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a-kind-of-merry-war · 3 years

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Soul-Eater

During a contract, Jaskier and Geralt learn something concerning about Jaskier's soul - or lack thereof. 2.3k words, contains mutual pining, love confessions, and one misplaced soul.

The creature has Jaskier, and Geralt is too late. It has a crimson hand wrapped around the bard’s neck, pinning him to the half-collapsed outer wall of the ruin. It looks human—almost human—apart from the swirling colours beneath its skin and the smoke dripping from it in tendrils, like chiffon.

Jaskier chokes, and Geralt is reminded horribly of the djinn. He steps forward, and a dry branch cracks beneath his foot. The creature doesn’t even turn to look.

Geralt knows what this is, but he’s never encountered one face-to-face. He’d hoped that it was just a myth, especially after the stories the terrified villagers had told him about loved ones returning from the ruins with blank eyes and dead expressions, unknowable and unknowing.

Its name in Elder has faded and forgotten, now, but the common tongue describes it well enough: soul-eater.

Jaskier is a meal it cannot resist, and Geralt can’t blame it; he’s full of life and laughter and song. Overflowing with empathy, with trembling, tumbling feelings, an undammed river. His soul must be a feast to a creature like this.

“Put him down.”

The creature does not look at him. It presses closer. It opens its mouth—a gaping, blood-red maw that splits the space where its face should be. Geralt leaps forwards, swinging his sword, but again he’s too slow, and the soul-eater too fast. It grips harder. Jaskier screams.

Then a voice: a voice made of multiples, an echo of an echo.

What is this?

Geralt freezes. Jaskier slumps in the soul-eaters grip.

What is this? It demands again, screeching. He is gone! Empty!

It hisses, and releases Jaskier from its grip. Jaskier tumbles to the ground, a dark bruise around his neck.

This man’s soul was claimed… it pauses, as if inhaling the air, Years ago. Years! Did you think you could trick me, witcher? With your empty bard? Did you think you could win?

It screeches again, and surges forwards, but this time Geralt is ready. He meets it in the middle, sword swinging. They fight in a rush of silver, a heated dance, and when Geralt thrusts the weapon through the soul-eater’s chest it freezes, wails, and crumbles around the silver like spent charcoal.

He pants, exhausted. Jaskier scrambles towards him, reaching for him. Grabbing him.

“What did it mean?” He says, eyes wide. “Geralt, what did it mean about my soul?”

The bed was soft and plush. The room was lowly lit with candles and the last glowing embers of the fire. It was warm: far too warm.

Virginia de Stael beckoned to him from her position sprawled on the rich fur coverlet.

“Why won’t you join me?” She said, her lips quirked in a tempting smile.

Jaskier’s fingers fiddled in the cuff of his chemise. His doublet was long gone, abandoned somewhere downstairs in the rush of the dance. His lips tingled with the ghost of her kiss. Despite the heat in the room, he still felt cold.

“You know why,” he said, finally.

She looked— pleased. Not surprised.

“I do,” she said, sitting up on her elbows. “I just wondered if you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, and he truly meant it. “I just—”

She waved a hand at him and he fell instantly silent.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Really, my love. Now…” she sat up proper, her dark hair, marked with grey streaks, cascading over her breasts. “I think there’s someone you need to talk to.”

Jaskier allowed himself to smile. His heart pounded between his ribs, a painful hammering against his bones.

“Yes,” he breathed. “There is.”

The sweeping stone staircase was cold beneath his bare feet. His room—their room—was high in the keep, far away from the heart of the castle. It wasn’t a slight, he knew; Virginia hadn’t been attempting to make a point by having them quartered so far away. She really was that popular, and his and Geralt’s addition to the festivities had been a last-minute decision after a particularly dramatic hunt right on the border of her lands.

“I reward those who deserve it,” she had drawled, presenting her gloved hand to Jaskier to kiss.

She’d winked at him over the purple silk, and Jaskier had felt nothing.

And now he was right outside his room for the night, waiting on the threshold, the memory of Virginia's kisses just that: a memory.

Their room, he reminded himself. He quietly pushed open the door and slipped inside.

“How do you feel?” Geralt asks, when they’re back somewhere safe and quiet with a bag of coins resting on the bed between them.

Jaskier hesitates before answering, which is unlike him.

“Fine,” he says, finally. “I feel… normal.” He raises a hand to his neck, his pale digits drifting over the bruise. “My throat hurts.”

He laughs, but the sound is strained, melding into a cough.

“Geralt,” he says, once the coughing has stopped. “Can you… can you tell? If someone doesn’t have a—” he stutters. “A soul?”

Geralt sighs. He wants to reach out across the bed and take Jaskier’s hand, to pillow him against his chest and hold him there. He doesn’t.

“You saw the others,” he says. “You’re not like them.”

Jaskier shudders, clearly remembering the soul-eater’s victims. Geralt has seen worse—but not much worse.

“No,” Jaskier mutters. “I’m not.”

“Did you…” Geralt fumbles his words, aware that he’s about to sound insulting. “Did you give it away, Jaskier?”

As predicted, Jaskier splutters at him, eyes wide.

“Did I—” He huffs, “No, Geralt! In fact, I am very much not in the habit of giving away my fucking soul!”

“Last summer,” says Geralt, slowly, “You said you’d sell your soul for new lute strings, just before the Bardic Competition.”

Jaskier scowls at him. “I was utilising hyperbole, Geralt, obviously. I’m not actually going to—” he stops. “Well. I can’t, now.” He kicks at the wooden floor. “Should have used it to get those lute strings after all.”

Geralt stares ahead, thinking. “It must be intact,” he says. “You saw what happened to the others. If it had been destroyed, you’d know. We’d know.”

“So you’re saying that, what? I misplaced it? I’ve accidentally given it away?”

Geralt shrugs, turning to face him. “It doesn’t seem entirely out of character.”

Jaskier splutters at him again, whacking his shoulder. “Fuck you!”

“Well it’s not in here,” Geralt says, dodging a second blow and placing his hand on Jaskier’s chest. “Is it?”

Jaskier goes very still. The delicate shells of his ears turn pink. Beneath his palm, Geralt can feel Jaskier’s heart thumping, picking up speed.

“Well,” Jaskier swallows, licking his lips. “Where is it, then?”

Geralt removes his hand. His skin feels cold, immediately missing the heat of Jaskier’s body.

“I don’t know.”

“Geralt?”

The Geralt-shaped lump in the bed didn’t move. Perhaps he was ignoring him; Jaskier wouldn’t be surprised. He’d all but abandoned Geralt during the banquet in favour of indulging Virginia, an act, he knew now, that was likely one of self-preservation. To throw himself at the person who wanted him rather than lingering, endlessly, by the side of the one who didn’t.

He’d not taken the direct route to their room, first heading towards the kitchens to steal a bottle of wine. He’d been taking swigs straight from it the whole way up the stairs, and as he stared down at Geralt’s form, facing away from him, he took another gulp to help calm his nerves.

“You don’t have to speak,” he said, and then added, with a chuckle: “I know you hate that.”

Geralt didn’t respond. Jaskier hadn’t expected him to. He shuffled to the bed, perching on the very end, a careful distance away from Geralt’s feet. He drank a little more wine.

“I’ve been with Virginia,” he said. “But you knew that. And I couldn’t—” he took another drink, trying to drown the butterflies in his stomach. “I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone, Geralt.”

Jaskier resisted the urge to reach for him across the suddenly expansive bed.

“I just…” his lips tasted like wine. His tongue was heavy. “I only want you, Geralt.”

Geralt didn’t respond. But— he didn’t tell him to shut up. He didn’t sit up, disgusted. He didn’t do anything, so Jaskier continued.

“It’s—” he sighed, and the words that he’d practised on the stairs turned stale in his mouth. “Geralt, it’s like this…”

And he spoke into the cool dark of the room, rolling the wine bottle between his hands.

Jaskier steps down from the stage, skin flushed, hair wild about his head. Geralt is right there waiting for him. He looks good like this, glowing with the thrill of a performance, face split into a grin, eating up the accolades of the crowd.

“Well?” He says, breathlessly. “What did you think?”

“It was fine,” Geralt says. He thinks they both know it’s a lie.

Jaskier’s expression melds into one of cocky faux-outrage. “Just fine?” He says, haughtily.

“Better than Marx’s attempt.”

Now Geralt is gifted with a real smile. Jaskier preens beneath his gaze. “It was, wasn’t it? Come, let’s get a drink before they announce the winner.”

Geralt follows him to the bar, watching as people move out of his way, the crowds parting around him. There’s something marvellous about him, especially after a good show, and people’s heads turn to watch him even as they move aside to let him pass.

They sit pressed close together at the bar, a bottle of fine mead between them. Jaskier laughs as he pushes his hair from his eyes, his skin lightly sheened with sweat. It’s been three weeks since the incident with the soul-eater, and the only evidence is the lingering yellow bruise still mottled around his neck.

Geralt can’t help but watch him, as entranced as all the other patrons, as lost as the crowd who’d stamped and cheered along with his song.

“I don’t think you need to worry,” he says suddenly.

Jaskier stops laughing, looking at him curiously. “Was I worrying?” He says. “About what?”

“The—” Geralt hesitates, lowering his voice. “About your soul.”

Jaskier’s expression cracks—clearly, he hadn't been expecting this line of conversation—and he takes a sip of mead before speaking again.

“Was I… did I look particularly worried?”

Truthfully, he doesn’t, but Geralt knows the issue has been weighing on him. He knows Jaskier has been a little more cautious with his words, peering into mirrors for too long, struggling to sleep through the night. He can hear Jaskier’s quickened pulse when he lies against him on a cheap mattress in an inn or on the ground beneath the stars, pretending to slumber hours after they’d laid down.

“Not right now,” Geralt says. “But… you’re a poet, Jask. Poets care about things like souls.”

Jaskier smiles at him. “And witchers don’t?”

He shrugs. “Not something I’ve concerned myself with thus far.”

“But you’ve been worrying about mine?” He curls it like a question.

“I’ve been worrying about you,” Geralt says. “You have a soul, Jaskier. I know you do. I can—” oh, shit, he’s saying too much, “—I can see it.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen, and Geralt speaks over him before he can jump to the wrong conclusion.

“Not literally,” he says quickly. “I mean… in the way you sing. In the way you are, when you’re on stage. In the way you laugh. In the way people want you. The way they love you. You’re going to win the competition, and you could only do that if you had a soul.”

Jaskier goes very quiet. Then, finally: “You think I’m going to win?”

“I know you’re going to win.”

“Geralt—”

“I know you’ve not been sleeping. I know you’re worried, even if you don’t tell me. And I’m telling you—” he’s edged closer, somehow, and the gap between them has suddenly shrunk, “You don’t have anything to worry about. Because you’re you.”

Jaskier’s lips hang open, a little. His eyes are wide, and sparkling.

“Because…” Geralt continues, suddenly unable to breathe. “Because you’re all soul, Jask. All of you.”

And then they’re kissing. Geralt doesn’t know who moved first, but he doesn’t care. Jaskier’s mouth is soft and pliant beneath his own, his skin warm, and as he pushes himself up from the barstool and into Geralt’s arms he lets out a small, soft gasp that's sweeter than any song he could have performed on stage.

Far away, someone calls a name. A crowd cheers. There’s a voice, nearby—

“Master Jaskier, you’ve— ah—”

Jaskier deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue boldly into Geralt’s mouth. He tastes of mead. He tastes of Jaskier. He tastes right, like Geralt has been waiting for this for an age, like some part of himself is coming home; like he’s giving part of himself away.

Perhaps he is.

The wine glugged heavily in the bottle as Jaskier moved it from hand to hand.

“It’s like this,” Jaskier said, feeling his chest tighten and his eyes burn. “I love you, Geralt. I’ve loved you for years. I’ve been in love with you for years. And tonight…” he sighed. “Tonight, I realised that I couldn’t have anyone else. That no one else would get to have me. Because I’m yours, Geralt. Even if you don’t want me. Even if you never want me, I’m yours. All of me.”

He took a final sip from the bottle before placing it beside the bed and turning to look at Geralt’s back.

“All of my parts. My heart. My body, if you ever saw fit to want me like that. My…” a tear escaped his eye, and he hastily wiped it away with the sleeve of his chemise. “My soul,” he said, with a shuddering breath. “It’s yours, Geralt. All yours. Forever.”

There was silence.

In the bed beside him, Geralt slept on, oblivious.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #my fic #whooo boy i had to write this down #to stop myself going mad #blame the discord!!!#long post

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phykios · 3 years

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volcano kiss scene but make it medieval, for @perseannabeth 💙 note that this is little more than a fancy rewrite, but... marble king verse is too good to be done with completely

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June, 1446

As Percy led his little band of adventurers through the tunnels of the Labyrinth, himself, his questing partner Ana Zabeta, his childhood companion Aegidius, and his half-brother, the cyclops Tison, following a marvelously clever creation of the god of fire, he allowed himself, for a brief moment, to feel a small sense of pride. They had finally located a deity who not only did not appear to have any negative designs on their characters, but had also promised them his help--after they had performed him a small favor, of course.

Hephaestus had fashioned for them a little spider made of metal, who moved about as though it had a beating heart, darting this way and that, nearly invisible, were it not for their torchlight flickering off its shiny, shiny legs. Though he would never speak it aloud, Percy felt a particular kind of pride on Annabeth’s behalf, as she followed the eight-legged creature with neither complaint nor fear. He knew full well just how totally she detested the beasts, her eternal and forsworn enemies, just as their mother had been an enemy of Athena.

They rounded a corner, moving from a passageway lined with a strange, shiny substance which felt cool to the touch to one of crudely-cut stone, when he spotted a tunnel off to the side, dug from raw earth, wrapped in thick roots which pried their way through the holes in the stones. Aegidius had noticed it as well, slowing his pace until he stopped entirely in front of the dark, gaping maw in the wall. “Aegidius,” Percy said, stopping as well. “What is it?”

It was as if he had not heard him. The satyr merely gazed into the black tunnel, his curly hair rustling in an impossible breeze.

“We cannot delay!” said Annabeth. “We must keep moving!”

“This is the way,” Aegidius muttered, hushed and reverent. “It is here.”

He couldn’t possibly mean… “The way to Pan?”

But Aegidius ignored him, turning instead to Tison, the creature whose very nature often rendered him speechless with fear. “Do you not smell it, too?”

“Yes,” said Tison. “Earth. The forest.”

Before them, the spider skittered further down the stone corridor. If they delayed any further, the trail would be lost to them.

“Once we have finished our errand for Hephaestus,” said Annabeth, “then we can return for Pan, I swear it.”

“The tunnel will have gone by then,” said Aegidius, with a confidence Percy had rarely seen before. “A door such as this will not remain open for long--and I must enter it.”

“But,” she said, desperate, “the forges!”

He looked at her sadly, but firmly. “I cannot go with you this time, Annabeth.”

Percy had forgotten--Aegidius was not only his companion. He had been Annabeth’s as well. He had been responsible for seeing her safely over the magical boundary in Sigeion. But the spider was nearly out of sight, and they could not tarry any longer before the gateway to the god. “We will continue to the forges,” he decided. “Aegidius, you go on to seek Pan.”

“No!” she gasped. “It is far too dangerous. If we part ways, we might never find each other again! And I cannot let you go alone.”

It was then that Tison, gentle creature he was, put his hand on Aegidius’ shoulder. As much fear as satyrs held for cyclops, Tison, for some odd reason, held just as much, if not more, for the satyrs. They had made an amusing pair at times, two of the sweetest, kindest people Percy had ever known, cowering in fear at the other. But Tison showed no fear now. Now, he was brave. “I shall go with him.”

Percy could not believe his ears. “You will?”

He nodded. “The satyr needs help. We shall find the god of the wild--together.”

Aegidius took a deep, steadying breath. “I wish I could see this through to the end with you, but--”

“I understand,” said Percy. The search for Pan was his life’s goal, the final prize in a quest which had taken his father, his father’s father, and so many searchers before him. If he did not succeed on this journey, the Council of Cloven Elders would never give him another chance. “I pray that you are right.”

Shoulders square, suddenly possessed of a confidence Percy had rarely ever seen from him, save for when he deliberated on how keftedes paled in comparison to spanakopita, he grinned. “I know that I am.”

Percy took a heartbeat to gaze on him one last time, imprinting him in his memory--just in case. “Be careful,” he told him. Then, he looked towards Tison, and opened his arms to his half-brother, who went into them willingly, squeezing Percy so strongly his eyes just about burst from his sockets.

Tison and Aegidius then disappeared into the darkness of the tree roots, lost to the wild.

“This was a mistake,” said Annabeth, her voice trembling. “We should not have let them go.”

“We will see them again,” Percy replied, attempting to summon Aegidius’ confidence. “Now, come on. The spider will not wait for us any longer.”

“Do not remind me,” she said, shuddering.

Before very long, the tunnel grew warmer, the stone walls red and glowing. The air felt as though they were walking through a giant oven, as though they had been transported into one of the forges beneath the villa for Hephaestus’ children, and he supposed, in a way, that they had. The tunnel sloped down, deeper into the earth, the spider nearly tripping over itself to reach the bottom, Annabeth right behind it.

Percy jogged to catch up. “Annabeth!” he called. “A moment?”

She glanced back at him, but did not cease her quick pace, forcing Percy to match her. “Yes?”

“I have a… question,” he panted, “regarding what Hephaestus… said, about your mother.”

“She swore never to marry,” Annabeth said, easily. Curses, Annabeth did not appear to be even remotely out of breath. He felt like such a fool compared to her, always. “She is one of the maiden goddesses, alongside Artemis and Hestia.”

Percy frowned. He had not recalled that detail about the war goddess--though, he was rather infamous for nodding off during lessons. Perhaps he had simply slept through that particular lesson. “But, if she is a maiden goddess, then--”

“How is it she came to have demigod children?”

Blushing, he nodded.

Now, this was not at all appropriate conversation, he knew. Young boys and girls were not meant to discuss such things with each other--not yet anyway. But Percy was nearly a man, and besides, he had spent enough time with Carlos and the older boys at the agoge to pick up a few pieces of knowledge here or there. Hopefully, Annabeth would think the flush on his cheeks was due to the heat of the cavern.

“Do you know how Athena was born?” she asked him.

“She was born from… the head of Zeus? In armor?”

“Precisely. She was literally born from his thoughts--and thus, her children are born the same way. When Athena falls in love with a mortal partner, it is a purely intellectual affair, just as it was with Odysseus in the epic tales. Our mother says that it is the truest kind of love.”

“So,” said Percy, frowning. “Your father and Athena… you were not--”

“I was born from their minds,” she interrupted, quickly. “Sprung from the divine thoughts of my mother and the mortal ingenuity of my father. Her children are gifts, blessings on the mortals she favors.”

“But--”

She turned to him, exasperated. “Percy, the spider has nearly vanished. Do you really wish for me to explain the precise details of my birth?”

Flushing even harder, he snapped his jaw shut.

Victorious again, she smirked. “I thought not.”

Running ahead to catch their guide, Percy followed, very neatly put in his place, and not certain he would ever be able to look at his friend the same way ever again. Some things, he decided, were perhaps better left as mysteries.

After another few minutes or so, they emerged into a cavern, larger than any stadium Percy had ever seen. It felt to be five times the size of the mighty Colosseum. There was no floor, just miles of bubbling lava beneath their feet. Standing on a rock ride which encircled the cavern, Percy saw a complex, overlapping network of metal bridges spanning the width of it, meeting on a huge platform in the center which housed the largest anvil he had ever seen, a block of iron the size of a villa. Dark, strange shapes moved about them, like formless shadows, too far away to discern what manner of creature they might be.

“We cannot sneak up on them,” said Percy, noting the distinct lack of places to hide with some despair.

With a slight grimace, Annabeth picked up their metal guide, its form having changed to a small ball, and slipped it into a fold in her dress. “I can. Wait here.”

“Hang on--” But Percy was too late, as Annabeth put on her magical cap, a gift from her mother, and vanished from his sight.

Percy cursed. He did not dare call after her, not willing to draw attention to her tactics, but nor did he appreciate the idea of her approaching the forge on her own. If those creatures could repel the likes of Hephaestus, what hope did Annabeth have? It was not safe. She was their leader--they could not risk her life. Percy would not risk her life.

Alas, he could never sit still for very long. Creeping along the outer rim of the lake of molten rock, he darted from stalagmite to stalagmite as best he could, hoping to find a better vantage point. Really, Annabeth should have known better.

The heat was horrendous, heavy and oppressive. Drenched in sweat, and eyes stinging with smoke, he moved along, staying as far from the edge as was physically possible, until he found his way stopped by a large metal box, fitted on wheels. Peering inside, he saw it was full scrapped metal, bits and bobs of broken swords and lumpy shields, piled on top of one another. Nothing he could reasonably use for an extra weapon, or even some kind of defense. Making to squeeze himself around it, he suddenly heard from up ahead a voice, rough and grating, speaking an ancient language which no man alive had heard for a thousand years.

Monsters, he knew.

There was no time to run away, no place to hide… except for the box. Leaping inside, covering himself with a dented aspis, he curled his fingers around his father’s sword, that blade Anaklusmos, hissing as the sharp metal of his bed cut between the soft parts of his armor, biting his tongue so no curse could escape.

With any luck, the monsters would pass him by, and he could continue along unmolested.

That was when, of course, that the box lurched forward, pushed along by the monsters, carrying Percy along with it. Malaka! Was he about to be tipped into a smelting pot?

All around him, he heard the chatter of terrible beasts. He was not so skilled in the ancient tongue as Annabeth, but even he could recognize a few words here or there, “weapon” and “cyclopes” and “furnace,” and some names as well: Zena, hissed with scorn, Posidaota, spat with bile, and, most chillingly of all, Kronos, spoken with reverence and awe.

Percy blinked against the sudden light as his cover was removed from his person, revealing himself to the monster, who was so taken aback by his presence, that it blinked back at him in return. For a few moments, neither of them moved, so shocked were they by the other’s sudden appearance. Then, springing into action, Percy slashed upwards, dissolving the beast in a cloud of golden smoke. Snatching up another shield and leaping from his bed of spikes, he saw with his preternatural vision a small army of at least twenty monsters, black like dogs, but with sleek, shiny skin, and legs which looked to be more suited for swimming than scrambling around the rocks of Aitne.

With a hearty battle-cry and another wide swipe, he repelled the front row of these creatures, carving himself some space to jump, sprinting for the mouth of the tunnel. The monsters followed after him, baying and growling as a pack of ravenous wolves, and they would have caught him, tearing him to pieces, had they been but a little bit faster. Thinking quickly, at the top of the tunnel, Percy hurled his shield into a column, the rocks crumbling upon impact, burying the monsters and blocking off the path with a great, noisy cave-in.

He doubted it would keep them trapped for very long. Not only that, he very much doubted that they had been the only monsters in the cavern. Percy had just announced his presence to anyone who might have been listening, destroying their chance for any sort of subtle reconnaissance.

And Annabeth was still out there, somewhere, invisible.

“Annabeth!” He yelled, running towards the platform at the center of the ocean of lava. “Annabe--!”

An invisible hand clamped over his mouth, wrestling him down behind a large, bronze cauldron. “Silence! Do you mean to have us killed?”

Arms flailing, he managed to locate her head, slipping off her cap of invisibility. She shimmered into view as an island emerging from the mist, scowling and covered in ash and grime. “It’s far too late for that,” he said, grimly. “I came upon a group of monsters, and brought the roof crashing down on them.”

Hissing curses, her hands clenched, as though she meant to strangle him, before she visibly managed to control her temper. “You said there were monsters?”

He nodded. “I know not what kind. I had thought they may have been dogs, were it not for their flippered feet and human hands, adorned with claws. They spoke of furnaces and weapons, making arms for the first Titanomachy.”

“Telkhines,” she gasped, eyes wide. “Of course! I should have known. I had wondered when I saw… well, look.”

Together they peered over the lip of the cauldron. In the center of the platform stood four of these demons, larger than any Percy had seen before, standing at least the size of a fully grown man. Their black, scaly skin glistened in the light of the fire as they labored, sparks flying between mighty hammer strikes on a long piece of glowing, hot metal, hissing to each other in the ancient language. “What are they saying?” he whispered to her. If he could not understand them, Annabeth surely would.

“They are talking of fusing metals,” she said, frowning. “Other than that, I--I cannot say.”

“Is that bad?”

She stared at him, incredulous. “The telkhines betrayed the gods,” she said, “for practicing dark magics. For their transgressions, Zeus banished them to Tartaros.”

“Alongside Kronos.”

She nodded. “We must return to Hephaestus at once--”

But no sooner had she spoken than a sharp, clawed hand pierced its way through the rubble of Percy’s cave-in, pushing aside the rocks which blocked its path, followed closely by its snout, teeth long and sharp and dripping with saliva. “You must return to the god,” Percy said, moving into a crouch. “Leave me here.”

“What?” she shrieked. “No! I will not leave you!”

At any other time, he would have praised her for her courage, but not now. “You must! Let me distract the monsters, and perhaps the spider can lead you back through the Labyrinth. You are the leader of this quest--you must take the message back to Hephaestus.”

“But you’ll be killed!”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, turning to face her. “As well, there is no other choice.”

She glared at him, her lips pulled back almost in a snarl worthy of one of the monsters. He knew this look of hers well--it was the one she wore whenever she considered hitting him for his foolishness.

But rather than hit him, she did something which shocked him even more.

She grasped the collar of his tunic, pulled him close, and kissed him. “Be careful, phykios,” she murmured against his lips, breath hot. Then she put on her cap, and vanished.

Percy couldn’t breathe, and not for the smoke. Had it not been for the lava, the monsters, the weapon, the quest, he would have been quite content to sit there all day, thinking of nothing but the softness of her mouth and the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight, unable to even recall his own name.

A sea demon screamed, jolting him back into reality.

The horde of monsters, freed from their prison, charged across the bridge towards him. Percy scrambled up from the ground, running for the middle of the platform, startling the large monsters so thoroughly that they dropped the red-hot blade over which they labored. It was as long as they were tall, curved like a crescent moon, its shape burning into his vision, sending shivers down his spine.

Unfortunately for Percy, the monsters recovered quickly from their shock. Every which way he turned, his exit was blocked by a small army, surrounding him. Cutting him off.

Raising Anaklusmos, he prayed that they could not see the blade shaking.

“Son of Poseidon,” rasped a demon, speaking Percy’s own language now. “We are honored by your visit, fish-blood.”

He spread his senses, casting about for an escape, but there was none. He was trapped.

“Will you strike us down, half-blood?” asked another one. “An you try, the rest of us shall tear you to shreds.” Licking its lips, it advanced on him, claws glinting in the glow of the forge. “Perhaps we shall deliver you to your father in pieces--an omen of the horror we shall visit upon him, and all the rest of the twelve, for their betrayal.”

Annabeth would not have allowed herself to be cornered this way, but Percy was no strategist. If the gods favored him at all, they would have seen to Annabeth’s escape, leaving him to his doom.

Was this to be his doom, he wondered? Trapped in the heart of a volcano, overrun by monsters which would use his bones to pick their teeth?

The tallest of the demons plunged its hand into the furnace, scooping a handful of molten rock. “Let us see the might of Olympus,” it said, grinning. “Let us see how long it takes him to burn!” And it threw the lava at Percy.

Dropping his sword, he swatted at his clothes which had been set alight, as though he had merely had an unfortunate run-in with the lava trap at the agoge, but it was not nearly enough, the fire engulfing him with each passing second. At first, oddly, it had only felt warm, though it grew hotter and hotter with every heartbeat.

“Your father’s nature protects you,” one monster sneered. “Makes you hard to burn. But not impossible, fish-blood. Not impossible.”

Later, Percy would struggle to remember the particulars. He would recall only the fire, and the pain. He would not remember how he crumpled to the floor in deepest agony, the sea demons howling in delight at his terror.

Nor would he remember the voice of the naiad at the farm of the giant Geryon. The water is within me, she had said.

Between waves of torment, there was a tugging sensation in his gut, calling vainly for water where there was none: not a river, nor a stream, nor even a petrified seashell. Percy called for the sea, the towering waves which could wash away villages, the currents which could destroy ships in a single blow, the endless power of the ocean, and he called for these things inside of himself, letting it loose in one terrible, horrible scream.

Fire and water collided, a typhoon of unearthly power shooting him up from the beating heart of Aitne on wings of superheated steam, peeling his skin away, another piece of flotsam flung from the earth by the force of the blast. Higher and higher he flew, further than Icarus, than Bellerophon, than Zeus himself, so high that the lord of the heavens would not be able to reach him--and then he fell, a shooting star, hurtling towards the sea which would not save him. Not this time.

#aegidius = grover btw #the marble king #perseannabeth #my fic #darkmagyk #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #marble timestamps

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Female tiefling guard x human princess (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This has been up on Patreon for a week, and now it’s time to share it here!

Contents: a short, fiesty, gives-no-fucks female tiefling guard, some anti-tiefling sentiments from the other guards, a soft but 'don't mess with me' princess, an army of attacking demons, a minotaur best friend, and an nsfw scene to finish. Wordcount: 6756

A dull rumbling startled Salanei from her bed and set her reaching for the deep well of magic inside her in a heartbeat. The castle was shaking.

“Impossible,” she hissed, but other guards were tumbling out of their bunks all around her, some scrambling to draw weapons, others calling sparkling magic to their hands, though there were admittedly fewer of those. The castle was built on a promontory of black rock, harsh and stark against the chill morning light, but it was as old as the land itself and nothing should have been able to make the foundations shudder like that.

Unless…

Tilting her head to one side, letting her thick, messy, black braid slide down over one shoulder, Salanei opened her core of magic a little to the surroundings. At first all she found were the life-sparks of the other guards, but then, like a murmuration of birds on the horizon, she felt something far more sinister. “We’re under attack,” she yelled, stuffing her boots on and sprinting for the door. “Demons.”

The tiefling ignored the way the others dismissed her or scoffed at her - whether through deep-rooted prejudice or uneasy disbelief at her cry of ‘demons’ - and she bolted through the palace like a rabbit through its home warren. She didn’t think, she didn’t stop, she didn’t pause; she raced up back stairs and along half-forgotten passageways, and emerged, gasping, in what had once been an upper, open-air walkway that connected the main part of the castle to the residential wing. Her boots skidded on the rough stonework, grit and dust slipping beneath her soles, and she barely stopped before the gaping abyss into the courtyard below swallowed her.

Where a thick buttress of stone had arched across the space for centuries, now a smoking, singed stump of the bridge remained and the walkway was completely gone. “Shit.” Across it, she could see more of the royal guard backing into the part of the castle that would lead to the residential quarters of the princess after only a few staircases and passages. From the looks of it, they’d only just escaped back along the parapet in time.

Looking out at the landscape around the castle, she froze, horror icing over her veins.

Demons swarmed down the hillside and pooled around the outer walls of the castle to form a seething, foetid moat, their shapes as varied as the horrific noises they made; some with wings, some with horns, some with lashing tails and glinting claws. One or two of them breathed gouts of flame into the dawning sky, and from somewhere deep below at the curtain wall of the castle courtyard, the bellow of a bull in a blooded rage made her ears ring. A second later, the whole castle trembled again and a rain of fine particles and chunks of stone clattered down around her.

They were going to breech the wall.

“Fuck.”

The span across the gulf of empty air wasn’t so big that she couldn’t use a little magic to propel herself over it, and so, summoning a gust of air to spring her forwards, she leapt lightly off the stonework behind her and let the updraft catapult her onto the far tower. She landed hard but rolled through it and came to stand smoothly on her feet, finding herself face to chest with an enormous, familiar guard.

“Brandon, it’s…”

“Bloody chaos,” he said, falling into step beside her as they moved through the shrapnel-scarred archway and into the tower beyond.

The huge minotaur was about as broad across at the shoulders as Salanei was tall, and his huge war axe was cradled gently in his massive hands; ready. He was the only person who had ever treated her with any genuine respect at the castle, and the two were somewhat unlikely sparring partners more often than not.

“Who’s behind it?” she asked as they trotted down the stairs and a pounding, dolorous bell began to sound from the heart of the castle.

He shook his shaggy, black head, the patch of white at the front of his forelock dancing in the low light. “Not sure. Reports suggest they came from the west.”

“Dorhul?” she asked, steady pace stalling in time with her horrified, faltering heartbeat.

Brandon shrugged. “Seems likely. He’s always wanted to add the kingdom to his collection. With Ria’s father so ill…”

Salanei’s black eyes narrowed and she fought the urge to ram her hard horns against a wall with the wave of bitter spite that washed up inside her. The minotaur, clearly seeing the echo of a familiar urge bubbling up in the tiefling, laid a hand on her shoulder. It was so big, it engulfed the joint completely, and the weight of it steadied her. “Easy. We’ll get through this.”

“Where is the princess now?”

“The Elite Guard took her down to the undercroft.”

Salanei’s heart lurched and she stopped. “They’re taking her out by boat? Bran, that escape passage only leads to one place… if she’s caught out on the open water…”

“Dawn’s not far off. The sun rises over the lake,” he explained, but she could tell he was as unhappy with the plan as she was. “If the demons can even bear to look at the sunlight as it hits the water, they won’t see her. The glare will be too much. I think they expected to have broken through by now, but this castle’s a hard nut to crack, even with those numbers. It should buy her time to escape.”

He had a point. It was a flimsy hope and a prayer, but it was all they had.

They made it two floors down before the ring of steel and the snarl of demons reached their ears, and Salanei swore again, drawing deep on her reserves of magic so that it lapped like a vast lake a the very forefront of her mind; ready.

She flung a conjured talisman at the nearest demon’s head and the creature exploded into a mist of gore and black ichor. Not pausing to get splattered, she ducked low and aimed another spell - a lancing spike of ice this time - at a twin-headed monstrosity, one half of which was occupied with the head of a guard in its maw, the other half of which had just spotted her. The spike went through both skulls and pinned them to the wall before Salanei had even finished dancing lightly around them.

Quick and light as a mouse in a hay barn, she dodged and struck, until finally she was at the far end of the corridor. From behind her, she heard Brandon bellow a warning at her, asking her to wait, but she was gone like a weasel. Protect the princess. That had been what the old king had demanded of her in return for the shelter and comfort he had offered, and she had gladly accepted the trade.

Shouldering the door at the end of the corridor with a little extra magic behind the gesture, she burst through in a barrage of splintered wood and iron studs as the ramming spell cloaked around her shoulders made short work of it. Instantly, she found three spear tips at her throat, and she froze.

“Stop!” came familiar voice, and were it not for the glinting blades hovering so close to her pulse that she could see her blackberry-purple skin reflected in them, she might have gone slack with relief. “Let her go.”

“Highness,” Salanei said, bowing gratefully from the waist. “They’ve breached the castle from above, and they’re trying to get in from below. They’re only a floor above you now.”

She watched the princess’ freckled cheeks blanch, and she swayed ever so slightly before rallying her courage and pushing back her shoulders. “I have been advised that the undercroft is the safest route out of here, all things considered. Do you disagree?”

Before Salanei could reply, a guard stepped directly in front of her, his deep, maroon livery blocking her view of the princess. “Highness, we must leave. Now. Let the gutter rat fight the demons, but we have to get you to safety.”

Salanei’s lip curled back off her sharp canines and she snarled a warning at the soldier who ignored her completely.

It was a miracle that she even heard the soft tread of slippered feet on the stone floor above the clangour outside, but when the guard’s spine straightened and he shifted awkwardly back to where he’d been standing, Salanei almost snorted with laughter.

The princess’ face seemed carved from marble; all softness had shattered into hard lines, her eyes blazed green, her strawberry blonde hair falling behind her like a shield made of silk. “Repeat that,” she demanded in a voice low and deadly. When the guard stuttered himself into silence, she blinked. “Repeat that.”

“Highness,” he grunted. “Please, we cannot waste any more time! We must leave.”

“Repeat. That.”

“She’s a gutter rat, Highness. Everyone knows it.”

Stepping so quickly that no one saw her move, the princess darted forwards and backhanded the guard across the cheek. “I will not have someone spoken of like that, either in my presence or elsewhere in the castle. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Highness,” he nodded.

“Salanei, come here,” she said, turning away. Before Ria had gone two steps, a demonic portal began to open in front of her. The flickering purple and red edges were ragged as an old scrap of fabric, and a vile, sulfurous gas billowed out of it.

“Shit! Get back!” The tiefling dodged in front of the princess and brought her hands together, calling a binding incantation to mind and willing the strands of the spell to stitch the portal together again, preventing it from opening. The wielder on the other side was strong, their will like iron, but Salanei’s was stronger. Years of being whittled down until she was nothing but muscle and magic and sheer force of will had made her almost unbreakable now, and she knew it. Knowing it was half the struggle with magic.

I am stronger than you, she chanted in her head. This portal will not open.

“I knew having a magic wielder in my guard would be a good thing,” the princess muttered in her ear. “I’m just sorry my mother was so against it.”

Salanei could only grunt with the effort of closing the infernal portal. Behind it, straining against the glowing strands of her spell, a rabid demon snapped its jaws, trying to slice through the counter spell. The mage on the other side didn’t have a spare ounce of concentration to tell the beast to get back. Where was the High Mage when you needed her? Probably bolstering the wards on the castle walls, trusting that the Elite Guard would protect the princess for now.

“Get out of here,” Salanei finally rasped, sweating with the effort. The portal was almost closed.

A hand landed gently between her shoulder blades, fingers splayed wide, palm pressing securely against her skin through the fabric of her dirty shirt, and Salanei gasped as a rush of fresh magic and strength washed into her. With a snap, the portal sealed shut and she whipped around to find the princess smiling softly. “Come with me,” was all she purred.

Salanei nodded, winded and mute, and still dizzy from the surge of golden life that had poured into her from the princess and mixed so easily with her own magic. When had she learned to do that?

The path out of the princess’ chambers was littered with demons. Salanei used every trick and spell she knew, darting here, warping there, slicing, slashing, stabbing, to clear the path while the guard huddled close around their princess and picked off any stragglers who got through. The guards encircled the princess as though she were a jewel and they the setting. Nothing was going to touch her.

Out on another vulnerable, spun-sugar walkway that would lead them directly to the tower that sat atop the cavernous undercroft of the castle, a cloud of tiny, winged demons - which Salanei recognised with horror as having once been harmless forest pixies - swarmed towards them out of the lightening sky.

“Shields!” she screamed back over her shoulder, preparing another spell. Her vision swam from the speed at which she was hemorrhaging magic in the princess’ defence, but she blinked the daze away and focused on creating a wall of fire. Momentum sent the first half of the swarm ploughing straight through it, incinerating their fragile bodies to cinders, but the rest of the flock doubled back and regrouped. With a second flurry of flaming hands, Salanei danced through them until nothing remained but broken, blackened wings at her feet like campfire ashes.

One floundered uselessly at her boots, and while the princess was herded towards the safety of that final tower door by her retinue, Salanei scooped the wounded creature up in one hand and heard its infernal language as little more than a hoarse whisper, like wind through the grasslands. Tapping two fingers to her temple, she directed her magic at the creature, and connected a blue thread with its own yellow spirit thread, and demanded of it, “Who made you?”

A flash of images swirled through the connection, but she had seen enough. “Dorhul,” she spat when she saw the tall, slender figure of the most hated man in the four kingdoms. The connection sputtered, and the creature that had once been a pixie fell limp in her hand. Dropping it, she spun and trailed after the princess, blinking black spots from her vision.

Down staircase after staircase they plummeted, until finally they burst out into the echoing undercroft. Groin vaults stretched away into the darkness like the canopy of an endless stone forest, and Salanei shuddered. It reminded her of the dank dinginess of the slums so viscerally that she almost heaved.

“Don’t stop now,” Princess Ria whispered, pausing to find Salanei staring off into the darkness with wide, black eyes. “We have to keep moving.”

Nodding silently, the tiefling fell into step beside her, scanning the shadows for the faintest hint of movement, but it was still as a sepulchre down there.

The lap of water eventually reached her keen, tapered ears, and she looked up to see three small rowing boats bobbing in the shallow, underground dock up ahead. A narrow canal of water led out towards the lake, and as they all climbed into the boats, Salanei took a moment to admire the calm presence of the princess. It was a miracle that Dorhul hadn’t known about this entrance to the castle.

Ria, still clad in an incongruously soft, pastel pink gown that was spattered here and there with the evidence of their desperate escape, somehow looked as regal as she had sitting in the great hall in her father’s stead these last two years.

She had remained a steady, reassuring presence in the kingdom even as the king’s health faded away despite the High Mage’s efforts to heal him. In his absence, Ria had taken over the rule of the kingdom with the grace and justice that her father had instilled in her from a young age. The queen had died only a few weeks after her father’s sickness had presented, and Ria had mourned her for the appropriate weeks before getting on with the governance of the kingdom. Beautiful, refined, and achingly gentle, it was no wonder that the kingdom was in love with her.

Salanei swallowed thickly. Half the kingdom, and… her too.

Now, although there was the air of a frightened child about her delicate shoulders, she sat in the centre of the small boat as her guards rowed her away, her green eyes fixed on the retreating castle as they skimmed across the lake. Just as Brandon had said, the morning sun glanced off the surface, glinting like a cut gem as the castle burned behind them.

Salanei uttered a quick prayer under her breath for the minotaur who was presumably still inside the castle.

Halfway across the lake, the guards’ oars faltered with a splash. A vast wave of power pulsed from the heart of the castle and spilled out across the land in all directions, sweeping demons off the walls and parapets, scattering them to ash on the wind. The sheer, raw magic made Salanei’s ears ring and her chest tighten, but when she’d mastered herself again, she found Ria staring wide-eyed at the castle with a look of unbridled horror on her beautiful face.

“Highness?” Salanei croaked, barely resiting the urge to grab her shoulder and shake her gently. “Highness?”

“Father…” she choked. “My father is dead…”

Three thoughts raced through Salanei’s mind before it went perfectly blank again: ‘that means you’re the queen’, ‘if the king is dead it means he used a purging spell so powerful that it obliterated himself as well’, and ‘the castle is free of demons now’. “Should… Should we go back?” she finally croaked.

Ria just sat there in the little boat, her breathing shallow, her face ashen.

“Highness?”

Nothing.

“Ria?” she asked, reluctant to use her familiar name. She leaned forward to touch her arm, but one of the guards - a huge, leonine rakshasa - growled at her. Salanei bared her own canines at him and hissed like a cobra.

The sound of her bickering guards drew the princess out of herself, and Ria turned to them. “Please,” she whispered. “Not now. For the goddess’ sake, not now. Let me think.”

Chastened, they fell silent, though Salanei’s black eyes never left her princess’ face.

“We go back,” she finally said.

The leonine rakshasa’s ears pricked up and he growled softly as he said, “Highness, we only just got you out of there…”

“Look,” she said, her voice eerily calm as she pointed a trembling finger towards the castle.

A cloud of sparkling, fluttering sparks had risen like butterflies above the remnants of the highest tower, and Salanei recognised Maeva’s magical signature immediately. “The High Mage,” she whispered. “You think it’s a trap?”

Ria shook her head. “No. We have a code in case such a signal is ever used. Green with gold is a trap. Pink and pale green is all clear. We return. Now.”

The rowers turned the small craft around, and Ria sat with her jaw set and her fists clenched in the fabric of her dress, eyes intense, mind working. No one spoke or grumbled, despite how the guards’ shoulders must have been burning from the effort.

The princess ground her teeth, and muttered, “This is taking too long. It’s not your fault,” she added as a guard’s expression flickered momentarily. “You’ve all been wonderful.” Snapping her head up suddenly, the princess said, “Salanei?”

“Highness?”

“Can your tiefling magic teleport me from here?”

Salanei tilted her head thoughtfully to one side as she examined her reserves of magic. “If I do, I won’t have much left in the tank when we get there,” she said. “I’d rather not…”

“Do it,” Ria said. “That’s not a request. Get me to my father’s chamber, and Maeva can take care of the magic from there if needs be.”

Jartyn, a gnoll with half his ear missing and a huge burn scar on his face, interjected, “I really must object, Highness -”

Ria’s eyes flashed and he sat back, teeth clacking as he shut his mouth quickly.

However, she got control of her frustration and spoke in a gentle, if tense, voice. “I appreciate your concern, and I owe you all my life,” she said, gathering them all into the praise with a sweep of her emerald green eyes. “But my father just sacrificed his life to cleanse that castle, and now I must return to protect his legacy. If I don’t, there’s still a window of opportunity for Dorhul to step in and claim the crown and the kingdom amid the chaos. Do you understand?”

They did, and they all bowed as one.

“You will follow in the boat and attend me back at the castle.” Ria turned her gaze to the tiefling, and held out her hand. “Now, Salanei.”

Taking the princess’ hand in hers, Salanei concentrated every drop of will and magic on the king’s chambers. Teleportation was not something many could do, and it wasn’t something Salanei particularly relished. The familiar sensation of blurring at the edges announced that they were ready, and a heartbeat later, it felt like two magical grappling hooks had yanked them by the spine and guts and had torn them away to somewhere else.

The princess landed awkwardly beside her with a cry, collapsing against Salanei as they arrived in the bedchamber of the king, and the tiefling caught her. “I’m going to be sick,” Ria hissed a moment before it happened.

Salanei supported her and held her beautiful, long hair back, and then magicked all the mess away with an easy flick of her hand.

Clearly grateful, Ria straightened and turned to her. Her eyes were pink and her cheeks were pale, but she still looked so regal that Salanei’s heart twisted in her chest.

Then Ria’s eyes slid from Salanei’s face to the bed in the middle of the ruined room. The glass in the windows had been obliterated, blasted out into the courtyard below. The twisted remnants of the lead work hung like the gnarled roots of a ripped up tree from the casements, and the rest of the room was reduced to splinters and tatters.

On the bed, there was no sign of the old king at all, but where his head would have rested on the pillow lay the golden crown, and where his heart would have been was a glimmering opal. Salanei gasped when she saw it, following at a respectful distance, a pace behind Ria.

“That’s…”

“The heart of the Lunar Forge,” Ria whispered. “Yes. Imagine what hell a necromancer like Dorhul could raise with a focus like this… That must have been how he was able to wield so much magic just now too…”

Salanei shuddered, not wanting to think about what could have happened. The Lunar Forge sat at the heart of the castle, and beneath the light of a full moon, any weapons quenched in the pool of spring water had the power to destroy demons utterly. The focus of the power was that opal. It was the size of Salanei's fist and it thrummed with power. That power did not have to be used to focus the powers of the Lunar Forge though; it could be used at the heart of any ritual, to add unfathomable power, and if the necromage had got his hands on it, who knows what he could have brought into this world.

Ria picked up the stone and the crown and then sank onto the bed. When she looked up at the tiefling, another pang went through Salanei’s chest. Tears flowed silently down Ria’s face and the urge to embrace her surged inside Salanei. “Highness,” she whispered, her heart going out to the young woman.

Her face twisted, and sobs wracked the princess then, and her guard didn’t hesitate. She stepped in close and the princess folded forwards, throwing her arms around her wiry torso and burying her face in the filthy fabric of her shirt. Her tears dampened it until the flow finally stemmed as Salanei stroked the coppery hair and just stood there, taking her grief and fears in her stride.

“I can’t do it,” Ria whispered, still plastered to her chest.

“You will. You’re not alone. I know he’s gone, but you’re not alone. You have Maeva, and your guard, and… for what it’s worth, you have me.”

It took another few minutes before Ria leaned back to regard Salanei and drew in a deep, unsteady breath.

Taking a chance, Salanei reached out and thumbed the remaining tears from the princess’ blotchy cheeks. “You have me,” she repeated as her golden eyelashes fluttered softly. A moment later, the tiefling let go and spun, adopting a defensive stance as footsteps rang on the floor outside and someone burst in.

She relaxed instantly, adrenalin dissipating when the familiar red robes of the High Mage swirled to a halt and the older woman appeared to go through a similar gamut of relieved reactions upon seeing the tiefling. “Thank the goddess,” she breathed, leaning heavily on a long, slender staff. “Ria, child, are you alright?”

Mutely, the princess nodded and stood. She touched Salanei briefly on the arm as she passed, and sent a tiny rush of her innate magic into the tiefling. The tenderness of the affection made her sway on the spot where she stood and she smiled at the princess, bowing her head.

The Queen, she corrected, forcing herself to make the mental adjustment. That’s the queen standing there now, you dolt!

The severe figure of the High Mage was made all the more stark by the harsh daylight now flooding in through the empty windows. The wind at this altitude whipped right through the room, tugging at tatters of cloth and blowing papers around like dry, rattling leaves. Maeva drew the queen to one side and the two proceeded to talk in hushed voices, leaving Salanei with nothing to do except keep watch.

She crossed to the door at the sound of — she tilted her head and strained — hooves. Demon or friend…? Brandon’s telltale white forelock and black pelt drew into view as he trotted up the staircase and she relaxed.

“You’re alright,” he smiled, tugging her into a quick hug before stepping back. “Thank the goddess. When you disappeared like that — And… the princess?”

“Queen now,” Salanei murmured. “She’s fine.”

“Goddess shelter his soul, and long live the queen,” Brandon said under his breath.

“What’s the rest of the castle like?” she asked, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder and adding, “It’s a fucking mess in there.”

“Same,” he said, leaning on the door frame and suddenly looking extremely tired. “It’ll take weeks to clear the demons and the rubble, but whatever that was, it purged them all in one go. Damned powerful magic.”

“It was the king,” she said. “He sacrificed himself to save the castle.”

“Not just the castle then,” Brandon said darkly. “Saved the whole bloody kingdom with it.”

It in fact took just over a week to get the last of the ichor and demons out of the castle, but it did take much longer to clear the rubble.

Ria insisted on being crowned in the goddess’ temple at the castle, despite the fact that half the roof was missing. Maeva and anyone with even a scrap of magic had been drafted in to weave invisible supports over the roof timbers and pillars to stop it all from tumbling in and crushing the congregation.

Salanei stood at the head of the guard of honour, her blade raised as the queen passed beneath, and she winked at one of the kitchen girls’ daughters whom Ria had selected to be one of the four train-barers. The tiny child could hardly lift the heavy material of the excessively long gown, but she valiantly did her best, along with the other children who had been chosen from the families of the castle staff. It was a lovely touch, and it had only endeared the young queen more to her people.

As the queen drew level with Salanei, she didn’t stop or break her step, but she shot her a fleeting look in passing, and the tiefling’s heart leapt. Over the past few weeks, the queen had shown her a remarkable degree of affection. She’d raised Salanei to the prestigious position of the Queen’s Blade - her personal bodyguard. But where the two had hardly interacted before the attack on the castle, now Salanei found herself often being admitted inside her private study to discuss security and plans to bolster the castle’s and kingdom’s defences with magic and boots on the ground. On such evenings, it was not uncommon for their hands to brush or their gaze to meet, but whatever swirling emotions Salanei felt, she kept her thoughts to herself. This was the queen after all.

The coronation service went on and on, but finally the oaths were taken, and the queen, now formally crowned, processed out into the courtyard beyond to thunderous cheering and applause. Maeva sent a rain of enchanted petals down around her, and she addressed her people as their new leader. All the while she spoke, Salanei scanned the crowd, but to her relief, she found nothing but adoring faces and cheering people. She met Brandon’s eye from the front row of guards keeping the crowd back, and he nodded at her.

It wasn’t until Ria was back in her chambers, again with Salanei at her side, that she showed the faintest sign of her exhaustion.

She was silent while her maids undressed her, their nimble hands undoing the regiments of buttons. Finally, they removed removed the ridiculous gown from the room and found something more comfortable. In her humble, ignorant opinion, Salanei thought that the queen looked much better in plain dresses anyway.

Ria had decided, upon Maeva’s advice, to take the rest of the day to herself, and just as Salanei was preparing to stand guard outside her door, the queen took her wrist in her gentle, firm grip, and halted her.

“No, Salanei,” she said in a hoarse, tired voice. “Stay. Please.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“I… I don’t know,” she said with heartbreaking honesty. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Feeling her body go slack as her heart went out to the young woman, Salanei said, “Shall I run you a bath, Majesty?”

On the point of replying, the queen paused and changed her mind. “Call me Ria,” she said. “Please. When it’s just us two in these rooms, please… call me by my name. I’m… I’m afraid that I’ll forget the sound of it now that I’m queen and there’s no one left to call me that…”

Bowing her head under the weight of that gift, Salanei nodded. “As you wish… Ria.”

With a smile, the queen reached for Salanei's other hand and squeezed her fingers in her own. “You’re so strong, Salanei,” she said, running her thumbs over the rough, scuffed knuckles and feeling the calluses from weapons training on her palms and fingers. “You… You’re so beautiful…”

The breath left Salanei in a rush as if she’d been punched in the solar plexus. “Majesty,” she protested, embarrassed and trying to pull away, but the queen held firm.

“I mean it,” she said with a fierce light in her eyes. And then she went soft with a sigh and said, “But yes, a bath does sound nice.”

“I’ll run you one,” Salanei offered, glad for an excuse to leave the room. Her heart was thudding and her skin felt hot all over.

“You’re not my servant,” Ria barked as the tiefling made to stride away across the room towards the chambers. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’d like to,” she said. “Please.”

With a nod, Ria accepted, and ten minutes later, a steaming hot bath stood ready for her in the adjacent bathroom, the scent of jasmine heady in the air. When Salanei emerged, she found the queen undressing again, and struggling with a button right in the middle of her back.

“Help me?” asked the queen in a surprisingly shy voice.

Silently, Salanei crossed to her and freed the tiny pearl button from the back of the dress, revealing the smooth, warm skin of her back as the fabric parted and fall away. She had three freckles just to the right of her spine. The urge to brush her fingers down the length of the queen’s back from the nape of her neck to the waist of her dress was almost overwhelming, but she forced herself to step back. “Anything else?” she asked in a croak.

With a knowing, almost playful smile, the queen looked over her shoulder and said, “Fetch me a robe?”

Licking her lips, Salanei swallowed. Had Ria’s eyes always been so bright? Her hair so golden? Her lips so…

“Salanei?”

“Of course,” she chirped and turned abruptly to fetch a robe from the back of the bathroom door and bring it. When she found the queen standing completely naked in the middle of the room with her dress pooled around her ankles, she nearly cursed. Her feet stopped and she stood there, slack-jawed and staring.

“Are you going to pass it to me or not?” Ria giggled.

Flushing hot, Salanei handed it to her and looked away as she extended her arm.

“Don’t,” Ria breathed. “Unless you want to, of course.”

She had no answer for that.

“Salanei…?” the queen asked, sounding suddenly unsure. “What is it you want? Answer me honestly.”

You.

“I can’t,” she hissed, turning completely away.

Oh gods, I want you so much, she thought. I want to make you forget everything. I want to kneel between your legs and taste you. I want to sink my fingers into your heat and feel you let go. I want to give you what no other can give you.

The queen’s voice was steady as she asked, “If you could speak freely, what would you say to me?”

“Tell me I’m not out of line,” Salanei breathed. “Tell me —” she couldn’t finish it. It felt… blasphemous even to begin to voice her desires. This was the queen. And she was a gutter-rat tiefling from nowhere, with no family and nothing but her magic and her fighting skills.

“I want you, Salanei,” the queen said unflinchingly. “I want you, but I don’t want you afraid.”

Her lips parted when she heard those words, and she turned to face her queen properly. Ria still hadn’t done up the bath robe, leaving a column of perfect skin exposed between her covered breasts, and a soft nest of golden hair between her legs. Salanei’s fingertip ached to touch her just there and see if her knees would buckle at the contact.

Without a word, the queen turned and walked slowly towards the bathroom, leaving the door open. An invitation? Salanei stood there for a long time, listening to the slosh of the water in the huge copper bath as the queen got in and then lay back. Steam billowed out of the room, coiling along the floor like crooked fingers calling.

Swallowing, her heart thudding, Salanei padded into the bathroom and came to an uncertain halt. The bath stood in the centre of the small chamber, and the queen had her back to the door where she reclined in the steaming water. “Come here,” she said gently.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“I’d like you to do more than that, if you feel comfortable…” she purred, and as Salanei drew level with the bath, she looked up at her, features sharpening. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to, alright? I’m well aware of what I am, and what your station is. If… If you feel as though you’re… obliged in any way to… to…” tears filled her eyes but she refused to let them spill, and in a rush Salanei knelt on the cold marble beside the bath and put her left hand on the rim of the tub.

“No,” she said fiercely. “I want this. Trust me, I want this…”

“You can touch me,” the queen said in a low voice, tilting her head back. The bubbles just skimmed the surface of the water, but as she moved, fragrant waves lapped at her chest and Salanei glimpsed the roundness of her breasts beneath the water and the dusky pink of her hard nipples too. “Please…”

Salanei slid her right hand into the water, her plum-purple skin in sharp contrast to the warmth of the queen’s own, and she found the inside of the queen’s thigh, letting her palm play up and down it for a moment. Ria let out a long, broken moan and arched her back a little, and it suddenly occurred to Salanei that she probably hadn’t ever been touched like this. Aside from being dressed by her maids, she was always apart, always unreachable, always kept safely at arm’s length.

“I…” Ria faltered, her eyes still closed. “I never thanked you. I never found a minute, but… I should have made time. You’ve given everything to me, and you helped to save my life.”

“I made your father a promise,” she said, still just cupping the curve of her thigh in her hand, hardly daring to believe that this was happening. “And I grew to love you years ago. Your goodness, your grace, your kindness… You won me heart and soul, Ria. I’m yours. Always.”

A tear slid from Ria’s eye and disappeared into the dampness on her skin at her neck. “Touch me,” she whispered, voice intense, and Salanei complied.

She moved her hand further up her smooth thighs, feeling her tail coiling around her own ankle as her body heated up and she began to get wet from the sheer anticipation of touching the queen like this at last. How many nights had she touched herself with thoughts of the queen’s pleasure ringing in her imagination?

At the smooth glide of fingertips over her folds, the queen’s legs fell apart and she bucked weakly, sloshing water almost over the rim of the bath. Another moan escaped her and she let her head loll as Salanei repeated the gesture on the other side before circling her swelling clit and then nudging just beneath it.

A shudder ran through the queen and she gripped the edges of the bath as Salanei brushed against her, teasing and testing, finding out how she liked to be touched, where was too sensitive and what garnered her the most vocal reactions. Slow and firm seemed to drive her closer to towards her peak, while tentative and teasing made her buck and gasp, shivering and grunting with satisfaction delayed. Naturally, she drew out the process for as long as she could, and oscillated between the two.

“Please!” Ria finally gasped, curling forwards, knuckles white on the rim of the copper bath as Salanei ran one callused fingertip back and forth just between her clit and her entrance. It was far too slow and far too teasing. “Oh goddess… oh goddess…” she chanted, her whole body winding tighter and tighter. The water could not disguise the slickness that eased Salanei's attentions either.

In a single motion, Salanei slid two fingers deep inside her and crooked them, pressing against her walls while circling her clit with her thumb, and the queen shattered. Salanei was fairly certain she’d soaked through her own underwear, but nothing could distract her from the tight, clenching heat as pleasure ripped through the other woman and swept her away with it. She gave herself completely to it and convulsed, water slopping over the edge of the bath and onto the floor and drenching Salanei's loose trousers too.

“You’re so beautiful,” Salanei crooned as the queen continued to come. “Goddess, but you’re so beautiful…” She kept the pressure inside the queen’s body with her fingertips, easing her through it until finally Ria slumped back against the bath, her chest heaving, her eyes closed, and the softest, sweetest look of joy on her face.

When she’d caught her breath, she opened her eyes with a flutter of golden lashes and whispered, “I want to do that to you.”

“I’m yours,” Salanei replied with a wry smile, withdrawing her fingers and tracing a fond touch across her sensitive inner thigh without removing her hand from the water.

“Give me a moment to feel my legs again,” Ria said, “And then help me out of here, and I’ll return the favour. I do feel bad that you were on the floor though,” she said, a tiny frown pinching her eyebrows together.

Salanei laughed hoarsely and said, “If you knew how wet I was, you wouldn’t have said that.”

The queen went still, a surprised smile on her face. “That got you wet? Doing that to me?”

“You have no idea.”

With that, Ria stood somewhat shakily, water cascading down her perfect body, and, with her eyes practically glowing, said, “Show me.”

___

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#tiefling #exophilia #sapphic exophilia #wlw #tiefling x human #female tiefling x human #female tiefling x female reader #female reader #female monster

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tessiete · 3 years

Note

For the Spotify fanfic ficlet: 12 for the Kenobi-Kryze fam? 🥺

@lightasthesun so here’s the deal. I STRUGGLED with this. Because I wanted to give you happy, fun, fluffy times, and there are some real bangers on my Wrapped. I mean, relative bangers.

But you picked probably the most Obitine-angst appropriate song ever, and I was like......oh, no. I can’t - I can’t do that to them.

So, after several days of thinking about it, we came up with this. It’s...I refuse to call it angst, bc everyone is alive, and well. It’s just like, some family fun times. Thanks, especially to the Obitine discord, and @duchess-of-mandalore @mg024 and Finn!

And anyway, I hope you love it! Thank you so much for the challenge! <3

Prompt: The Chain (Ingrid Michaelson)

THE CHAIN

The sky over Capital City is grey, and tremulous when they arrive on Coruscant. A natural storm had surged over the breakers of the planet’s ancient atmo regulators to sound its rage and fury out above the city. It’s rare, but not unheard of, and though some might take it as an ill omen, Satine thinks it a fair reflection of the twisting winds within her breast. Rain falls in great, heavy drops, lashing its grief across the transparisteel viewports as they break through the clouds. Thunder cracks, righteous and defiant. Lightning fractures the plate of the sky, reaching out with jealous fingers to touch the earth. Korkie has slept through it all, but Satine doesn’t want to miss any moment more than she must.

They hit the pad with the sudden jolt of gravity reasserting itself, the locking clamps securing them in place. She feels each shudder of the ship echoing in her bones, the soft satyn of her simple travelling gown like water over her skin. Every contrast feels sharp, and malicious. She takes Korkie’s small hand in her larger one, and together they wait for the ramp to lower, releasing them into the wilds outside.

And they are met.

Across the platform, standing silent in the downpour, is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Though her vision blurs, and renders his face unreadable, she can see the straight line of his shoulders, the proud tilt of his chin, and the defiant stance of his feet spread wide. His hands are hidden in the fold of his cloak, and at his back are Masters Windu and Jinn.

At Satine’s back is the black maw of the ship, and the wind whistling through it. Korkie laughs, and she looks away from the Jedi to see her son, hands out, catching rain.

“It’s wet! Belli, look!” he says, showing her his hand, shining in the grey light. “The sky is crying!”

Satine feels the rain coursing over her own face, and smiles in recognition of his delight.

“It is,” she says. “Happy tears, of course. Coruscant is glad to meet you, kih'kairkiyc.”

He grins at her, and she squeezes his hand, and together they cross the narrow bridge from the ship’s dock to the reception platform where they are met by Obi-Wan. He steps forward, and bows, deep, and formal.

“Duchess,” he says. His voice does not waver, but lies flat, and orderly in the space between them.

He is much the same as she remembers, though his hair is longer, and his braid is cut. A beard has grown in, at long last, though she does not like how it covers his mouth, and hides half his face, and she longs to reach out and wipe it away so she might be able to read him again, like she used to. But there is more than an arm’s length between them, so instead, she nods her head in acknowledgement.

“Knight Kenobi,” she says, like glass, clean and showing nothing of itself.

Korkie tugs at her hand, and she pulls him forward to introduce him next. His fingers linger at the tips of hers as she lets him go. He takes a step. He takes a breath, and just as they’d practiced, he bows with his hands clasped before him, until his back is level with the floor.

“How do you do, Knight Kenobi?” Then, in succession, “Master Windu. Master Jinn.”

The three Jedi return the gesture. Master Windu is tense, and wary of her, she can tell, still unconvinced of the wisdom in this. Obi-Wan’s eyes are fixed on her, but Qui-Gon Jinn smiles at the boy, and Korkie stumbles back until he falls against his mother’s stomach, his hand reaching out to fist in the fabric of her gown to steady himself.

“Hello Korkie,” the old Jedi greets. His voice is soft, like birdwatchers in Keldabe before. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Obi-Wan is pulled from his study of the past by this reminder of their present company. His hands drop, and he shifts, leaning towards her, his head ducked and uncertain.

“I apologise for the weather,” he says. “I would have - if there had been any indication of inclemence such as this, I would have suggested somewhere with a roof.”

“Of course,” Satine says, too quickly. Then, bridling herself, she continues. “Coruscant is usually such a civilised, and well-behaved planet, it could not have been foreseen.”

There is the promise of forgiveness at the end of her declaration, which Obi-Wan accepts with relief, and they smile at each other. It is brief, and carried more in their eyes, than in their mouths or hands, but it is there nonetheless.

“And you, Master Korkie,” says Qui-Gon, with a smirk of his own. “Are you more civilised, and well-behaved than you appear at first glance?”

He gestures to Korkies rumpled tunic, and mussed hair which sticks up in wild tussocks like knots of grass.

“Someone was rather exhausted by our journey,” says Satine, fondly. “He fell asleep just past Corsin.”

“It was rather a long flight,” says Korkie, in his own defence. “And I don’t much like flying. Lightspeed always feels funny.”

At this, Qui-Gon kneels to meet Korkie on his level, and speaks as if he is confessing some great secret.

“Do you know,” he says, “That Knight Kenobi also dislikes flying.”

Korkie throws a wondering glance at Obi-Wan, who shifts beneath the scrutiny.

“Truly?” he asks Qui-Gon.

The Jedi nods. “Yes, truly. Only he stays awake the whole time.”

“Why?”

“I think in order to complain,” says Qui-Gon. “He needs to be sure that I am equally as miserable as he is, otherwise he feels lonely for company. But it does make for a very long trip, from my point of view.”

“That’s silly, Knight Kenobi,” declares Korkie. He turns to address Obi-Wan directly, and though he speaks critically, his brow is lifted, and his eyes wide in an earnest desire to ease the knight’s discomfort. “It’s much better if you sleep,” he says, with all the wisdom of a moment. “The time goes by much faster.”

Obi-Wan is forced to accept his master’s censure with grace as to spare the gentle feelings of an innocent child, so he smiles, and bows to acknowledge the boy.

“As you say, Master Kryze. You are probably right.”

“I know I am,” Korkie says. “Even though I do look a little wild in the end. But I feel tidy. So I suppose it’s just a matter of which part of me you look at.”

With a rumble that starts deep in his belly, then tumbles out like thunder, Qui-Gon Jinn laughs.

“A man after my own heart,” he says, giving Korkie a little clap on the shoulder. “I foresee you will become a great Jedi, Kiorkicek Kryze.”

“Sorry to interrupt, Duchess, Obi-Wan,” says Master Windu, stepping between the parties, “But as this rain doesn’t look to be letting up any time soon, may I suggest we complete the investiture ceremony somewhere a little drier?”

He levels Obi-Wan with a challenging glance, but its severity is diminished somewhat by his own bedraggled state. Despite their equal exposure, the rain has somehow managed to do more damage to Mace Windu’s composure than any of the others. Perhaps because he is more conscious of his position, and his dignity than the other two, Qui-Gon being rather untroubled by such pretensions, and Obi-Wan still humbled and distracted by the circumstances in which he’s come face to face with the unquiet ghosts of his past. Both of them wear the rain with ease, but Mace has struggled, unable to convince himself of the need to shield himself, but conscious of the desire. His cloak is patchy with damp, and the top of his head reflects the sky, the water washing his face, and dripping from his lips and chin. It is clear that Obi-Wan feels this indignity on his superior’s behalf, but Satine fights laughter at the spectacle.

“I think that would be wise, Master Windu,” she says, her voice tripping and sparking with barely repressed delight.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, with a shallow bow. And then he says, “There is an air car waiting.”

And Satine feels her stomach drop.

She meets Obi-Wan’s eye over Mace’s shoulder. His gaze is steady, and somber and as he makes his answer to the master’s request, and she can hear farewell in the heaviness of his voice.

“Yes, Master Windu,” he says. “Satine, I’m sorry we must be so brief, but I -” and he stands gaping, and voiceless for a moment.

The tight knuckle of sickness twists in her gut, scraping across the raw nerves of the underside of her skin, buckling muscles, and shifting against her bones, but she swallows the nausea back, and saves Obi-Wan from the inexorable void of silence.

“Do not apologise, Obi-Wan,” she says. “These things cannot be helped. Perhaps it is better this way. Perhaps the sting will be less.”

“Like a plaster,” he says, numbly.

And she agrees. “Just like.”

Master Jinn’s rises from his crouch, leaving his hands to ghost over Korkie’s shoulders, his hand still wrapped in her own, and Obi-Wan still staring at her, still drowning in the rain. Master Windu is merciful then, and bows out his leave taking.

“I’ll prepare the car,” he says.

“Thank you, Mace,” says Qui-Gon, when no one says anything else, and Master Windu leaves them to say goodbye.

But still, no one moves. Silence falls, a fragile, lacework thing, too delicate to touch with the clumsy fingers of speech. They remain suspended in its web for an age, until Qui-Gon braves what the others cannot fathom, and speaks again.

“Obi-Wan,” he says, stepping away from Korkie to reach for his own grown padawan. “A word.”

He draws him aside, turning away, turning their backs to Satine and Korkie, and speaking quietly in Obi-Wan’s ear, an arm about his shoulders, and drawing him close in private assignation. At another time, she might feel ostracised and othered by this, but now, she is grateful. It is she who is with Korkie, and the Jedi who must stand apart.

She kneels to face her son, heedless of her skirt, of the thin satyn and how it catches at the rough duracrete, pulling taut, maybe tearing beneath the pressure of her knees. She doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. What matters is this: herself, and her son, and the rain washing away the things between them.

“I don’t want to go,” says Korkie, and she grips his hands tighter than before.

“You must,” she says. “You must. You are going to be a wonderful Jedi Knight. Just think of that.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I know I said before, but I changed my mind. I want to go home.”

“You can’t go home, kih'kairkiyc,” she replies, her tongue growing thick with a truth she hates to speak. “Remember? We talked about this. It’s dangerous. But you will be safe here. Knight Kenobi will protect you.”

“But who will protect you if I’m not there?”

“Oh, many people, Kiorkicek,” she says. “A whole court of people. All the people. The people of Mandalore will be my strength, and they will take very good care of me while you’re away, and one day, when you come home, they will be glad to meet you again, and so will I.”

“Do you promise?” he asks. “You won’t forget me? Even if I’m gone for a very long time?”

“Even if you were gone for almost as long as forever, I would never forget you, Kiorkicek Kryze. Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad. Ratiin.”

“Ratiin,” he repeats. “Always, and always.”

“Yes,” she avows. “Now, do you remember what I told you?”

“To wash my face, and brush my teeth every day, even if I’m very sleepy.”

And she laughs, pulling him close to her breast, and tucking his head beneath her chin.

“Yes,” she says. “That is very important, but what else?”

“To listen to the masters, and study hard, and show respect, and try my best, and to always, always be very kind to Knight Kenobi, because he isn’t always very kind to himself.”

“Yes,” she whispers. She presses a kiss to his hair, and combs it as flat as she can. “That last part, most especially, kih'kairkiyc. Look after each other. For me.”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Belli.”

“Bal Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, balyc.”

“Satine?” The call is Obi-Wan’s and she looks up from the cradle of her embrace, and her son within it to see him standing cautious, and concerned a few paces away. “It’s time to go.”

“Of course,” she says. She stands. She takes Korkie’s hand, nestled in her own, and places it in Obi-Wan’s. For a moment, the three of them are one, together, and then…

She lets go.

“Goodbye, my Kiorkicek,” she says. “Remember what I told you. Kote, ijaa, aliit. Ratiin.”

He nods, and she can see his grip tighten on Obi-Wan’s hand, fierce determination rising in the face of her expectations. It is Obi-Wan who falters.

“Satine, I -” he shakes his head. His eyes match the storm. “I will do my best by him, I swear. I will not fail you. I will not.”

“I know,” she says, steady where he is not. “I would not give him up to another. None but you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Gar ratiin ru’kar'taylir. Be gentle with it.”

He nods. There is nothing else to say, and they’ve always been terrible at goodbye. She smiles at Korkie one last time, and he points at the sky.

“Happy tears,” he says, and grins, wiping the salty streaks from his own face.

And with that, he tugs on Obi-Wan’s hand, and leads him off towards the distant figure of Mace Windu, and the air car waiting patiently to take them home.

But Satine is not alone.

Qui-Gon Jinn steps close, until she can feel his shoulder jut up against her own, the warmth of his body breaching the barricade of wet clothes, to soothe her own chapped skin, and she shivers against him.

For a moment, they say nothing, just watching as Obi-Wan turns to Korkie, and Korkie to Obi-Wan, chatting animatedly, his free hand swooping through the air. She imagines he must be telling him of their departure from Mandalore, and the world he left behind, and she hopes that selfishly, she might be included in as many of these stories as he thinks to tell, because he is in all of hers. Qui-Gon chuckles beside her.

“Fast friends, already,” he says.

“Forgotten just as fast,” she whispers, nearly losing the words to the storm. But Qui-Gon is listening closely.

“Never that,” he says. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she yields like water, dropping her head to his shoulder, and weeping into the crook of his neck.

“I thought I was ready,” she says, hitching breaths to match the shifting winds. “But it has come too soon.”

She feels his chin press against her skull, and though it isn’t exactly comfortable, there is comfort in the angles of his affection, and she leans closer to him, until her arms sneak beneath the wet folds of his outer robe, and wrap around his waist. She clings there, as though she might blow away. This is familiar, though it is an old, old memory, now. She was once a girl, before she was a Duchess, and Qui-Gon Jinn was once to her the very thing her father could not be. She was bereaved, but never lost, and there were many nights that Qui-Gon held her while she wept just like this. It is easy to reach for him, now. It is easy to look back.

“You are never ready,” he says, his voice vibrating so near to her ear it is as though he speaks to her from within her own mind. “But he is not going very far. He is with his family. He is with his father. You are not losing him to the wilderness.”

“No,” she says. “Only to the Force.”

He does not chide her for the bitterness upon her tongue.

His own words remain gentle, and soothing, and he rocks her in his arms, as they watch the matched set of their hearts walk away.

“Then I have lost my own heart twice,” he says. “First to the Force, and then to you. But people always come back, in one way or another. No one is gone forever.”

And as they reach the car, as though he hears their call from across a vast, unending night, and over the wind and roar of the storm, Obi-Wan looks back, and Qui-Gon smiles.

“Oh, look,” he says, as the knight turns once more to his son. “There he goes again.”

Satine buries her face in Qui-Gon’s arms, and though she doesn’t feel at peace, for a moment, she feels like she has come home.

#my fic #prompt fill #spotify prompt fill #the chain #korkie kryze #korkie is a kenobi #obitine #satine kryze #obi-wan kenobi #qui-gon jinn #mace windu

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shijiujun · 4 years

Note

Mom ~ I’m not saying you have to do this BUT Chuyao teaching for the last snack item at the same time AU hahahah 🥰

hahahaha right up my alley, and much crack below - chuyao’s hands meeting over a plate of snacks that ends up evolving into a marriage proposal LMAO

“So Youning,” Bai Qili asks over family dinner one evening, “When are you and Detective Lu going to get married?”

Lu Yao, who has just stuffed a large spoonful of his favourite fish maw’s soup into his mouth, almost spits out the mouthful, and it is only Chusheng ducking out of the way fast enough that prevents his suit from being a casualty of Lu Yao being stupid, considering how he’s seated right next to him.

Regular family dinners with Lu Yao in the mix, that’s right. Somehow, somewhere, after Bai Qili extended the invitation for dinner for the third time, Lu Yao began tagging along for all dinners. Bai Qili seems to have adopted him of sorts, be it as a potential son-in-law (not true) or a starving child in need of some tender loving care (read: cheapskate), and on the once-a-week dinners these days, Lu Yao’s favourite dishes make an appearance too.

“Dad!” Youning says in disbelief, her eyes wide. “What gave you the idea that I like him? That we are even together, or that we can even stand to be in the same room with each other without arguing?”

“Don’t lie to me. Nothing can escape my eyes. Otherwise, why are the both of you still staying together? And I see you have some new dresses and those hats that you like from those yangren stores down on Bai Lu Xia street. Just with your salary, how can you afford those if not for Detective Lu buying them for you?”

Lu Yao protests, “Lao ye-zi, I don’t have that kind of money either-”

At the same time, Youning yells, “I earned this! Ask Chusheng-ge! He’s the one who buys things for me as payment for gathering information on his cases, okay? What do you mean, are you saying that I’m not competent enough to-”

Lu Yao looks between Bai Qili and Youning in confusion and fear, as if the Green Dragon Gang leader is about to command him to marry his daughter, or else.

When he is stressed, Lu Yao eats. Well, even when he isn’t stressed, he’s eating, so unconsciously, his hand reaches out for the jianbing on the table, his eyes still on the father and daughter duo.

Instead of coming into contact with a crisp, oily piece of snack, Lu Yao’s hand knocks against skin, and he jerks, as if burnt.

Looking up, he sees Chusheng staring at him too, their hands connected over a plate of jianbing that Chusheng knows is his favourite.

Lu Yao’s cheeks flame immediately, and he retracts his hand.

“You... you can have it first,” he says, embarrassed for no reason at all.

“No,” Chusheng replies, and inches the plate closer to Lu Yao. “You have some first.”

Pushing the plate back, Lu Yao shakes his head, “No, you have it first, Lao Qiao.”

“This is your favourite! Just take the piece on the top I know you want that one.”

“I.... I can take the next one, you take the first one-”

“San Tu, just take-”

They’re interrupted rudely when a third hand moves between them, and snags the very first jianbing from the top of the stack, effectively ending the argument. It’s Youning, and as she nibbles on the pastry she just stole, there’s a really smug look on her face.

“... what?” Lu Yao asks, frowning.

“... I was mistaken.” It is then that Bai Qili speaks, catching their attention. His eyes are considering as they look between Chusheng and Lu Yao. “I see. I see.”

“Lao ye-zi,” now it is time for Chusheng to frown, “What do you mean?”

Bai Qili nods, “Chusheng ah, you know that I treat you like my own son, right? I know I’ve been hard on you, but... I am still rather open when it comes to these things. Others might have an issue with it, but what have I not seen? Back in the day, the number of brothers in the gang who looked twice at each other...”

Uncomprehending, both Chusheng and Lu Yao cock their heads to the side in absolute bewilderment.

“It’s alright!” Bai Qili declares. “Lu Yao will still be my son-in-law no matter what. I was mistaken to think he wanted to marry Youning. It’s the same if you marry him instead, Chusheng! And to think the both of you thought I wouldn’t accept it... is that why you decided to use Youning to hide your relationship?”

Then to Lu Yao, “I’ll call your father and sister tomorrow, and we can start making arrangements.”

And Youning, that lying, conniving, ridiculous woman, goes, “That’s right! That’s why Chusheng-ge has been paying me for my assistance in clothes and accessories, Dad.”

It seems that Bai Qili has gotten it all wrong, and Youning is having the time of her life making this mess worse, because he and Chusheng, they aren’t together!

Well... that’s not to say that Lu Yao hasn’t considered it, or stayed up in bed on sleepless nights worrying if he would ruin his friendship with Chusheng if he confessed. As soon as the fear and doubt comes, however, Lu Yao thinks back on all the things that Chusheng has done for him. The way Chusheng looks at him, the way he talks to him in that gentle, indulgent tone.

He must like him somewhat... right?

If it wasn’t for the words unspoken between them, Lu Yao would believe that every meal they had, every movie they went to, every walk they took together.. those were dates, but Chusheng hasn’t said anything.

The uncertainty has put them both at a stalemate of sorts, their relationship intimate but not official. They haven’t even once confessed to each other, and despite everything, Lu Yao cannot get rid of that niggling fear in his heart, that Chusheng is only being nice because they are the closest xiongdi ever, that Chusheng still wants to marry a woman like Tong Li...

“We’re... we’re not,” swallows Lu Yao, looking up. “Lao ye-zi, we aren’t-”

“Mnn,” Chusheng cuts in suddenly after clearing his throat loudly once, and Lu Yao feels his whole body go cold. “Let’s do that, Lao ye-zi. We should also discuss the betrothal gift with the Lu family.”

Gaping at Chusheng in shock, Lu Yao’s throat entirely dry, he croaks, “What-”

Chusheng is smiling at him, but it is the sight of that faint red blush on his cheeks that gives him away, that convinces Lu Yao that this man is serious and not making a cruel joke at his expense.

“You haven’t even-” Lu Yao protests weakly, “You didn’t even... also, why are you the one giving the betrothal gift?!”

“Do you want to give me the betrothal gift then?” asks Chusheng, leaning close. “I don’t mind. What’s mine ends up becoming yours anyway, so after the betrothal gift comes in, I’ll hand it all over to you. Was that your plan? Smart, my San Tu.”

Youning’s snickers are deafening on the side, while Bai Qili’s acceptance and approval is blinding.

“... no one is marrying anyone until we go on a date!” Lu Yao finally exclaims in an outburst.

His flailing hand is caught by Chusheng, and that’s when it finally sinks in. Chusheng is not joking. Chusheng is holding his hand in front of Bai Qili.

Chusheng wants to marry him.

“Anything you want,” Chusheng says.

---

All over a plate of jianbing guys!

*xiongdi - brother

*lao ye-zi - title to refer to the master of the house, usually an older person

*jianbing - chinese crepes!

*betrothal gift or pinli/caili - the guy is usually supposed to pay a ‘bride price’ when marrying his bride, and the money in some cases is provided by the guy’s family. in this case, if lu yao’s dad pays the bai family the ‘bride price’ for chusheng the ‘bride’, the money would probably end up going back into lu yao’s pockets anyway at the end of the day, which is a steal for him XD

---

~ from this list of prompts! ~

#mriad #my roommate is a detective #民国奇探 #chuyao #qiao chusheng #lu yao #ficlet prompts #ficlet

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robbyrobinson · 3 years

Text

GODS AWAKEN: CHAPTER 27

The mad emperor dashed at Camila at lightning speed faster than her eyes could perceive. Huge gashes were torn into Camila’s clothes from the razor-sharp teeth of Belos’s suckers. Camila desperately tugged at her attire to withdraw more parchment paper.

“You have gotten heinously slow throughout the years haven’t you, daughter?” Belos snickered.

Ignoring him, the middle-aged mother successfully discards a glyph from her shirt and slams it on Belos’ hideous face. He was propelled further away. Camila, with the parchment still in her hand, held it out defiantly. On the paper was a sketch of waves representing wind.

“Wind spell,” she stated in a matter-of-fact way.

Belos chuckled. “But your mind is as sharp as ever.”

Belos lifted himself off the ground with his abdominal tentacles and reclaimed his staff. He raised it skyward summoning a rumbling quake underneath the ground of the coliseum. The force underneath shifted its motion and erupted out of the ground sending dust and rocks in the air. The beast possessed a huge gaping maw fixated into a permanent scream and beady yellow eyes. It lunged towards the mother in relentless speed.

Camila grabbed another parchment from the spot between her chest and slammed it on the ground to activate it. She hadn’t foreseen any possible method of getting out of the way of the rampaging worm and even if she did, its frame was too colossal. The worm dipped down claiming the mother with its mouth and taking out a large chunk of the ground.

“How unfortunate,” Belos noted.

As he looked at the worm again, he was taken aback. Red flames flickered out of the sides of the worm’s body and burned it from the inside out. Belos flicked his finger uprooting roots from the ground to restrain his daughter. Brown, hickory roots wrapped around her waist and limbs slamming her with savage force. Belos waltzed towards her holding his hands out again. This time, the illusion of an axe was levitating above his head.

With swift motion, Belos clutched the axe and brought it down.

Camila breaks the root wrapped around her waist and rolled over. A swishing sound droned out and before Camila knew it, a small segment of her front hair was sliced away falling to the ground before her. Camila sighed in relief.

The brown-haired girl grimaced and pulled her wrists together breaking the roots between her hands. She ducked again when Belos brought the axe back down.

“Hold still, miscreant, it will only last a second.”

Camila rolled over thrashing her leg out. Her foot hit the handle of the axe and sent it sky high. The axe materialized before the two.

Another parchment paper rolled out this time Camila hit it with her foot. A wall of ice grew from the ground slicing off Belos’s tentacles.

“Gah!”

The Emperor’s weird alien blood dripped from the stumps of the tentacles and corroded the soil. “Not bad; a minor scrape nonetheless.”

New fleshy tentacles sprung from the stumps hissing and writhing towards the human woman. They opened their blood red maws showing off their razor teeth gnashing and clicking like needles. They shot at Camila again this time managing to make a hit on her.

Camila was knocked to the ground again. The papers were scattered all over. The middle-aged mother reached out her hand to grab one, but Belos’s staff stamped down on her exposed palm.

“Ugh!”

Belos laughed to himself again. Like before, his ribs scraped against each other as he laughed and wheezed. Gunk fell out of his mouth as his hold over his staff began to falter. “End of the line.”

Back at the laboratory, Luz and the gang finished up on their stockpiling of glyphs. Luz made a dash down the stairs to marvel at her work. “Do you think that should be enough?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s blow this joint,” Eda noted.

Luz looked around the laboratory again seeing all the boxes containing the enchanted armor. She grimaced still sensing the screaming emanating from the armors’ metal shells.

“Are you okay, kid?” Eda asked.

“Belos had created those suits out of the broken souls of witches; if we’re really doing this, I feel we should give some peace to the poor things.”

Eda scratched her chin. She sighed deeply. “Eh, fine.”

Eda entered her house casually throwing aside any of the unconscious bodies of the guards. There was a crashing sound and a few mini explosions, but the Owl Lady returned holding a few flasks.

“Edalyn, what are those?” Lilith asked concerned “and what is that purple substance inside of it?”

“The seeds of some poppy plant that I got from the swamp; just grind em up and light a match and voila...a magic bomb.”

She passed the flasks – about six in total – and also gave them a stick to grind the seeds into a powdery substance.

“Make sure to completely grind them otherwise the explosion fails.”

They pressed down hard on the seeds and scraped the smaller pieces counterclockwise until they were soft as feathers. “Typically takes about ten seconds to completely pulverize them.”

After the task was over, they poured the powder in a long trail leading towards the entrance. “Oh, so this is like gunpowder,” Luz said.

“Yes, Luz, it’s like ‘gunpowder’.”

Luz took one last look at the laboratory to soak in the knowledge of what she was about to do.

“You still want to do this, Luz?” King asked.

Luz nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Luz took a parchment paper containing the fire glyph placing it on top of the trail of powder. Gently pressing it, a small flame started and completely consumed the paper. As the flame grew larger it quickened its pace eating away at the powder. The trail of powder would ultimately come to an end once it connected with the crates containing the statues. Another trail led towards the portal machine and quickly ignited a large fire.

“We should leave now.”

Luz and the team met up with Amity and her siblings and dashed further down the halls. Large walls of fire licked at the powder seeking more to consume and destroy. The flames rose higher and higher now reaching the stairs.

Belos now had his hand wrapped tightly on Camila’s hair. Tugging it, he lifted his fist. Lightning flickered from his fingers. “It is a shame that you have driven me to this point.”

Camila scowled at him. “Enough with this talk. Do your worst.”

“With pleasure.”

Before he could strike Camila with the full brunt of his electricity, he was caught off guard by a sudden tremor.

“What in the-?”

A cloud of smoke spewed from his palace blasting chunks of debris skyward. The ground shook again at the further destruction. The explosion sent a wavelength leveling half of the palace and bringing the final nail in the coffin towards his laboratory.

Belos dropped to his knees. “This can’t be...how?”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Camila beginning to collect herself. He made a grab for his staff, but Camila batted it away.

“This cannot be how this all ends.”

Belos stood up and growled showing his large, inhuman teeth that were sharpened and crooked. His tentacles flailed around in disbelief. “My plan has failed.”

“What plan?” Camila asked “you already failed to execute me like you wanted.”

Belos turned and grit his teeth together. “That was only a small sample of my revenge.”

Camila raised an eyebrow.

“I had served the Isles for fifty years all for one purpose: when my master escaped from his prison, I asked him to destroy your world. But I saw that if I were to have summoned the Outer Gods to the Isles...”

“What that you’d become one?” Camila interrupted.

This elicited a shrill chuckle from the Emperor. “Close, but no cigar: when the gods would arrive from the portal, I would steal their powers and become all-powerful.”

“But what of your master’s plans?”

“I don’t care one lick about Nyarlathotep’s whole goal of destroying the Isles and recreating it in his image. It should be ME and me alone who could bend and mold the Isles to my liking. Once I became a god of my own design, I would turn on my master and kill him.”

“Oh, you mean with this?”

An irregular, bizarrely angled instrument sliced into Emperor Belos’s chest and ripped through his wicked heart. Belos coughed up purple pus which dripped down his chest. Belos wheezed in agony and turned around with bulging eyes. He saw the Black Pharaoh standing behind him holding the other half of the instrument in his hands.

“L-Lord...” Belos coughed again. His lungs were filling with his own blood.

“If you really wanted to kill me, you shouldn’t have shouted your plan out loud.”

“B-But...how...?”

“Don’t act like I did not know your true allegiances. You planned this for a long time ever since I noted that you had your own agency.”

Belos wabbled to his knees. His life was painfully draining out and flooding the ground.

“After all, I switched out the Shining Trapezohedron with a decoy after all.”

Nyarlathotep crossed his arms and looked down at his servant. Belos slipped off the instrument and laid sprawled on the ground. He covered his chest with his hand to placate the internal bleeding. “Please, master, give me another chance.”

“Oh, so now you’re being a loyal servant?” Nyarlathotep said rolling his eyes.

A dark mass descended from the Crawling Chaos’ body and became two dimensional as it slithered on the ground. Belos’s shadow grew larger from the waning sun and seemingly was trying to flee from the mass of Nyarlathotep’s shadow.

The shadow produced long, spindly fingers and grabbed onto Belos’s leg. Emperor Belos’s physical body was tossed on the ground and dragged alongside his shadow’s leg. Belos was pulled closer towards Nyarlathotep’s body.

“No, master please! If you do this, I will lose my personality. The very fabric of my being will cease to be.”

Belos clutched his tentacle appendages on the opposite sides of his body and jammed them tightly in the ground. “I’m sorry...please, please have mercy!”

Nyarlathotep’s shadow was that of a fisherman’s rod. It nudged the shadow’s leg a few times and loosened its grip. About two seconds later, enough time for Belos to relax, Nyarlathotep’s shadow tugged again, tighter this time and pulled Belos further.

“Have mercy!!”

Belos disappeared underneath Nyarlathotep’s garment. And it was then that the Emperor’s rule over the Boiling Isles came to an end for whatever made Belos himself was stripped away from him making him become nothing more but a memory. Camila shivered unsure of what to do or say.

Nyarlathotep smiled wickedly. “Let the game begin.”

#owl house #the owl house #emperor belos #belos #camila noceda #cthulhu mythos #nyarlathotep

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yilingradishfairy · 4 years

Text

Dying Leaf

Link to AO3 (1770 words)

Written for Day 17 of Untamed Fall Fest 2020 - Falling.

Summary: Wei Wuxian had thought he would have hit rock bottom by now. How much further can he fall? He has long since fallen from the high branch he had flourished on before. But he cannot seem to touch the ground yet, floundering desperately in the wind. His deeds during the war are like the final spectacular colors on dead leaves: impressive, yet they are only the vibrant marks of dying. His soul has surely withered away by now. He is tethered here by only a spare few. Though he cannot be the brother they want, he will watch over them as the protector they need. He will keep going until his body collapses.

Content warnings: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Whump, Emotional Whump, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Body Horror, Cannibalism, but like, Canon Compliant, Still, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Canonical Character Death

I have some feelings™ about that little ghost boy, so I covered the supervisory office scene in some detail. I actually pared it down quite a bit, and I don't think it's much more gruesome than EXR's translation. Still, please make sure you read the content warnings. We’re all responsible for what we consume on the internet.

He stands at the top of a mountain. He's almost surprised that he can stand at all. Wen Qing and Wen Ning left long ago, though Wen Ning wanted to wait with him. Wei Wuxian insisted that they had done enough.

It was enough.

He looks over to where his brother, his shidi, his sect leader lies. He kneels down to hover an unsteady hand over Jiang Cheng's lower dantian, reassuring himself for the twentieth time that it worked. The sacrifice was worth it. It was enough.

He stands again and notes the position of the sun in the sky. Jiang Cheng’s sedative will be wearing off soon. He stubbornly ignores the chill in the air, the one he would never have noticed a week ago, and sets off down the mountain. It feels like he left a part of himself behind.

He did.

Maybe this is for the best, he tells himself as he taunts the Wen soldiers. This way, Jiang Cheng will never find out. He forces himself to laugh in their faces. He dares them to kill him. And maybe I will come back to enact revenge. One vengeful spirit taking down this entire regiment. He spits onto their robes. What a perfect plan.

He's almost convinced them to do it. Instead, they haul him up, up, up into the sky. Higher even than the mountain he had just descended.

Then they drop him into the abyss. Into the mountain of forgotten corpses. Into the dreaded Burial Mounds.

He falls down, down, down.

Then resentful energy reaches up like a black fog, enveloping him completely, slowing his fall. The haze clogs the air so thickly, Wei Wuxian can hardly breathe. He chokes and gags on the thick hatred blanketing the entire area. It rushes into his lungs, crawls along his skin, and batters against his body. He reaches for his own spiritual energy to counteract it. To protect him. To keep it out. But there is nothing inside him but an empty hole.

The resentful energy rushes to fill it.

It's crawling into his nose, through his veins like liquid fire. It's oozing black hate into every pore. He hears whispers, feels hands, breathes smoke. The voices rise in volume until he can hear that it is his name. They continue to rise until they are shouts.

“What do you want?” he asks hoarsely.

The voices coalesce into one. “You.”

And he falls, even further.

Even once he lands on the ground, his descent doesn't stop. Piece by piece, every part of him falls away. Sloughs off like an old skin. He steeps himself in the thick, heavy miasma of the Burial Mounds.

All the souls left to rot here, all the stories with no conclusion, clamoring for a person to pour into. The general of that infamous war that led to the formation of the burial mounds. The countless soldiers slaughtered here. The untold multitudes carelessly dumped here in years since by the self-important Wens.

Wei Wuxian learns so many stories that he can hardly remember his own. The spirits feed him, protect him, gift him a dizi, promise him power. In return for being their instrument. Destroy the Wens, they whisper. Make them pay, they demand.

He travels up to the highest peak in the Burial Mounds. He shrouds himself in resentful energy, like armor. Then he marches down to the living world to begin his task.

He comes back to enact revenge, as he promised the Wens. But instead of one, he is many vengeful spirits, hunting down the regiment, one by one. The fierce corpses, though under his command, retain their individuality. Each Wen soldier is killed however their slayer deems fit. They fight over the ones that wronged them the most and mindlessly annihilate the rest.

Wei Wuxian brings a few select corpses with him to face Wen Chao.

The woman he had scorned and the little boy he had drowned.

"He starved you, boy?" Wei Wuxian asks. The boy nods his head jerkily, eyes fixed hungrily on Wen Chao's whimpering form. "We'll fix that," Wei Wuxian assures him with a pat on his ghostly shoulder.

Wei Wuxian lifts his dizi to his lips, but keeps his eyes open. He won't miss one second of his deserved revenge. He allows the woman and boy to do as they will, watches them hack Wen Chao into slices.

The boy tries to choke down the raw flesh but cannot. He chomps bitterly, stubbornly, until finally spitting it out in frustration. He beats his frustration on Wen Chao’s mauled, bloody leg, and the man’s mouth opens in an anguished scream. The boy freezes, and he looks up, into that gaping maw. He scrambles to tear off more of Wen Chao’s leg, and he shoves the meat into his open mouth. Wen Chao gags through it, but the boy claws his mouth open and forces more in.

Wei Wuxian thinks that he should feel disgusted. Or that he should feel victorious. Instead, he feels nothing. But it worked. The victory was worth it. It was enough.

Afterwards, he formally joins the Sunshot Campaign. It is strange to dine with the living. To converse with his brother and sister. To remember that he has not always been this empty husk, filled with the wishes of a thousand others and one shared goal. He had been Wei Wuxian. He had a place with these people who called him brother.

They try to draw him back in. To recreate the family they had been. But they cannot. He has been cut off from them too long, shriveling like a stale leaf, dead on the branch. The cultivation that they’re so worried about has been the only thing that kept him alive. This is what brought him back to them, though warped and deformed. It was his salvation on the Burial Mounds, and it will be their salvation from the Wens. He knows they don’t understand. He makes sure they won’t, that they will never understand the choices he made and the circumstances he endured. He knows that it was worth it. It was enough.

He has accepted that it will never be just the three of them, ever again. For he is no longer one, but many. And he keeps losing the thread of his identity. Wielding all those energies and stories and hate has a cost. He can’t sleep anymore. He lies down, but he doesn’t dream. Instead, he closes his eyes, and all he sees is them. He lives their stories every night. He feels their pain, their anguish, their rage. All of this borrowed energy swirling inside of him, clamoring for their vengeful conclusion.

So he stops lying down to sleep. Instead, Wei Wuxian steals off into the night, searching for Wen burial grounds. He marches down into countless graveyards, digging down and down to raise up a new horde.

He listens to every single corpse’s accounts. He internalizes all of their stories and uses them to his advantage. "They wronged you," he whispered. "You want to fight on our side." Some of them are persuaded. Some are so resentful, they don't care who they kill. Some rebel, and he simply drains their resentful energy into himself and leaves the husk of the corpse behind.

Before every battle, he amasses a great army with a single purpose. Annihilate the Wen. And annihilate they do.

He had thought he would have hit rock bottom by now. How much further can he fall? He has long since fallen from the high branch he had flourished on before. But he cannot seem to touch the ground yet, floundering desperately in the wind.

His deeds during the war are like the final spectacular colors on dead leaves: impressive, yet they are only the vibrant marks of dying. His soul has surely withered away by now. He is tethered here by only a spare few. Though he cannot be the brother they want, he will watch over them as the protector they need. He will keep going until his body collapses.

Though stated as a hyperbole, Wei Wuxian now knows his claim to be true. Falling to the ground in the midst of battle is far too dangerous to do more than twice, however. He wonders if there was a way to channel his resentful energy through a receptive object, to lessen the strain on his weakened body. He experiments for a few weeks before finding the answer.

The answer is yes.

But now he wishes he hadn’t asked the question.

He tells himself that it worked. The experiment was worth it. It was enough.

At least, the war is now over, and their vengeful goal is achieved. He releases his hold on the satisfied souls, now accompanied only by the stalwart. He continues to masquerade as himself, but he knows it won’t last long. He cannot stay. The living fear him too much now. He hopes that he can pass as Wei Wuxian long enough to see Jiang Cheng well established, and then maybe he can ascend to find peace.

It is not to be.

He must again cut himself off from the people he loves most. He is grateful to have had them as long as he has. But he has a new cause to champion. One that no one else is both able and willing to take up. He now wields his corpse army, not to destroy Wens, but to protect Wens. A branch of the Wen Sect guilty of nothing more than their name. He leads them up to the Burial Mounds, the only place he can protect them. He brings his corpse army home.

And he clings to that dead branch for two years. A dying leaf balancing on a condemned branch, bracing for the inevitable. He weaves winding tracks into the slumbering Burial Mounds, laying protections, buying supplies, and selling food. But he doesn’t realize. He is just one brutal mistake away from falling again. From falling and taking the whole tree down with him.

He stands there, at the end. He has already destroyed one half of his accursed seal; let them have the other. He backs up to the edge of the cliff. The bottomless pit yawns wide beneath him, beckoning darkly. The esteemed Hanguang-jun tries to save him, another bond he has severed. It’s not enough. Wei Wuxian has been falling and falling for so many years now. He wrenches his hand away, he loosens his grip on the branch, and he falls again. Finally, finally, he hits the bottom.

I love magic systems, and MDZS and CQL leave lots of space for headcanons. I've been trying to develop my own sense of how Wei Wuxian's demonic cultivation might work ever since I started working on a continuation of my You Ignite Me fic. I’m enchanted by the idea of a semi-sentient Burial Mounds. The tortured souls festering within, waiting for their chance for vengeance. Staking it all on one broken cultivator, keeping him alive, grooming him to be their instrument of revenge.

Credits to @words-writ-in-starlight (link) and @hunxi-guilai (link, link 2, and link 3) for the Burial Mounds feels and headcanon inspiration.

I hope you enjoyed this! Please let me know what you thought! Come yell with me about angsty necromancers ^_^

#untamed fall fest #mdzs fic #cql fic #the untamed fanfic #wei wuxian fic #my writing #dead dove #tw: cannibalism #cw: cannibalism #i haven't written in a while #so i'm really glad utff is back #but wow #this came out way darker than i intended #i just got imagery of wwx falling into the burial mounds #connected to falling FROM the burial mounds #and tracing that through the sunshot campaign #i love the imagery of falling/dying leaves #though you can probably tell i'm not a plant person #but then all my modao headcanons started pushing their way through

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terrorhqs · 4 years

Photo

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄; 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

you find yourself wandering to the clairvoyant’s tent as the night winds down. the seer is cloaked by darkness, by shadow, and they do little to beckon you forth as you sit. distantly, you hear the raucous laughter as a sovereign of fools is crowned in the theatre. brittle whispers from the clairvoyant before you steal your attention, and you turn your gaze forward to fix on the tarot cards laid out, onto the slender fingers splayed on top.

“how’s this all work then?” you start, chuckling nervously. “shall i pick one?” you’ve never had a tarot reading before. at home, you were fraught with nerves, fearful of what you may find in a dark parlor holding hands with tittering strangers. this feels different, somehow, as if anything that can be gleaned can be chalked up to a drunken dream - a mirage in the north.

you start to reach - a raspy voice stops you. it’s the clairvoyant’s voice, yes, but something is... strange. a tinny, echoing quality, lilting, as if his voice is experimenting with itself.

“what are you? by god, mercy,” he rasps.

“what?”

“men! help! agathe!” wailing and rasping. “it is swift!”

you stumble back, chair falling, just as darkness descends upon the entire carnivale. in an instant, a gust of infernal wind blows all the blazing torches out. there is but black and the light of the moon - and even this is meager guidance, half-hidden by pale, mordant clouds, veiled in a fog’s film.

when you look back, the figure is gone. the clairvoyant enters not a half-moment later, frantic to gather his paraphernalia and move on, ignoring your dazed befuddlement.

sailors are notorious for their superstitions, but the wardroom officers are quick to try and quell the hushed murmuring. what kind of northern wind kills the light of dozens of torches blazing unbidden all night?

“it is only the weather, sailors.” booms the captain from the theatre stage, naught but a silhouette, the cadence of his voice unhurried as it carries through the city of tents. “allow your eyes to adjust to the dark, follow the light of the moon out, calmly, and get to the ship. nothing to fear but the bottle-ache come morn. those able to escort the guests ought to.”

the orders are clear, and everyone shifts to begin shuffling out - until a cry rings out. one of the ship’s caulkers points to the caribou head mounted upon the wall, a prize from an earlier hunt. “i saw it blink! the head! i swear it!”

“do you dare incite hysteria? get ahold of yourself.” the captain calls, the promise of repercussion coloring his voice.

behind him, past the canvas, a shadow lurks in the moonlight. the silhouette is that of a man, perhaps a member of the crew listening in, still and silent and largely unacknowledged. then, it shifts. it morphs, growing in size, growing into something not human nor animal, its maw dwarfing the makeshift theatre. those facing the officers erupt into gasps and panicked yelling - to grab the guns, to get back onto the ship, towards shelter. but even those willing to face the beast, those who run out and round the tent to confront it - all they are met with is the chill, and footprints where it once stood.

elsewhere, there is chaos.

THE MARKED, lingering in the theatre when pandemonium strikes, spots what appears to be an apparition manifesting on stage in wisps and blurs. they cannot comprehend where its limbs begin and where the shadows end: it seems to melt inside them. it points, mouthing silently. THE HARUSPEX finds them in a state of terror, transfixed - looks towards the stage, and sees nothing. it is time to leave.

THE LOVER searches for her partner in the chaos, but runs into THE IDOL, who is struck by shock for reasons unknown and refuses to move even as they are pushed by the crowd. They keep whispering a name, like a prayer or mantra, one THE LOVER would have remembered in normal circumstances as being akin to the DEVOTED’s surname. THE LOVER is left little choice but to attempt to rouse them from their stupor.

THE INTREPID is among the first to guide the crew back to the ship, but in the disarray, is accidentally jostled as they near the docks, loses their balance, and falls into the shallow water that has grown colder in the night. THE SOCIALITE, mercifully, is nearby and notices, and is quick to pull them out and usher them to the warmth of the ship. each moment is critical.

THE ENIGMA, never without their arms, glimpses an amorphous shadow grow longer, taller, from inside the Hall of Games. Without wasting a crucial delay, an expert dancer on the floor between life and death, they take aim and fire through the canvas - only to receive a very human yell in response. on the other side of the tent, THE DEVOTED has only just been grazed by the bullet - but the wound, while shallow, flows.

The CAPTAIN has led the band of running people over onto the beach, only to find a stray outline dotting the shore - THE SCION. They have known each other well enough, but this is the first time they meet without the gild of their family status or an admiralty gala. It takes a moment to start speaking - but as they do, they notice something eerie. The sea, which had been a steady droning throughout their nights and days, falls quiet. From the water, a guttural, animal voice begins to shout.

Among all the supply crates unloaded off the ship, there is also THE PURSER’S ledger that found its way among the paraphernalia. They left in search of it shortly after the crowning of the topsy-turvy sovereign, and are in no small measure taken aback to see THE EMPRESARIO labouring over it in the dying lights. The candle in their hand barely illuminates their face. But when THE PURSER starts shouting for an explanation, the candle garners a life of its own - it flares in a white blaze before consuming itself in a fire, scalding flesh and paper alike.

THE GODKILLER, having accumulated their trove of stolen trinkets and treasures throughout the evening, stands apart from the crowd to assess their prizes - only to find they’ve gone missing. Did someone steal them back? Does someone know what they’ve done? THE DOE-HEARTED, calling for their uncle, runs into THE GODKILLER sifting through the dirt and rocks - only to see the massive shadow from earlier pass through the tents.

THE COMMANDER was still hacking away at the dregs of his dinner, sitting opposite from THE SHADOW. When the pandemonium begins, both heads turn with precision - only to see that their hands are coated in something treacle-red. Like molasses, it covers the plate and mess-table, stretching over and under their nails. Instead of sea-biscuits, the plates now hold raw, pink flesh. The SHADOW stares unblinking - his eyes seem to say: Do you see it too? The COMMANDER has no answer; they no longer know what’s there and what isn’t.

THE VETERAN is quick to prepare the ship, though some unease nags her, begging for attention. The realization brings a sharp sickness to stomachs - the ocean is silent. The waves below them still moves, but no sound can be heard, the stillness jarring. When she turns to THE NOBLE to confirm the silence, the girl is found glassy-eyed staring into the open sea through the won telescope, shaking. Any attempt at reaching THE NOBLE through her stupor is unsuccessful. When the girl finally returns in spirit, she cannot recall how or when she returned to the ship. The ocean is roaring.

THE CHRONICLER and THE CLAIRVOYANT are stumbling as they return to the ship, clinging fingers suddenly wrenched apart following a sharp yelp. Among them, a sizzling sound beings to pick up, then whimpering. They watch as angry burns swirl into runes pressed onto the seer’s skin, unseen fires melting wide paths from the boy before stopping right before the girl’s skirts, now-thawed ice leaving the water pooling THE CHRONICLER red-tinted and too viscous.

THE CHAPLAIN had accompanied THE WILDCARD in the maze of wonders shortly before everything precipitated. As they’re sat there mulling over Shakespeare’s dreams and nightmares, a very real terror materializes - with a smell of sulfur and a sputtering of electricity, the projector goes out. The band snaps clean in two. It should be over, but for several seconds, the images continue to move on the paper-wall, shapes deformed and liminal. Both priest and soldier can only gape as they struggle to make sense of it.

THE DOCTOR and THE ROMANTIC, in the meantime, have ventured to climb one of the tamer bergs. Atop, they can marvel at the vast expanse of the bay and the sea beyond - perhaps they can even glimpse their trajectory ahead. But further ahead, they see something - a ship parallel of the Promethean, from their perch, they can make out its name: Agathe. They see no lights onboard, hear no distant yelling - no signs of life. They refuse to blink, watching the ship disappear into encroaching fog.

The SONGBIRD has stumbled upon THE STOWAWAY, miles away from the rest of the revelry folk. when the murmur begins - at first they think it is the gravel shifting under a man’s boot. but then sounds begin to form: Hjælp os. Vis dit ansigt. Spoken over and over again. THE SONGBIRD, rendered desperate and death-white, begs the translator to explain what it means. No answer comes. The murmur doesn’t stop.

after a long and harrowing night, morning comes as if nothing was ever amiss. carnivale is as the crew left it the evening before - without its grotesque aberrations. the caribou head remains still, the projector has stopped, no shadows lurk in the canvas - only tents to be broken down and debris cleaned up remain. with little evidence of whatever machinations were at play the evening before, save for whispers and memory, there is still a voyage ahead. there are preparations to be done. there are new terrors to face.

therein lies our first plot drop, players! you’ll notice we have paired prompts, and we can’t WAIT to see how these play out on the dash! keep in mind that you are, of course, welcome to write interactions not outlined by the plot drop.

the timeline spans from midnight of the night of the carnivale to the end of the week, just before they set sail for the passage. you may write out events of the evening, where everything has boiled unto a point of chaos, or the morning after, or any of the days still left in their layover on land. in this time, the people of the Promethean may hunt for fresh meat and fish, attempt to accompany the icemasters in climbing the surrounding icebergs, explore the little town of godhvn, or study the natural flora and fauna.

#thqevent

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ladyideal · 4 years

Text

This is Us Chapter 3

Pairing: Legolas x OC!Reader

Word Count: 3414

Summary: When the One Ring was found, it becomes a journey across Middle Earth to destroy it. Watch as the Fellowship is formed, and crossed the continent, where loyalty will be tested, and love will blossom at the most unexpected places.

A/n: Look at that, 2 chapters in one week! This one is thankfully longer, same with the next one. And the next, and the next after that... Also the cave troll fight was a pain in the ass to write.

Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4

"The Mines are no place for a pony, even one so brave as Bill," Aragorn spoke the moment they arrived in front of the Doors of Moria.

"I'm gonna miss him," You spoke, watching fondly as the Ranger unhitched the pony's bridle.

"He'll be missed," The Ranger agreed.

"Buh bye Bill," Sam called out.

"Go on, Bill, go on. Don't worry Sam, he knows the way home," Aragorn spoke, watching as the pony clip clopped down the shore. By the time the Fellowship climbed from down the mountain, night had fallen.

Legolas sidled up to you. "Yare indóme tye nimeár- ilquen i tye're a Melain?" (When will you tell everyone that you're a Valar?)

You didn't answer, couldn't answer as Alena had shuffled up close to you at the exact same time the elf spoke. Not able to answer, you shot a glare at him and shook your head.

Not yet. Not this early.

"The Walls of Moria!" Gimli explained, halting in front of the doors. He frowned immediately when his axe clanged against the stone, not exactly knowing how to open the tall slab of rock. "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed."

"Yes, Gimli, their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten," Gandalf huffed out, tapping his staff too.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas rolled his eyes, making the dwarf grumble wordlessly. You shared a grin with Alena at the bickering.

"Now let's see. Ithildin-," Gandalf thought out loud. As the company relaxed, you watched as Frodo's leg splashed loudly into the pool of water just outside the supposed doors of Moria.

"Careful Frodo," Aragorn warned.

"It mirrors only starlight and moonlight," The wizard suddenly announced, turning to you with a knowing look.

You nodded, and avoiding Alena's questioning glance, looked up at the sky. Almost immediately, the dark clouds parted away for the moon and the stars above. For a moment, you let yourself be homesick as the lights in the night sky danced happily in their brilliance. The silver lines grew bright, outlying a door formed of two columns beneath an arch, with a star in the center.

"Wow," You heard someone say.

"It reads 'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter," Gandalf translated.

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry piped up.

"It's quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open," The grey wizard paused. "Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen!" (Gate of the Elves, open now for me!)

Nothing happened.

"Fennas Nogothrim, lasto beth lammen," He tried again. (Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to the word of my tongue.)

"Nothing's happening," Pippin frowned.

You too were stumped. One glance around the Fellowship, and you could tell that you weren't the only one.

"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves, Men, and Orcs."

"What are you going to do then, Gandalf?"

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words," Gandalf huffed out in annoyance.

Sitting on the shores of the water, the Fellowship sprawled around in relaxation. While Gandalf muttered different phrases, Merry and Pippin took turns throwing stones into the lake. Alena sat beside you, sharpening her sword, as you fiddled around with your arrows.

"Ando Eldarinwa, a lasta quettanya, Fenda Casarinwa" (Gate of Elves, listen to my word, Threshold of Dwarves)

"Stop Merry, Pippin," Aragorn ordered, observing the lake as it rippled.

"What?" The hobbits paused.

"Do not disturb the water."

"Oh, it's useless!" Gandalf sat down beside Frodo, done for the moment.

"Aragorn!" Boromir called out in warning, as the rest of the company glanced at the increasing ripples of the waters.

"It's a riddle," Frodo suddenly stood up. "Speak 'friend' and enter. What's the Elvish word for friend?"

"Mellon," Legolas answered.

The stone doors slowly swung open, rumbling deeply. Curiously, the Fellowship entered Moria through the newly gaping entrance. As the wizard reached into his robes, you stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Use mine, it'll glow longer," You offered a crystal.

Gandalf regarded you for a quick moment, but gently grabbed it from your palm. Placing a crystal into the top of his staff, the rest followed the wizard in. Aragorn followed last, casting one last distrustful glance at the water.

"Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin," Glimli excitedly spoke. "And they call it a mine. A mine!"

"This is no mine," Boromir slowly spoke. "It's a tomb!"

The light from the staff glowed brighter, illuminating the space around them. Cobwebs and bones covered every part on the floor, old and withering weapons littered around, dried blood could be found, and a filthy smell lingered in the air.

"Yuck," Alena muttered.

"Goblins!" Legolas examined an arrow from a fallen Dwarf, pulled it out, and casted it aside in disgust. The four Hobbits back towards the door. Something stirred in the water behind them.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan. We should never have come here," Boromir shook his head.

"Now get out of here, get out!" Alena shouted from the back.

The rest of the company ran for the door. Suddenly, Frodo was grabbed from behind and pulled off his feet by a long, snaking tentacle. "Help!!"

"Aragorn!"

"Frodo!"

The watching creature at the gate released Frodo, and feigned disappearance under the waters. Suddenly, many tentacles sprung out of the water, slapping the other Hobbits aside and grabbing Frodo around the leg. He was pulled out and over into the air.

You cursed, and headed back the way you came in, ready to help. Yet, Legolas was faster than you. He ran back out onto the shore and started shooting. One of his arrows pierced a tentacle that was wrapping itself over Frodo's face.

"Strider, help!" The hobbit cried out.

Boromir, Alena, and Aragorn rushed to the water and started attacking the beast. It flung Frodo wildly in the air. Despite the Fellowship's efforts, the Hobbit was lowered towards a gapping maw in the water, ringed by fangs, set in a gilled face.

Finally arriving, you joined in the fight, aiming your arrows towards its head, in a futile attempt to injure the fell beast. Aragorn sliced through the tentacle holding Frodo, who fell into Boromir's waiting arms.

"Into the Mines!" Gandalf roared.

"Legolas! Y/N!" The Captain called as he and the two Rangers retreated. Running with Frodo in his arms, he ran into the gates as as a huge tentacle uncoiled a hand-like appendage, snaking after them.

You and Legolas both aimed, and watched as the two arrows both hit their marks. With both eyes of the beast struck, it recoiled with a painful roar of pain and anger.

"Run!"

Needing no other encouragement, you pulled Legolas towards the entrance. As the sea creature reached out once more, it teared the gates shut. Slabs of rocks dropped and the roof of the passageway caved in. The Fellowship stared back at one another as the last rays of moonlight disappeared behind.

"We now have but one choice," Gandalf spoke as the group caught their breaths. "We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than Orcs, in the deep places of the world."

You sucked in a gap, understanding his words. Could there be older enemies from even all the way back when the First Age started? Nodding anyways, you followed the wizard as he started his trek. "How long does it take to reach the other side?"

"It's a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed," The Maiar answered quietly. You shook your head, it was going to be a long walk of silence filled with only your own terrified thoughts.

It was awhile, you didn't exactly how long had passed, before Gandalf halted the group in front of a cavern that led to a crossroads in the mine: three doorways loomed before them. The wizard glanced from one to the other and back.

"I have no memory of this place."

You groaned silently, but indicated for the company to sit and rest.

Seeing a small figure leaping from stone to stone, a startled Frodo walked over to where Gandalf was leaning against a boulder.

"There's something down there!"

You rose an eyebrow.

"It's Gollum."

"Gollum?"

"He's been following us for three days."

"He escaped the dungeons of Barad-Dûr!"

"Escaped? Or was set loose?" Gandalf eyed the creature. "And now the Ring has drawn him here. He will never be rid of his need for it. He hates and loves the Ring, as he hates and loves himself."

Some of the company, including you, watched as Gollum raised his head, eyes piercing through the darkness of the hall.

"Sméagol's life is a sad story. Yes, Sméagol he was once called. Before the Ring was found, before it drove him mad," The wizard quietly explained.

"It's a pity my uncle Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance!"

"Pity? It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo?"

"Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. Even the very wise can not see all ends," You spoke out from beside Alena, watching as the young hobbit studied the floor with a sudden interest.

"My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill before this is all over," Gandalf spoke over Gollum's songs. "The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many."

"I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened, Gandalf."

"So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, in which case you also were meant to have it. And that is an encouraging thought," Gandalf glanced at you again, but stood up. "Oh! It's that way."

"He's remembered!" Merry spoke.

As the Fellowship started down a dark stairway that the wizard pointed at, he placed his hat back on.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

You rolled your eyes at the words, but followed after Legolas to descend the stairway.

"Behold! The great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf."

His staff illuminated a giant stone hall with tall pillars and arched ceilings.The Fellowship walked forward and through the hall, peering around a column. Seeing a ray of sunlight shining through a chamber, Gimli gasped and ran towards it without another thought.

Bodies and weapons scattered about it. The Dwarf stopped and kneeled by a crypt in the center of the room. A shaft of light illuminated through. Gandalf peered curiously at the tomb's surface, while the rest of the Fellowship observed the white bones of dead dwarves and enemies.

"No! No! No!" Gimli wailed, sobbing.

"'Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.' He is dead then. It's as I feared," The wizard grimly translated the runes, looking around the small chamber.

Giving his staff and hat to Pippin, he bent down, and took a large and battered book from a corpse's hands. He opened it, clearing the dirt from its pages.

"They have taken the bridge, and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes," He read out loud, as Gimli peered up at the tall Maiar.

Pippin backed away slowly, as Gandalf continued.

"Drums, drums, in the deep. We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out."

You glanced nervously at Legolas, then at Alena, then back to the elf again. Even he held a grim look on his face as he nervously grabbed his bow as though for reassurances.

The silence was broken by Pippin. Curiously, he reached out and lightly twisted the arrow within the corpse. The skull slipped off, falling into the well with a resounding crash, dragging with it a chain and bucket. Gandalf whipped around at the sound, including everyone else and towards the guilty hobbit. Noise echoed from hall to hall far below, as Pippin winced at each wave of noise.

You groaned, and threw your hands up in defeat. The others shook their heads, and scowled.

"Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" Gandalf roughly slammed the tome shut. Pulling his hat and staff from the Hobbit's hands, he turned away. Pippin stood still awkwardly.

Until the drums sounded.

"Orcs!" Legolas notched an arrow as the team scrambled to get into position with their weapons.

"Hobbits, stay close to Y/N. Alena, with me," Aragorn ordered, drawing his own sword.

As Boromir rushed to the doors to have a look, arrows hissed into the door near his face. Too close of a comfort, as a matter of fact. A bellow was heard from just outside.

"They have a cave troll," He announced in sarcastic relief.

"Wonderful," You grumbled, grabbing an arrow from your back and readied your aim at the door.

Creatures began hacking the doors down. Weapons crashed through splintering spaces, creating little gaps just small enough for an arrow to sing through. When the first clear gap was gashed in the door, Legolas let go of his arrow, earning himself a shrill cry from the other side. The Elf quickly notched another to his bow as you shot another.

Suddenly, the fell beasts broke through and the battle begand. A wave of armor-clad Orcs charged towards the Fellowship, who happily engaged the Orcs head on. While you and Legolas pierced Orcs with your arrows, Aragorn, Alena, and Boromir smashed their swords against the enemy. Gimli caught one in the stomach with his axe.

With a loud roar, Gandalf launched himself into the fray with his sword, and the Hobbits huddled close to you, swords drawn and ready to fight. Aragorn beheaded an Orc, and black blood spewed forth. Suddenly Sam paused in the heat of battle, his attention drawn upwards.

"Here comes the cave troll, " Legolas shouted cheerfully beside you, as you and him sent endless volleys into the battle. You swung your head back to the entrance just when the cave troll smashed through the hallway.

"Thanks mellon," You replied cheekily. "Certainly enjoy being dramatic."

Legolas shot the cave troll in the shoulder, growling at your words, while the beast roared and clapped a hand to its wound. Sam continued to stare, frozen, as the troll swung his mace down at the Hobbit. At the last minute, he dived under the troll's legs and crawled in vain away as the troll turned, sighting him again.

"Sam!" You hollered, sliding protectively in front of the hobbit, shooting the troll's shoulders.

As the beast raised his arm to strike, he suddenly fell back. Aragorn and Boromir appeared behind the troll, pulling on its chains. Twisting its arm, the troll whipped Boromir across the chamber, landing in a recess of the wall, dazed.

You cursed under your breath as an orc towered above the Captain, ready to strike him down. When across the room, Aragorn slung his blade into the Orc's neck, and although still dazed, the Ranger pulled him up. While Gimli sliced the troll with his axe, Legolas stood in the corner, shooting another two arrows at the troll, forcing it to reel back in pain. Orcs streamed in, and you slid out your sword.

"Stay behind!" You called to the hobbits behind you. Whether they were behind you or not was one thing, but with the endless enemies, you could only do so much. The troll swung his chains above his head again at Legolas who dodged it. As the chain wrapped around a pillar, the elf shot the troll in the back of the head and jumped off.

As a result, the troll cringed, flattening its fellow orcs as it stumbled around in pain. Once recovered, The troll brought his mace down at the other Hobbits, causing them to jump aside. Now separated from Merry and Pippin, the troll seeked out Frodo, who tried to evade by hiding behind a pillar.

"Frodo!" Half of the Fellowship yelled, now fighting back in earnest to reach the hobbit.

Not being able to see him, it peered around the other side, causing Frodo to dodge out of its vision. Once it disappeared, the young hobbit carefully looked around the pillar. For now the troll was gone, and took a deep breath.

"Roar!" The troll blasted around the pillar, bellowing in Frodo's face. The Hobbit stumbed, and fell into a corner of the room. The troll grabbed him, and dragged him off of the edge of a recess. "Aragorn? Aragorn!"

"Frodo!"

Remembering that he still had Sting in hand, the hobbit wildly slashed the troll's hand. The fell beast instinctively dropped him to the ground, twisting his injured hand and staring at it. As Frodo laid on the floor, frozen in fear, his eyes widened at the impending doom.. It raised its mace and began to swing, but Aragorn leaped down into the recess as Legolas let go of his arrows aimed at the troll.

Although Pippin and Merry did their best by throwing stones at the troll's head, it swung his arm down. This time, hitting Aragorn, which sent him flying across the room.

With an oof, he collapsed onto the floor. Frodo raced after the fallen Ranger and tried to rouse him, but to no avail.

"Aragorn!" Alena screamed, pushing back the orcs with her dual bladed swords.

"Frodo no!" You echoed, slitting an orc's throat without another thought and trying to slog over where Aragorn laid.

The hobbit began to run, but the troll blocked his path with its spear, throwing him back. As if in slow mo, you and the company watched with wide eyes and half uttered screams, as the troll took aim and stabbed Frodo in the chest.

As the company stared in shock, the troll too seemed amazed at its own work.

Merry and Pippin glanced at each other and their faces appeared resolved. They leaped onto the beast, stabbing him mercilessly. "For Frodo!"

"Frodo?" Sam rushed to the fallen hobbit. "Frodo!"

Broken from their shocked trance, Aragorn, Alena, you, Boromir, and Gandalf fought with mad vigor in order to reach the Hobbit.

The troll flailed at its head and grabbed Merry, swinging him around and throwing him to the ground. While you, Gandalf, and Gimli took turns stabbing at the troll and dodging out of range, Legolas took aim.

With Pippin stabbing it in the head, the troll opened its mouth. Taking the chance, Legolas shot his arrow upwards and into the brain. With a long, pained moan, the troll collapsed to the ground, finally dead. There was a moment of silence as the remaining enemies fled.

You rushed to Frodo first before anyone else did. Gently, Aragorn rolled the hobbit over, but immediately stilled as he gasped for breath.

"He's alive!" Alena exclaimed. With that announcement, the company sighed in relief.

"I'm all right, I'm not hurt." Frodo croaked.

"You should be dead! That spear would have skewered a wild boar," Aragorn sheathed his sword away.

Gandalf hummed in agreement. "I think there's more to this Hobbit than meets the eye."

Slowly, Frodo lifted his shirt up. Immediately, the mithril chain mail shirt glimmered in the faint light. You raised an eyebrow at the surprise.

"Mithril! You are full of surprises, Master Baggins." Gimli gasped, taking in the familiar substance that his race grew rich upon.

"Hate to disrupt," Boromir cut in, at the broken doorway again. "But there are still orcs here."

Faintly in the background, you could hear the movements, and the Fellowship straightened up. After Aragorn pulled Frodo to his feet, he turned to Gandalf.

"To the bridge?"

"To the bridge of Khazad-dûm!"

Permanent Tags: @asraime @mournthewicked

Taglist is open for those interested!

#this is us #series #legolas #legolas x reader #lotr #tolkien #deb writes

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of-forossa · 4 years

Note

"Don't look at them--" The words are little more than a frantic whisper upon weary lips. A gloved hand grasped his chiseled jaw, firm to the shape. Her lengthy fingers held fast as she turned his head with as much gentleness as she was capable; and it was then that she pressed her forehead to his. Breath quivered between straining words, swallowing hard, "Brom. Stay with us-- with me." The break in her voice was clear-- she too could hear the beckoning of an all consuming and beastly frenzy.

Once more, another Blade is broken. Their steadfast faith shed in favor of the sweet ignorance found in blood, the damning light of insight snuffed out for the cloying heat and heady darkness of a formless father’s embrace. Once more Brom has cut down another sworn-sword, another saint, another brother-in-arms turned dreaded beast turned fresh corpse before his own blade. Another radiant badge clutched in a shaking fist to join the others, plucked from matted fur with a prayer he cannot recall the words to in the name of a faith he cannot muster in the face of this night’s horrors...

Kneeling in the still steaming blood, the hands Brom have held together in parting prayer and final rite throb without warning, twitching and flexing beneath the crumbling of his will and the weariness of his spirit in surrender. That freshly plucked badge slips from those hands as they bulge and break, the radiance soaked in blood as he cries out, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain and grief that refuses to lessen. “Oh.” He stares down at the wet pulp of what used to be his forearm as though he’s looking through it. As though the bones snapping, shifting, gleaming uncomfortably white against the red weren’t his. There’s a sharp laugh, a choking sound caught between a sob and a chuckle as he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes as he slumps into her fearful embrace. “Oh dear, Helena. I think this is too much for me.”

Beneath the watchful gaze of the pale moon, witnessed by gods who cannot comprehend the frailty of men and by the beasts they’d made of them fleeing from unwanted truths, Brom forsakes enlightenment for blood and for a moment teeters into the depths of an abyss born from his church’s holy machinations.

Her comfort is not enough to chase away the transformation, the warmth of her words and the kindness in her touch not enough to stop the Oedon in him from coming out. That chiseled jaw shudders against her hand, shakes... then splits with a howling of hideous pain, cracks with a horrific breaking of bone and splattering of gore. The insides of the fractured mandibles are lined with cruelly curved fangs, and they snap and clench together as though imagining some hapless prey being crushed and crunched within the now gaping maw. From between them slithers out the length of a macabre tongue to lap up the still pouring blood, twisting and writhing like a serpent to drink up his own spilled life. His sobbing becomes a whimpering snarl, deepening and coarsening with every sound of pain into something reminiscent of thunder on the horizon’s edge; a noise that thrummed within one’s bones and stoked that primal fear deep within the hearts of all men with its menace even as it mourned rather than raged....

What jagged remnants of his expression that are still remotely human reside solely within the misshapen embers that burn in place of his eyes now closed, the reason of the man utterly surrendered to the despair of the beast within. Monstrous forehead pressed flush against hers fiercely, gnarled claws digging trenches into the otherwise unyielding cobblestones beneath them, those curved fangs meant to tear only tug at the cloak she wears and the maw meant to swallow men whole hangs open only to whimper against the loss his rational mind could no longer bear to face. When all is said and done, when the gods of Yharnam are at last satisfied with their reshaping of his flesh, the great head of the beast is planted face down before her, the weight of his forelimbs laid by her sides and the gnarled lengths of his claws curled towards her.

The quiet, near whispered words slither out from between that fractured maw, malformed by blessing bestowed upon those most faithful to the blood. “Only ye... are the true blades... of the Church...” The tips of those claws curl further, tugging just so at her robes as though seeking solace during this broken, keening prayer. “Proud hunter... of the Healing Church...”

#derjaegermond #verse; holy blade ( bb. )#body horror tw;;#// hmmmmmmm this has been waiting long enough methinks #// brom is fantastically ugly as a beast #// very nice #// sometimes you just gotta GIVE IN and GRIEVE because humam reason is so so fragile and the beast does not need to fear for tomorrow #// the beast is not fettered by logic or morality but by the most base desires; to eat and sleep and cry out when in pain

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burninbodies · 4 years

Text

The Ritual of Ascension

“Did you find it?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” A look of satisfaction creeps across Mordecai’s face as he continues, “now,” he adds, “we must burn it.” I see a smile growing upon his lips as he turns and walks away to prepare everyone for the ritual. Not even Mordecai can maintain his composure in the face of his excitement. But I cannot fault him, it has been six failing years since we began our search for the artefact. Many years before that worshipping falsities hoping to find truth, when the truth was down a much different path. Now, we have found the gate to that path, all we need to do is open it and traverse our way to true salvation. My heart races at the thought of what will transpire shortly, all my brethren and sistren becoming one with Him, becoming a part of Him. I smile, as I do not need to conceal my emotions, and go to join Mordecai.

The air around the temple grows uneasy with the anticipation of what is to come, everyone is eager to begin the ritual, all the years of waiting is finally over and even I feel impatience welling up within me. Soon, the pyre will be complete and upon it, the artefact, with its unnatural angles, and grotesque imagery; will sit waiting to fulfill its purpose. It was no small feat locating and acquiring this device, and I lament to see the fruits of that work reduced to a charred frame only because I was ignorant to its fate. But its much greater purpose vastly outweighs any grievances I might have had in my life, as our efforts shall let us live in eternity.

“Vania.” I turn to find Mordecai, his stern gaze fixed upon me. “It’s time,” he continues as he motions for me to follow him. I do so without hesitation, allowing my eagerness to flow forth and consume my actions. My heart races, I can feel it in my throat, I can hear it in my head pounding at the back of my eyes, trying to break free. I follow Mordecai to the gardens, equidistant from every corner of the temple and open to the night sky, so that He can greet us in open view. I turn the corner into the gardens, and I can see the pyre, its tremendous girth sitting in the center, the stygian artefact perched upon it waiting for us, gazing down at us. Nothing on Earth can describe its visage or the form it claims, the grotesque physiology is a trick of the sight, looking different at all angles. The cyclopean base even more perplexing, the angles it presents seem to be acute yet obtuse, tetrahedral yet cuboid, nothing of Euclidian geometry, nothing of this world. You could feel your sanity slip the more you gazed upon it, the more you tried to see what was not there. It is incomprehensible to those from this plane of existence.

Mordecai gathered us all before the pyre and as we all looked upon him with the artefact looming above, he began to speak, “After many years, the time has come for us to realize our true purpose. Our time on this plane has ended, it is time for us to ascend into greater existence beyond all that is or will be, we shall begin our journey to live in eternity, to become one with each other and with Him! Our great Father, the guardian of the gate! The past, present, and the future; all are one in Yog-Sothoth!”

“All are one in Yog-Sothoth!” Everyone shouted, I could feel their energy flowing through the grounds, a new-found excitement soared in me as we all began shouting His name. This is the beginning of our emergence as one in Him. This is the beginning of our new journey as our shouts became chants and we circled the pyre, Mordecai remaining in the center. He plucked a torch from the stand and raised it high, I could see the flame gleaming in his eyes, the shadows dancing across his face. We quieted down as he turned to the pyre, silence stuffing our ears.

“Father! Come to us and be pleased with what we offer, take us into Your everlasting embrace so that we may be one with You in eternity!” Mordecai shouted and shoved the torch into the oil-drenched wood. The fire roared and swirled around the artefact, consuming it, then died down quickly as the strangest thing started happening. The artefact did not char, instead the stygian statue burned a bright hue. At first, I thought I knew what it was but the more I looked the more I could not identify it. I realized the other-worldly color was nothing any human has gazed upon before, and it was burning brighter by the second. I started to hear some of us begin chanting again as the fire rose and the statue burned ever brighter, and soon we were all chanting.

“All are one in Yog-Sothoth!”

I began to feel the energy of the others flowing through me, it felt as though we were all of the same mind, sharing the same thoughts, sharing the same body. I no longer felt like I was an individual, but of one being composed of many. I was consumed by the energy, I felt compelled to continue not because of the ritual but because we were all a collective, our bodies and minds had accepted each other with no discrimination. Our dream was no longer fantasy, and this was only the beginning. Soon, we would be accepted into the arms of infinity, where our minds and body will truly fuse as one.

Suddenly, a loud crack came from the sky, I was brought out of my trance and focused my attention to the stars, awaiting His arrival. Lightning spider-webbed overhead and the black night lit up as it began to rain. We were all silent as the rain battered our heads and the artefact continued to burn ever brighter, our gaze fixed upon the sky. A moment passed as the rain began to fall harder and the burning artefact began to die down until it was a glowing ember. I began to think we had made a mistake, and something went wrong, I looked to where Mordecai was and could barely see that he was not there. I looked around panicking trying to find him, my heart was in my head again and I could tell others were starting to feel the same way. Then came a loud boom from overhead and a streak of lightning lit up the sky once again. I looked up and there he was, Mordecai was suspended in the air being held by a fraying tendril. I looked beyond Mordecai…

And saw Him.

My mind seared like a hand on white-hot metal and my eyes boiled until the pain was too much and I clamped them shut. His form was beyond human comprehension that even my sanity and physical form could not handle to look upon it. I heard others cry in pain.

In the instance I managed to gaze upon Him, He spanned the sky itself, a gargantuan mass with no end or beginning. I could only describe His body as a tangle of tentacles that bifurcate again and again, smooth blobs of red and brown flesh that serve no purpose other than to horrify, and eyes—there were eyes everywhere. He was more than I had ever imagined Him to be, all the passages I read of Him could never encapsulate the true experience of what He was. And understandably so, because even my pathetic attempt to describe something so beyond words serves Him no justice.

But He was beautiful.

No one moved, we only waited to be carried into His embrace, and He obliged swiftly, lifting each of us up into His eternity.

When I felt His touch for the first time, I began to feel a maddening effect take hold of me, like my body and mind was splitting into several instances. I observed myself ascending into the air, and I could see others as if they were right next to me, but I still held one vessel. My mind could see into the others being carried, melding our thoughts together making them incomprehensibly coherent. I could sense everyone was perplexed with the process and I could feel it concede into acceptance as He took us further.

We opened our eyes and brought our gaze upward to Him, we no longer feared the pain, yet none came, He has allowed us to gaze upon His magnificence. We were getting so close, but our comprehension of His form had not advanced, He now looked similar to a fleshy nebula as if we were looking through Him and into the cosmos, bright shining stars here and there. We flew upward until He brought us close to a blob of His cosmic flesh, a cluster of stars seemed to be suspended there, infinitely close, and infinitely far. Until it was not flesh anymore as it began opening into an infinite blackness. A small dot at first, dilating with growing vigor, the stars giving way to this vicious void. Soon, we realized it was one of His astronomical eyes. His attention was fixed beyond us.

His gaze snapped to meet ours and the strength of His ethereal grasp could be felt tightening around our mind, probing the innards of our consciousness. It felt as if the atoms of our brain were being rearranged and spread throughout space. We felt a tugging, invisible threads pulling over the entire surface of our body. We did not move, instead we felt a strange disconnect and our vision dissolved into black as He changed us to His will. We could feel reality melt and transform around us and as our vision returned and the gaping void that is His eye came into view, a new image appeared: Earth. But Earth was not in front of us as He had remained, it seemed to be all around us, only He seemed to occupy a fixed area of space. Once we realized this, we noticed that the Sun was also visible, as was Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. The entire solar system was within our vision, able to be observed simultaneously.

We felt his grip once more, shockingly more powerful than before and paralyzing the being He had made us into. Surging energy as thin as a needle shot through what we perceived to be our body repeatedly. We could feel our consciousness being manipulated once again as we spread out further into space. We did not lose our vision as we did before, instead He directed our attention into the infinite depths of His eye. The gaping maw grew until we were just a drop of water in an ebony sea of ancient cosmos. We could feel his grip tighten and he pulled us forward into His void, swallowing us. As we ascended through Him, a visual sea surrounded us. Nebulae emanating the same hues as the artefact, which were unnatural and strange before, became clear and welcoming. Lines of shimmering white light stretched in all directions, they did not block our sight and seemed infinitely close yet could not be touched. Our sight had remained as before but had grown to colossal scale. As we focused our thoughts, we discovered we could spread our sight farther than just solar systems. We could see entire galaxies all at once, then galaxy clusters, until we could see entire superclusters. Eventually, our sight covered the entire universe.

Everything felt familiar like we had known all our lives of these things, yet we were seeing them for the first time as we moved through Him. Images that a creature would never see in an evolutionary cycle. We could sense our journey was almost complete, our ascension to become one with Him was ending.

A strange calm washed over me like a gentle wave on the beach, I was no longer in His grasp. By bringing me into Him, He spread me throughout the universe and even beyond that of space and time itself, into all that encompasses existence, into all that is and will be. Truthfully, I am existence: A Singularity of Consciousness, a God. Surrounding me was blackness speckled by infinite flickering stars, a typical night sky on Earth. Unlike on Earth, each of these stars was an isolated universe with its own collection of infinite stars. Some of which will have life orbiting around it looking up at their own night sky, wondering what is out there and hoping that one day it will all make sense.

In the silence of my thoughts, a noise that was not of my doing began; a faint sound that should no longer be possible within this plane. It sounded like laughter muffled by water. I struggled to make it go away and a pinprick of terror sprouted in my consciousness. This should not be happening; nothing should be out of my control. The sound grew and echoed within my mind and so did the terror inside me as I realized it was not laughter I was hearing; but screams. The screaming reverberating inside my mind was unbearable, I could not focus on anything. I began to feel a tugging coalesce somewhere along my consciousness, my vision became clouded, I could no longer do anything but listen to the cacophony inside my mind. I felt Him grip my mind once again and was pulled from my newfound existence back into space and time. I could feel my mind squish and twist under His grip, exploding as dozens of consciousnesses were forced from me; blinding pain surged all around me as colors intermingled and flew by me. Of all the knowledge and power that was given to me by Him, only a husk of memory remained as I found myself screaming into the abyssal depths of His eye, once again back on Earth.

Immediately, the origin of the screams became apparent as I looked around and saw my people struggling to break free from Him, some already limp in His grasp. My connection to them had been painfully severed. I could distinctly hear Mordecai’s helpless wail and my heart began to thump harder in my chest. But it was pointless to panic or to struggle to get free, if He could take away your existence as a Singularity, the power of a God; then who am I to hope to escape His grasp? I looked around at my people, some flailing dead in His movements, some still fighting; screaming, and accepted my fate. My last thoughts were of Mordecai as I felt His grip slowly tighten around my chest and the screams of those around me rattle in my ears.

#fanfic #cthulhu mythos #horror #scifihorror #science fiction #writing #short story #fanfiction #cosmic horror

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legenddeathed · 5 years

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@rakkoran asked: atreus fell asleep in lula’s cottage, but he woke in a dark forest. ‘ this must be a dream, ‘ he thought, he looked down and his next breath was caught in his throat. his torso was torn open, the wound from aatrox’s blade was reopened, gaping, atreus could see the grass beneath him through the hole in his torso. but there was no blood, just an open cavity. he heard a snap in the ring of trees around him, and he turned his head towards the sound, “ if you’ve come to kill me, it won’t be easy. “

some say the forest is a gateway to another dimension...

When the Pantheon came before the Kindred, he raged against it. A god cannot succumb to something as mundane as Death! He said words unbecoming of an Aspect---things that told he forgot who came first. He said things such as “how dare” and “do not”, told them things such as “it presumes” and “it cannot”.

“Fleshling,” Wolf rattled then, teeth bared in impatience. He sounded disgusted, as if forced to utter some repulsive swear. The Pantheon bristled and sneered at this insult. He was no human, he was an Aspect! The Aspect of War! The Aspect of Destruction! The Aspect of Savagery!

But war is a fleshling’s game---the Kindred knows. Destruction is a fleshling’s trade, and savagery is a fleshling’s mark. And the refusal to die---that was a fleshling trait, through and through. “Without the fleshlings, who would worship you?” The Pantheon could not answer this in a way that was satisfactory for the Kindred. And, in the end, it chased the Pantheon down like it had all the rest of them.

“You have led many to the Kindred,” Wolf said to him. “Now, you follow them.”

The furious echoes of the Pantheon still ring along the edges of Wolf’s black teeth. The Kindred can hear it clearly. But the fleshling known as Atreus does not hear it in this clearing. The Kindred stands at attention, one white and stark against the gloom and the other dark and inky and blending into its backdrop, as he appears.

It is silent in the clearing, without color or smell or taste in its air, and it is eerily still. Wolf seems to be the only thing that moves here, body rippling like water from a nonexistent wind. Lamb, in turn, is cut from marble: even the fine tips of her fur stand stony, untroubled and unruffled. There is no sound here, save for the sound of Atreus’ own heartbeat---does he even have a heart here, what for the wound in his chest? Do hearts beat in the realm that is wholly the Kindred’s own?

At his words, Wolf snarls, displeased, but it is Lamb who speaks. “The Kindred does not kill,” she says. “Only the fleshlings do this---killing.” Lamb wraps her voice around the word as if it is foreign and unwieldy. “The Kindred is the final resting. The gift.” This is a statement beyond that of belief. It is truth.

“The Kindred brings the fleshling to its place for a different reason,” Lamb continues in her soft way---the way that feels like cotton but chills like ice. Despite the quiet of her voice, it rings clear and true like a bell across the entire clearing. In a blink, the Kindred reappears directly before Atreus. She lifts one delicate arm and points with a fine finger towards the center of the wound in his chest.

“The Pantheon,” she says as if this explains all.

“The Pantheon!” Wolf agrees in a rancorous laugh, wrapping around Atreus’ shoulders, curling the tip of his tail around Atreus’ chest and through the hole in it. “The Kindred greeted the Pantheon! The Kindred chased him!” He gnashes his teeth as if demonstrating, and indeed, somewhere in the farthest recesses of the mind, an outraged cry seems to ring, hollow.

“The Pantheon is dead, now,” Lamb continues. “But the Pantheon is required.” She does not say why. Does the Kindred even know why? It matters not; the Pantheon existed as an Aspect since the beginning, and it will exist as an Aspect until the end---in some form or another. There is no “why”, simply “is”.

“The fleshling held the Pantheon in its body. The fleshling is suitable to continue to carry the Pantheon.”

“Worry not, fleshling,” Wolf presses closer, smelling like rot and growth at the same time. Low rumbles sound from somewhere in his chest, vibrating, apparently entertained. “The Pantheon that the fleshling knows will not occupy you. Rather, you will be the Pantheon now. It is so.”

“This is beyond choice,” Lamb tells him. "Of your choice and the Kindred’s. The Kindred only knows its duty. The Kindred believes the fleshling may understand something of duty.”

“Loyalty,” Wolf elaborates, voice rolling like warm thunder in Atreus’ ear. “Devotion. Love. Yes, the Kindred knows of duty---and other things.”

“The Kindred only appears before you to give what was taken,” Lamb says. She now moves her finger from the hole in Atreus’ chest to Wolf, who untangles himself from the fleshling and stretches himself flat against the ground. At the point of Lamb’s finger, Wolf’s mouth opens---wider and wider, impossibly large, until it is as tall as Atreus sitting in the clearing. But his mouth is empty, and it is black---infinite and completely dark. Darker than night, darker than blood. Deftly, silently, Lamb lowers her arm and drifts forward into that mouth, that cavern. The purity of her white is swallowed by the absolute black of Wolf’s maw.

Wolf lays at attention, mouth gaping open and totally still. Presently, the blue lights of his eyes roll in their sockets to stare at Atreus. And, inexplicably, no matter how impossible what with how his mouth is stretched, he unmistakably grins---broad and wide.

Lamb reappears after some time---or perhaps in no time at all. In her hand is one shining, brilliant arrow that seems to hum with energy. It ripples the very reality around it, like flames might disturb the air, and seems to tinge the grayscale backdrop of the Kindred’s clearing with the faintest of red hues. As Lamb steps away, Wolf snaps his mouth closed and, in a rush of black cloud, wraps himself around Lamb’s slender shoulders. He is large where she is small, but somehow, he looks as if he fits perfectly there.

Lamb wordlessly nocks the arrow in her bow. It vibrates there, as if anticipatory. Excited. Eager.

“The Pantheon,” Lamb says by way of explanation. “Taken from the last. Given to the next. Yours now, fleshling.” She does not wait. She looses it into the space in his chest. There is light, then darkness, and then---nothingness. Nothing as Atreus is expunged from the Kindred’s realm, its duty complete.

“And when you arrive here next,” Wolf laughs, voice rich and mirthful with promise, as Atreus slips away, “the Kindred hopes you will, indeed, not make it easy...”

#jan is back!#answered asks.#interactions: the kindred #drabbles #drabble: the kindred #rakkoran

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zaheela · 5 years

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......WHY DID I THINK WINGS WERE A GOOD THING?!?!? SO MUCH WORK Anyways, This ideas been floating in my head for a while. Not sure how it’d work out, but let me have my little bouts of insanity.

“Ha, so now what. Isn’t it your duty to save the helpless, Red?” Mercury taunts, praying she falls for it. His leg crushed, wings always in poor shape. With the room collapsing, he has no way to escape and he’d be damned if he just died quietly. He recalls the early days, with her too wide eyes and ill-placed second guesses, though it also comes to mind what happened in Mistral, her own words declaring her intent to shut him up. It makes him wary, but she is his way out of a no win situation. “What?” She asks, as if offended. He laughs and motions to his leg. “You’re some hero right, well I’m not going to be able to get out of here on my own…’ His throat closes as she stands up straight and stares at him, lips pressed tight. He recalls Emerald’s illusions for Cinder, the weak pitiful, mewling thing, and he can’t help but think it is the furthest thing from the truth right before him. No, now he can see the strong leader, soul forged in fire, adventure, and agony, a woman whose seen too much and would be very willing to leave him here to die like a dog. Chills creep down his spine, because he can tell that mere words like innocent and delusional cannot be used with her anymore. She towers above him a look of pity on her face, before kneeling down and lifting one arm over her head and pulling him up. She doesn’t look back at him, too insignificant to be more then a foot note. “…Even though it is the right thing to do, don’t assume anything… Too many important, precious moments and people drive me forward. No matter how sad they make me feel, they’re a part of me now, and you don’t deserve to be on the same pedestal as them. You aren’t going to haunt my dreams. So get up, we’’re getting out of here, I have other things to do.” She shifted his weight a little, before taking a calming breath. “Don’t hold your breath and don’t bite you tongue.” Staring up at the patch of sky above, she crouched, and kept her hands steady.

Ruby’s Semblance encompassed all she touched. From an absurdly over-designed war scythe to the living muscle that was Nora, so long as she allowed herself to hold on, then it would be possible to carry them both out of the tower. Part of her wanted to leave him, it would not be the first death nor the last. She knew that she had killed others, inadvertently at least. She wasn’t as naive enough to think that the faunus in the tunnels had all survived back at Mountain Glenn. There was blood on her hands of strangers whom she didn't even know the faces of, but she knew his face, his voice, his sarcastic tone. It would linger in the back of her mind, like a buzzing fly; Yes there was always a chance this would backfire, but the risks were outweighed by the peace of mind. With only a second thought, she let her aura pass through and wrap up his cold void. Slowly, Ruby exhaled as she could feel her aura bubble up in her chest, and with a powerful flap of her wings, the world’s colors became dull.

Mercury couldn’t help but marvel as the world seemed to slow and the light fade as she leapt up the tall shaft, petals drifting around them lazily as if escorting her. Up, down, left, right, the direction didn’t matter anymore as she twisted and turned through the debris, sometimes moving so fast the pillars of wood seemed to curl around them instead of the logical other way around. Those small wings twitched and the one on his side pressed him closer as the once distant sky grew closer, and he could feel her aura grow thicker as she pushed her semblance further. The feeling of it dancing on his skin was both surprising and instinctively comforting. He would of honestly assumed it to be either too hot or cold, but it was warm. Like the sun on a perfect spring day, warming him to his core. Stomach turned, he grit his teeth as the sensation of life and comfort continued its embraced, until she broke through and reclaimed the sky, great wings snapping wide and they floated in the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced down at where the airship he and the rest of his villainous band had arrived in was, only to find it missing. He shouldn’t of been too surprised, Tyrian would of naturally assumed him dead, dragging a weakly protesting Emerald away. It was more then he could expect; Salem’s will had done a fine job of corroding her will until she had been cowed into following orders when pressured, and Tyrian was a sadistic bastard. His own wings ached to glide on the breeze, but then the warmth shattered, ripped away as she landed. Dropping him, she moved away, placing several steps between him. Her back was turned, wings tucked against her back, and he could feel his rage simmer at her indifference. The scythe unfolded as she found what she was looking for and chopped a thick, sturdy birch branch from a tree. She tossed it at him, his own reflexes kicking in to catch it. “That should be good enough to make a peg leg. Do you carry a knife with you?” She asked, leaning against her weapon as if relaxed, but he could tell by her shoulders she was ready for him to make one wrong move. “Why would I need one of those?” He asked spitefully, though it occurred to him after the words left his mouth that any good survivalist would carry one. She gave him an oddly Schnee like roll of her eyes, huffing in annoyance as she reached under her skirt, the leather sheathe briefly flashing against a pale thigh, before she threw the small pocket knife at him. It was too small to do any noteworthy damage against any aura owner, but it was well cared for and sharp enough for him to hack away at the wood. Occasionally she twitched, lips pressing tight as if smothering a comment or suggestion, but remained quiet, thankfully. Rough substitute hacked out, he gave her a annoyed look, to which she motioned to him to throw the knife back. Once the tiny thing had been exchanged, she lifted her skirt, pulling the leather belt off her leg and pulling the case off its harness before tossing the sturdy leather his way. With a grunt, He tested the stability of the temporary limb. Not the sturdiest thing, but it’d do; A better alternative then hopping through a forest on one foot. Now the problem was the forest and whatever god forsaken creatures dwelled in it. Once they went their separate ways, he could hopefully use his scroll to notify the others of his survival or find a town to hide out in, but what if he was attacked before he…

The floor shook as if to flip him the bird. Ruby jumped as well and launched herself into the tree line, hugging the treetops as she scouted for the source of the noise. When she landed hard next to him, he could tell whatever she had seen was close and well aware of their presence. She said nothing for a moment, hand gripped tight on Crescent Rose, before taking a deep breath and moving forward, placing herself between him and whatever was moving towards them.

“If you are going to run, then do it when I attack. It’ll buy you time.” Her words were uncharacteristically uncaring and every warning bell in his head was screaming that it was a trap. She had no reason to think letting him go would be better then protecting him right? Besides, he wasn’t some helpless sap, he was a trained killer. Granted hobbled, but it wasn’t in him to go down quietly anyways. “Bullshit.” He grunted, leaning against a tree. Again, he was thrown for a loop because this time she turned her head, her expression one of pure dumbfounded confusion. She had clearly expected him to bolt, not stand his ground.

“Can you still fight?” She asked, biting a lip. Mercury could almost see the hamster wheel in her head kick into overdrive as the tree line started to him and the bellowing grunts of a giant Grimm grew closer. “Tch, not on this leg.” He snapped, dread twisting in his guts. Ruby shook her head as the red eyes peered through the trees. “Could you fight if I kept you in the air?” She clarified, taking a step back as the final few trees splintered, the gaping maw of what could only be a mutated turtle crossed with something else opened. The beast lumbered forward, screeching in pain. “What? …Well yeah, but My wings aren’t exactly flight worthy.” “Hrmph, It’s obvious you need to someone to teach you proper wing preening and maintenance, but I think I can handle all the hard work. Just keep gliding and looking pretty and I’ll deal with the hard parts. Just so you know, we’re not aiming to kill it, just outrun it. Unless my friends arrive, we can’t take it down.” There was something in her tone that made him think that she was hiding something else, but now wasn’t the time to question it and focus on not getting eaten, crushed, or any other horrific death, “Awww, someone things I’m Pretty do they?” “… That’s not exactly a compliment for a guy you know….” “Whatever, let’s just get this over with and go back to passive aggressively insulting each other.” “Heh, well then, Mercury, shall we dance?” She gave him a strained smile before shifting her grip on Crescent Rose and held out one hand in invitation.

#RWBY #Ruby Rose #Mercury Black #Winged!AU #Avian!AU #RWBY Quicksliver #Kinda anyways Im pretty sure in this case its more of a mutual I dont want to die truce #I think my brain says that Ruby's friends do come and hes taken prisoner #Mostly because then I get to draw him as a grumpy bird whose being taught how to take care of his own wings

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princessofthedarkrealm · 6 years

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Eye of the Beholder {pt. 1} ~ Thanos x reader

Combined request-- @winterwendig0 requested: Would I be able to request a master Thanos x pet reader? Where he is gifted a female of a rare species and becomes intrigued and protective of her

@wolfangelwings requested: touch starved reader with Thanos

“Hmmm yes. So deep. That’s good.”

You dug your hands deeper into Taneleer Tivan’s shoulders. He was relaxed. That was good. Because it was helping you to relax. You didn’t even jump when you heard shouts coming from outside, didn’t flinch when you heard the silky voice behind you.

“Ah, Taneleer Tivan. It has been a long time.”

The man known as the Collector automatically tensed up under you, his placid demeanor turning to fear. This time the emotion you felt was your own as well. You didn’t turn around. The Collector stood. You bowed your head and placed your hands in your lap.

“That will be all for now, Y/N.”

His fingertips brushed the top of your head as he passed. You rose and went to go see what Carina was up to. The pink skinned girl was on her knees, polishing a statue.

“Now why would I withhold information about the Infinity Stones?”

Your head perked up. Infinity Stones? Who would be asking about that? You whirled around and gasped. A slender alien stood talking to Tivan. He was wearing dark, loose fitting robes and his skin was a dark purple. Three other aliens flanked him. One of them was large and troll like and the two others had pale ashy looking skin and helmets that had what looked like pointed ears. They both carried nasty looking scepters. You were scared, but you were also curious. You wanted to get closer to listen in, but you didn’t want the Collector to fuss. He didn’t mind if Carina was around during his transactions, but it usually chafed at him when you would show up.

“One of my most precious treasures,” he would croon as he would push your hair off your neck. “You know I cannot risk you catching someone else’s eye.”

You warred with yourself for a minute, then finally your curiosity won. You grabbed a rag and pretended to walk around polishing a shelf of Tivan’s precious trinkets. Sure enough, they were talking about the Infinity Stones. You idly glance up, and as you did so, the male elfish looking alien met your gaze. You glanced away quickly, your heart pounding. Your sky blue arms started to shake. Maybe listening in wasn’t the best idea after all.

“The Children of Thanos are not to be taken lightly,” the slender alien said.

Thanos! You knocked over a decanter that was filled with you didn’t want to know what kind of liquid. You quickly glanced over at the group. They were all staring at you now.

“And what do we have here?” the slender alien crooned.

Your sea green eyes grew wide and you slowly started to back up.

“Ah, her. That is my servant Y/N,” Tivan replied in a bored voice.

You started to back up and turned abruptly.

“I would be much interested to speak with her,” came the slender alien’s silky voice again.

“No,” you muttered under your breath.

“Y/N.”

You stopped in your tracks.

“Come here, please.”

Your hands shook as you turned. You kept your head bowed. You took a few steps forward, your eyes on the floor. “Yes, Master.”

“Come forward. My special…guests wish to see you.”

Your steps were leaden as you approached the group, stopping just a few feet away from them.

“And what is she, besides lovely beyond compare?” the slender alien crooned.

“She is a Larinastal. A very rare species.”

You finally lifted your gaze. The slender alien regarded you with squinty eyes. “And how much is she?”

You couldn’t stop your mouth from gaping open. You glanced desperately at your master.

“Now gentlemen, I’m afraid she’s not for sale. It took much for me to acquire her.” Tivan spread his hands. “I am sure you understand.”

“Understand this, Master Tivan…” The alien turned to the Collector. “We will take her for Lord Thanos.”

He raised his hand. The Collector slowly lifted into the air and started making choking noises. You cringed and let out a cry.

“And if we find out that you are hiding information about the whereabouts of the Infinity Stones…”

The Collector dropped to the floor, clutching at his throat.

“Well…you know what will happen.”

You were shaking violently now. You had to grab onto a table for support. Slender walked up to you, a lurid grin on his face.

“Yes, Lord Thanos will be pleased with his new pet.”

**********

It had been a long time since you had felt the cold bite of shackles. Yet it was a nice reprieve from the hands that had pawed at you and the sharp toothed mouths that had leered at you on the way to your new home, as the slender purple alien (whose name you had learned to be Ebony Maw) had called it. And now you were being led by those shackles to down a dark hallway to your new master.

Thanos. A name that had come to be feared by the whole universe. The Collector had merely thought of you as a pet. A servant. Something pretty to look at, like a living piece of art. He had rarely touched you—not that you were complaining. And your only friend had been Carina. What would happen to her now that you were no longer there?

Or better yet…what would happen to you, now that you were to be at the mercy of one of the most powerful beings in the known universe?

The only sound to be heard were your chains clinking as you were led into a cavernous room. A large chair, much larger than human sized, sat at the end of a long walkway. And a man, who was definitely not human, sat in it.

Had the lighting in the room been decent, you were sure Thanos’s golden armor would have shone brightly. Your steps faltered and the alien that was leading you yanked on your chains.

“What do you have for me today, Maw?”

Thanos’s voice was loud. And crystal clear. A voice to match a man of power. You took a shaky breath.

“My Lord Thanos, may I present to you, a gift.” Ebony Maw waved his hand towards you. “Acquired from the Collector himself. From Taneleer Tiven.”

“A gift?”

Thanos’s hands were resting on the arms of his throne. He flexed his fingers. On his left hand you noticed, he wore some kind of gauntlet. Six round circles sat it in, one on each finger and one on the hand itself.

“Indeed, my lord. She is a very rare species. A Larinastal.”

“Rare?”

Your breathing was heavier now. It took all you had to stand upright.

“Let me see her, Maw. Bring her closer.”

“No,” you pleaded in a small voice.

You were pulled forward by the alien who had you by your chain. He was large and bulky, like a living boulder, but much taller. You wouldn’t have been able to run even if you tried. Thanos stood. You started whimpering and pulling back on your chains. You tried to brace yourself with your feet, but you were yanked forward roughly. You landed on your knees. Your alien captor must not have noticed because he still continued to drag you. You cried out.

“Enough!” Thanos bellowed.

The alien stopped. You bowed your head as tears streamed down your face and you shook, unable to hold back your emotions any longer. You felt a hand on your head, soothing you.

“Do not weep, little one.”

Somehow Thanos’s attempts at trying to calm you just made you cry even harder.

“What is your name?”

“P-please don’t hurt me.”

He drug his fingertips down your temple and along your cheek. He tilted your chin up to make you look at him.

Curiosity. Lust. The emotions poured off of him through his touch. Regret.

Regret? What was that doing there? You let your watery gaze meet his. Thanos’s eyes were a pale silver purple.

“What are you going to do to me?” Your voice was a whisper.

Right away, the titan’s emotions shifted. The initial ones were still there. But they were replaced by something else. Something stronger.

Sorrow. And something else that shocked you even more.

Understanding.

When he spoke, his voice was almost as soft.

“Protect you, child. I am going to protect you.”

@kurochan3 @fridgebiscuit @jakechillenhaal @h3artshaped-box @leauvel @annoyingwonderlandchild @pinoflicious @coolblueintrovert

#thanos #thanos x reader #thanos oneshot #request #thanos imagine #thanos smut

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cerberus253 · 5 years

Text

The Long Aldrich Fanfiction Nobody Asked For (Aldi x Reader(F))

READ IT BEFORE TUMBLR TAKES IT DOWN

Table of Content (If ya just want “certain” parts):

- Set Up, “Only moments ago you were found out” - Meeting Aldi, “Almost like waiting for that request,” - Foreplay, “Aldrich beautifully chuckles.” - Cunnilingus, “Oh yes, my dearest scruple of nourishment!” - Intercourse, “Aldrich licked his lips as he watched you” - Blow Job, “Aldrich leaned back and layed down” - Resolution, “Thou looks as if finished.”

Only moments ago you were found out to be slinking in the once market streets for whatever you could scavenge. Unlike the average resident of Anor Londo, you cannot solely survive on little to nothing, for you are a rare delicacy in these parts of the forbidden land. As far to your knowledge, you are the only living human for miles, and from the reactions of the elite, it is worse than rare. From what you have witnessed, everyone kills everyone who is foreign to these parts, however, when you were kidnapped, murder was not the goal. Death would have been a quick and easy extermination, but you felt something dreadful was being planned for you by how careful they were not to mortally wound your body. You struggled and grabbed anything you could use to fend yourself, but the undead were far too strong and knocked you unresponsive.

Regaining consciousness, you could not see. Your hands were bound behind your back and you had a ringing in your ears. With ungraceful movement, you stir by accident and alert your captors. They placed you on your feet and forced you to walk. By the sound of shuffling, you guessed you were surrounded. You had no idea where they are headed, but it must have been far away from the market because you were freezing cold from the amount of time spent outside. It was eerily quiet, even for this desolate kingdom.

Finally, you sensed the entering of some building. By the sounds bouncing within, it was lofty and elevated, which meant one thing: stairs. You already have a habit of falling down stairs and it has not happened for months, but this lucky streak might end. Using this as an excuse to be annoying, you state the fact to the soldiers, to which they ignored. Eventually you did manage to trip on some steps, and because you were bound, you could barely help yourself to get up. A few more scenes of this the soldiers finally gave up and carried your grinning self the rest of the way up.

The tower was absurdly tall. You felt the air around you grow thin and drop temperature even more. The armored knights did not put you down, for there were more of your worst enemy, until you were directly in front of the door.

Almost like to return the favor, they dropped you on your back with a loud ‘thud.’ Forced to get up on your own, it felt warmer in this newfound building. Pyromancy is a familiar ability, so maybe that had something to do with the sudden temperature change. Prayers are heard from the distance in the echoing halls, and large beast sounding feet are heard mucking about, coming closer. If it was not for the blindness, you would not of been scared of a monster acknowledging you, for you have become so used to terrifying creatures they have become normal, all the way to the point where you are fascinated by the array and colorful variants of beasties; you have even become friends with a couple of them! This one, however, came far too close for comfort. You felt the musky and heavy breathing from this animal’s gaping maw. It must have recently eaten something because you were about ready to vomit by the pure stench of flesh. Luckily, it was just curious about you, and the soldiers had you move forward across the vocal filled structure.

The knights stop you in front of a large wall, which then revealed to be a door once opened. Whatever room you are about to enter was no ordinary living space. You could hear the jumbling and disgusting squish of who knows what, but your best guess was pure bone and flesh because it reeked of it, even worse than the previously met creature’s. The smell was so vile that your eyes watered. A few seconds later, you are unable to smell anything. You could breathe clearly from it, but apparently the stench was so bad it fried your sense of smell. Despite the vast danger that will highly happen, you were oddly, and silently, impressed.

Sloshing through the unknown muck, the captors drag you some feet into the room, forced you on your knees, and then left, closing the door behind them. Silence. Silence was never a good sign. You learned through your years in the monster infested streets that being scared only hinders a person from thinking correctly. Unknown if taught or developed through denial, you make light of a horrible situation. You talk to yourself, beginning with a large sigh,

“So, uh, may I have this blindfold off now? I would like to see this room. You know, to see if it’s as wonderful as it smells.” Despite the unsmellable miasma, you were still curious on seeing the carnage in the room. Anatomy has always interested you, even though you would mourn for an animal being murdered in your sights. Waiting for any noise to occur, you shift your position to something more comfortable and relaxing, for you are terrified, but you know you can deceive yourself from that feeling by sitting criss cross with a forced smile on your face. Whatever comes for you, you want its guard down.

“Hello-o?” spoken in a sing-song voice from your lips. “I would love to meet whoever I have been presented to. I bet you’re really nice!” You knew for a fact this thing was not going to be nice, yet you smiled like the sun.

Almost like waiting for that request, you heard something on the far end of the room. It swashed and churned the flesh on the floor with back prickling success, like it was made from the innards. The commotion made the thing sound immense, yet graceful, for it made a slithering sounding pattern, even though you could also make out the glopping noises of it sticking to the floor. You heard the oozing, the sucking and spurting of muck and the clattering of bones like a wind chime, patiently moving closer to your presence. It stops, and you waited for a follow up response, but there was none.

“Hello! My name is [YNH] and it is wonderful to meet you! Can you get this blindfold off? I would like to see things, please! I wanna check this room out.” Any normal person would stutter and be selective of their words in a situation like this, but staying calm is your top priority and being in denial about the apparent danger is the only way you know how.

There was no answer from the beast.

“So, uh, how about this weather, huh? Freezing. Hope your muckiness doesn’t freeze on you. Boy, wouldn’t that be annoying.” More awkward silence ensues.

“May I see you? I would love to see you! I bet you’re wonderful to look upon.” You question why you say such things during inappropriate situations, but you are most likely going to die, so might as well.

You feel a presence closer to your visage, and by judgement, it is inches from you. Heart racing and ready for unimaginable pain, you regard the sensation of something brushing the sides of your head, and to your surprise the creature took off the blinding material.

“My my, I began to wonder about my next meal's arrival. I did hope it was something delectable, but I never knew it wouldst be so...cheerfully naive,” it finally responded with a tilted expression. Although gurgled and hearing of strain, the voice sounded reagent and light, teetering on the male and female threshold of vocals.

You gaze upon a semi-human creature. The top half is of a taught pale skinned human with long snow white locks. A helm that resembled the setting sun covers half of his lean face, covering his eyes and nose but revealing cracked, yet glossy, violet lips. Royal attire of dark purple and gold hung loosely about his skeletal figure, ending in a long, split ended dress of fiber strands that puff out like a bird’s feathers. Below that mostly normal looking torso sprouted an unholy amalgamation of flesh, muck, grime, and remains, all forming together to shape an elongated tail. You could have sworn you have seen some pulsation.

Noticing you are staring at him wide eyed, he begins to speak again,

“I must give thee praise for thine attempted courage, but false emotions dost not deceiveth the Saint of the Deep. I can smelleth thy fear and it is as delicious as flesh itself,” he says with a smile. Feeling his eyes bore into you as you struggle to keep up your act, you just shrug and smile ‘I guess.’

The masked creature circles you as if curious on what is before him. You watch quizzically and try to read him, but you are only as inquisitive as he is. He crosses his arms with a scowl.

“You okay? What, do I have something on me? Do I not have enough meat on my bones for you, sir?” You really have to stop nudging others like this, it is just tempting them to eat you.

He leans in closer again, placing the back of his hand against your face, tilting his head and yours in the process. You felt a rush of blood go from your heart to your cheeks, but that was only from surprise and fear, right? After a few seconds of what felt like forever of physical contact, he jerked his branch like fingers away from you and pulled himself aback. You were becoming light headed but managed to stay put. Since when was the last time someone made passive physical contact with you? You were shocked and wanted it again, but right now is not the time for such foolishness. Pay attention and see when you can wriggle free from this disastrous situation.

While being distracted with your thoughts, his hands quickly wrapped around your neck. ‘Dammit!’ You thought. ‘Only if my hands were free I could dig my thumbs into his trachea!’ However, you noticed that yes there was pressure, he was not choking you, but rather... feeling for something?

His lips part with a small gasp,

“By the divines, thoust can not be... This is wonderful!” He pushes two fingers where your neck meets your chin, feeling your pulse. His aggressive prodding made you hear and feel your own beating heart struggle to push blood to your head, making it difficult to breath. Enjoying the scene, he cocks his head in amusement and grins,

“In all my years I never thought a single one of you wouldst be in existence still.” The Saint lightly traces your jawline with a single finger, watching you shutter. If he has not interacted with a living human being, then everyone around here must have had a second death in a most gruesome manner, and it seems he was that second death. However insane, his diction and manners say you might be able to talk yourself out of this. Make a deal to bring more food to him? Offer him a bigger treat? Whatever the case, you need to get out of here.

Before you had the time to react, he grabbed the back of your head and slammed it sideways into the grime. He waited for you to struggle and realize you were not going anywhere before he leaned his skeletal rib cage upon your back, positioning his cold lips right against your ear and whispered in a hungrily seductive tone,

“Dost thou hast any idea how long I, Aldrich, hast waited for pure blood, hot with fresh youth, spilling into my mouth? To sink my teeth into that soft skin, tasting every drop of essence in thy frail corpse? Peeling thy veins and arteries as you moan and scream in agony for me?”

With these words spoken, you feel your heart pounding in your throat. Just dying was one thing, but slow death is a curse that fills a slot of one of your greatest fears. Breathing heavily, you held back any wincing and tried your hardest to keep calm. Fear swirled unending in your head, inhibiting the lack of tracks for your train of thought. Aldrich could smash your head in right now, he would break your bones and keep you alive long enough to watch him enjoy your corpse. Despite your horror, your lack of normality within what you call a brain slurs the alarming danger with curiosity and attraction. What? Why? You are into unnatural things that are not others’ cup of tea, but nothing too grotesque. Anatomy and physiology are a personal interest, and you are skin deprived, but could these two characteristics really somehow create an unholy offspring of the ability to get off to dread and gore? Have you become that lonely and numb to violence that you blackened your bar of interest with taboo subjects?

You heat up and sweat with terror and that unnatural longing. Aldrich senses this and demands more apprehensiveness from you, running his boney hand down to your hip, squeezing and piercing your flesh. The warm blood from your body quickly drains from the wounds and you can feel his claws massaging the inside of them. With this bleeding and his heavy breath against your cheek, you want to beg to be touched, but what an ego-centrical thing to ask from a creature that eats people for breakfast. Why would he do something like that? You are just a flesh bag, nothing more nor less to Aldrich.

You accidentally let out a faint mixture of noise of a wince and moan. Oops.

“Ah, so my scarlet swan can singeth. Pray, my dear, continue. The more thou continue, the longer thou wilt live.” His voice wraps around your brain and you listen to the song of the siren. Who knows if he can see the expression on your face, which is that of frustration-- not for the situation you are in, but disappointment that you are into this.

Aldrich scratches into your back with rhythmic circular motions, going up from your hip to the side of your ribs, then curving onto your back and going south to your sides. You struggle in preventing yourself from gyrating to the movements.

With a moan, he speaks again,

“Oh, by the stars, thy warmth is such a specialty for me. I forgot how much I longed for this moment. I simply cannot wait until I-” He cuts himself off, and then proceeds to lift himself off of you, however still pinning your head to the ground. You perk your ears up in hopes you catch a sound of a hero, but alas none.

“But if I continue forth with it, however always being with me forever, I wilt never be able to see nor toucheth thee ever again. I want more than anything to eat and consume so thou wilt never be able to leave, but…” He trails off, talking to himself and sounding worried. “Oh, what a terrible position to be in.”

“A-Are you confused?” You stupidly ask in a cracked tone. Maybe forming a personal connection will convince him to let you go, but at this point if you prevent him from eating you, do you want to leave? He seems interesting as a person, and there is an artistic elegance about him that you want to study… But what are you thinking? This will not happen, no matter how strong your fantasy is.

The devourer turns you over onto your back, still having his right hand pinning, but square on your chest. Completely forgetting to check how bad your wounds are, you are mesmerized by the angle of Aldrich presented to you. He is looking off to the side with his smooth chin between his pointer and thumb. With a calm and collective pose, he breaths steadily. The slight breeze in the room loosens his silky hair and has it fall gently from his sharp shoulders; it seems to gleem in the moonlight, as well as his crowned mask. The room is dark, but moonlight pools in, bouncing off of every moist surface and turning the translucent drapes into ghosts. You can see small white and grey particles floating around as well, which is most likely dead skin flying. The atmosphere within the chamber intensifies the beauty that is Aldrich to you. ‘Fascinating,’ you think to yourself as you study him from head to torso. You want to see the rest of him, but with the position you are in, you cannot. Disappointing.

You still know you are in danger, but your heart is pumping for a different reason. Referencing of how he is, you know he will never consent, but disturbingly you long to hug him and feel his body like he did to you. Hopefully he has a heart you can listen to, following every beat it makes and its changes when you touch him specifically. The mere thought of kissing and biting him makes you weak and moist. And those lips, those violet dead lips-- ‘GAH!!! What the Hell am I thinking?! Knock it off you shit!’ Thinking angrily at those atrocious passions, you bury that inevitable explosion. ‘Don’t worry, me. Once I’m out or when I die it will end. The nothingness will come back and you won’t have these deep dark feelings anymore. Feeling nothing is better than self loathing.’ That last thought made you sad and unable to look upon Aldrich with fascination anymore, only the expression of longing for something you never had.

“Something must hast distracted thee, for thou dost not stare at me with those soulful eyes of wonder nay longer, and the drum in thy chest hath decreased.” Aldrich startled you when he spoke, and you were able to lock eyes with approximately where his would be. In a saddened expression, you dismiss him,

“It’s nothing. Just stupid mental stuff.”

“Now now, stress wrinkles the skin and we dost not require anything such, especially me.”

“Psh.” you sullenly hissed.

“Nay need to gift attitude, child,” he sharply responded. Feeling embarrassed and afraid you might get on Aldrich’s bad side, you generalize what is on your mind.

“It’s just loneliness, that’s all.” You shake your head as you speak, trying to be casual.

“I see. How strange that thy mind wanders to that place instead of focusing on the situation thou art in now. Normally victims art scared stiff, but thy...hm. Impressive.”

While you shrug in apathy, he leans in closer to you. Immediately your heart wants to burst out of your chest, and you accidentally smile and blush, darting your eyes back and forth between him and empty space. His delicate lips form a smile, and strangely it felt more personal than aggressive.

“I want to feast upon thee, but thither is something I feel I wilt miss. Something that even becoming a part of me will never fill.” Seeming like he realized what this now looks like, he pulls himself back again,

“However, I am still deciding, so dost not raise thy hopes just yet. I wouldst like to ’observe’ thee a bit more.” While stating this, he dragged his sharp finger down your torso, all the way to your naval, and you were no longer pushed against the ground. You could try to get up casually and then book it somewhere, far away from this monster, but your stupid affections are keeping you put.

Now that Aldrich has backed away a little, he is now towering over you, giving a clear view of below his hips. The fibered dress looks scratchy, but you would do anything to feel it, to cuddle and stroke the raven black strands. And the tail, that tail. It is immense compared to his body and greatly juxtaposes the human half, but despite the ugliness and filth it harbors, it is fancy. The goop shimmers like running water in the sunlight and the bones are protruding in such a way they look like decoration. Giant ribs stick up from the back to form an inverse cage, almost like spikes. Between these bones are rotting tendons that hang about like silk decor. Boils and skulls poke out from the muck but are positioned like dark spotted patterns going along his form. And everything is speckled with black tattered feathers and tarps, like a destroyed royal hall. You want to observe it further, but now is not the time.

Aldrich beautifully chuckles. However still sounding distorted, your lust for him just makes that flaw even more alluring.

“Thou stare at me with begging eyes, but they art not of freedom, art they? Nay, thou lengthy for something else. Something putrid in the eyes of common folk, but absolute heaven for thyself.” As he says this, he runs his hands up your stomach, across your breast, and cradles your face in his frail hands. Aldrich smeared the blood from your wounds across your body and painted your cheeks with it. Your face flushes with blood beneath your skin when he leaned into you for the fifth time, but he did not stop just inches from your face. He lathers your warm pink lips with the deep redness of your blood and kisses you passionately.

Filled with blood and saliva, you taste the fusion of the Devourer and you in your mouth. It took you a few seconds to realize what is happening, but once you did, you immediately accepted it. Closing your eyes, you kiss him back.You breath heavily and moan with satisfaction, and he bites your lip to make you drain even more. His silky lips overtake yours as you struggle to be just as aggressive. Becoming lost in the moment and ignoring the danger, you slide your blood soaked tongue into his mouth, licking his. A smile crosses Aldrich’s face and without missing a beat he pushes your tongue back, making his enter your mouth, taking in everything he can and almost reaching your throat. You want to touch him, dig your fingers into his thin skin or run them through his smooth hair. By keeping your hands bound behind, he is still torturing you, whether he realizes it or not.

Aldrich detaches his mouth from yours and begins to kiss your neck, ultimately leading to biting so he can lick the drawn blood. As much as you were enjoying this, you are worried about him puncturing your throat, but the thought dissipated from mind when he dragged his hands down to your breast, squeezing them. He pecks you bloodied kisses down to your collar.

“I demand to witness more of thine illustrious living corpse, and take in all the warm heat thou hast keep locked away.” As Aldrich speaks his words with lustful breath, he tears your clothing off, having no cares if he rips parts of flesh along with it. He takes in the beauty that you radiate. ‘Oh God, yes,’ you thought. ‘Do more, do anything more to me to have me beg for your touch!’ It is odd that everything is happening so fast with someone--something--that you just met, but oh lord, who cares! This beautiful beastie is elegant to be around; hearing anything escape his lips sings a lullaby to your soul, and certainly he is no stranger to appalling interests. If your unfiltered and awkward talk did not drive him away, then there would be little to nothing standing in your way to winning him over now.

Aldrich snuggles his face into your chest so he can listen and feel your heart beating for him. He cradles your breasts and pleasures your delicate tits as you move and embrace his heavy life force against your skin. You moan and nudge more and more, feeling yourself become saturated by the minute. Thinking Aldrich sensed this, he slowly drags his hand southward, grazing your side and tracing your hip. You feel the rough touch of his fingers reach underneath your trousers, lifting up your panties. Heavy sighs are released from your throat the closer he got to your clitoris. His blood soaked fingers mixes with your pleasure fluids, placing his fingers on the inner vulva and rising them to your little plump bulb of pleasure. Quickly you suck air into your lungs, to which Aldrich giggled at your surprised reaction. He lifts his head to meet your pulse and sucks on your neck. Your body moves along with the rhythm of his motions against your clit, occasionally rubbing your breast against his distinct collar bone. The harder and faster you breath, he does the same with his fingers. The rush of energy jolts through your body as he squishes the clit in between two of his bones and switching to circular motions against it occasionally. Finally, you feel it. Your body jerks with anticipation and you verbalize your thoughts, “Oh please, yes!” Upon hearing this, Aldrich uses a single finger to flick and touch your clitoris as fast and hard as he can so you may feel the most pleasurable rush. With a heavy and loud moan, you arch your back once climax hits. Aldrich slows his movements and pulls his face away from your neck, a string of thick blood drips from his smiling lips, which, to your surprise, looks more lovely dressed with you.

You lean in for a kiss, to which he welcomes. He frees his arms and hands and places them on the ground above you. Where you two done? No. No no! You wanted to lavish in this moment for a while longer. Without opening your eyes, you speak in a meek voice,

“More, please… I want more...”

You felt embarrassed about asking to go further than accepting what you have already been given, but you wanted it; you did not ask, you demanded, albeit poorly. Come on, this is your first time. Do not be hard on yourself!

Opening one eye, you see Aldrich’s magnificently grotesque tail swishing back and forth slowly and gracefully in the tar-like fluid. He had a smile across his cracked porcelain mouth.

“Oh yes, my dearest scruple of nourishment! I was not planning on being done just yet, for I hast not been entirely satisfied.”

Aldrich moves back and lifts your pelvis up, slowly pulling off the rest of your attire. A cool gust of air touches your crotch and you can feel the sticky fluids pull away. You watch as he splits the strands and lick his fingers, then throwing your pants to the side. He props you up and unties your bonds, continuing to transfer his palms to hug your thighs. You gently place your hands on his and Aldrich shutters, still fascinated by how thermal you are in comparison and how calmly you are touching him. Staring longingly, you run your fingers through his hair. It is as soft as you thought it was. Aldrich pushes you back so you may lay down, then proceeds to move his face closer to your genitalia.

He kisses your clitoris to give you the sense of how his lips feel down there. After he senses you wince in delight, he belligerently pushes his tongue against the entirety of your crotch, kneading his tongue across it. As this happens, you let out a musical groan of pleasure. He licks and flicks in such an aggressive and loving manner, just the way you knew you would enjoy it. It may not be literal devouring of flesh, but he smooshes his mouth and tongue upon you in mimicry. He makes no jerking motions as his tongue massages you, wriggling and writhing in smooth patterns inside, touching every sweet spot he can reach. Every little touch made from his tongue and lips you overhear the wet and sticky sound of departure. You listen to him swallowing your discharge created from the previous endeavors, along with the blood that soaks the both of you.

After a while, Aldrich focused his oral movements singularly on your clitoris, but he was not finished with the other. Locating your vaginal opening again, he glosses two fingers over it teasingly. Salivating his digits, he pushes them deep within you, puncturing your walls. The pain was sharper than menstruation cramps, but it was bearable, especially with your sense of tenacity with adornment.You lay there with closed eyes, focusing on the amorous vitality those slender fingers are granting you. With all his pressure inducement, he pushes you back and forth, your curves and chest shaking along with the rhythm. Every time he pulls you he grips your pelvic bone. Looking up, he sees your content face and watches your body move along with him.

Pulling out to daub your vulva, he absolutely enjoys teasing you. Seeing you so happy, he lifts his hand, waiting and watching. Growing worried, you lean up and, almost immediately, fear crept in again. Did you do something wrong? Did somehow someone stab Aldrich? ‘No,’ you thought, ‘something like that wouldn’t have happened so quickly.’ Checking to see if he is still there, you are greeted with a sly smile and a light giggle.

“Dost not fret, I am still here.”

You smile and shake your head, relaxing.

Aldrich pushes his fingers in again and shakes you more violently now. He wants more sound from your throat and sustenance from your body, and thus you do what he requests. You reach the same point again, but the build up was much more intense. You clenched the ground and gasped for air, and before you knew it, the milky white fluid of squirting released itself from your cervix.

Stunned by how much came out, you look at Aldrich for judgement. He only glanced at his hand, which is now mixed with blood and ejaculation fluids, turning pink a little. As you sweat profusely, he ingests his soft hot meal. It almost looks like he is staring at you, but you never can tell with that golden crest on his face.

So much has happened in the last hour with being around this man. At first you thought you were dinner, and now you have just become the consenting play thing for a monster. After two climaxes, you think you are done. With the accumulation loss of blood, water, and energy all around, you just want to lay down and rest for a while. Could you go again? I guess you will have to wait and see if Aldrich does something to cause that puffy lust again.

Contenting sighs relieve from your beloved monster. As he rolls over onto his back, he puts his hands behind his head and stares at you with his rose stained mouth. You lay on your side and clasp your hands together to rest your cheek upon. Observing him intensely, you notice squirming movements underneath his lower plumage. At first you did not recognize what was happening, but then once the cylinder-esque organ arrived, it dawned on you he is manipulating his mucky lower half to copy that of an inhuman cock. This mimicry is fat and thick, pulsating with the grime it is made out of. The tip is sharp yet rounded and its circumference increases as it meets the body, however, it forms what looks like to be a plump knot at the base. Tiny bumps of various sizes line around the attachment point and gradually forms then fades up the dorsal of his shaft. Two small parallel fin strands run up from his knot to his head under his ventral half. Lastly, like a faded beacon, his tip has a mauve tint, standing out and looking lovingly sickly.

Aldrich licked his lips as he watched you stare and decide what to do with his gift. Growing impatient, he moves his hand down to run it between his fingers in an urge to have you come closer. Of course it works and you crawl towards him. He adoringly brushes his finger against your hot cheek once you are in close range.

“I’m...going to screw up.” You honestly did not want to bring down the mood, but you felt like you had to warn him so he is not so disappointed in you; it felt wrong to mask this thought.

“Tush tush, mine own dearest,” he speaks as he lifts himself from his back. Aldrich helps you on top of him. He is not too wide, but your feet barely touch the ground, so you settle with planting them on protruding bones. Cupping your backside, he hoists you up, and you take his cock and feel for your opening. Once found, you gently slide it into your tight pussy, and because this is your first time at intercourse, you struggle to fit him in all the way, but you would be damned if you did not have this creature inside of you, so you bare the pain. Feeling every inch of him push and rub against your vagina was like heaven, especially when his head forced itself against the highest point of your uterus, making you squirm. You never had anything like this enter you, and so when your opening attempted to pucker but was stopped, you really felt the massivity of his dick.

Aldrich whispers in your ear,

“All thou needth is to follow the primordial urge thou hast did bury within thy breast, and I am sure thee shalt please me.” Upon hearing this, you bury your face into his rigid chest, trying to find a heartbeat, but there was none to find. He is a dead corpse, just like the rest of them.

Grabbing onto his apparel and pushing your feet against the carbon steps, you begin to rotate your stuffed hips. At first it was painful, but as you self lubricate, the pain subsides and you relish in the love making. Aldrich clenches obsessively to your butt and encourages you to go faster. Gradually you speed up, savoring every stroke your soft vaginal walls make against his stiffness. Your breast and stomach follow and squish the softness of your body onto him, pleasing your hard tits.

With raspy breaths, you gaze to your left to see your monster’s exposed neck. You see his sinewy tendons bulge against his faded skin and you hear and feel his high gasps of pleasure behind your shoulder. All those lines, ridges, and muscles attached and working to form his neck anatomy captivates you. Your lips want to kiss it, your tongue wants to taste it, and your throat wants to consume it. Before you could stop yourself, though why would you want to, you open your mouth to as wide as it can expand and bare your teeth. With as much bite force you can muster, you sink your canines into his tissue. Aldrich, surprised by this action, winces. He digs his claws into you and loudly squeeks, cracking his voice. Not knowing your own strength and scared by the new noise produced from him, you pull yourself back and continuously plead that you are sorry. You did not want him hating you and you knew you would screw up. Oh why does nobody listen to you?!

“I didn’t mean to I swear! I was just--I was just going along with--following what you said about the primordial urge and I just--I’m sorry--!”

“More.”

“...” Your brain is trying to process his answer while you have a dumbfounded expression. So you did not screw up?

“Just...do it again?” asking to make sure you knew what is being requested.

“Do it. Bite me. Drink the drops of sorrow of mine flesh and alloweth to drip down thy throat in pleasure.”

You pause for a moment, then wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders to have a solid grip. Biting down yet again, he groans and squeaks in delight of your hot mouth piercing him. The more he whimpers, the more feminine and raspy his chord’s production become. Usually you would find this noise pitiful and saddening, but this time it excites you and you bite harder, ripping skin away and running your tongue against raw flesh. You move your hand down to right beneath your gut, feeling his thick shaft inside, violently thrusting. With one arm around your back, he pushes you against him like wanting your particles to mix with his, but alas this only leads to more moaning, biting, and the spreading of ruby red blood across each other’s corpses.

Aldrich penetrates your skin as he becomes increasingly ready to ejaculate. He breathes harder and squeezes you greedily, only letting up when he releases inside of you, his throat creating the most beautiful noise of innocent cries. Once tolled, the sensation of lukewarm cum rushes inside of you, overfilling your uterus. You look down and see it seeping out, drooling onto his shaft. Slowly you pull yourself off of Aldrich, watching his semen ooze out and stick to anything in close proximity. Thick filaments stretch from his soaked cock and your saturated pussy as you detach from him. As you sit down, you squeeze his black fluids out of you with occasional thick clumps where some of his rotting flesh came off while cumming. Aldrich mashes his face into yours, kissing, and touching, you again to display his gratification from you.

“Thou hath felt absolutely extraordinary! I take absolute rapture from stuffing thee with my dead seed. Oh what ecstasy!” With every sentence ended, he purrs and kisses you again and again, all the while you cup his face ever so delicately and sweep your thumbs against his cheeks. Every time he kisses you giggle, having him struggle to dance his lips with yours.

“Thank you, thank you!” you laugh.

“I am...so joyous thou decided to stay here and alloweth each other to satisfy the other.”

As Aldrich said this, you could not help but feel he sounded vulnerable. Is he lonely? Does he feel separated from the world? Supposedly he only kept you alive because he wanted to experience your uniqueness longer, but judging how kind he was during the sensual moments and what he just said, which included the both of you and not just him, it sounded like this creature might be exposing his soft side, even if just a bit. The thought released butterflies in your stomach and you could not help but squish his cheeks with the tips of your fingers and rotate them, giving him the smushed lips of adorableness, and rub your nose and forehead against his with loving laughter. He was confused at first, but Aldrich accepted the weird physical affection you gave and laughed along with you.

“Thou art mine now; Mine forevermore. No one shall toucheth nor harm thee while I am still drawing breath, my scarlet swan. I will own thee and thou wilt love me for all eternity, and thus I shalt giveth whatever thee dreams.”

“Yes, I will. I will love you, mon cher,” you reply sweetly.

Aldrich leaned back and lied down with a fulfilled sigh. He laid his arms and hands above his head, relaxing on the floor.

Feeling not only you need to repay him for giving you multiple orgasms, but you are also not done playing with him just yet.

As you watch him lay there, breathing slowly, his chest rising and falling gracefully, your eyes gradually draw down to his crotch. His cock is moistened with his mockery of semen, and because they both are of a deep abyss like blackness, the only difference you can see are the textures: One is a little bumpy looking while the other is smooth as glass. Such beauty in what others believe is unholy to look upon. You graze your fingers against his hips, twitching nerves with every movement made by you. Looking up at him, he is still not facing you, however his breathing has become slightly faster. Aldrich’s cock is so firm against your light touch with the backs of your fingers, feeling all the fake veins submerging out. You touch and squish every crevice at your own pace, watching him progressively dance his torso. Once you have felt him up, you place your middle finger right on the top of his head, making circular motions with the tip of your finger, moving loose skin to make a little crater around his opening. As you do this, he lets out a little noise of smiling giddiness, to which you respond with the same. Underneath your finger some remaining cum squirts out, having you go to squishing his sensitive head with your middle, pointer, and thumb. You bring your hands down to his knot, wrapping your entire hand around his shaft. Starting off slowly, you move along his cock, pinching his head between your thumb and pointer finger. Aldrich practically sounds like you when he was massaging your clitoris, heavy and weak.

Rubbing your pussy against him as you move back, you lean over so your stomach is barely hovering over his body, resting on your elbows. You are scared but excited to try this, and so you begin with giving him a nice strong heavy lick on his head. He has an old umami taste about him as you lick up, down, and around his pulsating pleasure stick. You kiss and graze your teeth against it, having him sound like you when he fucked you with his tongue, high pitched and wincing for more. With every smooch and lick, his semen runs into your mouth and down your throat, having a bitter meaty aftertaste. Aldrich moves his hands down to grab at your hair, motioning you to suck him off, but you refuse just to tease him, continuing to cradle his cock and kiss it energetically.

Moaning and undulating your subtle breast upon him, your mouth makes its way to his head, covering his shaft with spit. You bunny kiss the tip and press your tongue against the opening. Looking up, you spot Aldrich moving in pattern with you, his rib cage pressing up against his pale skin, sticking out with every topped motion. Watching the skin move like rough latex from the bones push you closer into taking the mouthful.

Opening your mouth just enough so your rosey lips slip around him, you slowly stuff him into your mouth, lightly biting down to orally hug him. You are unable to take him entirely, but that is made up with poking him with your tough tongue, making shapes, and massaging your hands against whatever of his gooey cock still exposed. Pulling back, gagging with spit, then pushing him back in, with hot drool and post cum seeping out from under your lips, humming with delight all the way, you hear Aldrich’s sexual groans. With each occasional voice crack made from his tight pipes, you move faster, becoming more assertive and sucking him like a lollipop. His taste may be rancid, but the both your happiness is far too great to stop for some bad meat.

“Yes! Please do not stop. Faster, my dear!”

You sink your nails into his hips of gush, making him twitch with satisfaction. Aldrich’s breathing heightens and you feel him thicken and throb in your mouth. Realizing he is about to climax, you quickly bring your wet lips to his tip and push your thumbs into his veins and tendons.

Before you know it, dualizing with his squeakish howl, you feel this lumpy and disgusting tang suddenly burst into your mouth. Startled, you quickly pull your head back, semen and chunks spilling from your oral cavity. Wine colored thick liquids spurt from his cock. Despite the horrific taste, you still leaned ahead and drank him down. You were definitely going to be sick after this, but let us just focus on the now and burn that bridge when you cross it. As you sip him, Aldrich holds your cheek and strokes your crown like an owner to his obedient pet. He looks down towards you and you look up at him, only to shy your eyes away because you just end up giggling and smiling, being unable to finish your self entitled task. However, when this happens, all he does is beam and pet you.

Finally you grow tired of his taste and sit up, soaked with blood, spit, sweat, and cum all over your mouth, dripping down your neck.

“Thou looks as if finished. Lucky for thy tired little head, I believe I am done as well.”

“Heh, yeah,” you respond, yawning.

Aldrich hoists your plump body up so your shoulders meet. He wipes your neck and chin clean with his apparel, then holds you close and lies down on his side. You gladly accept his post sex cuddles and close your eyes, burying your face into the crook of his neck like he is a stuffed animal.

“I may not consume thee after all, now having a reason to keepeth thy heart’s alive and beating. Thou wilt satisfy me in different ways, I am sure.” Aldrich’s throat vibrates as his cooing echos through you. You have never really said this to anyone before, but maybe you can say this now and not regret it later,

“I love you.”

He squeezes you tighter.

“Good. Thou shalt love me forevermore, even after death. Maybe then, once thou hast died, I wilt mix thy particles with mine so thee shall never leave me.” Aldrich kisses your head.

What a strange way of flirting, this guy has, but it does not scare you away. You felt you can trust him because for some nobody such as yourself to change a devourer’s mind from seeing you as food to looking at you as an actually human being seems like a difficult task for anyone.

“However, I am starved. Thou hast been outside these walls, does thee knoweth of any wonderful spots to snack?”

“Yeah, a few.” Aldrich never stops thinking about eating, does he?

“Sublime! We shalt dine together as loving mates, my dearest.” As he says this, he rocks and kisses you as the both of you lay there in the rotten muck of the royal chamber of Anor Londo, just listening to each other breathe.

--- OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE NEVER AGAIN

#dark souls 3 #aldrich #devourer of gods #fanfiction #sfw #totally #yup #not lying here #tumblr staff do not interact #lemon

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