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hopeless-ro-simptic · 4 years

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Familiar Cerulean Eyes Pt. 5

Click here for other parts. Part 6 is up here.

Sorry for the delay, midterms kicked my butt and then I was sick all weekend, but here it is! For those wondering where Shoto is, don’t worry, he’s coming. This chapter is more of an introduction to the rest of the League.

Word Count: 2.5 K

Taglist: @skzero-99 @superblyspeedydragon @jparra4587 @flyingowls @emrysaaryn @imuziawi @sheedaabee @peculiarinsomniac @littlelovebug98 @plutoneu @giftofwonder @kitty-kat-ash @fukyouthink @anarchys-bnha-mess @threbony @orenjineki @toobsessedsstuff @bamf-barnes @x-a-delama-x @inanabsentia @reallyshey @godsblesstheboi @operatorsdime @drownedbytears

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You expected there to by some sort of delay, making you sit in the black mist for a moment, a brief second before entering wherever it was taking you. There wasn’t. So, with no preparation at all, you were dropped into a corner of a dingy looking bar, surrounded by the unfamiliar scents of strangers. None of which you could assume were good company.

Dabi immediately shoved you behind him up against the corner, standing between you and the rest of the villains all of which who’s eyes immediately locked onto your own as you peeked out from behind him. There was no hiding your omega’s scent.

“My, my, someone smells delicious… what do you have there lover boy?” An Alpha on the other side of the room with a mask covering everything but his mouth and eyes stared back at you, smile on his face, a marble being rolled between his fingers.

“She’s so cute, I want a taste.” Golden eyes, wide with excitement, followed your movements as the petite blonde beta bounced in her seat, a knife between her fingers. You think you recognized her as the one that was called Toga, Shoto and his friends had run into her a couple times now. She had some kind of blood quirk and was obsessive with people.

You shrunk further back into the corner, eliciting a low growl from Dabi, which only made the alpha’s smile across the room widen.

“Now now pretty boy, why don’t you let the pretty girl say hello?”

The second beta jumped in now, his scent confusing your omega as it smelled both sweet and spicey, strong and weak all at the same time. “She should join us. Kill her she knows too much!” He sounded like two completely different people when he spoke, if you weren’t watching him you couldn’t have been sure that both voices were him.

The last person in the room, other than Shigaraki and Kurogiri, a scaled alpha with purple hair that sat the closest to you stayed silent, watching and listening.

You had barely blinked and the small blonde in the school uniform was in your face, peering around Dabi a wide smile across her features, her tongue licking her vampire like teeth.

“I’m Toga, that’s Twice, Spinner and the fancy guy in the top hat is Compress!”

“Toga!” Shigaraki growled out in annoyance.

“What? Everyone already knows who we are anyways! It’s rude to not introduce yourself.” Toga turned back to you, her crazed smile still wide, knife still in her hand. She took a step towards you only for Dabi to burst into flames, essentially engulfing you as well, forcing her to step back several paces.

“If anyone touches her I will rip their fucking heads off and burn them to a crisp”

The room was immediately filled with the scent of your panic rising as you tried to cower away from the flames licking at your skin but not burning you. You tried to rein in the panic, knowing you were fine but the sight and smell of the flames and smoke had your omega chirping wildly for help from an unknown source.

Dabi put out the fire as soon as everyone was far enough away, not even bothering to glance back at your terrified form. What the fuck was that? Did he know you couldn’t be burned? Did he care?

It was then that you noticed the deafening silence that followed. The questions hung thick in the air as everyone watched as your unscathed form looked up at Dabi with distress on your face. Even the hoodie you were wearing was barely burnt at the edges, making you wonder if most of his clothes were fire resistant somehow.

Kurogiri was the first to react, appearing suddenly in front of your form between you and Dabi, causing a low warning growl to be emited from the alpha, but the calm and collected beta ignored him completely.

“What’s your name little one?”

Dabi watched, ready to step in at a moments notice, but shockingly, you didn’t feel any malice coming from the well dressed mist in front of you. You had heard about majority of the member of the league from the Todoroki’s, mostly Shoto, but you were still amazed at the mist in front of you. Did he have a body? His scent was so soft and calming, even for a beta. It was so easy to miss. Like a light rain on a spring morning. It was no wonder you didn’t notice him when he first entered Dabi’s apartment earlier.

Everyone else was silent, watching on with curiosity as Kurogiri prompted you a second time.

“Your name?”

“Oh.. um… Y/N” You felt oddly at ease speaking to the mist in front of you, he didn’t have nearly the same effect on your omega that the other villains in the room did. You felt like he wouldn’t hurt you for some reason. You weren’t scared of him.

“Y/N…and can I ask what your quirk is, Y/N?”

You glanced over to Dabi, his face unreadable, before glancing around the room. As much as you didn’t want to tell the league of villains anything about yourself, you knew they weren’t going to leave you alone until you answered.

“Nullification skin… quirks and their effects that are outside of my skin don’t usually work on me. It’s pretty hit or miss though.”

Dabi glanced over to see that Shigaraki, who had been silently scratching away at his neck this entire time had stopped, glancing at his hands and back at you the question clearly written on his face. Dabi let out a snarl stepping towards the other alpha, ready to take him on if he so much as reached for you again.

“That doesn’t mean test it.”

You could see the blue haired alpha growing angry with how Dabi was talking to him. You didn’t want to be in the middle of another fight between the two.

“Come now, let’s not fight over the pretty damsel, I believe we have a mission to discuss?” Compress had spoken again, his eyes watching you with interest and something else. He made you uneasy.

“He’s right. Show and tell is over. We can deal with your little pet later. Kurogiri, get her out of here.”

Before Dabi could react, you were once again sent through the black mist of a portal, a soft chirp leaving your lips.

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The room you were in was small and looked like a prison cell if you were being honest. Maybe it was, after all you knew that the League of Villains was not above taking hostages. There was nothing in the room other than a toilet in the corner and a mattress on the floor, as well as a camera perched high up in the corner of the ceiling. Not even a blanket to keep you warm. There wasn’t even a door, which really had you confused. You guessed that the only way in or out of here was through a teleportation quirk. You curled up in the corner, on the mattress pulling your knees tight against your chest, tears streaming down your face as you cried silently.

You had always been a cry baby, the Todoroki pups used to tease you about it all the time, even Touya. Especially Touya. You felt like today you were allowed to cry though, given everything that has gone down in the last day or so. You felt like every five minutes you were going to die, and now the only person who seems to care about your safety, even though he is the one that kidnapped you to begin with, was ripped away from you, not to mention he clearly was hiding things. Like how he knew what your quirk was, or at least that his fire wouldn’t affect you. Had you been on fire at the market? Did he just assume you were fireproof? Or did he not know and just didn’t care if he burnt you?

The emotions that swirled in you were so confusing. You had been kidnapped, caught on fire, and almost killed.

On the other hand, your omega was over the moon at the attention you had received today. You hadn’t had someone look at you the way that Dabi does in years, in some ways ever. Were you just latching onto him emotionally because he is the nicest one out of all the murderers? You didn’t think so. Before the others were even involved he was kind to you. Sure he kidnapped you, and yes he was a cocky arrogant bastard that seems to think he has a claim over you. But he hasn’t even fully scented you yet. He hasn’t really forced himself on you. Not how a typical alpha would… and he gave you a blanket. Unscented. What alpha does that? For some reason, your omega, no not even, you were entranced by the blue eyed alpha. You wanted to smell him, to build a nest around him, to…

You frowned at your thoughts. Why were you going there? You barely knew this guy, and clearly he knew a lot more about you than you thought. You couldn’t trust him just because he was a little nicer than some of the other alpha’s you had known, let alone the other villains you were surrounded by. Just because he is only the second other person to get you a gift. Just because he reminds you so much of a red-haired alpha that you missed with every ounce of your being.

Your stomach growled and you realized there was no food in this room or water, you weren’t sure how long it has been or how long you would be in here. Surely they would bring you some food and water, since they didn’t kill you outright.

Or maybe they would all grab some popcorn and watch as you starved to death, your mind going crazy at the silence.

After a few more minutes, or maybe it was a couple hours, you weren’t sure, the black mist of a portal finally showed up again, Dabi stepping through, it closing behind him. He looked tired and annoyed, his hair all sticking up from what you assumed was him running his fingers through it. It was a sexy look that’s for sure, but you ignored your inner omega, refusing to acknowledge his existence as you continued to stare at where the portal had been. At this point you were done crying, now you were angry.

“I’ll be back in a couple days… you’ll have to stay here. It’s the best protection I can offer you right now. Tomura won’t even let me take you to my room here. He’s worried you’ll escape and go running to the hero’s” He glanced over at you, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his long cloak that was classic for his villain costume, a frown gracing his lips. “He’s probably not wrong I assume.”

“I want to go home,” His lips quirked up at your response. You sounded mad. Feisty. He liked it a little too much. He wanted to rile you up some more.

“I don’t doubt that, but which home are we talking about princess? The cage that is the number 2 hero’s domain? Or is it somewhere else?”

“What do you know about me?” Your eyes flitted over to his, a frown pulling at your face seeing that he was smirking per the usual. As much as your omega wanted him, there was no denying it at this point, you didn’t trust him for a second.

He squatted down in front of you, his arms resting casually on his knees, his face leaning in close to your own, the smell of alcohol on his breath.

“I know that you’re not wearing any underwear right now, cause I have your panties in my pocket. I know that the little gasps you make are sexy as fuck, and that you’ll probably be a good obedient little mouse once we get down to the nasty of things. I know that your lips look so damned kissable and I know that you want m-“ You shoved him, causing him to fall back onto the floor in front of you a weak hiss coming out of your throat, your face beet red.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it” the smirk on his lips wavering slightly as you turned away from him again, your voice flat. You were tired, you didn’t want to play his games right now. You were already starting to feel numb from the constant stress.

He let out a sigh, pushing himself back up onto his feet, pulling a walkie-talkie from his cloak pocket, tossing it to the bed next to you.

“Look, Kurogiri has the other one, if you need anything call him, he will get it for you. I’ll be back in a couple days and then we can get you into a more comfortable place okay? With a real bed.”

You continued to ignore him, wishing he would just leave you alone. Apparently having your life threated and being toyed with was exhausting. You curled up into yourself, facing the corner of the room leaning your head against the wall, as you heard the shuffle behind you the Alpha waiting for any kind of response.

After about a minute, he let out a soft grunt, turning to leave, pausing once more.

“Is there anything you want from the apartment before I leave? Maybe your old clothes for comfort…” You could barely hear the last part, a strange sadness tinting his voice. They only barely had Shoto’s scent on them, but you somehow knew that was what he was referring to.

Your omega spoke before you could even think.

“Can I have that blanket back... and some food?”

It was only a couple minutes after he left that the portal opened, your blanket, a singular pillow that after a quick sniff you confirmed was the one from his bed, and a bag of snacks and food being dropped onto the floor before closing again. You shuffled over grabbing the pillow and blanket planning to make what little of a nest you could when you noticed a sticky note with one word scratched onto it stuck to the bag of snacks. Reading it made your heart flutter in a way that you hated. Why did your omega want him?

Sorry.

#bnha omega #alpha dabi #omega reader #bnha #mha #mha omegaverse #dabi is a todoroki #dabi is touya #dabi #dabi x y/n #dabi x female reader #dabi x you #dabi x reader #crispy

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wildlyglittering · 3 years

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Good at Starting Fires

I really hated the overly sexualised way that Cassian looked at Nesta in ACOSAF and ACOSF when he commented on her drastic weight loss. Instead of being concerned that she was losing weight at a drastic pace he was more 'boobs man, great they're still there' and it wound me up no end.

I was sent a prompt by an anon that said 'angsty Nessian set in the Illyrian camp where Cassian sees Nesta in her underwear for the first time' and I found that I wanted to try and right that 'wrong' in relation to the above. Probably not quite what the requestor had in mind but hey ho.

Some mention of weight loss and concerns surrounding it.

***

The rain lashed onto Cassian’s exposed skin.

The deluge hadn’t turned into a full storm quite yet but still, this was the worst weather he had seen in a long while, the wind barrelling into him warranting his full concentration in order to continue to fly upright.

Cassian would have chanced some different manoeuvres to make flight easier but he wasn’t flying alone.

The female in his arms had said nothing to him since they left the ground, perhaps planning to ignore him for the remainder of their eternal lives. Cassian would usually provoke her into retaliating against some jibe but tonight, with thick darkness surrounding them and the harsh pelt of the cold rain against their skin, goading wasn’t suitable.

Instead, Cassian flew through the onslaught, clutching onto a shivering Nesta.

They’d exited the river house in silence. Cassian thought she would fight the decision, fight Feyre, fight him, but she hadn’t. Her lips pursed together with her spine rigid and shoulders defiant; a stubborn refusal to give any indication of defeat.

Nesta hadn’t looked at any of them, or spoken either, instead turning with clenched fists to walk out the door she’d walked in from.

“Bye then,” taunted Rhys from his place by the fireplace.

A sharp rebuke came from Feyre while Cassian rubbed his hands over his face before glaring at his High Lord. His next action was to move fast to follow Nesta.

Feyre had been on his heels but if Nesta wanted nothing to do with him she wanted less to do with her sister. Cassian reached her first and Nesta stared at him with cold eyes. “We go now,” she demanded through gritted teeth.

“Nesta!” Feyre called out from behind, half running towards them.

“Now,” she demanded again her voice thick and trembling.

For a moment it seemed like Feyre was going to shift into her wings and fly after them but maybe there was something in his expression, or Nesta’s, which stopped her.

Nesta had clung to his neck the way a child clung to their mother but he got the impression she really wanted to use her hands on his throat in a different way. The rain followed them from Velaris to the mountains; Nesta spending the entire flight with her face buried into his shoulder.

Cassian would pretend along with her that it was only raindrops falling onto her cheeks.

If the betrayal had cut her, she’d resolutely decided to not let the wound show. She’d been cornered like a wild creature by one sister and the other, the one Nesta adored with the fullness of her heart, hadn’t shown to say anything at all.

When they arrived at the cabin it was Cassian’s pity for her which made him absorb the spite spilling from her lips. The force of his landing caused mud to splash up their legs and Nesta pulled away from him the second her feet hit the dirt.

Despite the rain and with dripping hair and sodden clothes she was beautiful. The words from her mouth, decidedly not so.

“Pathetic,” she hissed at him over the roar of the thundering rain and he somehow understood her meaning underneath – how Cassian was a grovelling sycophant to his High Lord who would never place a wing out of line and never fight back.

Nesta spoke with fists clenched at her sides. Cassian wondered if there was a part of her that wanted to strike him and he wondered if there was a part of him that would let her. She turned away, her back as rigid as before, every bump of bone showing through the fabric.

Cassian frowned. The dress was drenched, clinging to her flesh in a way it hadn’t when dry, illuminating what the material would otherwise hide.

He shouldn’t have been able to see the sharpness of her spine.

“Do we have a place to go or are you reducing me to sleeping in the mud?”

Those words were small, sharp cuts which stung though Nesta had no knowledge of how Cassian’s nights as a youth were spent doing just that, with the smell of putrefying leaves on his skin and clumps of dirt under his nails.

“Well?” she snapped, turning her head to glare at him from the corner of her eye. This was a glance which said he was beneath her, that she didn’t need to turn to address him, that the sight of him offended her glorious eyes.

What Cassian saw painted a different picture; tinged pink eyes, and a red nose. The skin around her eyelids swollen.

He let the stings dissipate. Nesta had been thrown from one world into another and from that one into something new. He would hold his tongue.

“This way, sweetheart.” Well, to an extent.

They trudged across the mud, Cassian’s feet sinking into the earth as he overtook Nesta to show her the way and he didn’t bother glancing behind him to see if she followed. She had no choice, there was nowhere else for her to go.

Rain had seeped into Cassian’s clothes, his skin damp and his wet hair dripped water down the back of the neck. He was feeling wet and miserable and wondered how worse this was for Nesta in her heavy woollen dress.

His siphons emitted a soft red glow and that was all there was; them, the rain and the glow in the darkness. Not even the moon greeted them.

***

The cabin was a welcome sight.

Their belongings were there, mostly Cassian’s with some provisions Feyre had arranged for Nesta. The door creaked on the hinges as Cassian stepped into familiar, if slightly musty, surroundings.

A perfume of earth and open skies lay underneath the dust and he inhaled the scent through his nose and into his lungs. He hadn’t been here in so long with wars and commitments keeping him far away; but if Velaris was his home, this place was his sanctuary.

There was a shuffling behind him and for a moment, lost in euphoria, Cassian forgot he wasn’t alone.

Nesta stood in the entrance, surveying her new domain. Her wet hair had unravelled from her coronet braid and tendrils clung onto the side of her face. A fat raindrop travelled from her temple past her cheek and hung from her jaw before finally dripping onto her collar.

Cassian frowned again.

Nesta’s dress buttons had popped open in the flight and he saw her neck and collar bone, a strange sharpness protruding from the stark white of her skin. Shadows, he told himself, from the candle that had flamed into life. They cast shapes and make everything harsh.

Nesta’s fists were now balled into her gown as a puddle grew around her. If she noticed Cassian’s gaze she never let on and continued to sweep her eyes around the room with a bored detachment.

“This is it,” she said, “my prison for the indefinite future.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “If Feyre was going to keep me caged she should have at least made a gilded one.”

Yes, he wanted to say, because your residence was so lavish.

“Move,” but Nesta didn’t wait for Cassian to step aside before pushing past him, head high and eyes forward. She stopped in the living room, her head turning left to right as she took in more of her surroundings. Her face gave nothing away as she scrutinised the spacious open living space which branched into the enclosed kitchen.

Cassian shook his head and ground his teeth as he closed the door behind her, the wind bringing sheets of rain into the cabin. A trail of water led across the floor to where Nesta stood.

The middle of the cabin was lighter, framed by the multiple fae lights and candles, and Cassian saw so much more. Nesta’s skin was white all over but her pale hands had red, cracked knuckles and dark circles like old bruises hung underneath her eyes. A shudder rippled through her.

Rain smashed against the window panes and Cassian looked to the vast inglenook fireplace which took over one full side of the cabin.

The hearth was filled with grey ash and lumps of half burnt wood and the basket aside the fireplace held strips for kindling. There were no pieces sizable enough to get a full fire going and getting a fire burning was exactly what they needed.

“Upstairs and to the left,” he said and Nesta turned to him. “That’s where your room will be. Mine’s next to it, same side. Both will warm up quick when the fire’s lit as the floorboards heat too.” Cassian jerked his head to the stairs, “Go and get changed, I’ll grab wood for the fire.”

Her face, one of permanent indifference and as smooth as porcelain, changed. The expression lasted only seconds before Nesta schooled it into something passing for neutral.

“Fine, I shouldn’t have expected you to be prepared.”

She stormed past him, leaving enough space so not a single part of them touched, not her dress brushing against his leathers – nothing.

Cassian waited until she’d gone before releasing a sigh. He hadn’t imagined what he saw; her eyes wide in alarm, flickering to the fireplace and back, a jerk of her body like someone had slapped her with the palm of their hand.

He’d best watch for that again.

***

A sandstone path ran down the left side of the cabin which wound around a small vegetable patch, a smaller pool and down into the sloped garden. At the very bottom was an alcove of trees and the shed containing Cassian’s axe, a chopping block and, if he was lucky, some pre-cut pieces.

Through the haze of rain, the distant lights of a camp flickered beyond. Cassian was fortunate to have this place for himself, not that he didn’t reside in the centre of camp on occasion to make his presence known, but this was his slice of comfort in the otherwise endless trudge.

Now, this place was also hers, for however long deemed necessary.

The rain bounced off the paving slabs as he approached his destination. The shed was old but well-kept and thankfully, stocked with thick slabs of timber.

“Thank you, old friend,” he said with a hand to one of the trees. They were fast growing and long burning, a house warming gift from Rhys half a century prior.

Cassian gathered what he needed and turned back, the cabin an angular silhouette outlined upon the backdrop of the night sky, the mountains looming some distance away. The candles and fae lights had lit the building up from within and shone through the dark at every window.

He was halfway up the path when he noticed how bright they lit Nesta’s new room.

Cassian had never been concerned with decoration, shoving a blanket onto a bed and gossamer curtains onto the window had been enough, but now he realised how thin those curtains were, how visible the room was from the outside.

Nesta wouldn’t be able to see him, not with his leathers black against the night, but he saw everything as though she stood before him in the flesh.

She’d untied the laces that bound the stays of her dress and Cassian imagined the wet thud as it fell to the floor.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted Nesta in front of him, unrobing for him, those long, graceful fingers sliding up her collarbone and dipping down towards the ribbons of her bodice. In his dreams he would help her, his thick fingers weaving into hers, pulling at the material until it gave way to pools of silk and satin on the ground.

Imagination gave him options.

Maybe she would have been naked, with expanses of creamy skin readily available for his viewing or maybe there would have been a delicate piece of chiffon covering her like there was now, something flimsy for him to move aside.

He would have started by kneeling. His fingertips would trace the skin of her ankles before moving upwards to her calves, her knees and to her thighs which he would have kissed until she was breathless. Finally, he would have travelled upwards with his mouth, towards the apex.

This was his fantasy. Smoothing his palms over her curves, travelling up the cord of her spine, his tongue sliding over her skin, teasing with his teeth and all the while her breath would turn into pants, his name a prayer in her mouth.

This was a dream. Nothing more.

He stood alone in the dark, pounding heartbeat thundering in his ears and pouring rain saturating his hair as he spied on a female he now never hoped to hold.

By the Mother though, her body was far from what his mind had conjured and his heartbeat turned into a pain sinking between his ribs.

He’d thought he’d seen glimpses but here was the truth.

Her collarbone jutted out severely while her breasts and curves of her buttocks shrunk as her starved body ate away at whatever flesh it found. Nesta’s ribs - Cauldron her ribs – Cassian was able to count every one, the indents of her bone visible as though her skin was the thinnest paper. When she turned, he saw the same with the column of her spine.

He swallowed the lump in his throat down, a sting in his eyes that was nothing to do with the chilled wind.

***

Inside the cabin, Cassian dried out the wood and lit the fire, the red and orange flames dancing in the hearth.

Nesta might not eat but he would try and convince her, starting with something simple and small which would fill her but not make her sick. Shoving a plate of meat in front of her face was a bad idea so he decided on a light broth consisting of flavoured water and leafy vegetables and herbs grown from his garden.

Cassian was surprised she came when he called her down but was pleased when she did. Nesta stepped along the floor with bare feet, a new gown just as thick as the last covering the bones of her body.

She stayed close to the wall when she passed through the living space, the fire cracking and snapping opposite and she eyed the flames as though they would reach across the room and snatch her.

Cassian wasn’t sure where this fear had come from, tried to dredge any memory of where they’d faced fire and came up wanting. He’d ask her – not now – but when they’d reached a point of peace.

Still, she walked toward him, her throat moving as she swallowed fast.

“I’ve made us dinner,” and he gestured to the two watery bowls in front of him. Opposite each other. Face to face. Her eyes narrowed but she sat, suspicion on her face.

“What is this slop?”

He took a deep breath. Imagined her words as darts and his skin as impenetrable armour.

“An Illyrian broth; vegetables, herbs, some spices and the thinnest slices of poultry you’ll ever find.”

“It looks revolting.”

A muscle twitched in Cassian’s jaw. The dish was plain, colourless and watery but was filled with flavour and had what Nesta needed nutritionally.

He would refrain from telling her this was the staple of Illyrian’s recovering from sickness or injury, that he’d spooned this liquid into the dribbling mouths of multitudes of his brethren over the years and how he wasn’t above doing the same to her.

“Try it,” was all he said. “You might like it.”

“Doubtful.”

But she picked up the spoon, a tremor in her hand. Fear, withdrawal, or exhaustion he didn’t know. Maybe all three. Maybe rage.

Nesta bent her head forward, bringing the spoon to her lips and as she did, her dress, far too large for her frame gaped at the collar once again showing Cassian the sharpness of the bone under her skin.

Something sat heavy in his stomach, something like guilt and shame. He’d once thought of her as sharp tongued and soft curves, his mouth watering at the promise of the swell of her breasts and the shape of her backside.

His thoughts had been occupied with images of grabbing her with his hands, fingers digging into the folds of her flesh while they pounded the force of their desires onto each other. Nesta was no less beautiful now but when he thought of her body, thought of what he knew, he considered differently as to what his body would do with hers.

His fingers would likely bruise her, leaving crescent moons into her skin and the bones of her spine would be obvious to his gaze. Now, he wanted to use his build to hover over her, to envelop her with his wings and cradle the back of her skull with the palm of one hand and cup her cheek with the other.

Cassian needed to make this situation right but he didn’t know where to start other than this meagre offering of broth.

Nesta ate two spoons, possibly three, but at least she ate, her eyes fluttering closed as she savoured her meal, the shadows of her eyelashes playing on her cheekbones. He smiled at her enjoyment, however brief, feeling his heart soar.

Nesta opened her eyes and looked straight at him. Cassian dropped his smile and her eyes narrowed.

I’m happy you like the broth, he wanted to say, however little you take. I’m happy you tried. I think you’re dying. I don’t want you to die. I want you to want to live.

A log fell in the hearth and banged against the grate, popping into the air and Nesta flinched, her eyes snapping towards the sound.

The flames seemed to hypnotise her as they whirled among the wood, consuming what they needed in order to grow. Wherever she was in that moment she wasn’t in the room with him.

The moment passed and Nesta snapped her head back to Cassian, slamming the spoon into the bowl.

“I’m not here for your entertainment.”

“I know that.”

“Then stop staring at me like I’m a festival showpiece.”

Cassian frowned, “I wasn’t staring.”

“Tell your gawping eyes that.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched again. He was exhausted, not only from the long day but from arguing with Rhys about the plan, and from convincing Feyre that he and Nesta would be fine. His blood, already on the rise, had gained extra heat when Amren made her parting comment to him and all this was before he began flying.

“I wasn’t staring,” he repeated, “believe me when I say there’s nothing worth looking at.”

His temper was still hot, irritation singing a song in his veins and this was default for him, the well-travelled road to flinging insults.

It was a road Nesta travelled herself.

“Well, believe me when I say that even if I’m nothing I’m still worth twice of you, bastard.”

“You’ve been exiled to the camps so that’s not what your sister thinks. Either of them.” He gestured around with his hand, “Do you see Elain begging to be let in the door?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared, her hands now clenched into two fists, those red cracked knuckles on display.

“Well, this shows what your ‘friends’ think of you, if I’m worth little to nothing in their eyes and they have you taking care of me?”

“You should be thankful, sweetheart. No one else volunteered to listen to your temper tantrums.”

“Let me ease your burden then.” She stood, jolting the table and the bowl moved, spilling liquid over the side. “I would hate to bore you with one of my childish tantrums.”

“By all means, take yourself off to bed. You’re obviously in need of a nap.”

Nesta bared her teeth at him and Cassian schooled his face into one of boredom. She turned, her gown brushing against the furniture and as she passed through the living room, she grabbed a thick blanket draped across one of the chairs.

There was a change to her face as she went, fleeting but not fleeting enough for his sharp eyes. Regret? Yes. What she regretted he didn’t know but the snarl had also turned into a smirk, a twist of her mouth which screamed, I am victorious.

What had she won? The prize was a night alone in an unlit room with a blanket and empty belly.

As she left, the bored expression slid from Cassian’s face to be replaced by a furrowed brow.

Nesta was playing a game, one which required her to start fights so she could flaunt from the room as though leaving were her choice. He’d seen her grip, the furrow of her own forehead and the stark whites of her eyes.

She didn’t like the fire and she didn’t want to eat - or she couldn’t eat.

All Nesta’s choices had been stripped away from her in one afternoon and her decision to exit swiftly and in outrage was all she had.

He let her. He goaded her, stoking the small flame she held burning until she felt something, even if that emotion was irritation and anger - anything as long as it wasn’t cloying fear. If Cassian told her to leave then she would have stayed in her misery to spite him.

Cassian lifted a clay pot lid, surreptitiously positioned beside him on a chair, to cover her bowl. He would leave the dish outside her door with a slab of buttered bread. Maybe she would eat if it wasn’t in front of his watchful eyes.

He would eat his own in his room, the space of the kitchen and the living area seeming too big now, too empty without Nesta’s presence.

As he passed by the hearth, he lowered the flames with his siphons, letting them burn down. As he did, he thought of another fireplace, in another home, in a time which seemed forever ago.

He would help her even if she hated him for it. Cassian would prefer her vitriol to the nothingness living inside her where even her scent had turned glacial; ice cold to the bone.

So yes, Cassian would let the embers burn low for now but he was a creature of air and flame. He was good at starting fires.

TAGGING:

@nehemikkele

You are the only person who has ever requested a tag from me so thank you so much! :)

#nessian #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosaf #acosf #i wrote something #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nessian fan fiction #nessianfic #nessian fan fic #fic request

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autumnslance · 3 years

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"In the five years following your sudden disappearance from the Carteneau Flats, your ever-faithful chocobo spent each waking moment galloping across the realm in search of [his] lost master. [His] myriad adventures are nothing less than fantastical and heartbreaking...but that is a story for another day." - Legacy Chocobo mount description.

((Animal love, loyalty, and those bonds woven by fate. So there’s some animal angst and injury, but also a happy ending. Crossposted below for those who prefer Tumblr:))

“I need you to stay here,” her person said, rubbing her beak and scratching the white feathers of her neck.

She kweh’d softly, not liking the request but because he had asked it, she would obey and listen for the whistle binding them together, when he needed her to come to his aid.

The not-a-moon hung low and burning in the sky. The land’s aether tasted funny, the smells of nature were all wrong. Any creature with sense hid as fiends roamed.

People had little sense, she’d found. Especially her person; in his armor, his axe pulled from his back, he would throw himself into the fray with a shout to fight anything that harmed others. Normally, she would be right there with him, beak and talon and wings alongside his weapon, helping him.

“That’s my Snowlight, my good girl,” he crooned, leaving a kiss on the end of her beak before turning to join his comrades.

She had been injured in their last fight, trying to keep him safe, and so she couldn’t join him in this one but he still said she was good and that was what mattered.

She kweh’d encouragement after him, satisfied he turned back to wave one more time, before joining all the other people leaving to fight.

—-

The not-a-moon broke apart and released Horror. There were flames and pain and ear-splitting roars.

The stables were on fire.

Snowlight was too injured to fight, but not too injured to herd the frightened silly-headed carriage chocobos out of the flames. Not too injured to find the coughing stablemaster, knock a fallen beam aside, and herd him out, too. She even found one of the barn kittens, confused and afraid, carefully picking it up in her beak like a chick.

Snowlight was a good girl. Her person helped others, and so would she.

The Horror was over the field where she knew her person was. It was malms away and he hadn’t called but her heart fluttered wildly and she ignored the grooms and handlers to dash through the burning woods.

He needed her, she couldn’t let him—

The world went white, then red, then white again, and finally black.

—-

The world’s aether tasted thin and strange, like weak juice left out too long.

She pulled herself out of the little hollow of debris and ash, casting a cure on instinct at the twinges in her wings and legs and neck, the injury on her side--the one that had kept her in the stable to begin with--throbbing again. The cure helped.

Snowlight blinked, trying to get a sense of where her person was, the location of the whistle attuning them to one another.

She couldn’t find it.

She shook out her feathers and limped on to where she thought maybe she had last felt it, in the direction he had left with his friends and all the other people, toward the setting sun--though it was currently obscured by angry clouds and more ashes.

Familiar places looked strange, though Snowlight couldn’t really put a talon on why or how. The forest was oddly silent, slow to wake from the disaster. The Elementals seemed especially distant.

She foraged for berries and greens, then slept. She was cautious of water she found but had to drink; the rain that fell later helped a great deal, though it was also heavy with dust and grief. She foraged more, and then slept more under a rocky outcropping.

The pass to the north felt wrong, cold winds blowing from the hills. So she kept heading west, through the less familiar hills, to get to the gloomy place.

Snowlight could always find the gloomy place, especially when the wind blew right. It felt like a scab on the world, the magic—and Something Else—waiting under the lake’s surface. It was an easy place to find, if weird.

It took a couple days for Snowlight to reach the gloomy place; slower than usual, but she was still recovering from her injuries and the paths through the woods were not easy to navigate. There weren’t as many fiends roaming around, at least, and the ones that were could be easily avoided.

The other creatures were waking and coming out of hiding again, too. She was a little less lonely, with the small birds singing.

The gloomy place was more of a mess than usual, a crystal spire piercing the air and giving off waves of suppressed magic. The corpse in the center of the lake continued to sleep but she gave the shore wide berth, both for its slumbering guardian and for the poison filming the water.

Snowlight continued west and a bit south, still not sensing her person, nor had he called for her on the whistle. She couldn’t teleport without the pull of the whistle. Her feet hurt but she kept picking her way through the ruins of machina parts.

She went to the camp for food, but it was empty, the aetheryte exploded in size and twisted in shape, the tents and supplies torn and burned. There were no people anymore.

Snowlight kweh’d sadly, rummaging through the wreckage for anything edible. She was rewarded with burnt gysahl greens, tasting faintly of staticky aether, but it was enough to raise her flagging spirits. After considering the twisty former aetheryte for a long moment, she decided one of the half-fallen tents at the edge of the old camp would be all right for sleeping in. There was still enough man-smell to keep wild creatures away.

—-

“Well ain’t you a beauty,” the big man with the rough voice said. “Fetch a good price at market.”

“To hell with the market,” the skinny man whined. “I’m starved and it’ll feed the whole bloody camp.”

“C’mere—” the scarred lady reached for Snowlight.

She beat her wings and shrieked. The trio swore and threw up their hands to protect their faces.

Snowlight was almost to the terrible place, full of twisted aether and death. The last place she knew her person had been. This trio had come upon her as the noon sun struggled to break through the thick clouds. They smelled of blood and offal and desperation, and she did not trust them.

The whiny man ducked close, so Snowlight leapt and kicked him, throwing him into the lady with a shout.

The big man managed to snag her neck, his arms squeezing. “C’mere you overgrown chicken I’ll—”

Snowlight shoved back and up; she couldn’t fly far with the aether currents so warped, but it was enough to startle him, and now he clung to not fall even the few fulms she had lifted him. She bucked until he slipped off and then she flew away as fast and as far as she could.

There was a whistling noise and a sharp pain in her flank but she swerved and pushed faster, hearing the hissing whistle of more arrows. She fought against the weird currents and her own weary wings, risking crossing a high bank that abruptly dropped into a narrow ravine, almost like a frozen wave of earth instead of water.

On the other side she landed heavily and ran, feeling warm liquid trickle down her leg, the arrow still lodged but loose enough to shift and pinch with every motion. Even so, she pressed on.

She was close.

Spots crossed her vision. She no longer heard the mean people; only the wind. Panting, she stopped finally, swaying on her trembling legs.

Where was he?

She spent a bit of strength to cast a cure, the arrow forced out as the flesh healed. She had to rest, but the mean people might still chase her. And she had to be close to where he was. Surely it was simply the damage caused by the Horror that was obscuring the connection, his call.

He had to have tried to call her. He couldn’t go this long on his own.

There were more people dotting the ruined plain, but they were easy to avoid now that she knew she had to be sneaky. She picked her way through smoldering magitek and torn earth and twisted structures that felt Wrong and smelled Strange. There were bodies, but none of them the one she looked for, thankfully.

A whiff of his scent caught in her beak and she kweh’d happily, seeking more. Still he did not respond, it was merely the scent of his previous presence. Perhaps he was among the people.

She drew as close as she dared to the tents. To the warm, gentle pulse of the Seedseer.

His scent was not among the camp.

Snowlight pondered this as she tried to retrace her steps to where she had caught that whiff. The field was scorched, the ground rippled from the blasts of competing magic. The aftertaste of the old mage lingered on her tongue, though it had a more bitter endnote than she recalled. Snowlight kweh’d again, digging for the scents of her person and his companions, catching hints and traces, but not finding them. Not finding him.

A voice called. She looked up and saw a yellow-clad man pointing in her direction. She turned and jogged away before the Adders could come close. While they would likely be more friendly than the bandits earlier, she had not the time for them.

She still had to find her person.

—-

Snowlight found hiding spots, keeping away from the Adders and adventurers still lingering. The taste of healing magic hung over the camp, competing with the blood and pain.

The camp was the best place to find food, though; this terrible place had none naturally anymore, blasted away or warped beyond recognition.

Snowlight was a good sneak; her person had often said so, when she played the hide and seek game with him. She would hide something he used and he had to find it. It was always great fun. She had also used it to swipe food before, risking a scolding but it was her person’s own fault for trying to deny her treats when she needed them.

Her sneakiness came in handy as she maneuvered herself into the Adders’ flock and helped herself to some of the feed provided. The destriers were too tired themselves to snap or fuss and besides, she could easily fight any of them into submission and they knew it; she was an adventuring bird, after all.

She was careful to keep the others between her and the soldiers, to not let them notice or catch her. It was tricky, given her bright white plumage compared to most army chocobos. But Snowlight was a good sneak, and managed to avoid getting caught. She had things to do, after all, and had to be ready if her person called.

She still couldn’t sense him. She still had not heard his whistle.

Snowlight slipped out of the flock, leaping the makeshift fencing while the handlers were busy. Then she returned to searching the broken plain.

The Adders were getting ready to break camp; there were few bodies left amid the wreckage of the battlefield, few new wounded found. They had worked tirelessly for over a sennight, the Seedseer and the conjurers sparks of the natural world amidst the carnage.

Snowlight returned again to the place where she had scented her person and his friends. She circled around it once more, a periphery she had scratched into the ashes as she tried to figure out where they had gone. How they had gone.

“They aren’t here,” a gentle voice said.

Snowlight warked and jumped, whirling to face the weary Seedseer as she leaned on her staff. Even exhausted, power thrummed through the padjal’s frame, a barely held summer storm. She smiled at Snowlight.

“I think I recognize you,” the Seedseer said. “Yes...I can’t quite recall…” She frowned. “I don’t remember their faces. Their names. But I know you were with them, once.”

Snowlight listened, keeping still. It was only polite in the padjal’s presence. As the Seedseer paused, though, Snowlight asked a tentative “Kweh?”

The Seedseer shook her head. “I don’t know where they have gone. One moment, they were there. I know I must have seen them. But all I remember are their silhouettes in the light. And then…” she trailed off, a perplexed look on her face. “I only know they’re gone. I’m sorry.”

Snowlight chirred in frustration, ruffling her wings. She didn’t understand, and usually the padjali were easier to comprehend than other people. What the Seedseer said made no sense.

“I know, it’s difficult,” the Seedseer said, voice cracking in grief and weariness as she reached out a hand. “But come; we can take care of you, and—’’

Snowlight was a good girl. Usually. The Seedseer was to be respected. Usually.

Snowlight shrieked and reared, flapping her wings as she backpedaled from the startled padjal.

“Wait—” the Seedseer called as Snowlight whirled and dashed, avoiding the soldiers who followed the padjal, who tried to catch Snowlight on their mistress’ command.

A soldier stood in her way. Snowlight warked a single warning before barrelling over and past him, ignoring the shouts.

They were hard to hear through the rushing, pounding feeling in her head, the ache in her heart that already felt like it had run for malms.

She ran up a tilted piece of machinery, a giant wall that had fallen from the not-a-moon and flapping her wings took off, flying toward the boggy saltmarsh to the north.

Her person wasn’t there, but neither were the soldiers, or the Seedseer and her painful words.

Snowlight would rest. She would eat. She would recover. Then she would keep looking for wherever her person had gotten to.

She had to. Snowlight was a good girl.

—-

Snowlight was so tired.

Her plumage was not as bright as it had once been; she had not had a proper grooming in a long time, and injuries and life in the wild had left her more ragged than she had ever been. Her person had often called her the prettiest chocobo in Eorzea, though she looked nothing like that now.

He still had not called. She still could not sense him. She still searched, though; the Seedseer was wrong, and he was just lost. He had lost the whistle in that Horror. He was waiting for Snowlight to find him.

Sometimes, curled up under a tree or in an abandoned building or an old cave, she would sleep and dream of the days they had rode together. Of their adventures, their games, his laughter, his scritches. His warmth as he leaned back against her side while the campfire crackled, his voice as he talked about so many things. She almost never understood, but he had such a nice voice. She missed hearing it.

The dreams were happy, but waking from them was sad. Snowlight stood, ruffled her feathers, and kept looking.

She had sought him out in the ruined reaches of the western marsh and the terrible place, through the gloomy place and its unsettling waiting feeling. Through the Wood, the Elementals barely whispering anymore, rarely waking from their slumber. She crossed the scrublands and burning sands, even risking the golden plains and the lizardmen who rode across them. She picked her way among the rocky mountains, and into the frozen land in the north, the wind and ice aether unrelenting even in the height of summer.

Snowlight was not yet certain how she could cross the strait to the island; it was just about the only place in the realm she had not looked over the last five summers and winters. The Seedseer’s words echoed in her memory again but Snowlight shook them away.

Her person was somewhere. She just had to find him.

She was back in the Wood. She would have to head west past the gloomy place and the salt marsh. If she didn’t want to be caught, anyway; she would have to find a way across the sea that did not involve people.

Sometimes she found people in trouble; beset by fiends or bandits, lost children crying alone, hurt people needing a cure. Snowlight had once been a good girl, and her person had helped people. So she scared off the fiends, fought the bandits, cast a cure on hurts, and guided the lost to safety. She sometimes, warily, took food and rest from those she helped. But then they would try to keep her—or worse, turn out to be mean themselves, and so she left as quickly as possible. Some wanted her for her plumage, some for riding or working, some for food. She wanted nothing to do with them as they were not her person.

So simply best to avoid people now.

Snowlight was tired, and so missed the snare that entangled her feet, triggering a second that caught her wings.

She flailed and shrieked. There was a prickle on her neck and she felt very woozy. It was getting dark again, but that couldn’t be right as the sun had just come up.

“Finally got ‘er,” a man’s voice said from...above her? When had she fallen to the ground? She warked and tried to struggle as careful hands gripped her. “She’s a tough ol’ bird for sure, but once she’s broken in…”

The world went black, and Snowlight dreamed of running across an open windy plain, her person laughing and whooping on her back.

—-

“Gods take you, you miserable bitch!” the stablehand yelled, clutching his bitten hand.

Snowlight just chirred a warning low in her chest, her feathers ruffled up as she glowered at him, beak clacking another warning.

No one here called her a good girl. Snowlight did not feel like being good, when they kept her hobbled and more often than not in the stable. The most experienced hands would put a lead on her halter and let her run alongside them for too brief a time in too small a pen each day. Most of them were kind, and she usually felt bad after snapping at them with her beak, or scratching them with her talons.

But none of them would let her go to find her person, and her person had not come for her here, so she didn’t want to stay.

A quiet presence stepped up behind the stablehand. He turned to the slim young woman. “Nevermind this one; she mighta been some adventurer’s bird once, but she’s gone wild. Don’t like anybody, this ‘bo.”

The woman simply took the lead and approached the stall.

Snowlight turned her eyes to the woman, and her rumbling ceased. There was something oddly familiar here, but Snowlight wasn’t sure what. Tall for the kind of person she was, midnight hair, and…

Snowlight tossed her head and kweh’d, confused but excited. She had caught a scent, a scent she had only ever smelled on her person before! This woman had the same underlying tone; a warm spice that left Snowlight trembling. She barely noticed when the woman snapped the lead onto her halter.

“Good girl,” the woman said quietly, pitched in a way only Snowlight could hear—just like her person used to do, and though this woman’s voice was higher and gentler, there was something in the way the words were shaped, something in the timbre of her voice, that felt right and familiar.

It had been so long since someone had called Snowlight a good girl.

The stablehand was boggled as the woman opened the stall and led a quiet, nearly docile Snowlight out and to the exercise pen. Snowlight paid him no mind; she was trying to figure this out.

The woman led Snowlight to the pen and let her jog on the long lead. She didn’t get fussy or scared when Snowlight stretched and beat her wings. It would be easy to escape any other handler who allowed that.

But Snowlight knew the woman was an adventurer, and adventurers were strong and tricksy. And there was a quiet strength and unrealized power in this woman.

She felt like Snowlight’s person did.

The woman offered her some gysahl greens and scratched her neck just the way her person used to, finding exactly the Right Spot. Snowlight sighed.

She was so tired.

“Been awhile since you trusted someone,” the woman said. Her accent was definitely the same as Snowlight’s person, and the same tone if higher. Her scent was the same too; not just soaps and the smells people put on themselves, but deeper, in blood and bone. When Snowlight peered at the woman, here in the daylight, there were ways she moved, the way she smiled, the color of her eyes, that were the same as his.

The woman let Snowlight run a little longer, putting her through paces using the same foreign words her person used to, the ones meaning “slow down” or “speed up” or “stop” and “go.” She gave Snowlight more greens and pets and then led her back to the stable.

The other handlers were confused, whispering, uncertain. One came close and Snowlight snapped at him out of habit. “Shh,” the woman said. She didn’t scold or jerk the halter, just laid her hand on Snowlight’s neck. “We need to brush you down.”

Snowlight did feel itchy after exercise. Still, she didn’t want the others muddling things up, not when she was trying to figure out this woman and why she felt as right and familiar as Snowlight’s person had.

The woman took her time, giving Snowlight a thorough bath and brushing. She did not let the woman trim her talons though, or check in her beak; not yet. There were limits.

Snowlight’s stall was clean and there was fresh feed and cool water. The handler she had bitten earlier shook his head, hand now bandaged. “Dunno what you did, but thank you. Poor old girl was running wild for years, near as we can tell. One of many who lost their riders in the Calamity, is my guess. She’s had it rough and won’t let folks near—until you.”

The woman shrugged and smiled.

“Well thank you. You’re welcome to return and help anytime.” He was only partly joking.

The woman simply nodded, retrieving her bow and quiver from the hooks where she had left them, before she turned to go.

Snowlight lifted her head from the feed bin to kweh a goodbye to the woman. The woman turned and smiled, waving to Snowlight.

When Snowlight fell asleep that night, she dreamed of her person, as usual. But the woman was also there, her laugh joining his.

A couple days later, Snowlight was kicking a ball toy in her stall, bored until it was time for the handlers to come take her to exercises again. She stopped kicking the ball and perked up at hearing a certain step, catching a certain scent. She kweh’d toward the quiet presence entering the stable.

“Hello,” the woman said to Snowlight. “Did you want to train again?”

Snowlight kweh’d and ruffled her feathers happily. She liked this quiet woman who reminded her of her person. She thought perhaps they were from the same clutch. After all, Showlight could tell when two chocobos were related, and while people were different they had their own families too.

The woman hung up her weapons and picked up the lead rope. Snowlight allowed the woman to guide her out into the exercise pens and they played for well over a bell. Then the woman bathed and brushed Snowlight again, before bringing her back to the stall, freshly cleaned by the other handlers.

The woman stroked Snowlight’s beak. “Good girl,” she said.

Snowlight preened.

The stablemaster was nearby and shook his head. “No one’s been able to get near that bird for moons. You come along and she’s docile as anything.”

The woman shrugged. “I didn’t do anything special; just treated her nice.”

“All any of us tried,” the stable master sighed. He peered at Snowlight. “She ain’t changed her attitude to the rest of us, neither.”

“I should be back in a few days,” the woman said. “I can help again then.”

“We appreciate it,” he said. “Maybe she’ll calm down with repeat visits from someone she trusts.”

The woman nodded, and gave Snowlight one last scritch before heading out once more. She turned and waved again when Snowlight called to her. That was nice.

—-

It had been nearly a moon since the woman’s last visit.

Snowlight had gotten used to the woman coming by every few days, looking and smelling and sounding so much like her person had; it was like having a part of him back as they trained and played and cleaned up together.

But now, after those handful of visits, the woman had not returned, just like her person had not, and Snowlight was so tired.

She no longer snapped and scratched at the handlers, but now they could not coax her to eat more than the bare minimum, or play, or train.

They were good people, really; they just weren’t hers, and she wasn’t theirs. The people Snowlight wanted simply hadn’t come back.

Snowlight dozed in her stall, ignoring the sunny day and the other chocobos and handlers. Then a certain sound caught her attention, a familiar step. She blinked awake, catching a familiar scent, and kweh’d.

The woman rounded the corner and smiled as Snowlight bounced and trilled excitedly. The stable master followed, smiling too.

“Can’t say you don’t deserve it, though you sure this is the bird you want?”

The woman nodded, a giddiness to her usual calm presence that made Snowlight even more excited, too, though she did not know why. “I think she and I get along just fine,” the woman said to the stable master, turning finally to Snowlight. She scritched Snowlight’s neck. “I even have a name picked out. My brother and I used to come up with them as children, when dreaming of having our own chocobos.”

“Well much luck to you both,” he said, holding out his hand.

Snowlight trembled with excitement when she saw what he held; a whistle, just like the one her person used to have. The whistle that had tied them together, made her always able to find him--until she couldn’t.

The woman took the whistle, then looked back up at Snowlight. “Do you want to be my chocobo?” She asked, almost sounding nervous.

Snowlight thought about it. She had a person--once upon a time. He was gone now, but this woman was so much like him, possibly from the same clutch...So maybe it was all right. Maybe this person wouldn’t leave Snowlight behind--and if she did, Snowlight would do her best to find her.

After all, Snowlight was a good girl.

“Kweh-Kweh!” Snowlight agreed, bouncing excitedly. She would be an adventuring bird with a person of her own again!

The woman grinned, and after a few moments, the spell was complete and the aetheric bond formed.

Snowlight’s new person led her out of the stable, accepting the fine reins and saddle the stable master offered. “After all you’ve done for Gridania, not to mention taking on Ifrit himself, it’s the very least we can do,” he insisted. “And I’m just happy to see this girl get a fresh start and a good home.” He patted Snowlight’s shoulder. “What are you gonna name her? For our own records.”

Her person smiled. “For a white bird my brother and I could never decide between our favorites, so we combined them,” she answered. “I’m going to call her Snowlight.”

“A fine name,” the stable master said.

“Kweh-Kweh-Kweh!” Snowlight cheered, the last shadow of doubt faded; her new person even knew her name! This was the best day since…

Well, since her first person had chosen and named her.

Her person swung onto the saddle, thanking the stable master again. Then she leaned forward. “All right, girl; let’s go!”

Snowlight dashed out of Bentbranch, her person laughing on her back, to begin their adventures together.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Chocobo #Seventh Umbral Calamity #Kan-E-Senna #Warrior of Light #Lyn Writing #Snowlight #Zaine Striker #Aeryn Striker

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zuffer-weird-girl · 4 years

Text

Soulmate Au

Before you meet your soulmate you have to deal with a chibi version of them before actually meeting them. So can you handle it?

Reader's point of view

Dabi's perspective

You were anxious. Two years have passed since your 18 birthday... and your chibi didn't made any appearance or any living signal.

Ever since that you've been made fun of. Your parents tried to comfort you by that didn't meant they wouldn't dissapointed as well...

Now, settle in your new apartment, you huffed as you watched a nonconformist about two soulmates meeting eachother chibis evem before 18! You should be one of the unluckiest persons on the world or you didn't had a soulmate...

Getting up, you decided to turn on the stove to make yourself some noodles before your stomach decided to make his existence knowledgeable.

Heating the water up you sighed before you tensed at hearing the door cracking. Arching one euebrow and looking over your shoulder you shrugged before returning your attention to the stove amd screaming when you saw what was there.

It looked at you with bored turquoise eyes, underneath and almost half of its face had burnt marks. Slowly trying to reach for a wood spoon you had to at least defend yourself the little man just raised his tiny hand first and burned to ashes your spoon!

"Hey!" You shriek and it only smirked at you before dropping from the counter and putting his hands on his tiny jacket and walking towards the living room.

You blinked, not quite certain of what just happened before your mind clicked as you gasped in realization.

That was the chibi! Your chibi!

Your chibi was a quite handful one. He was always with that stoic face presented and neither tried to reach for your affection like most chibis would do... You were getting worried at it but slowly noticed that the chibi acted like that because your own soulmate had that personality.

"How lucky am I huh?" You sighed, resting your elbows on your legs and face on your hands as your chibi stared back at you with the same poker face as usual.

Although his activities and scars, you couldn't help but to find the chibi beautiful, giving you more and more wish to meet already the handsome man that was destined to be your soulmate.

"You are beautiful you know that?" You mumbled out loud and you giggled at the way the chibi's blue eyes widened before he scratched the back of neck, looking at his side to hide the faintest blush on the non scarred part of his cheek.

"Do... do chibis even eat?" You mused out loud and the chibi only stared back at you like you were an idiot. You gulped before listening to the sound of the water boiling and getting ready to make your noodles.

Whem you came back with a bowl your chibi suddenly squeaked. It was kinda rough and scratch type of squeak but adorable no less.

"You want it?" You offered a bit in your chopper sticks, blowing them a bit before feeding the chibi.

It finally smiled at you! A true kind of smile, not a sick or scary smirk he showed to you later!

It was a first step!

Days passed by and the little fire blue ball warmed up to you. You, not knowing what else to name, decided to just refer at him like fireball sue to the obvious show of his quirk.

He always prefered to remain on your lap and on walk just sitting on your shoulder chilling. If anyone even dared to come closer you had to be carefull with your hair because the little shit immeditaly put his own little hand on fire.

Always after that you could smell the burnt of his skin. Frowning at it you cupped the chibi on your hands and kissed his hands. He didn't mind it all but as always the quiet chibi he was, didn't let out one single squeak.

"You know, I am grateful for you protecting me, but if it hurts you please dont do it, I dont want my soulmate suffering." You smiled gently at him which he only shrugged before carresing your cheek with his smaller hand.

You put him back on his shoulder and continue to walk before you stopped at the huge amount of people surrounding at least three heroes. You smiled at the childs asking for autographs before you sense it your chibi getting tense kn your shoulder when both of you spotted the current number one hero. Endeavour.

You looked at him and found him looking down at his hands.

"Not a fan of heroes fireball?" You asked gently before gasping at how he scotted over to cuddle ok your neck, burying his little face on it as you tried to cuddle him back on the best way you could. "Let's go home. Is better when is just the two of us right?" You asked with a kind smile as he only nodded in your shoulder.

You were watching the news as your chibi took a nap in your lap, gently snores letting go of his tiny mouth as the reporter spoke. Suddenly it came the news of the most ranked villains...

Widening your eyes you saw a familiar man controling blue flames on the attack of the camping from the U.A school. Shakily looking down and up none of it could hid it... Your soulmate was a villain. A rank B fucking villain called Dabi.

Before you could react you suddenly felt a huge pain on your arm. Clenching you pet out a painful scream, making your chibi shriek in your lap before you dropped in the ground, tears gathering in your eyes as the pain suddenly changed from your arm to your back.

Curling up on the ground, whinning when the pain suddenly eased a bit you opened your eyes to see and hear your chibi, wide eyes and even the mint stables of his cheek and eyes to go off as his squeaks echoed in worry.

Whatever it was you felt... it wasn't your soulmate. If it was the chibi wouldn't be on this state...

"I-I'm fine... I g-guess I just need to go to the hospital to check my arm..." the chibi frowned and hugged your hand when you got up amd you smiled.

For a villain this man was surely an affectionate and touchy one...

"A fractured arm?" You whispered as your chibi remained hidden on your hoodie.

"Sadly. Wear this sling for a few days and it should be okay, you're lucky! It almost broke." You gulped as you got out of the office only for your chibi to pop out from your hoodie and squeak.

"Is just a fracture arm fireball." You smiled at him "I will live!"

The chibi frowned at you, clearly not believing you before hiis eyes went wide as his whole little body trembled in your shoulder.

"Are you okay? Sweety?" You cupped him on your hand before he squeaked, shaking your finger and looking at your front. He started to squeak more and more loudly as you.

"W-Wait-!" You almost panicked when he jumped from your hand and only gave a tiny little tug on you before running off. Running after him you bumped into a few nurses, apologizing profusely.

"HEY! YOU WILL HURT YOURSELF!" You screamed before bumping into a hoodie masked man and falling on the ground.

You clenched with your free hand the side of your face before looking at the pair of chibis hugging eachother like their life depended on it... You widened your eyes at practically seing you there, blushing crinsom red when fireball carresed your chibi version cheek lovingly.

On their side was a sunglass as you curiously picked, a half scarred hand grabbed on yours as well before you locked your gaze with turquoise surprised eyes.

"Oh!" You retreaded your hand immediately with blushing cheeks. He retreaded his hand a bit to look around and get up hurriedly.

"Here." He offered his hand to help you up, he lifted you up and you got chest to chest with him as he admired you "We wouldn't want any other person to see us."

"I-I sure." You nodded following him to a more secluded place, your chibis trailing after you both.

On a dark alley, you waited for him to say another word. Staring at his back expectantly...

"You arent dumb. You know already who I am and what do I look like-" he turned to you, shoving his hood down to show you his face, the most beautiful and handsome face you've been dying to see "Right? Dollface?"

Not mindful of your blush, you took one more step closer to him before hesitantly cupping his face with your good hand. Not noticing how he frowned at your sling, a quite too remorseful face.

"You're the most beautiful man I ever saw... You know how much I've been waiting to see you?" You almost gasped in your words as his face slightly soften on a charming smirk as he hold onto your wrist.

"So my idea worked on coming to the hospital... Would it be bad if I stole a kiss from my soulmate then?"

You blushed even harder before both of you turned your head at hearing your chibi version squeak as Dabi's chibi hugged it close and already stole a kiss from them.

"Well, the little shit did over there, so I guess I can"

Before you could even say something you felt half chapped and scarred lips on yours as you melted in his arms, almost like he had used his quirk to leave the atmosphere hot enough.

#bnha villains #bnha #bnha characters #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #imagine dabi x reader #dabi imagine #dabi scenarios #bnha dabi #my writing #zuffer writings

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dameronology · 3 years

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a world on fire {poe dameron}

summary: passion is good, fire is good - but breathing is more important (based loosely on just a lover by hayley williams, naturally)

warnings: mentions of infidelity, language

i just love angst. i really love angst. i like to hurt. enjoy :)

- jazz xx

Poe Dameron was a paradox.

On one hand, he was a complete bad-ass. The best pilot in the Resistance and righthand man to the General. He was a leader in the making and everybody looked up to him, even when he was chaotic as fuck. The way he went into battle with his common sense both simultaneously present and no-where to be found would go down in the history books. His parents’ spirit and good-natured lived on through his selflessness. He was untouchable, in a way; a man made of titanium with a never-ending wit and a will of steel. A hero.

On the other hand, he was...Poe. Your Poe. The man whose eyes lit up when he spoke about his late mother; the man who turned up at your door at 5AM in floods of tears because he’d just finished a book and had to tell you about it. Poe with the warm brown eyes and lopsided smile, whose brows creased together whenever he got a little confused about something. Poe, who left you little notes around the base when he knew you were sad, and brought you random gifts back from his trips to other planets just because. Completely complex and yet entirely understandable, but one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen, inside and out.

Especially now. At 5am, under the thick canopies of the Ajan Kloss jungle; the air around you was stuffy and fresh in equal measures, casting a cold chill over your bare arms and legs. It was raining, but not really. The sort of dumb rain where you smell it in the air and see it hit the ground, but never quite feel it on your skin. Poe had called it soft rain. Still, you would have taken it over a storm, because you only wearing a baggy old shirt and some pyjama shorts.

Poe was stood opposite you in a similar attire - except instead of opting for boots, he was still wearing his Ewok slippers (albeit, slightly soggy Ewoks). You were perched on a log with the pilot stood a few feet away; he’d been ranting for the better part of fifteen minutes, but you’d zoned out long ago. His dark curls were sticking to his forehead thanks to the rain, and he had that spark in his eyes that they held whenever he was talking about something he loved. It was an easy sight to get lost in.

‘Anyways, so I know you took dances classes a kid and I was thinking you could help me-’

‘- woah, when did we get to that?’ You blinked in surprise.

Poe rolled his eyes. ‘You zoned out again, didn’t you?’

‘I’m sorry!’ You groaned. ‘It’s late - or early, I can’t tell.’

‘You’re a nightmare.’ He shook his head with a laugh and stuck his hand out to you. ‘C’mon. You can make it up to me by teaching me to dance.’

‘I don’t dance, Dameron-’

You let out a squeak when he took your hands in his, wrenching you up and off the bench. Stumbling for a moment, your chests collided, an easy balance settling over you as steadied you with an arm to the waist. You were in his eyeline now, the perfect position to hold his gaze in yours and just...stare. It wasn’t something you did often, but right now, it was impossible not to. He was smiling ear to ear, honey eyes creased at the side as he dragged you away from your little safe spot and into a dirt clearing, mid-Jungle.

He held you flush against his body, intertwining your fingers. What the fuck were you supposed to do? You didn’t dance. Hadn’t for years, and you were beginning to regret showing Poe those pictures of you in ballet class. It was comical that he thought you knew how to ballroom dance, or at least know enough to teach him enough for his first dance. You felt your throat dry up at that thought, quickly pushing it to the back of your throat.

‘There’s no music, Poe.’ You tried to pull away, but his grip on your hands only grew tighter.

‘When have we ever needed music?’ Poe softly smiled. He pulled you closer, trying to fight back a laugh as he comically swayed from side to side.

Your eyes fell to the floor, and you forced a smile. ‘You gotta keep your back straighter.’

‘Got it. Posture is key.’ He adjusted his stance. ‘Anything else I oughta know?’

‘You should lead.’ You continued. ‘Because you’re taller.’

‘And how do I do that, chief?’

‘Just...go in whatever direction feels right. No harsh turns, just kinda make it flow, y’know?’

‘Like this?’

He moved his hand to the small of your back, pulling you in the other direction. You almost tripped as he did, burying your head in his shoulder to suppress a laugh. His body shook with a chuckle, mirroring yours.

‘There’s this song my mum used to sing to me at bedtime.’ He softly said. ‘I don’t remember the words, but I know the tune.’

‘Are you implying that I’m about to get a live performance?’ You lifted your head up to look at him.

‘You did say that we needed music.’

You stayed like that for a moment, bodies mere inches apart, swaying side to side. Poe murmured a soft tune; it was familiar, like a sweet and distant childhood memory, softly filling the air around you. You kept your arms circled around his waist, shirt balled up in your fists and head planted firmly in his shoulders. He didn’t know it, but it was a moment of pure desperation, wanting to cling onto him for dear fucking life. This might be the last time you were this close; the last time you could ever have him hold you in this way. You would have given anything, not just in the galaxy, but far beyond that, to stay like this a little longer. Just you and him, closer than you’d ever been, under the golden glow of the Ajan Kloss moonlight and the soft sprinkle of the rain.

‘Do you think I’ve got it?’ He asked quietly.

‘Yeah.’ You murmured. ‘You do.’

‘I appreciate you, sweetheart.’ He smiled. ‘Can’t be making a fool of myself at my own wedding, right?’

His wedding. Not your wedding. Just his, and a girl you’d barely made the effort to get to know.

That was your own fault - a mixture of jealousy and guilt, probably. Jealousy, because she was getting to marry the man you’d loved for as long as you could remember, and guilt, because you’d fallen into bed with that man several times since he’d put the ring on her finger. You could barely look her in the eye, knowing what you’d done - but it had never stopped you. Every time was supposed to be the last time, but then it became a past time.

Sneaking about behind her back, promising it would never happen again, only to fall between the sheets mere weeks later. It was never about love, or cementing anything long term. It wasn’t because Poe wanted to be with you instead or because he was trying to sabotage his engagement. It was just...it was one of things that could never quite be explained. You loved one another more than life itself, in an all consuming, debilitating way, but it never worked out when you tried. You didn’t want to be together, but you didn’t want to be with anyone else. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Then there were moments like this; just you and him, against the backdrop of a vast galaxy but unable to think about anything else or look at anyone else. The whole world could have been up in flames and neither of you would have noticed. It didn’t matter where you were, or what you were doing. As long as you had Poe, you had everything.

But that was about to change. He was marrying someone else, and this whole thing would have to stop. Not just the sneaking about and the stolen kisses - in reality, that never have started in the first place - but everything. Because even if Poe completely dedicated himself to his wife-to-be, and demoted you to just a friend, you could never manage it. You were like two ends of a magnet, completely unable to stay away from one another. You’d already crossed too many lines.

‘Poe.’ You softly murmured. Your hands dropped back to your sides, letting go of your grip on his shirt. ‘This has to stop now.’

His smile softened. ‘Is my dancing that bad?’

‘Not your dancing, dumbass.’ Your pained tone didn’t quite match your words. ‘Us.’

‘Right. That.’ Poe sniffed. He let go of you, backing over to where you’d been sat on the log a few moments prior.

A small sigh escaped your lips, and you trudged across the muddy ground, taking a seat beside him. The atmosphere had quickly changed from something sweet to something bitter. It made you wish you’d savoured that soft moment with Poe for a little longer, because now you’d brought up the subject, there was no going back. This was it now. You had to rip it off like a band-aid.

‘I like us.’ Poe murmured quietly.

‘There is no us, Poe.’ You reminded him. ‘We tried, remember? And it never worked.’

‘What’s the last few months been then?’

‘It’s been us living in a bubble. Pretending that if we ignore the outside world, that we can be together.’ You said. ‘But reality is gonna catch up with us, and we have to get on top of it before it does.’

‘Maker.’ Poe sniffed. ‘I always said I’d never be that guy.’

‘I shouldn’t have made you that guy.’ You reached across and took his hand in yours. Giving it a squeeze, you brushed your thumb over it and let go.

‘Time to face the music, huh?’ Poe’s eyes followed you as you stood up.

‘’fraid so, Dameron.’

You wanted to say it, to blurt it out: I love you.

In reality, what you had was just infatuation. It wasn’t love, not in the long term. It was passionate and intense, as though the world around you were on fire. It burnt bright and true, lighting up everything around you and keeping you warm inside. Ultimately, though, it was susceptible to burning out. And once it had, what would be left? Ashes. Burn scars, and strangled cries for what you’d lost.

Like fire, the entire thing was suffocating. Depriving you of oxygen and swallowing you whole; making you feel like you had the weight of the world of the chest. It was okay, though, because when you were with Poe, breathing didn’t matter all that much.

You had to step away; fan the fire out and let your lungs fill with air, so that you could scream. Scream for him, scream for the fact you would only ever be a lover, and an affair that would pass in time.

When the flames were gone, when you’d let out a cry of war and grief, you could take a step back, and maybe, just maybe, breathe him in again.

tags: @marvelinsanity @poestardust @princessxkenobi @nomanchesnoncreator

#my story telling skills are mortifying #wow #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron angst #poe x reader #poe x you #poe imagine #poe angst #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars angst #star wars imagines

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kitaychan · 3 years

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Light my fire.

This little story was written for day 3 of @rusprutober

The prompts were Claws and fangs.

To give a little context, Gilbert is Frankenstein's creature, this story takes place after the creature supposedly died alongside his creator, which is why it mentions Gilbert taking his life, though he didn't really die (or he did but came back) Ivan is a werebear that Gilbert encounters in the Arctic as he goes on his way to avoid his creator.

The cracking of wood comforted him, a peaceful reminder that no matter what, he was still alive, sort of, at least he came back from the darkness of eternal slumber.

To think that everything had ended —started— with fire. Gilbert had died, his cursed existence had been consumed by hatred and he had ended his —and his creator's— life with the same burning rage of the storm that had brought him into existence in the first place.

Gilbert took a deep breath, even when he didn't want to, it was hard to begin with the typical human nuances again. It also allowed him to take in his surroundings. To smell, the burnt wood, the smoke and something more, familiar yet he could not name it.

His senses were awakening, one by one, this time it was calming, he remembered the torture of awakening the first time, the overwhelming sensation of being alive and alone in a world he knew nothing about.

Touch came later, he was sitting on the harsh, cold ground, the crispy ashes under him were turning wet with the snowflakes that fell against his skin, but there was something else, something soft, warm, heavy, enveloping him tightly.

Gilbert opened his eyes slowly, darkness surrounding his sight, though it wasn't him not being able to adjust his vision. He turned his head, his cheek against the same soft fur that he could grasp with his fingers. He buried his face on it, taking a deep breath again, the intoxicating smell of pine and smoke filled him with happinesses, a familiarity he didn't know he ached for.

When his body regained from the numbness, Gilbert pushed away the heavy arms enveloping him. Sharp claws drew near his face, caressing his check with the gentleness of a feather.

Gilbert smiled, running his fingers through the gray soft fur. "Ivan, you are here." More than starting a conversation, Gilbert was convincing himself, no matter how many times this silly bear told him; believing his words, his confessions of undying affection, was hard for Gilbert.

When he came across the werebear in the cold vastness of the arctic, his heart and mind had been clouded with the tremulousness of vengeance. Now that all of that was left behind, he was able to feel —and think about— the joyful experience of meeting someone like him.

A creature —possibly more human than him— that understood his loneliness, his thirst for love and acceptance. Someone who would not judge him for his looks, for what he had done in the past but more importantly, someone who would not abandon him.

He raised his stare, sharp white fangs greeted him, yet a playful lick was all the creature gave him. A simple act that made Gilbert's heart ignite with happiness.

"I love you too." he said as he embraced the other in a loving embrace, the dim flames of a campfire illuminating them in the chilly night.

Fire had consumed him in his search of vengeance, but, what would fire mean to him, to them, under the spell of love? Only of one thing was Gilbert sure, he wanted Ivan to provide him with this warmth, to light this tender fire inside him for eternity and beyond.

#rusprutober2021 #hws russia #hws prussia #ruspru #hetalia fanfiction #tw suicide mention #Frankenstein's creature deserved better and this is my way of coping with that #also #I tried the stitched together prompt and failed lol #Ilich writes #ilich writes

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mpxcassandra · 3 years

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Three black envelopes rest underneath the apartment's front door, one of them emanates a scent that firstly comes across bland but quickly turns into something familiar, something that brings the feeling of comfort. At the front of this particular envelope, the name "Cassandra" can be read, printed in purple with a foil stamping finish. "Hello, Cassandra my fiery Cassandra. It warms my heart to see the strong woman you've become, although I wished such strength could've been born from different circumstances. Yes, I am exactly who you're thinking of and yes, I am here. I'm looking forward for the day I can feel yours and your sister's presence up-close, even when I do not deserve such blessing. I will be ready when you are, even if just to bring closure to your revenge that with that fire. Hecate."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassandra had woke up to the letters. She was already ill from having to be awake at such an ungodly hour for some part-time job that she did not care at all for, but she was trying to do something at least responsible for now. The whole working thing just did not sit well with her like their Hexed work.

So as she grasped on the black envelope, she stared at the letter with some irritated concern, worried some crazed fan at located their dwelling. She drew the letter closer to her for inspection, and strong notes of burnt pine wood grabbed her attention. This smell was a reminder in two of the good times of her life, before Madame Antoinette's reign of terror and the event that transformed her life to this.

"What the actual fuck." She muttered, breaking the seal to remove the letter. It is in absolute silence that she reads the letter. Her free hand twitches as discomfort spreads through her visage. Her face tenses up as a scowl places natural upon her lips.

She rereads the letter multiple times, and each time, no matter the sincerity that could be felt in the words, her rage drove a little wilder and more dangerous. Fucking bitch. She ends on her final read. With that internal declaration, the letter and envelope bursts into a bright flame, and small specks of ash on their dining table was now the only evidence left of her mother's introduction.

Cassandra does not speak a word to her sisters about this. She abruptly leaves the table, going to their bedroom where she slams the door shut behind her. She had a whirlwind of emotions that she needed to process. Anger. Concern. Desire. Sadness. But importantly, fear. For if her life had taught her anything, Cassie could only expect misfortune from a "mother."

#submission #mphecate

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sulfurousdreamscapes · 4 years

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Lives change, they're born, they live, they die; but the fire remains. No matter how far back you go, or far ahead you look, there will always be a fire, and there will always be its piercing light, its slate shadow, and its burning lick. The sooner you come to terms with fire, the easier it'll go.

In this one, I found the fire when I got back home. Or well, to what was left of it. The cottage lay several fields away from the village, between two rival hillocks, where a little farm helped sustain me and the graves of my family.

I don't know how the fire came about. It could've been a flame I forgot to blow on before I left the house, or maybe someone set fire to it. Maybe it was a freak bolt of lightning, or maybe the gods really just hated my residence.

If you stood close to me, you could have seen the fire reflected in my eyes. I made sure to watch it for so long that the flames settled themselves into my vision. The smoke reached for the skies, triumphant like a festival kite.

And maybe fire likes fire, because something within me awakened. I felt the cinders spread, and new flames come alight.

There's the one in the cave, the one with the hands on it, and my grandfather made sure I was warm even right until the warmth left him.

There's the one in the strange hall, where I stand behind the glass wall and watch an infernal machine spill its fire from the backside. Some dragon made of metal and glass. Thumps on the back of my chest, white-coated scholars desperate to shake hands with me. This fire is precious, too.

There's the one with the man who blows fire like a spray, some horrid atrocity of a human being who would rather make you suffer than pay. The fire is nobody's friend. But at least, I can make it someone's enemy for today. I can't stand the smell of burnt meat anymore.

There's the one of a tower that looms over the ocean, and the fire that resides on the top of it. Light it, and you see it for miles and miles. I save lives this way. I guide strangers this way. One day, even the gods will want to learn from me.

And then, the fire has consumed my house, turned it into smoke and ash. All the familiar sights and smells and feelings of comfort are no more. Someone else will build their comfort there, some day, but it won't be me.

One by one, I took my clothes off and I walked into the river. It wasn't deep enough to kill me, and it wasn't kind enough to wash away the anguish. The sweat went away, but the image of the dancing flames and the pillar of smoke: they stayed, mocking me as I bobbed up and down in the water.

Maybe in another life, in another fire.

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iamverycrappyatwriting · 3 years

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A Final Rest

A mage reborn fic

Leon x F!MC Dephria

Not fully canon compliant

Mild NSFW 16+ but minors DNI

Tw some body horror, grief

Leon wasn't sure how long he'd been lying in this meadow, warm and sleepy as a gentle breeze stirred the long grass and wild flowers cushioning him. His bleary eyes made the meadow almost sparkle in the afternoon sun, giving the day an etheral quality. He didn't remember the last time he had been allowed a day off of respite like this. Not since... His memories blurred as he tried to pull them forward. It had been a long time, anyway. Since there was a time when he didn't even need to bring a sword with him, or wear armour.

He shrugged off his shirt, leaving himself with a bare chest as he lay back once again, crossing his arms behind his head as he closed his eyes and settled in to bask in the sunshine. This is exactly what he needed after everything that had happened lately.

He almost jumped when he felt the small, cool hand touch the hot skin of his stomach and run up to his chest, forgetting - or unaware? - he hadn't been alone. But as soon as he felt the familiar soft skin exploring his, he relaxed. Of course he wasn't alone. Why wouldn't Dephria be there to relax with him? There's no one he'd want there more, nor anyone else who deserved a break as much as she did. He opened his eyes to stare into her shining violet eyes as he felt her settling her body in next to his, her head nestling into his shoulder, her soft, long auburn hair spilling out around them. She flushed in response to him staring into her.

"Sorry," she murmured, clearly embarrassed to have disturbed him.

"Don't be sorry." He grinned as his heart swelled at the sight of the mage, her cheeks tinged pink as she looked down away from him. She looked so small and cute to him in that moment and he wrapped his arms tightly around her to pull her on top of him. She let out an indignant squawk as he did so but it made him grin even wider. God, he had missed her.

"Leon!" she scolded, as he pressed her into his chest, pressing his face into her head and inhaled deeply. And enjoyed her warmth, her softness, her smell - she always smelled of petrichor with a hint of jasmine. By Jove, he had missed that smell so much. Nothing else compared. He pressed his lips onto the top of her head, caressed gently by her silky soft hair.

At the feeling of his lips on the top of her head she looked up at him from his chest and grinned - that damn crooked grin - and she pulled herself up on her elbows and leaned in and kissed his lips. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, still when they kissed. Still. Her lips were soft and she tasted sweet every time. He would never tire of these lips, it felt like a release to all his worries, all his stress. It felt like home. What had been clearly intended as a relatively chaste kiss turned into something heavy as he deepened the kiss himself. He had missed this so much. Where had she been?

Dephria leaned heavily into the kiss after Leon had chased her lips down to deepen it, her hands reaching into his hair as she straddled his waist as best she could with her bad leg, her tongue touching his lip begging for entry. With a gasp he let her in, his hands falling to her hips, squeezing her curves - Jove, was she soft - and pushing and pulling her to create friction as she moaned into his mouth, their tongues and lips dancing together, passionately, frantically like they might run out of time. He burned all over, he could never have enough of this, of her. He needed more, wanted more.

Sensing his craving, or perhaps equally as excited, Dephria pulled her lips away from his and kissed first his cheek, then his jaw, nibbling his earlobe, kissing down his neck, savouring the sensitive skin there. Leon found himself shivering despite the warmth of the day. When she reached his chest Dephria looked up at him with those tantalizing purple eyes of hers making a sultry expression as she stuck her pink tongue down, running it along the divet between the muscles in his stomach down towards his navel.

"Jove be damned, Dephria!" He huffed as she smirked into his skin and kissed his hips. He couldn't handle much more teasing. He wanted to touch her all over, sink his fingers into her voluptuous curves and make her moan and shiver, to undo her as she was undoing him.

She looked up at his again from her spot on his hip and smiled again.

"Remember our first night together?" She asked laying her head down on his lip looking up at him, a mischievous grin on her face. Where was she going with this? He squirmed impatiently, wanting to adjust himself for comfort. But he found when he tried to bring the memory to the forefront of his mind it was blurry, constantly flitting away from his grasp. It distracted him momentarily as he quieted himself to try and catch it, but it evaded his grasp continuously and that was a strange feeling.

As though she could not notice his change in demeanor, Dephria carried on, her mischievous look taking on an icy edge.

"The night I gave you my innocence, and my heart," she continued, her tone flirty, a grin on her face but a steely look in her eyes like she was setting a trap. Leon was beginning to feel less excited and more, nervous. Since when was there clouds in the sky? When did the day turn grey?

Dephria adjusted herself to be looking more directly at Leon, still running her hands over his skin but he was not excited anymore, more apprehensive. The breeze turned cool as goosebumps appeared on his skin, a heavy feeling settling over as if lightening were about to strike.

"I..." He began, he wanted to say yes. He knew they had made love when they finally admitted their feelings for each other, he knew they felt it was now or never, that it was life or death and they wanted to be together at least once if they were to die but he couldn't remember the act. He couldn't remember the where, the when. It was an empty feeling he was chasing trying desperately to grasp and the harder it was to remember the more everything felt wrong. He couldn't bring himself to lie, or admit something was wrong even as the grass he lay on felt rough, dry and stabbed his now cold skin when previously it had felt soft and comforting.

Dephria's smile took a sinister quality.

"I asked for you to wait for me, I asked for you to trust me," her voice was no longer her soft lilt, but harsh and rough, accusing. "But you didn't trust me in the end, did you, your Highness?"

Leon flinched away from the title. Leon, he was Leon. She knew that, she didn't call him that. She knew how much it bothered him to hear her call him that. When it was just them it was just Leon and Dephria. Just two regular people. In love. Not King, not prince, not royal mage, not loyal retainer. Just them. No title, no expectations. Why was she calling him that?

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the sky, drawing Leon's gaze as fat rain drops began to fall, cold and icy. It was sunny, it was warm, where did this weather come from? His eyes fell to the meadow where not only had the grass turned brown and dried up but also the wild flowers were gone, replaced with thorns and stinging nettles. What was going on? What foul magic was afoot?

"Leon!" Dephria snapped loudly drawing Leon's attention back to her as she knelt over him now. "I gave you my innocence! I gave you my heart! My everything and you BURNED ME!" Cold terror filled Leon as he looked at Dephria, her voice hoarse and rasping as her hair singed to nothing before him, dark smoke stains appearing on her skin, turning into blisters, bubbling all over her skin as flames with no source licked her. Heat rolled off her in waves making him sweat, drying out his mouth and lips despite the cold wind and the rain, which had whipped up into a frenzy as she screamed.

She was burning, he realised with horror.

He remembered now, he remembered everything. Skin sloughed off her body, pink muscle glistening underneath as the acrid smell of burnt hair and flesh assaulted his nostrils. She glared in fury at him as her lips burned away revealing her teeth as she gnashed at him.

"I did EVERYTHING for you and you BURNED ME!" Leon felt a tight nausea in his stomach as he stared up at her, frozen and speechless at the accusation.

Her beauty fell away, her muscle peeling back to reveal bone, her violet eyes the only thing remaining as she accused him, her voice dry but booming and full of hatred. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't even reply as he just stared in horror and her bones blacked before her eyes, and still she screamed with no vocal cords left.

"I gave you everything, I loved you and you KILLED ME," she accused. "You didn't even respect what was left of me, you threw me away in an unmarked grave to forget me, so no one could mourn me."

He did, he had. The woman he loved. He hadn't let his loved ones change his mind about her, hadn't let them save her. She had told him she used him to kill the saintess and he had believed her when everything he knew about her would've led him to believe her incapable of such an act. She gave of herself again and again for his causes, burning herself out over and over again for him. She gave him everything, mind body and spirit and he took and took and in the end he killed her. He watched her burn at the pyre.

Her bones slowly began to turn to ash, crumbling away to blackened dust, but even as her bones charred and fell away her eyes remained, accusing, hating.

"You killed me!" She shrieked again with no form to scream from. Lightning cracked as the wind whipped around his hair, throwing her ashes into his eyes, rain stinging against his bare skin. It felt like a pressure building endless as lightning cracked in the sky, a storm in full swing now.

"I did, I'm so sorry," he wailed, his own chest alight, the wind stealing his words away.

"You took my innocence and killed me with it!" She shrieked as all that was left of her, her violet eyes swooped towards him. Leon flinched, raising his hand to protect his eyes, embracing for impact.

He awoke with a jolt, half falling out of his bed, trying to jump to attention, holding out an invisible sword, tangled in sheets, his heart beating hard and his breathing harder.

He was no longer in that accursed meadows, but rather in his own royal bedroom, alone.

The nausea left from his dream was too much and he grabbed his bedpan to wretch the contents of his stomach up into it.

After vomiting he sank to the floor still tangled in sheets as he tried to calm his breathing.

It was just a dream, just a dream. But his attempts to calm his breathing failed as his breath hiccuped and turned into sobs, slow at first but the more he tried to repress them, to calm them down the more they choked him until his body was wracked with sobs as his heart reminded him it was an open wound.

#fic #if #fanfic #a mage reborn #f!mc x leon

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

The Witcher, The Bard, and Their Guardian Angel pt.3/4

(Other parts on my pinned Masterlist/AO3)

“Jaskier, get down!” Geralt shouted to the bard who was watching the fight from behind a bush.

Jaskier yelped and ducked down just in time as a ball of venom flew over this head.

Geralt hissed as he turned back to face the archespore that was growing new shoots all over the ground. “Damn it!”

He moved his fingers quickly and shot a blast of fire at the plant using igni. It burst into flames and burnt to ash quickly. He spun round in a pirouette to make sure he had killed the main plant and not one of its smaller offshoots, but fortunately he was surrounded by limp lifeless plant matter.

“Is it dead?” Jaskier called from his hiding spot. “It looks dead, right?”

Geralt wiped the venom coated sword on the grass and then sheathed it on his back. “It’s dead.” He confirmed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Not even a scratch, I do have the famous White Wolf to protect me after all.” Jaskier cooed as he jumped into Geralt’s arms.

Geralt grunted but caught the bard with a roll of his eyes.

“Next time I tell you to leave the disgusting looking plant alone, will you please listen to me?” Geralt sighed.

Jaskier grinned mischievously up at him “Oh but where’s the fun in that! I wouldn’t have gotten to watch you fight otherwise, and you know how much I adore that.” Jaskier smirked and stroked a long finger down Geralt’s cheek.

“I’ll drop you.” Geralt warned.

“No you won’t.” Jaskier laughed.

Geralt frowned, seriously considering dropping the bard on his ass.

“Be more careful next time.” He sighed.

Jaskier leaned up to press his lips to Geralt’s cheek. “Of course, dear heart.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. He knew that Jaskier’s promise meant nothing. He was too curious and severely lacked a self preservation instinct, preferring to rely on Geralt to get him out of trouble.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” He grumbled and dropped Jaskier carefully back to the floor. The bard pouted at him but said nothing.

They had been travelling together for just over a decade now. Geralt hadn’t meant to let the bard tag along for that long but after a few years together on and off, he found he was quite fond of Jaskier’s company. He filled the silence that Geralt hadn’t even realised had been bothering him before. He certainly helped when it came to coin. Jaskier had taken charge of haggling with their clients and he was the one who would retrieve the pay after a successful hunt, especially when royalty or nobility were involved. Not to mention the coin his songs brought in, an extra income that helped pay for lodgings and supplies, as well as rousing up a few more desperate contracts whenever they were in town.

Their relationship had grown and developed before either of them had really realised. They had never really talked about it but the pet names had slowly become more intimate, on Jaskier’s part anyway, and the hugs began to linger, sharing bedrolls for heat became sharing bedrolls because they wanted to. If Geralt was walking along side Jaskier then it wasn’t unusual for the bard to slip his hand into Geralt’s and Geralt never pulled away, he didn’t want to.

Then came the kisses.

Natural as breathing.

One winter Geralt and Jaskier had said their goodbyes, Jaskier heading to Oxenfurt and Geralt to Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier had leant in to kiss him. It wasn’t passionate or lust driven. It was a simple kiss goodbye, as if they’d been doing it for years.

Geralt had stared after the bard as he’d sauntered away and he’d thought about the kiss all winter.

When they’d reunited in spring Geralt had pulled his bard into fierce kiss and then buried his face in Jaskier’s neck, letting his familiar scent wash over him. Jaskier had returned the kiss eagerly and from then on their relationship and melted into one beyond platonic.

Geralt was already mourning the loss of his bard. Jaskier was human which meant that Geralt, if he survived the monsters, would not have long with his companion. So every day, every second counted. It had to. He couldn’t waste his time with Jaskier.

Which was why Jaskier’s penchant for trouble bothered him so much.

Humans were so ridiculously fragile.

“Geralt? What’s going on in that big old brain of yours?” Jaskier’s hands were on his cheeks, pulling him from his thoughts, and looking up at him with his beautiful cornflower blue eyes. “Is it the child?”

Geralt growled. “No.”

“When are we going to talk about what happened?” Jaskier sighed and rested his forehead against Geralt’s.

Geralt closed his eyes and breathed in the bard’s scent, letting it calm him and pushing away all thoughts of his mortality.

“The path is no place for a child, Jaskier.” He sighed. “I’m not taking him away from his family.”

“And how do we know they’re a boy?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt hummed. “I’m not taking them away from their family.” He amended.

“You should at least visit.” Jaskier’s hands were now threading through his hair gently. “You saw what happened when you try to deny Destiny.”

Geralt hummed again.

Jaskier pulled away and kissed his forehead. “Come now, Geralt. We shall ride for Cintra and I won’t hear another word against it!”

“Jaskier.” He sighed.

“Stop complaining, witcher. We’re going.” Jaskier said firmly. “Don’t forget, I saved your life, you brute. You owe me!”

Geralt couldn’t help but smile. Despite the fact that Geralt had saved Jaskier’s life many times over the last decade, the bard still insisted on playing that card.

The air crackled around them and a portal shimmered open in the air. A tall mage in a long hooded robe stepped through.

“What the…” Geralt murmured.

Jaskier scent soured and his pulse began to race.

The bard was afraid, more afraid than Geralt had ever known him, not even when a giant had picked him up by his ankles and tried to eat him.

“Mihangel.” Jaskier’s voice was shaking and barely above a whispered.

“You remembered.” The mage smiled softly, his voice was low and rich, full of untold knowledge.

“Jaskier, what’s going on?” He pushed the bard behind him, shielding him from the mage that had scared him so much.

“Ah, well, funny story.” Jaskier stammered. “When I said I saved your life, it wasn’t so much me as him, but you know, I found you and brought you back to town so I definitely helped!”

“Your bard begged for help, for anyone that could save you. You were dying, witcher.” Mihangel said calmly.

Geralt nodded. “I remember.”

“I saved your life at his request.” Mihangel’s voice was almost hypnotic. “And now I have come to claim what is owed to me.”

Geralt frowned and stepped towards the mage, making sure he was between Mihangel and his bard. “And what exactly is that?”

“A life debt.” Jaskier wailed behind him. “Oh gods, I’m too young to die!”

Mihangel laughed, a rich warm laugh that reminded Geralt of his brother Eskel. “Is that why you stink of fear, bard?”

Jaskier snorted indignantly. “I smell just fine! Tell him Geralt.”

Geralt glanced behind him and shrugged.

“Oi!” Jaskier protested.

“What do you want from him? I’ll pay his debt.” Geralt suggested.

The mage laughed once more. “Oh I sincerely doubt that you’ll be able to, witcher but I accept these terms.” He held his hand out and Geralt shook it.

“Oh hang on!” Jaskier barrelled past Geralt and broke their hands apart. “Geralt, you don’t even know what you’re agreeing to!”

Mihangel laughed. “You should have listened to your bard, witcher.”

Geralt frowned. “Why? What did you want?”

“My sister is getting married this summer. She was hoping to have the famous Jaskier play for her, but I supposed the famous witcher Geralt of Rivia will have to do.” Mihangel pulled off his hood, revealing the intricate braids in his hair. “You have two months, witcher. I wish you luck. You’ll need it.”

And with that Mihangel portalled away.

Jaskier burst into gleeful laughter, dropping to the floor and he clutched his stomach. “Oh ho ho!” He burst out between laughs. “I cannot wait to see this one!”

“Shut up, Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled.

“I told you that you should learn the lute!” He giggled.

“Shut up!” Geralt growled louder.

“But oh no! The mighty witcher was too good for my lowly lute playing skills. Ha!” Jaskier was on his back trying to contain his laughter.

Geralt swore and swiftly mounted Roach. He kicked her into a gallop and left the bard in a cloud of dust.

“Oh hey, wait, no. Geralt!!” He heard Jaskier call after him followed by the sound of his footsteps as he ran after him. “Geralt wait up!”

___________

Jaskier was starting to seriously worry about his lute, it had been a gift from the elves following one of his earlier adventures with Geralt. He still wasn’t entirely sure why Filavandrel had decided to honour him with the instrument but he was certainly not complaining.

All other lutes paled in comparison. The intricate decoration on the wood was just stunning and the strings had never once broken which was a miracle. He was sure they had been enhanced by magic. Over a decade of using the instrument and not even the highest, tightest, string had snapped under his fingers. He did not miss the days when he couldn’t play because the snapped strings had sliced into his fingertips, not to mention the coin he had saved on replacing the strings.

Oh and the sounds he could pull from the instrument. They were heavenly, enchanting, more beautiful than a siren’s call. The lute sang in his hands and resonated so clearly, so richly.

To the gods he was in love.

None of that mattered now though, not when his beloved instrument was in the hands of his witcher.

Now Jaskier would be the first to sing Geralt’s praises, remind the world of his goodness, his heroic nature, his heart, but Jaskier currently wanted to tear the lute from Geralt’s hands and make sure the world never had to endure this torture ever again.

“Melitele have mercy on us, stop that Geralt!” He groaned and pulled his lute away, cradling it in his arms. “I’m sorry, sexy, he didn’t mean it. I promise.” He cooed to his precious lute.

Geralt snorted. “Sexy?”

“Now now, don’t get jealous. You know I’ll always come back to you, my darling witcher.” He winked at Geralt. “Even if you are trying to destroy my eardrums. You having many talents my dear, lute playing is not one of them.”

“Would you just shut up? I’m running out of time.” Geralt went to grab the lute back.

Jaskier jumped back and held the lute out of Geralt’s reach. “Take a break, please, Geralt. I implore you.”

“Can’t. Have to learn to pay off your fucking debt!” Geralt growled.

Jaskier licked his lips and smirked at the witcher, pushing him back with his free hand. “And who’s fault is that? No no. Don’t say mine, Geralt. This is all on you!”

“I thought he was going to ask you to fight something.” Geralt grumbled. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“And I appreciate your concern, but really why would a literal sorcerer ask a bard to fight?” Jaskier tilted his head at Geralt, allowing his fingers to grip onto the fabric of Geralt’s shirt. “I mean I thought he wanted to use my organs for some weird magic shit.”

Geralt scoffed.

“Hey! How was I supposed to know that ‘life debt’ didn’t mean you have to sacrifice your own life?” Jaskier pouted.

“You were at Cintra.” Geralt rolled his eyes.

“And I’d already asked Mihangel if he wanted to call Law of Surprise, he declined and went all ominous and ‘Remember my name’” Jaskier sunk into his lower register to do his finest impression of the mage. “I panicked!”

“You are nothing but trouble, bard.” Geralt sighed but stopped trying to grab the lute.

Jaskier grinned and pulled the witcher into a kiss. “It’s why you love me.” He purred against Geralt’s lips.

“Hmm.” Geralt agreed before capturing his lips in another kiss, biting at Jaskier’s bottom lip as they pulled apart.

Geralt took advantage of Jaskier’s distraction and stole the lute back.

“Oi!” Jaskier pouted.

“Shut up and help me.” Geralt snapped.

“Well I can’t shut up if you want me to teach you.” He pointed out.

“Jaskier.” Geralt groaned in exasperation.

“Fine fine. Come here, you brute.” Jaskier said defeatedly.

They’d already been at it for two months and Geralt had barely made any progress. His hands were much better suited to wielding swords than lutes. Jaskier was just lucky the Geralt’s fingers were nimble enough to dance, albeit awkwardly, on the strings. Years of using witcher signs had helped with that, and Jaskier was more than familiar with how good Geralt could be with his fingers.

“Jaskier.” Geralt warned in a soft voice.

He blushed. “After the wedding perhaps?”

“Don’t count on it.” Geralt growled but he was half smiling at Jaskier in that fond soft way that made Jaskier’s heart melt.

“We shall see, dear heart.” Jaskier winked at his student.

By the time the sun had begun to set and they needed to get ready for the wedding, Geralt could just about finish a very basic tune but he couldn’t sing at the same time. Jaskier would have to help, they were both counting on Geralt’s humiliation being entertainment enough and that Mihangel would allow Jaskier to take over.

Otherwise it would be a very dull wedding indeed. Jaskier had enlisted some of his friends from Oxenfurt to help for the evening. Whilst the lute was a perfectly adequate instrument on its own, for a grand event such as a wedding, a fuller band was always a better option. He’d warned his friends that Geralt would have to play at least the first song. Luckily the news had delighted them and bets had been made about just how terrible the witcher would be.

Jaskier was ashamed to say he’d betted against the witcher on this one. His friend Essi had been certain that Jaskier was being too harsh on his partner, poor Essi had no idea what she was in for.

They wandered down into the hall, Jaskier was wearing his finest doublet that hadn’t been torn to pieces by monsters or by Geralt’s own hands. It was a soft silk lilac doublet, with a delicate floral pattern that shimmered in the light. Geralt had grumbled but allowed himself to be forced into formal evening wear. He was sporting a rather elegant dark burgundy doublet with gold thread stitching a rather beautiful meadow of buttercups across his torso.

Jaskier liked to pretend that he wasn’t the possessive sort but he found it immensely satisfying watching Geralt walk through the crowd covered in buttercups and smelling like chamomile, Jaskier’s preferred scent.

“Are you ready, White Wolf?” He leaned to whisper in Geralt’s ear.

“Can’t be worse than the striga.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier laughed. “Oh my darling, this is so much worse. A striga is merciful. She kills you quickly. Nobility are more monstrous than anything you’ve faced in battle.”

Geralt snorted a laugh and pulled the lute from off his back.

It was time to repay the debt, at last.

Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @dearest-queerest-nux @awitchersbard @genkitaco @justalittletomfoolery

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfiction #geralt/jaskier #jaskier #geralt #the witcher the bard and their guardian angel #wolfie's witcher writing

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cryysiswritesthings · 4 years

Text

Ash and Dust || A KogKag Oneshot

Series: Inuyasha Rating: Mature Warnings: Non-graphic description of rape, violence, burning victims Status: Complete Pairing: KogKag Summary:

All they could hear were screams.

The knights behind her cut the rope at her wrists, and the young woman fell to her knees. The open flesh of her back had drenched the snow with her blood. Now it soaked her woolen skirt, staining it forever.

She hadn’t stopped screaming.

Find it On: AO3

Tumblr Tags: #kogkag #inuyasha #oneshot

All they could hear were screams.

She hadn’t stopped screaming.

Above her, an elder woman stood bound to a stake upon the flaming pyre. Much of her skin had already been burnt away, turning the bone beneath it black. The air was drenched with the putrid smells of burning death: iron and sulfur, foul liver and cooked fat. Something musky, and sweet.

It hung so thickly in the air she could almost taste it. She would never be rid of the smell.

The tears she shed were dried before they formed, so close was she to the fire. Her poor mother had smiled as long as she could, until she was so consumed by pain she could not see her daughter’s weeping face.

The knights were silent behind her, but not their leader. He stood on stone not far from her, preaching the evils of magic and sorcery. Condemning her mother to hellfire and torment.

A calloused hand landed on her shoulder when her voice broke, unable to continue her cries. Dark gray eyes looked upon her with regret and sympathy.

“I’m so sorry, Kagome,” a kind voice says to her, mindful of her injured skin. “But you have to understand… it had to be done.”

The girl froze, her face turning pale as the snow. It hurt when she spoke. “I… I don’t… understand…”

The man becomes desperate, in a rush to explain. “Your mother, she… you were in so much pain, and she needed to answer for her crimes. She’d sold you to the Wolf, Kagome! I know how much you loved her, but I had to do what was best for you!”

Horror spread through her veins, warming her blood. She couldn’t look away from the flames. “You did this. You turned her in too these… these barbarians, these strangers to our ways, to our lands.”

The young man swallowed, and bowed his head. “I had to protect you.”

There was no sound beyond the leader’s preaches and the crackle of flame. Then there rose a lone howl, startling all but the young woman still drenched in blood.

“Hojo?”

The young man looked to her, hopeful and afraid. “Yes, Kagome?”

She clawed out his eyes.

A cow's disgruntled bray woke the sleeping woman from her memory-dream. Tired eyes blinked slowly to find the sky covered in clouds darkening into gray. But the sun shone beyond the large body of the bull next to her, a telling sign for those who knew to look. These clouds weren’t the start of a storm.

Visitors were coming. Dangerous ones.

In the distance, ravens cawed against the winds that had begun to churn. A large shadow flies over head, and circles around to see her.

The hag sat astride the branch of a dead tree, taller in length then she was in body. Her raven clutched at one of the antlers protruding from the fish-pale flesh of her head, its roots hidden by wild strands of hair.

The raven cawed once and dove from its perch until it landed on the woven handle of her basket. Around its neck hung a thin leather cord, it’s pendant a familiar claw.

Kagome smiled at the sight, taking the gift from around its neck and cradling it to her chest. “Will you give him my thanks for me? And tell him… tell him I look forward to the day of our meeting.”

The raven cawed and spread its wings, returning to its masters side. The hag stared at her a moment longer, before she and her companion disappeared into the forest.

The danger came not long after. And it burned to look upon it.

The zealot and his metallic knights. They gleamed in the light, the sun's reflection blinding all who saw them. But not her.

No. To her, their armor would forever be tarnished with soot and ash.

The men either did not notice her presence, or did not know who she was. But then perhaps they did and cared not. She didn't know.

They made their intentions clear: through the courage of a member of their village, they had learned of a monster who plagued the forest. Their mission, the zealot told them, was to cleanse their land of evils taint once and for all.

No cheers greeted this news, only hushed whispers and uneasy glances in the witch-child's direction. But there was only one whose presence she focused on.

Hojo sat in a wooden chair under the awning of his home, blind as the day she’d taken his eyes from him. Next to him stood Rose, the girl child who wished to call him her own. Her glare was a brush of cold wind, but Kagome held little care. Sympathy was all she was capable of for her now.

Poor Hojo. Even after she’d blinded him, he still held her close to his heart. His clan thought she'd cast a spell on his heart and bonded him to her life. But she had no use for a blind man, least of all one who meddled in affairs of which he didn’t belong. No, Hojo's only curse was to have been born with a terrible, innocent kind of love. The kind that forgave every imagined sin of whomever his heart was set upon, no matter the wickedness of their transgression.

He would love her until the stars fell from the sky.

Here, beyond the edge of the forest, the meadows grew wild with flowers and herbs she could find all manner of use for. There were no trees to guard her from the sun’s effervescent rays, and so no way for sound to travel. It was why she had not heard the encroaching metal men, but now they were close enough for even her weak ears to sense.

They passed her in pairs and groups of three, stomping carelessly over what had once been undisturbed ground. The smell of broken stems filled her nose, flowery and sweet. It only served to remind her of her mothers screams.

A shadow fell over her, a foolish knight who broke from his ranks to inspect her. She could not see his face, not even the color of his eyes. The slit in his helmet was too small for it.

“Girl, who are you? Your face stands out to me, though I do not recall ever knowing you.”

Her stare was blank, telling nothing with her silence. The knight seemed not to care, only raised the sword in his hand, it’s point catching the leather cord around her throat.

"Speak, woman, or I will slit your throat and feed these plants with your life's blood."

Surprisingly, her lips twitched in a smile. They would probably thank him for it.

The sword rose higher, ready to swing down. If she did not answer him, she would pay for it with her life.

In the back of her mind, she could sense him, reacting to the unspoken threat. He had never revealed himself, keeping to his promise. But to defend her life, he would interfere. She needed only to speak, and the knight before her would be dead in moments.

He had no idea who it was he threatened. She wanted to keep it that way.

“I am no one, sir,” she told him finally. His sword lowered by an inch. “Only a simple village girl. I have never traveled beyond our forest, but if you have passed through before, you might have come upon me.”

The sword fell to his side. “You’re lying, somehow. I do not know in what way, but what you speak is falsehood.”

If only he knew.

“Will you take me then?” Her stare bored into him, piercing through armor. “Will you drag me back to the village, listen to me beg for my release?”

His smile turned vile, though she could not see it. “Learn some respect, or I will not give you the chance.”

She hummed her understanding and bowed her head. “As you say, sir. I will do so.”

The hulking metal turned from her to rejoin his rank. But he stopped, and before she knew what happened, he had turned once more and backhanded her across the face.

Her gasp of pain was silent, but her thud against the ground was not. Her fingers hovered over the bloody welts on her cheek, and the other men of his regiment laughed.

Pleased with himself, the knight left her there, sealing his fate.

Kagome stepped into the tavern, its usual soft chatter replaced with the roar of laughter found in the drunkest of men. The knights, it seemed, had taken over the majority of their tables, leaving the amassed villagers to huddle in darker corners.

Ayumi, a sweet thing married to the village apothecary, brought a warm mug of cider to her table. She promised to return with a warm plate of dinner, and Kagome offered her a quiet thanks before she walked away.

She paid little attention to the going ons around her, focused more on the drink warming her hands. Normally, one or two of the villagers would join her, asking about the things only she could see. Now she sat alone, though it was with little surprise.

The zealot’s eyes flicked back and forth between her and his men. She knew he was trying to place her, much the same as the knight from earlier. Should he recognize her, the scars on her back would be joined with newer marks.

But it was not the zealot she needed to be concerned with. No, it was Rose. Rose and her desire to break Hojo of his heart’s bond.

Rose was the one to whisper in a knights ear who she was. The same knight, conveniently, with whom she’d had her altercation earlier. It was this knight who eyed her now, though she did not recognize him. He knew her history, her reputation, what she was said to be capable of.

A slow smile spread across his face.

It seemed he had a reason to teach her respect after all.

He found her later that night, after following her from the tavern.

Beneath his fists, fresh bruises bloomed on her skin. His hands pulled at her hair, pain singing across her scalp. Rock and debris carved new patterns into her clothes. His teeth cut her lips and his thighs danced between hers, tinting her skin red and white and red.

She did not cry. She did not scream. She did not beg.

But she remembered.

Not a sound was heard through the village that night.

At sunrise, they found him in pieces. Rose’s head lay beside him.

The knights ravaged the forest, and Kagome’s body healed. She drank the tea her mother used to give to the girls who wanted to enjoy pleasure without the risk of childbirth. Nothing changed, save for the thick pelts of soft fur that found their way to her doorstep. A reminder that even if she did not see him, he still was with her always.

Summer turned to fall, and the passing of the season brought with it winter’s snow. Still, the knights occupied their small village, though fewer and fewer now remained.

Slowly, the men had started to disappear. The zealot had cursed them as deserters, condemning them in their afterlives and this one. One by one, this continued, until only a handful remained. More knights had been sent for, but none so far had reached them.

Then the bodies turned up, corpses rotting in their metal encasements, piled high in the village center.

The zealot became a mad man. He ordered his men to drag every woman and child from their home, intending to use them as bait. But the villagers would not stand for this mintreatment, and drove he and his knighted remnants to the edge of the forest.

They were not heard from again.

Days turned to weeks, and life settled in the village. Kagome took up practice as the village healer, and would often spend her afternoons foraging in the woods.

It was at the end of such an excursion that she came upon the zealot and the last of his knights. They cowered behind a tent of hay; skin, bone, and rusted armor all that remained of once proud men.

Their eyes met hers, and in them she saw a terrible kind of need burn its way forward. In moments they would be upon her, and she would die beneath their hands.

A scatter of birds frightened calls preceded his presence. His deep, dark rumble stilled them in their tracks.

Beyond the tents he stood, a furred beast on two legs. His muzzle was long and filled with fangs, and he towered over the snowy plains.

It was the first time she’d ever seen him, and she had not the words to describe his beauty.

Shaking metal drew her eyes from him, her gaze landing on the hidden men. The zealot desperately shook his head, holding a finger to his lips. If the Wolf caught them, they would die as the rest of their scattered forces had.

But they would leave her to die in an instant if he attacked her, though she knew he never would.

Kagome shifted her basket from one hand to the other, letting one hang free. Without a word, she mimicked the actions of the knight who once attacked her, raising her arm and pointing to the cowards hidden in the haystacks.

She watched the long muzzle pull back, fangs dripping with saliva. It was a beasts smile. The Wolf’s smile.

Good girl.

The zealot screamed and cursed her existence as he died. Witch, he called her. Devil’s whore. Consort of beasts and monsters.

The Wolf’s muzzle was wet with warm blood, the now dead bodies steaming in the fallen snow. Slowly it stalked forward, intent upon her.

Her smile was beatific, and when he fell to all fours in front of her, she reached out to card her fingers through his fur.

“Hello, Kouga.”

#kogkag #inuyahsa #oneshot

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bigscaryyanderewriter · 5 years

Text

Frosty Fear and the Fury of Flames (Dragonshifter! Shouto x Reader) Part 3

Part 2 ^

Hahaha, a part 3 for you??? It’s more likely than you’d think. This is actually kinda fun to write in parts, although it takes me a while. I have a few requests waiting to be answered still and that kinda bums me out still. Gonna be getting a lot more of Todoroki though. Haha… I like fire boys. Also, if you can’t tell. I really want to play dnd.

Tw: Yandere, Nightmares, Slight Gore

2.1k Words

“Bakugou, are you sure about this? I mean-”

“Did I ask for your opinion, Shitty hair? Come on, get that damn wimp ready to go. We’re going to need to get out of here if we are going to get them away from that damn dragon.” The grimace on his face as deeper set than usual as you were forced to pack up with the others yet again.

They were going to abandon their mission, since there were other things they could do. That was what Bakugou told you at least, you had a feeling that none of the jobs in this tavern were worth half as much to the group as the one involving Shouto was. Still, you were grateful that they wanted you to stay and that you could be useful to them.

You couldn’t stop the sinking feeling though as you knew that getting farther away would be good, but also… They had to do something like give up the goal they had been working towards to assist you.

The morning was still dark, no sun peaked on the horizon as the birds only just began singing their morning songs. The bags were packed and soon you were all ready to go by the time the sky began to lighten. You would be heading east and down the mountains a good ways until you got to the plains, travelling for about two weeks before stopping in another city called White Fields. Something was said about dangerous rock formations that would cause small landslides and magic folk you couldn't talk to. Not much rest would be allowed, wanting to get as far as possible from the mountains and desert. If luck was on their side, they would be out of reach by that point, since Shouto was still unable to travel that far from what you have learned. Something about territory disputes and bad blood.

That was the plan and you were praying to whatever would listen that it would work.

"Are you ready, (Y/N)? We had better get going." Mina spoke from the doorway of the little room of the inn. Her face showed a bit of concerned and you realized you had been scratching a bit at your arm. You hurriedly covered the scratches and grabbed the sack with your more material belongings, the golden jewelry, things you had taken from the cave. Following her out to the boys, you all got moving as you walked out of town.

The place where the sun rose was your destination. Going throughout the day. The further day the mountains, the darker the forests and the colder it was. It was a bit misty out with the morning still being new. The winter would hit quickly this year and you could tell. At least it would here. The cold air from last night seemed to be cradled here. Your arm hairs prickled as you all walked.

It was as you pulled your arms closer to yourself that you heard Denki speaking, "Hey, you look… like you might want this." He pulled off the warm yellow cloak he had worn throughout the time you had seen him and offered to hand it to you.

"Oh- It's nothing. I'll be fine… The sun will warm me up soon enough. You know I'm not a princess though, so you probably shouldn't call me that." You said with a tiny fake smile. "I appreciate the offer though."

"Aw, maybe I shouldn't call you princess then. No princess holds a candle to you anyways! You have to be the product of some goddess of beauty." He laughed as you couldn't stop the heat rushing to your face, "Don't be so shy. I'm just teasing you. Though you do make a cute face when you're embarrassed. Still, you should take it. I'll be fine without it for a minute."

"Kaminari, I swear to all the gods that I will shove so many rocks into your mouth, if you don't stop flirting. You'll be shitting so many rocks that you could put it on a resume." Bakugo was throwing nonsense threats and this just resulted in some laughter as you had never heard a threat more ridiculous. It was like it was written by someone who didn't actually know how to properly threaten people or something.

Ah yes. That is me. The narrator, who cannot narrate without getting sidetracked. Now, watching you and the group laugh… The tension of impending doom is nowhere to be found as you all walk the beginnings of the mountains' autumnal scenery. The yellow cloak draped on your shoulders as you continued and Denki at your side, chatting idly with you. His presence and the conversation taking the pressure of the situation away. It seemed he was an expert, being a bard. Something told you to be careful though. The stereotype with musicians and their unfaithfulness…

There was more time to mull over the prospect later, but you also just found him so jolly. It was a real treat. Going through the day, nothing happened. It was painfully boring event-wise, tiring, but you made progress. You had begun to feel uneasy, despite Kaminari distracting. Something was lurking in the forests, in the trees. Everything seemed about as turned around for you as a spinning carnival mirror maze.

Sero, Kiri, and Mina seemed to have had no problem as you were led by them. The group was much closer together now and the laughter began to cease. Night would come and the wish to leave these mountains was becoming louder within your head. It was eerie.

No one spoke much while the dark branches of nearly black barked pines hung above with their ruddy red leaves. The silver of the wood beneath was visibly upon some broken branches and on the stumps that you would sometimes pass on the thinning path. They looked unpleasantly rough to touch. Small barbs lining the branches and serving as more than a small warning to be careful around them.

Soon the light would go, so Kiri found a spot around where some trees had fallen and sat up a fire for the night, while you picked up anything on the ground to make it less rocky. It was also handy for you to get more sticks for the fire. These trees burned infamously easy. A single mistake with a fire and it could go up in minutes, but it would burn for a long time. It was not usual for anyone to cut any down due to the inhabitants though and the consequences. You didn't know what they were and you weren't about to try to find out by harming the forest.

Dinner was easy, still being able to have some good leftovers from the inn. You had to eat them all today, but it was still going to be fuel until the next time you went to eat fresh food, cooked by someone else at least.

Denki couldn't help lightening the mood as he pulled out his stringed instrument and started playing a lovely song… It was familiar, somehow. You struggled to think of what it was called, but you knew the words. It was peaceful and it definitely seemed to help Mina perk up again as she began talking with Sero. Bakugo seemed less irritable as he ate, the music must calm the beast. You couldn't help the smile that came on your face at that thought.

Singing along probably wouldn't keep him calm, but you oh so wanted to… It would be a little embarrassing, but others might join in.

So you did. It was time to have some fun.

You hummed along and started singing,

"How much is love worth?

Yet, we're giving it for free.

Didn't cost a penny, but

I've gained everything.

I'd do anything to make her smile

My darling

Darling~

If only she would look out

Of that dreamy little world

She would then see

That while I am no prince

And will make her crazier than me

I would never quit to admit I'm wrong

I'd always get on her nerves,

She would hate the way I eat

And only then it's worse.

I'd complain about her mother

Even though she's quite alright

I won't stop til I see her blush

Red in the dead of night.

An immoral proposition

If not only for a tease

But I have some qualities

that put her mind at ease.

I love her more than the sea does a shore

As the sun does the horizon,

Unafraid to come back home

And get her blood arising

Kiss her face and hold her hand

I'll never let her go.

I'm lucky that she loves it

Where I'd be without it, who would know

That she likes to feel the spite

That even though I mess around

I'm in her bed tonight

Of my darling,

My darling

Darling

Not doing as the birds and bees

But holding on her hand,

Kissing at her face

And saying things for show

Her pretty crimson blush

Cause when I see it, then I know

That the hand life dealt

Was a royal flush."

Denki sang with you as the others watch, some la's and humming as you got up with a spin. The swirl of your dress and body as you sang out each part with more confidence. Mina laughed when you would dance and Kirishima was keeping the beat.

After a while, the singing stopped and soon the group started to settle in.

Bakugo took first watch with Kirishima, Sero and Denki. Then Mina and you. Only because of practicality. It was to be in three hour shifts. It was when you laid down on your bed roll and cover yourself with a blanket you had been given. The night would be cold, but the fire was big enough to warm you as you sleep. As soon as you eyes closed, you were out. A day of travelling made you more than ready to sleep. It was a wonderful thing to sleep with good dreams, but you seemed to lack any dreams lately.

Not tonight.

You woke up in an ashen forest. Smoke choked life as blue flames rose in the distance. It snowed. You could hardly distinguish the ash from the snow until it would either burn you or melt on your skin. Getting up was impossible, the burning branch crushed your legs.

The acrid smell of burnt hair and smoke. It stung your eyes as you tried to tears away while coughing. You just couldn't stop coughing. "Please! Please! Denki?! Mina!"

You were crying and struggling. The wood was too heavy and you could see the blood on the snow. You were bleeding heavily. It hurt. It hurt.

"Somebody help me! Please! I don't want to die." You couldn't stop the tears as you thrashed about. Soon you stopped though. A growl sounding above you. Blue eyes and blackened scales, injuries beyond counting.

El diablo azul. The shivering continued as you looked up, nothing short of full blown trembling as he snorted hot air over you and knocked the branch away. Draconic was spoken to you as you scrambled back from him. It was deep and grumbling, not hissing or growling like the words spoken by Endeavor or Shouto.

"I don't under- understand. Thank you though…" You couldn't look away from those blue eyes as they seemed to glint with amusement before the great black wings beat against the air. Smoke and snow getting caught up as he was off again and soaring over the burning forest. Lying in the snow though, you wouldn't be able to get up. Maybe he wanted to give you a chance to survive. So you pulled yourself up and began to walk through the blizzard, blood oozing from your thigh and ash caked on your skin. You weren't going to make that help mean nothing.

Though, you were confident. You looked up to see something far worse than the fire ahead. Red and white scales. Shouto was coming for you.

Blinking your eyes open as you were shaken awake. Sweat coated your body while you panted, "Stop- Stop! Please."

It was as you jolted up, you saw Denki looking with fear at you. His hands had been shaking you awake and scrambled away. Out of breath as you looked around frantically. "Shshshh, You need to be quiet. You're attracting too much attention. You were screaming in your sleep. What in the world were you dreaming about…?"

"Nothing, it was nothing, Denki… Just a bad dream. I um, I'll take the rest of your shift if you want to go back to sleep. I don't think I can…" You murmurred.

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druddigoon · 5 years

Text

Bird Song

Well I didn’t tell anyone, but a bird flew by

There’s the faint scent of something burning in her room. It smells like the aftermath of Mommy and Daddy’s fights, but Daddy isn’t here and Mommy’s never here and it’s starting to get hard to breathe. When Azula opens her mouth to cough, a strong hand clamps on her mouth and shushes her.

She’s wide awake now, struggles and kicks her legs at the scary shadow looming over her; it grabs her legs and arms and twists them into uncomfortable positions, the room rolls as she’s lifted before she finds it in herself to scream. She sees it make a ball of fire that lights the way, warm oranges and reds much like hers, but steadier.

Fire is the essence of power, she remembers Daddy telling her. A stronger firebender’s flame will always overwhelm a weaker one’s. He wants Azula to be the best.

The stranger’s fire is a little flicker of life in his hand, warm and familiar, and she reaches for it the best she’s able with her hands behind her back, seizes it until it dances just for her. For a while it’s just her and the flame, ready to answer to her command. So she commands, and it flares up in joy.

Dimly she hears the scream of a man she doesn’t know before she is dropped and the world comes to its feet. The stranger is yelling very bad things that would get Azula a fierce mouth-washing with soap if she ever repeats them. He’s large and tall and angry, but now she sees his face twisted in pain and the skin burnt off his fingers and he becomes just another human.

They’re in one of the secret tunnels, she vaguely remembers, one she had explored maybe a year ago and never came back to because the air was dusty there were too many spider-moths. Her flame friend finally winks out so she generates another one, casting long shadows against the man’s face.

More footsteps arrive, and Azula finds herself separated from the man by a circle of royal guards, all shouting at him to stand down.

Next come Mommy and Daddy. Mommy throws her arms around her and holds her in a way she rarely does to her but often to Zuko, and she starts feeling safe again. Her father sweeps in with utmost regality, and the man starts snarling insults at him. Azula tries to hear but Mommy covers her ears and hums a song about leaves and vines.

“You’ve condemned my brothers and sisters to die in petty conquests, your factories have polluted and starved my village, and all for what? Glory? Your lower classes die for some fucking twisted sense of duty, just so you have a little more coin to line your coffers! You’re a bastard of no morals, a disgraced descendant of Agni!”

Daddy gives no reaction, but Azula can see the muscles in his neck tense up like how they do when he’s about to hit Mommy. Calling someone a disgraced descendant of Agni is a very grave insult, even more so on the royal family, who are the direct children of Agni. But like a good ruler, he waits for his subjects to speak their fill even though none of their words are important, so it’s only when the man is silent and breathing hard that he speaks.

“Is that why you decided to kidnap my daughter?”

The man glares up at him, eyes dark with anger. “I am going to take away someone you love, just like you’ve done to me and several million other families out there.”

Mommy pulls Azula in closer until it gets hard to breathe, and in the background she hears Daddy laughing quietly.

“You break into the royal palace and kidnap my daughter for a few dead people? Not the healthiest coping mechanism, I must say.” Daddy has a way of speaking as if he’s breathing flames not words, and right the air seems to heat up as he continues. “You have committed a serious act of treason. Since you are the coward to steal a five-year-old girl instead of confronting me, I’ll let my daughter decide your fate.”

“Azula,” she hears Daddy call, and snaps to attention. Does he want her to do something? Daddy still looks really angry, and she hopes that he’ll throw his anger at the man instead of at her. “By law, what is the punishment for treason?”

The answer comes naturally; Daddy always drills her on Fire Nation laws at the dinner table. “All actions made with the intention to oppose Agni’s Children or his Nation are ordained as treason; peoples who have committed treasonous acts are subject to death by execution.”

Daddy smiles at her in pride, and she smiles back. Mommy’s face dawns into an expression of horror. “Precisely. It is the duty of the royal family to oversee such an execution. You are the judge, Azula—how should he be punished?”

Mommy’s grip is strangling on her wrist. “Be reasonable, sweetie. Don’t do something you don’t want to be done to you.” It is just like Mommy, to ignore her daughter until she wants something from her. This time Azula is unwilling to give.

She yanks her arm free. “Start firebending,” she commands to the man with all the authority her child’s voice can carry, not realising it is the soldier’s swords that make him rush to obey. She then takes his fire and makes it hers—this time the man notices and the fear on his face surprises her. He is making that face because of her. She flicks her wrist in a maneuver that she just learned and still feels clumsy in her child’s hands, but this time she pulls it off and the flame twists, turns like a living being before swallowing the man whole.

That night, Azula learns control.

Daddy praises her authority and prowess, something he almost never does, and she takes it and puts it with the rest of her happy memories (like when she and Zuko played hide and seek in the palace tunnels before Grampa sealed them off, or—oh!—their vacation at Ember Island). He says she did the right thing. Mommy doesn’t say anything, just storms out of the tunnels like thunder. Why isn’t Mommy proud of her?

She shoots an apologetic look at Daddy and the cleanup crew before following Mother. They make it all the way to her bedroom before Mommy turns around.

“What?” she hisses, almost feral, and Azula shrinks a little. The smell of burnt flesh lingers on both their clothes.

“Are you proud of me?”

“For what? For my daughter cooking a man alive with his own flame?” Mommy laughs, but like in a happy way, more in a voice hitching, about to cry or scream kind of way. Before Azula does anything, her voice hardens. “Go back to your room Azula. You must be tired after all that firebending.”

She is, but there’s something about the kidnapping that convinces her she won’t get a wink of sleep in her own bed. “Can I stay in your room? I’m scared.” Zuko tells me that whenever he has a nightmare, you let him stay on your bed.

Suddenly Mommy’s stepping towards her; she opens her arms expecting to be carried but she’s shoving her, pushing her backwards until she’s tripping out onto the doorstep with a soft cry of pain. Ursa slides the panel door until there’s a tiny slit between them. “Go to sleep, sweetie. Monsters aren’t afraid of the dark.”

Saw what I’d done he set up a nest outside,

And he sang about what I’d become

He sang so loud, sang so clear

I was afraid all the neighbours would hear,

Her mother hated her. Her mother called her a monster.

Her mother was a coward, she thinks bitterly, a coward who wept over wounded turtleducks and war casualties, who left without even saying goodbye. Maybe she was right, maybe Azula is an evil, evil monster, so vicious and twisted that her mother couldn’t love her, but the least she could do was turn around and face her.

Not that she wants to see her disappointed face one last time.

Ever since Azula was born Ursa slept in a separate room from her husband, the one opposite of the master bedroom reserved for concubines, staffed by servants that reported her every move. It’s been a week since she graced this bed, but the sheets haven’t been changed since and they smell of her as if she never left. Their scent sends a stab of emotion to Azula’s chest, more painful than Father’s punishments when she messes up her katas, and she is stunned by the ferocity of it all.

It’s a foreign feeling. Azula tries to put a name to it, picking up the side of the silken bedsheet even as her heart seizes, eventually settling on hatred, though not quite.

She grins as her blue flickers around the edges, red sheets curling black against the head, and she has to be careful because the whole room was made out of wood, but if nothing Azula prided herself on her control. Little filigrees of smoke, weaving through the air. Blue and red, blue and red.

Black.

She stumbles back, breathless and trembling. The room is hazy with smoke, ashes upon ashes, and the little candle inside her splutters out. She should’ve known, her mother was no phoenix.

She hears him before she sees, him, stumbling against the corridors, like a fledgling hawk with its wing cut off—and believe her, she’s known from experience—all hacking coughs and smolder. “Azula,” he shouts through a hoarse throat, “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” she says with a cutting smile, making her way to the bedside drawer.

Zuko snarls quietly. He’s livid, but both know better than to allow their father to find out.

Now that she has his attention, Azula picks up the memento in her hand, palms it; the thing fits nicely in her hand, but its ashes will fit even better. Wooden oni masks are so, so flammable.

She sees Zuko tense out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t you dare,” he hisses.

Such petty sentimentality. Like mother, like son, she supposes. It’s only fitting that he took after his coddler, getting all attached and protective over such a useless object, shrinking like a beaten dog whenever Father raises a hand. It wouldn’t be surprising if he turns tail and runs from his duties when he’s older.

“Or what?” There’s something in the glee of the moment that takes her smile, stretches it so wide it hurts, the mask clenched in her hand trembling imperceptibly. “Or what, you’ll call mother? “

Mother left us. Don’t you remember, Zuzu? She was a coward.

“You’re sadistic!” he snaps back, “Evil! Broken!” She’s skilled enough in reading people to see that’s he’s desperate, that she’s struck a nerve, and now he’s blindly throwing jabs in the hopes one of them sticks. She goads him and he eats it up, like a puppet on invisible strings. The puppetmaster allows the chi to surge through her fingertips, sets the room alight in a blur of red then blue then black. More ashes drift down into the carpet.

Silence hangs like smoke in the air.

Zuko steps back, the air between them electric with tension.

“Mother never loved you,” he says, his voice quivering yet resolute, and leaves without another word.

Her chest feels tight, like there was a platypus-bear settled on her chest and her lungs forgot to breathe. Burning her mother’s belongings has lost its intrigue now that there was no one to taunt, so Azula stole out of the graveyard, noting the smoke lingering through the hallways. It’s only a matter of time before Father finds out, she realizes. She dusts clinging ashes off her clothes and wonders who casts the blame first.

(Azula does, in the end. When their Father beats Zuko black and blue, sends him crawling to bed without dinner, Azula laughs because she doesn’t know what else to do.)

So I invited him in, just to reason with him

I promised I wouldn’t do it again

But he sang louder and louder inside the house,

And no I couldn’t get him out

Mai covets her knives like secrets, steel-edged kunai and shurikens and needle-blades. Azula had given her several on her fourteenth birthday, an old set made from carved dragonscale, light and durable, and watched them disappear into the fold of her sleeves. Nobody knows how many she owns (she’s counted at least forty-two once, during sparring practice) but she cares and sharpens them all to pinpoint precision.

She hones her skill like blades. They are her defense, her redemption, her identity, and she hones them relentlessly until the trees around her house are more hole than tree and her fingers are worn to bloody stumps, nails clipped against harsh metal. Azula remembers seeing her etched with shallow cuts across her face and arms, back when she first started; now, the only scars she bears are the ones inside.

Ty Lee, the youngest of her septuplets, never gets any attention from her parents. It’s a kind of freedom that has gotten into her head. She is flighty, flirts with death as if it were her partner, leaps up to catch passing hopes and dreams knowing nobody would catch her if she falls. And she’s fallen. A lot.

She has the most broken bones out of all of them. Her left leg’s been fractured in five places, her right leg even more. Once, when they were little, Azula found her sprawled on the stone courtyard below her second story room, red cascading out of her cracked skull like a fountain. Ty Lee looked up at her beneath the blood running down her face and grinned, all wild glee on bloodstained teeth. Those concussions must’ve gotten to her head, because she’s the only one of them that never grew up.

Azula never talks about her training with Father.

There are rumors, whispers amid nobles and peasants alike. The assassin, a child who beat a Yu Yan in a sharpshooting match, who would be recruited to the military a hundred times over if she weren’t a noble’s daughter. The acrobat, who can take master firebenders in the blink of a second, who steals one’s chi right out of their body with a simple prod of her fingers. The princess, the favored heir who mastered her firebending at the ripe age of eleven, the youngest in firebending history. The princess, who burns a blue like no other and breathes lightning. Precocious, they say. Natural prodigies.

Azula scoffs at the notion. If they are prodigies, they’re ones born of blood and sweat, wounds and burns and breaks. Talent is earned, not given. Her father has said that with great power comes great sacrifice.

On the days where Father is too busy with meetings to train Azula, she strings Ty Lee and Mai along to practice near the palace. The courtyard is a blur of movement, the low hiss of flame followed by the twang of knife hitting tree. Ty Lee dodges Azula’s fire dagger and manages to get away as she pulls back to block an oncoming blade. Mai calmly evades her ensuing bout of flames, but is stalled as Ty Lee feints and comes up behind her.

When they’re finished, they catch their breath on the banks of the turtleduck pond (which is nothing but clear water and koi now—she’s taken care of the little flock of problems a long time ago) and talk about everything and nothing. Azula enjoys the mundanity of it all, even when the conversation is more akin to a field of landmines than anything casual.

“We’re leaving.” Mai breaks the silence with a bombshell. “Today.”

Her words snap Azula out of the lull of midmorning. She stares at Mai in a moment of weakness, then, seeing the other girl regard her with raised eyebrows, killed the emotion on her face.

This is a mistake. It has to be.

Your father is a political asset to our nation’s council and he would be foolish to discard a chance to be in the Fire Lord’s good graces would be the pragmatic response. I know ways to secure political positions for your entire family, to get bills passed that will be beneficial for your party, right under the council’s noses would be the bribery. I’ll tell them all about how you were the one to spill the sacred braziers in the Fire Temple, not me would be the blackmail. After all I did for you and Zuko would work wonders to Mai’s (muted) sense of shame.

Friends don’t leave each other like this would be too close to the truth.

“You’re lying,” she ends up saying, “You can’t possibly.”

Mai sighs, as if steeling herself. Azula spies a flash of silver peek out of her silks as she fingers her knives. She opens her mouth—

—And Ty Lee leaps in for the shockwave. “We’re both leaving.” She sounds almost apologetic, and for a second Azula even believes her. “Mai’s father was appointed mayor of some Earth Kingdom town a fortnight ago, and I want to run away and join the traveling circus that’s been around town lately. It’s not like my parents care where I am, and I want to be somewhere where I’m not part of some matched set.”

“You aren’t part of a matched set with me.”

Ty Lee sets her jaw. “Yes, but ever since Zuko left you’ve been so busy with training and war meetings everything under Agni! This is the first time we met in about a month!”

“So you and Mai decided to leave. And nobody thought to tell me this until now.” Azula says quietly.

Ty Lee averts her eyes. Looks to the pond, as if peering at ghosts of turtleducks. “I’m sorry.”

Azula is the princess of the Fire Nation, heir to the throne. She’s played political pawns against each other like pieces on a chessboard, helped orchestrate successful military maneuvers in the Earth Kingdom; later on, she would be the one responsible for the death of the Avatar and the fall of the Impenetrable City. She is a prodigy, feared and revered, always the helm of power, always the grip of control. Yet she is not good enough to keep these two girls from leaving her.

“I thought we were friends,” she hears someone say in her voice.

“We still are,” Mai cuts in, though softer now, the defiant set of her jaw melting away. Azula hates how much it hurts her. “We’ll never stop.”

(Years later, on the metal deck of a once inescapable prison, she’ll say “I love Zuko more than I fear you” and shred her promise into pieces.)

“We’ll always be by your side, ‘Zula. Just farther away.” Ty Lee hugs her with hours, days of pent-up anxiety and frustration. When they separate, it is a goodbye in and of itself.

(On that same deck, she’ll break her companion’s trust and sanity in one fell swoop.)

“I’m not a coward. I don’t need anybody at my side.” Gritting her teeth—she’s been slacking on the threats, they should love her more—Azula abruptly shoves off Ty Lee’s concerned arm and heads back to the palace.

With every step, she is alone.

I picked up the bird and above the din I said

That’s the last song you’ll ever sing

Held him down, broke his neck,

Taught him a lesson he wouldn’t forget

From the safety of the tavern window, Azula watches Zuko cry over his uncle.

Or not. She can’t really tell from there she is, but she can sure hear it, and, if his plaintive cries are any indication, little Zuzu is distressed.

She allows herself a thin-lipped smile. Three years in exile have weathered her brother just as three years alone in the palace have intensified her, and yet he bears the same faults like a scar. And Azula knows those weaknesses, those fears, knows they are not of his flesh and bone but of the people around him. Her fuddy-duddy tea-loving hooligan of an uncle needed to go down anyways, so it was a two-birds-one-stone kind of deal.

Wind whistles through the ghost town, making Azula shut her eyes to block stray sand. When she opens them again, Zuko is clumsily supporting Iroh, and one of the tribe peasants—Katara, she vaguely recalls—is stepping forward with one hand on her water pouch. Azula tenses, expecting a flash of ice and blood, but none comes. Instead, Katara kneels by the two, as if to heal.

Stomach roiling, she turns away and leaves before she can watch the rest of their exchange. The crown princess has places to be, namely finding the whereabouts of her two allies.

As she mounted her mongoose dragon, however, Azula’s mind wanders back toward the ghost town gathering.

It wasn’t like she held any attachment for uncle. The old man was always away on war campaigns, or, after Azulon died, a ghost in the palace. She felt immense satisfaction when the lightning left her fingertips and struck him square on the chest. He was a traitor to the crown, and his death was as good as guaranteed.

Azula doesn’t make mistakes, after all.

Uncle was a coward. A shell of former glory days, the taste of sweetness gone sour. He’s lost his son and she her mother, he turns tail to the enemy while she’s still standing. Father’s said that Azula is already better than his brother (there seemed to be a disappointment sibling every generation, it seems) could ever hope to be, and yet in his dying throes he’s surrounded by his nephew and the Avatar’s friends, while Azula flees alone.

The waterbending peasant offered to heal him.

Why? If her sources are right, she is the last waterbender of the Southern Tribes after an (apparently unsuccessful) string of cullings. Someone of that background would harbor intense animosity toward a figure of her enemies, descended from the man who ordered the cullings in the first place. And yet Azula saw her kneeling down toward her uncle, hand extended, a gesture of peace in the midst of war.

What did Iroh have that Azula didn’t? What virtue did a disgraced traitor possess that the Crown Princess lacked, that made Zuko follow him like a puppydog and the waterbender extend a healing hand? A true ruler knows that loyalty is won with fear and influence; Iroh lacked both.

The Princess snarls silently, guiding her mount with sharp jerks toward the scene of a scuffle near the river. Mai and Ty Lee are on the banks, suspiciously damp but not too worse for wear.

“Nice of you to swing by,” Mai says dryly, collecting her knives from where they’re lodged into trees.

Azula ignores her. “We lost.” She is sore and tired all over, but keeps perfect posture as she settles on a jutting rock. “I expected the Avatar to be there, but then…” She chews on her cheek, suddenly ashamed. She’d miscalculated, something she’s never supposed to do. To fully admit she overlooked something, could overlook something, would be a weakness.

“But then…?” Ty Lee, never the one for boundaries, edges her on. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Mai look up too.

“It’s nothing much. He went into the Avatar State and I couldn’t fend him off.” Better to appear she met a powerful spirit head-on than to confess she fled from her own brother and uncle. She’s sure Mai still has a soft spot for him, and Ty Lee would cry if she knew Azula killed Iroh.

Ty Lee wilted. “Aww, that’s too bad.” She hesitates, somehow managing to fidget through a handstand. “Sorry we couldn’t manage to stall them. Mai and I had it all under control until a huge furry thing came and slapped us into the river!”

Azula waves a hand in dismissal. “Apology accepted.” It wouldn’t do to reprimand the two when she herself had failed. “I expect both of you to analyse your battle and see what went wrong, as well as what you can do better next time. Once you’re done picking up everything, Mai, we’re setting off. There’s a military base not far from here.”

She returns to her mount. The river gurgles softly in the ensuing silence and she fiddles with her reins, suddenly contemplative. “Hey, if we happen to be fighting the Avatar and I got struck by lightning, would you drop everything to help me?”

“Yes!” Ty Lee jumps enthusiastically at the question. Azula spies her knuckles purpling in an angry bruise and looks away. She has always been eager to serve. “You’re one of the most important people in the nation, Azula, and I’d follow you anywhere.”

Her words are flattering, but not what she’s looking for. Azula turns to the Mai. “And you?”

Mai raises her eyebrows. Her mouth is set hard on the edges, as if she’s deciding whether she’d be better off bored at home or bored with Azula. “Honestly, Azula, this is redundant. I expect the Princess to avoid being struck by lightning in the first place.”

They are both right; she is here to serve her nation to the best of her ability, not ponder on some twisted sense of dependability. As long as she abides by her father’s lessons and keeps control on her subjects and cuts out the loose ends that threaten to hurt her, she won’t ever need anybody to fall back on.

Azula doesn’t fall.

The trio arrive at the base by sunset. Azula settles into her sleeping bag and dreams of the long way down.

But in my dreams began to creep

That old familiar tweet tweet tweet

I opened my mouth to scream and shout,

I waved my arms and flapped about

She’s seeing blue as she skids across the battlefield, sparks fizzling out like fireflies around her. Zuzu’s standing steady above her—he’s changed, a stranger, they all were—there’s blood in her mouth, roaring in her ears, yet her normally clear mind’s lost to the foggy haze of betrayal. She’s slipping, and he knows it.

Azula tries to get to her feet.

The air buzzes with a taunt and she’s slipping, slipping, bares her teeth (I’ll show you lightning!) and feels the snap of ozone as her sanity lances past her fingertips. She aims it away from Zuzu and at the water tribe peasant, watches the split-second expression of fear in her eyes, and laughs to forget the tears in hers, thinks that’s the last song you’ll ever sing.

She miscalculated. Zuko loved Katara than he feared Azula.

Her control through fear was her highest exaltation; now it is her greatest downfall.

She’s five years old again, this time bound in metal-link chains, tear tracks burning down her face, her mother’s heavy disapproval laid across her shoulders. Her ancestor’s greatest companion steaks like a dragon across the sky, a testament to her failure; in the end, Azula is weak. From the beginning, she is alone.

Azula cries because she doesn’t know what else to do.

But I couldn’t scream I couldn’t shout,

The song was coming from my mouth

Ao3

#atla #azula #azula week #azula week 2019 #drudwrites

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svt-writers-club · 5 years

Note

Ask games 5. #45, #46, Jihan, villains au 😇

i don’t actually understand why you guys like villain au jihan so much because they’re just about the dumbest, angstiest jihan i’ve ever written ever. you guys just like pain.

TRIGGER WARNINGS IMMINENT! if you’re triggered by/are not comfortable with blood, violence, gore and overall violent descriptions and imagery, then STOP HERE and move on to something else, thank you! (Feel free to message me if you think there are other trigger warnings I should add to this post)

#45: “Are you still a coward?”#46: “You did run!”

The bell hanging above the door chimes cheerfully. Jeonghan shoots it a glance, trying his best not to drip blood onto the wooden floor.

“Hello,” a cheerful voice calls out as a small body peeks out of the kitchen. “Welcome to Lee’s – oh, you have got to be shitting me!”

Jeonghan grins at Chan, raising a hand in greeting. Blood drips from his hands and arms, where the thorny vines are still wrapped. The warlock shoots him an annoyed look.

“Hey, Channie,” Jeonghan says, shaking off some blood just to irritate him further. They drip quietly onto the previously clean floor.

“What are you doing here?”

Jeonghan points at himself idly. His button-down and jeans are soaked in red, his silk vest (gifted by Jihoon) barely missing the bloodbath that is the rest of his clothes.

“I’m meeting Jihoon here,” Jeonghan answers absently, rubbing the copper-scented liquid into his fingertips. “He’ll be by in half an hour?”

Chan scoffs. With a wave of his hand, a chair slides towards Jeonghan, knocking into his knees and forcing him to sit. The warlock leans in close, eyes scrutinising him.

He pokes Jeonghan’s shoulder – hard. The plant manipulator hisses, vines slithering off his arms protectively.

“And how much of that,” Chan asks, poking Jeonghan’s shoulder once more, “is yours?”

Jeonghan glares at him mulishly. A vine slithers off his arm and circles around Chan’s wrist, the thorns pricking skin and making blood well up. Dino, the glamoured wolf, gets off her haunches and growls, snapping at the snake-like vine.

“Aw, ouch,” Chan says. He doesn’t sound like he’s in pain, turning his wrist to watch the vine writhe around his wrist. The pain isn’t nearly enough to alarm him, although his familiar is making a big fuss about it. “Dino, down.”

With a single breath, the vine shrivels and dies in a burst of flame. Chan passes a hand over the small puncture wounds, immediately healing them. Dino sniffs the ashes, then trots away to lick at the blood coating Jeonghan.

Jeonghan groans, then lets the wolf/dog do whatever she wants. Dog spit is better than drying blood, after all.

Chan cups Jeonghan’s cheek, tilting his head up so he can look at the bruise on Jeonghan’s cheek. He brushes a gentle finger against the discoloured skin. “Did you come here to heal?”

Jeonghan smirks, biting back a yelp when the simple action causes the broken skin of his lip to stretch uncomfortably. “Only if you’re offering,” he leers.

It’s not that bad, all things considered. He has a through-and-through bullet hole through his shoulder, from a rookie cop that came early and got lucky. She’s not so lucky now, though; the moment the bullet left her gun, vines strung themselves around her neck and choked the life out of her.

Dino cleans up all she can, then rests her heavy head in Jeonghan’s lap. The wolf likes Jeonghan, for some reason, although he has to wonder if it’s because she thinks he’s delicious. He scratches her ears absently, blood smearing the grey fur of her ears, but she growls happily. That’s a wolf who doesn’t much care for bloodshed – a perfect companion for Chan.

Chan disappears back into the kitchen. There’s clanging and banging as he does… something. Jeonghan’s not sure what it is he’s doing, but he hopes that somewhere in there, there’s alcohol.

Chan reappears with a steaming cup and a plate of sweet, chewy ddeok. He orders Jeonghan to eat, waving a hand over Jeonghan’s clothes so the blood seeps out of the fabric and into the air. It coalesces into a ball that Chan analyses with uncomfortable intensity.

“What’re you gonna do with that?” Jeonghan asks, words slurring together. The blood loss is finally catching up with him.

Chan shrugs, banishing the blood into a stoppered bottle. “Sometimes I need blood,” he says cryptically. He shoots Jeonghan an impatient look. “Drink your tea.”

“I’ll do what I fucking want, thank you very much.”

Chan pins him with an unamused gaze.

Jeonghan drinks the tea.

It’s just on the edge of hot, warming him from the inside. His shoulder tingles, then goes numb. He curses, his magic pulsing erratically at the sudden loss of sensation. His precious vines curl around his arm, slithering like snakes. Chan has never poisoned him before, but he should’ve known better than to let his guard down.

“I’ll kill you,” Jeonghan grits out. The warlock ignores him, pressing a hand to the open wound – a wound Jeonghan can no longer feel. There’s no pain, although there’s a pressure along his upper body that’s a testament to just how hard Chan is pressing down.

“Shush, I’m working,” the younger says, hand sparking with magics as he weaves a spell into Jeonghan’s shoulder. Jeonghan can’t feel the muscle knitting back together, but he can see it and it’s a disgusting and mesmerising sight.

At the end of the impromptu… healing, his shoulder is still numb, but there’s no more bullet wound.

Jeonghan grimaces. “I’m scared to find out what that cost me.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Chan says cheerfully. “In the meantime, I have another guest!”

The front doors burst open, the bell jingling merrily. The metallic scent of fresh blood follows acrid smell of burnt wood. Before Jeonghan can react, Jisoo is stumbling in with a semi-conscious Seungcheol hanging off his shoulder.

The plant manipulator scowls at the sight of his ex-lover. He glances impatiently at the clock; Jihoon is gong to take at least another twenty minutes, at this rate. He had known Jisoo and his merry gang of misfits were planning something today, but he hadn’t expected to run into him.

Jisoo stops short, calculative eyes falling on Jeonghan’s battered form. Jeonghan stares back impassively, chin jutted up defiantly.

“Jeonghan,” Jisoo says simply. Jeonghan hates the way Jisoo’s tongue curls around his name. “Are you still running around with Woozi?”

“Jisoo,” Jeonghan spits out, bristling at Jisoo’s familiar tone. “Are you still a coward?”

Chan watches the two exes interact, glee lighting up his deceptively innocent face. His gaze bounces between the two – at the faux calm of Jisoo and the sharp anger of Jeonghan. He licks his lips excitedly; the warlock has always been a sucker for drama, especially the animosity that lies between Jisoo and Jeonghan.

The door jingles once more. Chan perks up, meeting the newcomer at the door.

“Wonwoo hyung,” Chan purrs, leaning into the madman’s personal space. “My, what a strange crowd you’re walking with, hm?”

Wonwoo sweeps a disinterested gaze over the young warlock. He’s dressed in a crisp suit, hair gelled back. His expensive dress shoes squeak against the wooden floor of Chan’s humble tea shop. His cane taps against the ground, the jewelled head glinting in the low sunlight.

Chan gazes at Wonwoo like he’s starving and the only thing he wants to eat is Wonwoo.

It’s a shame Wonwoo couldn’t care less.

“You fucked up my bank heist,” Wonwoo says, voice carrying throughout the whole room. He raises an eyebrow, clearly addressing Jisoo and Seungcheol. “I should throw your little campfire into the ocean with a pair of cement shoes.”

“My apologies,” Jisoo answers coolly. He deposits the fire manipulator into a chair. “It seems our wires were crossed.”

Wonwoo glowers. He’s arguably the least powered person in the tea shop, but he’s also the only one with an absolute lack of morals. What he lacked in power, he made up for with sheer insanity. (Chan is in love with Wonwoo’s madness.)

“Next time,” Wonwoo says slowly, “I’ll make sure he eats a wad of C4 so I can paint my walls with his guts.” He lets the threat linger, then leaves without preamble. The tap-tap of his cane and shoes echo in the silent tea house.

“Huh,” Jeonghan says. He glances at Jisoo out of the corner of his eye. “So. You were running from him, weren’t you?”

Jisoo shoots Jeonghan a baleful look. “I was not.”

“You were,” Chan injects gleefully. “You did run!”

Jisoo answers with a frown and a curt, “I would like some medicine for Seungcheol, please.”

“I will poison him,” Chan says cheerfully, sweeping away into his kitchen of magic spells.

Jeonghan doesn’t want to be here. He rubs at his vines absently, turning to watch the entranceway. He just needs Jihoon to come sweeping in so they can go home and maybe, Jihoon will fuck Jeonghan hard enough that he’ll forget the way Jisoo tastes on his tongue.

“Jeonghan,” Jisoo says.

Jeonghan never finds out what that traitor could say to him, because Jihoon comes running in just then. The mercenary smells of gunpowder and hot metal.

“Come on, hyung, we have to go,” Jihoon pants. He barely spares Jisoo and Seungcheol a glance, too worried over whatever is chasing him.

Jeonghan does spare Jisoo a look. He holds Jisoo’s gaze as he leans down and kisses Jihoon, taking his time to savour Jihoon’s mouth. The younger sighs, rolling his eyes even as he opens up just for Jeonghan. They kiss and Jisoo’s gaze burns, but he does absolutely nothing as he allows Jeonghan to slip through his fingers again.

Feel free to ask me more of these ship asks here!

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