His skin was a dark gray now,with a rune on the middle of his brow and more runes on his shoulders, chest and arms.

That was not even the worst of his transformation.

Another cry escaped his throat as he saw his chest. Right in the middle of his chest, where his breast bone once had been a crystal now protruded through his skin. Just the look of that unnatural phenomenon was enough to drive him insane. He wanted to tear at it, rip it out of his body, but his hands were tied. It was then he noticed his nails were different and not only that: his feet had changed too. They both looked like claws. He looked like... like those creatures he'd been fighting earlier!

Two Morna'zjar walked towards Anrivan's table with a chalice in their hands. One of them grabbed his head and forced his mouth open, while the other poured the contents of the chalice into it. The prince swallowed it, although his oesophagus protested heavily. He didn't know what it was, but it tasted odd. It felt as if all layers of himself were stripped away to the point where he didn't know himself anymore.

The entire process was exhausting.

At one point he wasn't sure if he could even fight on. The pain was wrecking his body and his mind. He fell back against the wood and just closed his eyes. There was no strength left in him.

“Andokai,” he muttered weakly. Even his voice sounded strange to his ears. “Andokai.”

He moved his head from left to right, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, no matter how small it may be. She had to be around here somewhere, or did she get killed after all? He hoped for the latter, because he did not wish for her to go through this torture.

A slender hand was placed upon his sweating brow, moving the wet strands of hair out of his face. Anrivan blinked a few times to see clearly again. It was her again. She looked quite pleased as she towered above him now, having a strange sparkle in her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again, yet no sound emerged from his throat.

If he could he would reach for her, yet he couldn't. After several long moment he managed to find his voice. “Where... is she? Where is Andokai?”

The woman sounded belittling when she answered. “She is gone, little princeling. You don't need to think about her any longer.”

Anrivan closed his eyes, falling into the deep slumber he so desperately tried to resist, but failed at.

~*****~

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imagine-darksiders · 7 years

Text

As promised, a continuation from my last post, because for some reason it won't let me post this with it :/ Samael and Watcher. Hope you like it xoxo

Samael: “Sam?!”

“Not. One. Word.”

Your hands fly up to try and hide the enamoured grin that erupts across your face when you spot Samael on his throne.

“Do not laugh at me!” the demon roars, which would have been menacing and might have even been enough to sober you, had it not come out at around 1/20th of its usual volume or if it the one shouting hadn't been around 4 inches tall.

“I’m n- haha, ahem...I’m not laughing,” you assure the tiny demonic prince as you approach him, kneeling down on the hot stone of his throne room as you near. He doesn't look entirely convinced, if anything, he looks downright furious.

“How on Earth did you get yourself into this mess?” you ask him with a sly grin. Samael sends you a heated glare and snorts, the word he utters sending a chill down your spine.

“Lilith,” he spits.

“Can she do that?” you ask incredulously while at the same time, reaching out a single finger to poke at the demon.

Samael snaps his teeth dangerously close to your skin as the hand nears and you jerk your limb back at the threat of tiny, sharp fangs. “Obviously, she can,” he sneers.

The diminutive demon stalks to the edge of the throne and you watch as he peers over the edge, seeming to judge the distance between himself and the hard ground below.

“You want a lift?” you ask with a smile, once again reaching out cautiously to hold your hand palm up before him. The demon only growls low in his throat, tail flicking back and forth in irritation. With a huff, he leapt from the seat of the throne onto your outstretched hand and began clawing his way up your arm. Wincing as his claws dig into your skin, you watch him carefully until he settles himself heavily on your shoulder.

“My my my, how the tables have turned,” you snicker, “I’m usually the one sitting up on your shoulder.”

You feel the being beside your ear rumble as he chuckles, “I wouldn't get too used to me being up here, Lilith’s....hmmm...tantrums tend not to last for long. Doubtless this will wear off before too long,” Samael’s clawed hand grips the lobe of your ear as you begin walking to his chambers, being mindful of the powerful but minuscule prince on your shoulder.

Samael quirks a brow at your slow, deliberate steps and gives your ear a sharp tug, “You're worried I might fall?” he asks teasingly, “Have you forgotten so quickly, that I am a lord of Hell?”

You shake your head slowly, “No, just.....conscious that you might not like to be jostled, that’s all,” you explain. He makes a sound of light surprise that you barely pick up on.

Wilful consideration from somebody is a concept he’s not entirely familiar with...

Upon reaching Samael’s bedchamber, you automatically reach up to grip the demon in a gentle fist, pulling him off your shoulder and holding him out in front of your eyes on a flat palm.

“I am not a toy, Y/n,” he grumpily reminds you as he rights himself in your hand, standing and glaring into one of your curious eyes with his own mix of fascination and inquisitiveness.

You both study each other for a long time, unspeaking.

Due to his gargantuan size, Samael never really noticed the tiny flecks of additional colour that dance across your iris, nor did he really appreciate the tantalising scent of your skin that threatens to overwhelm him now, standing so close to it.

You, on the other hand, are occupied with marvelling at the surreal sensation of holding a near omnipotent being in the very palm of your hand. In this form, he looks so damn delicate, but you know not to be fooled by the illusion of smallness.. Even at this size, you had little doubt that he was the one very much in control.

After a moment, you come back to yourself and shake your head to clear it of the lingering awe. Almost at the same time, Samael also appears to recollect himself and snorts gruffly.

“I think this is something I should really sleep off,” the lilliputian prince grumbles quietly. Nodding in agreement, you scale the stone steps that lead to his large, intricate bed and set Samael down timidly on the silken sheets.

“This is humiliating,” he growls as you heave yourself up onto the bed, “Lilith will be punished for this insult.”

You roll your eyes as he plots his revenge, knowing that the ‘punishment’ would likely be nowhere near as severe as he made out it would be.

“So, why did she shrink you anyway?” you ask casually.

You're surprised when you look down at him to find that Samael is averting his eyes rather purposefully. He mumbles to himself so you settle yourself down on your stomach until your face looms behind him, casting a shadow over the little Lord. Samael turns on his heel and stomps over to you with a frustrated sigh.

“It is.....entirely possible that I called her.........magical prowess into question,” he mutters crossly.

“Yikes,” you hiss through your teeth and chuckle at the sheer humiliation on the prince’s usually malevolent face. With a sigh, you flop back onto the sheets, missing the way the impact makes Samael bounce slightly in place. He snarls half-heartedly when he realises that you're no longer paying attention to him, so he stalks over to your shirt and takes hold of the fabric with both hands, hauling himself up and onto your slowly rising and falling stomach.

You crack an eye open and glance down at Samael as he tries to walk regally up your stomach, but inevitably stumbles, huffs, then plops himself down heavily with a deep scowl. You shoot him a playful wink, earning yourself a devilish sneer.

“Guess there’s nothing to do except wait,” you mutter, letting your head fall back against the pillows. After a moment, you feel something make its way jaggedly up to your neck. You're tempted to look down at Samael, at least until you feel something nip sharply at your lower lip.

“Um, ouch?” you grumble, prompting the Prince to laugh loudly at you. Samael smirks at your pout and presses his tiny, rough hand against the even smaller wound he’d inflicted on your mouth.

“Apologies, dear,” he teases you with a sickly sweet voice, “I was curious.”

When you slept that night, Samael would deny that he studied every inch of your face, finding himself more and more enamoured by the sleeping human beneath him. You would wake in the morning to a regular sized Samael blowing warm breaths over your hair this time and running a clawed finger down your arm.

Watcher: “War! Look out, you almost squashed him!” you scold the heavy footed horseman as he sets his boot on the ground mere inches beside the tiny, writhing black wisp of smoke on the ground.

Hurriedly, you bend down and close your hands gently over it before lifting it slowly up to your face. War watches as you carefully open your hands slightly and peer through the gap between your fingers at the thing inside.

“It’s really him!” you breathe amazedly. War leans over to glare down at your hands and, indeed, there’s the Watcher, spitting and cursing, but safe in the palms of your hands. The horseman raises an eyebrow down at the dead Shadowcaster in the middle of the street. With a grunt, he beckons you to follow after him and mutters to stay close, choosing not to comment on the current state of his hitchhiker.

You trot behind the horseman obediently, all the while trying to soothe the distressed sprite in your hands. The Watcher took one look at your immense face as it suddenly appeared above him and instantly hissed, darting backwards into a solid wall of flesh.

“Hey, easy. It’s me,” you chirrup. The Watcher freezes upon the realisation that it is indeed, you.

“Y/n?” he gasps hesitantly, “What in the nine Hells happened to you!”

“What happened to you, more like!” you laugh softly, scattering wisps of him into a flurry with your breath, “You got zapped buddy; Shadowcaster,” you clarify.

Meanwhile, in front, War narrows his eyes at your frustratingly boundless compassion that extends even to a creature so wretched as the Watcher.

Opening your hands delicately, you allow the Watcher the freedom to hover an inch or so above your laid out palms and take in his new surroundings. If a creature such as him could pale, you're sure he would have in that moment.

“Oh, no....” he mutters as he cranes his slender neck upwards to the city’s skyline, already immense now seemed as though it’s even larger than the large ranges of Hell’s own mountains.

Snapping his head forward, the Watcher barks to the Horseman, “War! Fix me!” Your large companion merely twitches his head to glance over his shoulder at the Watcher and snorts. The outraged, mini Watcher sputtered with rage, but you quickly hush him, promising that you’ll figure out how to get him big again. The sprite shoots you a skeptical glare, “What makes you think that you could help me, human?” he spits, “Or are you secretly well-versed in demon magics?”

You frown at the blatant sarcasm packed into the minute voice but you fix your eyes sternly on his, “I don't know anything about magic, but I want to help,” you chide him gently. If the Watcher had a response to that, he kept it to himself, instead settling into your cupped palm and staring at you with six, round eyes. Ignoring his puzzled expression, you cast your gaze up to the sky and grimace at the sight of Earth’s moon peeking its face over the top of an old skyscraper.

“War?” you call, but he’s already thumping his way over to an underground subway. Chivalrously, the horseman cleans out the whole station of any demons and nudges you towards a maintenance room off to the side of the tracks. You enter, Watcher still in hand and War close behind.

Placing your tiny handful on a metal shelf, you start to gather some materials from around the room and dump them into a pile in the centre, War helpfully ignites the cardboard and paper and you soon bask in the warmth of a cobbled together fire. With a deep sigh, you glance over to the Watcher, blinking when you notice that he’s still staring at you.

“Something on my face?” you grin over at him, startling the poor creature and causing him to smack into a toolbox behind him. “Oh, sorry!” you frown with concern, reaching out to him, “You okay?”

The Watcher aims a dirty glare up into your eyes and he seethes, “Why are you being so kind, human? What could you possibly have to gain from this?”

Setting your hands on either side of his wispy body, you begin to close them softly around him, “I’m not trying to gain anything,” you murmur, “I’m just trying to help.....” The Watcher stiffens, but allows you to gather him up in your hands and pull him close to your chest.

On the other side of the fire, War eyes the Watcher as you slide down the wall and sit comfortably against the cold concrete. The Horseman’s cold gaze meets the sprite’s and one looks nervous while the other gives a look that clearly states, ‘I’m watching you, don't try anything.’

The Watcher is pulled from his silent staring contest with the enormous horseman by the sensation of your forefinger tracing up and down his ebony spine. “Would you stop that,” he snaps, shrugging your finger off and glowering up at you, aggravated to find that you're just smiling down at him kindly.

“Sorry,” you whisper, lowering your hands until they rest comfortably in your lap. For a long while, there’s only silence in that room, save for the crackling of flames. You’d almost fallen asleep, exhausted from the day when you hear a tiny, almost inaudible,

“Thanks.”

Blinking your eyes open, you glance over at War to see if the horseman was trying to get your attention, but he simply stood by the door with his eyes staring intently into the flame. You frown in confusion, ‘surely not......’ you think, but still, you look down at the Watcher, who, despite being free to go where he pleased, had remained folded over in you palm, smoky tendrils floating down over the edge to give the impression of sitting. He shoots a quick look up over his shoulder at you to find you staring at him.

“Yes?” he hisses, “I said it, so what?”

A small smile twitches your lips and you bring the tiny creature up to your mouth. Ignoring him as he recoils in abject horror, you ghost your lips delicately over his wispy ‘hair’, causing the Watcher to clench his fists tightly.

“You're welcome buddy,” you murmur against his cool skin. You fell asleep that night, watched over by not only your colossal horseman, but also your newfound friend who, for some reason, didn't leave your hand. Not even when you awoke hours later and asked if he wanted to be put down.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #imagine darksiders #g/t

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