#{ a fate worse than death

[gingerteawrites]

BY THE HEARTH: Prologue

A/N: Hey guys, I’m finally working on a longer piece! I’m so excited to share this with you. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you stick around for the rest!

Content: Royalty!AU, Nanami x female reader, king Nanami, Princess Y/N, Widower Nanami, kid Yuuji, hurt, angst.

banner from @cafekitsune

ACT I:

You had always thought that your wedding would be a joyous occasion, with flowers fluttering in the air, cries of joy, warm smiles, and cheering from onlookers. But as you trudged slowly to the altar, the clicking of your shoes echoed in the quiet church. The pews were filled to the brim with silent gazes that lingered on you, holding pity, sadness, and even disgust.

Thunder struck outside, and you squeezed your father’s arm, your steps almost faltering as he led you down the aisle. He squeezed back, but continued his steady pace, pulling you along. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. The pale blue light from the stained-glass window behind the altar caught your attention, depicting a woman with her arms wide open. Thick drops of rain rolled down her pristine face like tears, and you felt your chest tighten despite your efforts to calm down.

You reached the altar, your head pounding and breath growing shallower. The groom stood in front of you, his blonde hair slicked back elegantly, and his posture straight. The priest started reciting the ceremonial words, his droning voice lost in the background of your thoughts. You stole another glance at your husband-to-be, only to find the brown of his eyes almost dulled as his expression remained impassable, and your gaze fell to the floor in defeat.

So when a smooth but gravelly voice resounded in the room, you were deeply startled, only to find that it came from the man standing in front of you, the life seemingly returning to him "In the name of God, I, King Nanami Kento, take you, Princess Y/N L/N, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…” His eyes bore into yours, tension evident in his brow as he paused slightly. “...until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow."

You shivered, unsettled, but proceeded to recite the same words with a resolve you were not sure you could muster.

The moving candlelight cast soft shadows on your face as a fleet of servants escorted you through the hallways. The ceremony had ended uneventfully, and the wedding banquet after was marked by the absence of your now husband and the quick departure of your convoy. You sighed deeply.

Maybe his indifference is a good thing, you mused.

There were worse fates than indifferent husbands. But that did not help the ache in your heart. The rain had also grown more intense, as if the earth mirrored your sorrow, flashes of white lighting occasionally illuminating the dark stone of the castle. Marrying into a foreign kingdom was not going to be an easy thing. Your ladies-in-waiting had warned you, but you had tried to be optimistic. Now, you shivered in these cold hallways, devoid of decoration except for the occasional white Lily bouquets, that piqued your interest.

After what felt like an eternity in your thoughts, you finally reached the door to your wedding chamber. You inhaled deeply, trying to calm your racing heart. You had read enough romance novels to know what could happen tonight, but the thought did not bring the excitement that your heroines often described. Bracing yourself physically and mentally, you watched as the servants pushed the door open and urged you in.

Flush to the northern wall of the room was a massive bed, complete with a thick velvet green canopy and emerald-colored sheets. You did not have time to appreciate the beauty of the intricately woven carpet and carved furniture when the head maid called you over, trying to muster a small smile. You quickly refocused your attention on her, and along with the other servants, they helped remove the heavy white wedding dress. You watched the opulent material and accompanying corset where they lay it in a case for storage, feeling nothing at the sight of the embroidered flowers and the encrusted crystals.

You changed into a silk night dress, lace trimming delicately laying against your collarbone, and the maids started to leave quietly, but the head maid lingered behind. You sat at the edge of the bed, and turned towards her, her tired features seeming more prominent in the dim lighting.

“Do not fret, your majesty,” she said tentatively “The king is not a bad man.”

“Thank you.” You nodded, smiling gently at her attempt to reassure you “Pray tell, what is your name?” You asked, quickly getting up as she was about to leave.

“Alma, your majesty.” She paused

“Good night, Alma. And thank you”, you repeated, and she bowed softly as she closed the door.

You returned to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the now closed door.

Is he going to come in soon? Your mind spiraled It’s okay, Y/N, it’s okay. He doesn’t seem like an aggressive person, that’s already a win. I just need to try. Breathe, breathe. You repeated in your mind a mantra against the sounds of rain hitting the large windows. The thick curtains stopped you from seeing the outside, but you imagined angry bolts of thunder striking the ground, causing everyone to cower in the warmth of their homes.

The thought caused you to shiver again. This castle was way too cold. You pulled your feet from the ground, burying them in the bed’s heavy covers. You gently ran your fingers over the velvety material, and sat up against the headboard, and waited, staring right at the door. And you waited and waited. Until the insistent lullaby of the pouring rain carried your mind into the world of dreams. Dreams of a smiling groom, floating petals and happy first dances.

A/N: Please comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

[liminalpebble]

Violet: Chapter 3, I Say Unto You, He Will Call You By Name

Masterlist 

Chapter 3: I Say Unto You, He Will Call You by Name

Reverend William Ransome noticed his name was already clearly written on the blackboard in those three formal words when he rushed in, late by a few minutes due to the rain.

 Although his black clothing and white collar were still neat from the protection of his coat, his unruly gingery hair and flushed cheeks were still a little damp from the London downpour. He strode in quickly, setting his pile of books on the desk with a tense hand. Violet thought to herself for the first time (but certainly not the last) that his brisk way of moving made it seem as if he was trying to tacitly run away from something. What an odd man,she thought.

“Good morning, ladies. I'm terribly sorry for the delay,” he said breathless from hurrying and nerves. He introduced himself politely but without smiling and then announced that he would be taking attendance. Violet found her mind wondering as he droned out each name and it was met with a perky soft-spoken “present.” She didn't care who they were. She barely cared who he was. She was thinking about Dante, Milton, and William Blake, contrasting heaven and hell in her mind. When the alphabet finally reached “V” she heard her name and her attention rapidly returned to Earth. The Reverend was saying clearly, in his deep commanding voice, “Violetta Vespero!”

Her eyes snapped forward again. Judging by the giggles of her classmates, and the annoyed glare of his intensely blue eyes, it was not the first time he had called her name.

She said, “Oh...uh, here, and it's Violet.”

He frowned at his paper, “Is it not Violetta?”

She gulped. He was tall and thin-faced, seeming strangely severe and intense, but not in the cruel self-righteous way that many of the religious were. The man of God looked too thin, too empty, and it filled her with a tender sadness, wondering what could have made him so. Hungry she thought he seems hungry in some abstract way.

He needs a good meal, the pupil mused, maybe several. Violetta allowed herself interest in only a singular domestic skill, and as with all things she set her mind to, she approached it as a perfectionist, seeking expertise and virtuosity. She made the most scrumptious food. To merely call it cooking or baking would be a travesty. It was more as if she conjured courses and delicacies into existence like a sorceress. The riotous color palette and steaming aromas rising from their silver platters would entice her dinner guests like a mouth-watering siren call. The courses of the meal would present themselves before the hungry visitors like vibrant Dutch still-life paintings of perfectly luminous color, shape and dimension; each one a masterpiece. In part, she'd fostered the skill for the sheer pleasure of inventing and then enjoy the ripe fruits of her labor. It was purely selfish; sensually and mentally stimulating, not mastered for a theoretical husband or family. If that were the case, she'd do better learning only to stew meat and potatoes day after day and that seemed a fate worse than death.

Violetta wondered if her delicacies, luscious and aromatic, arrayed before him, could tempt him to close his eyes in transcendence, savoring each bite as an unknown pleasure. Or could it bring a glow of indulgent delight to his features; the crinkle of a grin to the edges of his thin lips and the corners of his eyes? Those mournful eyes, the color of a crushed robin's egg.  Still, she couldn't quite comprehend who or what he was, or determine exactly where his appetites might lie, though she would like to find out.

“In Italy it is Violetta, however, I find the English prefer Violet as it is easier to pronounce” she said in an English accent even more polished than his own, but betrayed in small inflections by her native Italian. He noticed her voice was deep, low, and commanding for a woman. It was a voice “polished” in the sense of a sharp knife, rather than a shiny trinket. The other students looked a bit uncomfortable with the rather long and awkward detour caused by their unusual classmate and equally odd teacher. Reverend Ransome seemed immune to this, though, and pressed on.

“I see. And did I pronounce it incorrectly?”

“No, Father.”

“It's Reverend, Miss Vespero, or Mr. Ransome. Thank you for the clarification.”

Then without a smile, and barely a glance at her, he wrote a note on his paper and continued on. The intent parson didn't even seem to noticed how the other socialites were releasing dainty little sighs of laughter under their breath. William Ransome isn't the type to let social concerns interfere with his curiosity, Miss Vespero wrote in the notebook of her mind, committing it to memory like any other lesson. Violet considered that this tendency might be unfortunate for the both of them, since she was the same way. She could see locked horns in her future, and she didn't need to be a fortune teller to predict it.

Delightful, she thought. The first day and I'm already starting off on the wrong foot. Why must it be so easy to do that? Oh well. I was bound to make everyone uncomfortable sooner or later. I might as well start now.

Taglist: @coldnique @muddyorbs @goblingirlsarah @acidcasualties @jennyggggrrr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @icytrickster17 @pati52 @marcotheflychair @ladyofthestayingpower @gigglingtigger @alexakeyloveloki @letsg00000honey @bitchyexpertprincess @lokisgoodgirl @sweetsigyn  

[vicissavior]

Aerin Valleros x Raine

a/n: I had that draft for like 3 years now and forgot to post it. English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there are any grammar mistakes. Feel free to correct them

summary: Aerin and Raine deserve a more emotional big fight at the end of book 1

also it’s Aerin x male MC (Raine)

————————————————————————————

chapter 16

we fight. we die. and we pray we will be avenged.

With prudent, almost poetic precision, Aerin raised the blade, its gleaming edge poised threateningly at his adversary's throat. A picture of suffering etched across his countenance – dark red rivulets tracing its path down his chin, a bleeding nose, and a tapestry of scratches adorning his battered form. With deliberate grace, Aerin placed a foot upon his chest, forcing Raine back upon the bloody stairs. He couldn’t help but cry out in pain as he clutched his bleeding waist in agony. "God, please, stop," he pleaded, wincing as he tilted his head back. A low, sardonic chuckle escaped Aerin's lips as he exerted a touch more pressure with his foot. "And here I thought you'd never beg for anything. Just look at you... It almost felt too easy," he mused, while Raine closed his eyes, trying to seek solace beneath his unyielding grip.

"I… I wasn't fighting you," he finally managed to murmur, peering up at his captor. His dark eyes sent shivers down his spine, as did his storm grey skin. The inky veins coursing down his cheeks reminded him of cracked marble, and his somber lips curved into a mischievous smile, shrouded in shadows, as they lingered in the thunderous echoes of battle that raged nearby. "You truly are as foolish as I thought."

"Why?" Raine countered, his voice wrecked by a cough, his breath growing more ratchet. "Is it foolish to have given my heart to the wrong soul? There exist fates far worse than death." His words hung in the air like an elegy, a profound reflection amidst the chaos. He heard Aerin laugh, and suddenly, the weight on his chest disappeared. Instead, Aerin now straddled his hips and he felt the cold metal of a dagger pressed against his throat. Raine tried to fight back, but before he could do anything at all, Aerin grabbed his wrist, pinning him down once more. "Well then, any last wishes?" he grinned.

"Kiss me," his voice trembled, a final longing expressed with vulnerability and no hesitation. Aerin paused, torn by conflicting emotions and taken aback by the sudden request.

Slowly, he leaned in, their lips meeting in a bittersweet farewell. Raine deepened the kiss, his hand gently cupping Aerin's cheek. In that tender moment, as their lips clung to each other, time itself seemed to slow, and the world around them faded into obscurity. The clashing of swords, the cries of battle, all of it dissolved into insignificance compared to the intensity of their final kiss.

Raine‘s fingers traced the dark veins on Aerin's face, committing every detail to memory. He wanted to remember every nuance, every feeling, as though it would be the last thing he'd ever do. It was a kiss of passion and longing, an aching goodbye to a love that was destined to remain forever unfulfilled.

„I love you.. I always will.“ When they finally parted, a single tear rolled down Raine‘s cheek, mingling with the remnants of their shared kiss. He gazed deeply into Aerin's eyes, seeing a flicker of something more beneath the cold exterior. Perhaps there was still a sliver of the prince, Aerin used to be, buried deep within.

"It won't keep you alive," Aerin reminded him and maybe even himself, his voice a solemn mumble. But there was an undeniable vulnerability in his eyes, a fracture in the armor he had so carefully constructed around his heart.

Raine smiled faintly, a serene acceptance in his expression. "No, it won't," he acknowledged, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it reminds me that beneath this darkness, there's a part of you worth saving."

With that, Raine starred into his eyes, surrendering to what seemed inevitable. Aerin hesitated for a moment, the dagger still poised but trembling in his grip. The battle raged on around them, a screeching of chaos and destruction, but in this suspended moment, it was as though the world held its breath, waiting for a decision to be made.

And then, with a shaken sigh, Aerin withdrew the dagger, his hand falling to his side. He stood up, leaving Raine untouched, a mix of emotions swirling within him. Without a word, he wanted to retreated into the shadows, disappearing into the very darkness that had consumed him.

‘No!’ Despite the pain coursing through his body, Raine's resilience manifested in an attempt to stop him. However, his brother was faster. In a fleeting moment of carelessness, the prince remained oblivious to the lurking presence of Kade. With a swift, silent strike, Kade's rusted sword hilt smashed into the prince's skull, knocking him out cold.

Raine gasped, his hand instinctively muffling his startled sound, gazing down at the two men in shock, "Kade! That was definitely not necessary...!" He hurried to his side, “Tz, of course. Leave him be, we have bigger problems!” he said, pointing to the looming threat of the Dreadlord, who had undergone a profound transformation in the meantime…

———————————————————————————

“What about the prince of darkness over there? Can I go stomp his skull in?” Imtura looked at the others questioningly, “As tempting as that is, we should bring him back. He has to pay for what he has done and serve as an example of what happens to traitors like him,” Tyril replied, but Raine was already kneeling next to the prince and picking him up gently. “I think bashing his skull would set a really good example.” Imtura continued but Raine wasn’t listening to them.

A thin rivulet of blood traced it’s serpentine path down the prince's temple, dripping gracefully from his chin. “I’ll take care of him...” Raine sighed and brushed the dark curls off his prince’s face.

He wouldn't let go of him that fast ever again.

[unearthlyxones]

Introducing: Rain

Name: Rain

Alias: N/A

Species: Siren

Age: Immortal. Has been a siren for around 20 years

Gender: Agender (they/them)

Sexual Orientation: Queer

Romantic Orientation: Greyromantic

Occupation: Sex worker

Abilities: See Siren Lore

Weaknesses: See Siren Lore

Personality: Seductive. Solitary. Extremely private. Short tempered. Mistrustful

TW: stalking, murder

Every creature that lives in the ocean knows sirens are the result of a mermaid being murdered by a human, so when a siren first awoke having no memories of who they were or how they got there, it wasn’t difficult to figure out what must have happened to them. All they knew for certain was that they were a siren, and it was raining. So they called themself Rain.

Although flashes of their past life as a mermaid returned them, Rain never remembered anything of importance; their name, if they had family or friends, how they had died.

Not long after their reawakening, they met a young, newly turned werewolf. As they were both alone and confused, they decided to stick together. However, Rain was still struggling to control their new powers which were starting to have an effect on the werewolf they’d befriended. The werewolf slowly developed an obsession with them, becoming jealous of anyone Rain spoke to. When he tried to murder someone simply because they currently had Rain’s attention, Rain ran away from him.

The werewolf stalked Rain for three years, and they kept running from him. When eventually the werewolf tracked them down once again, he tried to kill them so that they couldn’t run away from him anymore. Rain killed him to save themself. They’ve held a deep mistrust and dislike for werewolves ever since.

Rain moves around a lot, living in motels, never staying in one place for more than a few months. They try hard not to get too close to anyone because they no longer trust that anyone’s feelings towards them are genuine, or that they won’t become something more sinister the more time they spend with them.

[contramundi]

things to know about cain if your muse ever gets into a conflict with him:

he can reflect all of their attacks back upon them, no matter the nature, and the swiftness in which he does so is nearly imperceptible to the senses. be extremely careful with your offense against him. sidenote: these attacks can also phase through his material body and be inflicted on the recipient. the implication is that he has some affect on or manipulation of space-time.

coming into contact with him directly or indirectly can give him the opportunity to speed up the natural process of cellular decay and disintegrate your body.

he is capable of materializing or ‘phasing’ through any kind of substance. he can also descend from the sky as what appears to be a ‘black rain’ and physically teleport at a close range.

he is capable of utilizing a physical force or telekinesis to destroy and pretty much bulldoze any objects in his path.

when physically displaying the further extent of his crusnik abilities, cain’s nails become claws which are capable of tearing through even diamond.

his six white wings are fully capable of flight and can cause devastating gusts of wind.

because of these abilities, he rarely needs to make use of his lance, the aptly named spear of longinus. this favored weapon is a part of his physical body.

you can’t really destroy his body. there’s no meat or bones or... anything, really, inside of him. his body’s only real weakness is that his time is limited - he must regenerate in a chamber after sustaining too much damage. even if his body is completely destroyed, he is still capable of regeneration, as he has already regenerated from nothing but ashes once before in his existence. however, it is also implied that isaak also creates temporary shells for him to inhabit.

he can consume living beings and network their consciousness into his own; in a sense, this is perhaps a fate worse than death, as those he eats are implied to live ‘within’ him and he gains insight into their every thought. cain is particular about who he bestows this fate to and considers living within himself a ‘paradisical’ existence which is the highest honor he can offer.

he can also ‘eat’ more nebulous energy. take that as you will, he’s done it.

while cain vastly outpaces most others in his universe in terms of power, this is implied to only be a fraction of what he is truly capable of, which is why his primary goal is the repair of his true body. with his real body, he would be capable of world-ending feats all on his own and would have no further need of the rosenkreuz orden to carry out his will.

[vinyls-and-valentines]

First thing you learn in the Zones, is that there's more than one type of fire.

The first one, you know well— it's the fire you've felt in your chest ever since you were a kid, somewhat more subdued by the rules and routine that kept you complacent, but ever since you've come out into the Zones it's become a real shiner; a burning star. You've seen it in other's eyes as well, in the pit of a concert or between the shelves at Tommy Chow Mein's, and you both exchange a grin and a nod in a sign of courtesy before you go your own ways. There is plenty of those who've lost their spark as well, and it's their eyes that haunt you on the nights the desert is too quiet and you can't sleep, blaster clutched to your chest as you shiver under threadbare covers, trying to disappear. It seems a fate worse then death, because their eyes while hold a kindness you've never come even close to seeing before, they are drowned in sorrow like the pews of an abandoned chapel in the morning lights, and quietly you swear to yourself you'll get shot before ever ending up like that.

The second is more literal, made up of a masterful displays of pyrotechnics sponsored by boastful candy atoms and motorbabies, but also stories told late at night outside resting spots by crews who like lingering after sunset for just a little too long just in order to feel more alive. It's the warmth that keeps you company on lonely nights, when even the desert you've grown to call home seems to be out to get you, and the light guiding you as you explore the hidden nooks and crannies leading deep below the cool earth with a reassurance no LED light ever could. This is your favourite type of fire, you idly muse as orange flames hiss and crackle away seemingly unaware of their own short lifespan, and there's a sense of kinship you find in the prospect— although, perhaps your conclusion defeats the whole purpose of it existing in the first place.

The last kind of fire you only hear of in the Zones— a cruel and twisted combination of the two you already knew, dancing along to the sound of gunshots and leaving in its wake a trail of ashen feathers that never fully disappear into the smothering summer air, leaving marks with those old enough to remember them. You were one of the fortunate many that arrived into the Zones long after the rain washed away sooth piles that once were trees and ruins that once were childhood homes, but you got curious and went looking for the Witch until she answered in the form of your crewmate, looking you dead in the eyes and telling you the truth. No longer did you have to wonder about the barren Zone 1 and 2, or strangers with cathedral eyes, or the voices wailing inside the static that seem to get loud whenever you try to sleep, or the lengths at which BL/i will go to make sure you know your place.

You used to envy the Fabulous Killjoys— all coy looks and crooked smiles, painted in strokes of youthful madness— but not anymore

[secret-engima]

Title thingy if ur still doing that, my friend. Not Everyday Is A Good Day (Live Anyway)

Ohhhhh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

So many things I could DO with this title. *squints*.

Did I ... ever do that ffxv naruto crossover I came up with at like 3AM?

Let’s assume I didn’t and roll with that.

It ends with dying.

It starts with waking up after dying, and finding a world gone bloody and primitive and strange.

It starts with a little boy from a village no one knows opening his eyes one day and ... remembering. Feeling the burning Light under his skin that tangles with the energy in the world around him and realizing he is alive once more ... and the world is completely different from what he remembers.

It is not a good beginning. Because the world has more than fallen apart since he was last awake, and people are superstitious and afraid of odd things.

And there are few things more odd than a little boy with too old eyes and a too sharp mind. A little child with no fear of death, with a birthmark on his front and back that looks like a blade went right through his heart, who dances in the storms with the rain beating his skin and a grin that is two shades too wild to be human.

It is not a good beginning, and there are a very many days that are even worse.

He lives anyway. He lives and he learns. Of ninja and clans, of a world where all have a fragment of magic, a tamer version of the Thing in his veins. Where the powerful wage war and technology is long, long lost (stolen, he thinks, by the paranoid, or perhaps forbidden by them out of fear of another Niflheim).

He lives, and when he is only eleven, he takes what few things he has to call his own and he leaves the village behind. No one misses him.

He walks and walks and walks, deeper and deeper into the wilds. At one point, he meets a giant orange fox who burns with old anger and simmering indifference. Their eyes meet, an old King and a newborn Astral, and the fox dips his head in silent, surprised acknowledgment of the truth men have forgotten. He keeps walking. Living off the wilds like he has done a thousand times in memories not his own, unafraid of the beasts, for they are not daemons, and nothing is scary after facing down daemons.

He finds a nice little nook in an unassuming wood, and there he builds himself a home. There is a village a few days walk away, and after growing bored with making too many potions to place even in his massive armiger, he goes to the village and sells them as herbal remedies. They taste terrible to drink instead of crush against skin, but they work just as well when swallowed.

The people of this village are superstitious too, but they do not know him as a boy turned suddenly too old, only as a mysterious wood hermit who looks too young for his eyes and sells miracle medicine for a pittance, who will save lives from incurable fates with a touch of green hands and a flicker of burning feathers and ask nothing in return.

It takes him a long time to realize the little house they’ve built him for when he comes to visit is actually a shrine.

Yoru, they call him. Night. For his hair and his quiet, for the shadows that walk in his steps. He thinks it’s funny, that even now, in another life, he still ends up with a name that means Night.

And it is a very lonely life, to be held as a friendly, if strange spirit of the woods by other humans, to be alone in his memories and his ghosts in a world that remembers his sacrifice when the humans there do not. The Astrals he has always known are deep in slumber, and for all he is lonely he is reluctant to wake them. Not everyday is a good day.

He lives anyway.

He is thirteen, he thinks, maybe fourteen, when she finds him. She is only his age, and she is so very, very pretty. A rarity with hair the color of pale gold and eyes as blue as the sky.

Funny how they look the same as they did in their last life.

She is a noble’s daughter, and she is too young to be out of her family’s care, but she is not the daughter of the nobleman’s wife, and the son who IS is deathly ill.

Heal my son, says her father with desperate eyes, and I will give you my daughter.

He is angry at the thought of it. At seeing her, who has saved the world and holds his heart even now, being used as a bargaining chip with what these people think is a wayward forest spirit. He could do anything to her in their minds.

And they do not care.

The son matters more.

He accepts and he heals the son they have brought of his illness (something simple, something the non-magical medicine of his era could have healed).

The nobleman, his son, and his escort depart. They leave her behind.

She takes his hands in hers and whispers that she is glad, they touch lips, brief and chaste, and she laughs when he names her Tsuki. His Moon.

Maybe it is a good day after all.

The locals acclimate to her quickly, whisper over the powers they think she has gained by becoming his bride. He does not care, he has his Moon and his little forest home. If his brothers find him ... then life would be perfect, but until then, he is content.

And then a ninja sets his house on fire.

Well, the village shrine really, but it’s the same thing now after Luna talked him into moving in permanently so as to better treat the villagers.

There are five of them, three with black hair and fire licking their bones and two with brown hair and magic like water or earth. They are fighting, and while one of the black hairs sets the shrine on fire, it is one with brown hair that knocks down the lovely Tori gate he’d grown rather fond of.

His magic unfurls, heavy and displeased, and all five drop to their knees with gasps of shock and fear. Two struggle to their feet, collapse again when he presses downward with his magic. They have more magic than the villagers, but compared to him and his Moon, they are raindrops in an ocean.

“Leave this place,” he snarls, his voice layered with a hundred others, and the ninja blanch as they flee.

Except one. The brown haired one who knocked over his Tori gate and is apparently bleeding very badly from his torso, struggles to stand and then collapses.

The other brunette leaves him behind.

He sighs as his magic curls inward and it’s the work of a moment to drag the man inside the crispy house and see what’s wrong. A few potions set the man to rights, and when he wakes up hours later, stupefied and wary, his Moon laughs as he sends the ninja on his way with a scowl.

Three days later, two ninja arrive in the village. All the villagers glare, they are still trying to figure out how to fix the gate on such short notice, but the ninja make no trouble as they approach the shrine home.

“I am Hashirama, leader of the Senju Clan,” the elder says with a low bow, so low his long brown hair touches the ground, “and I came to offer thanks and apologies for my clansmen.”

The white haired one just scowls, skeptical as he stares at the shrine and its inhabitants.

“I am Yoru,” he answers, all of maybe seventeen now, “and this is Tsuki. Your ninja knocked my gate down. And three more set my house on fire.”

Hashirama winces, “I am sorry for the gate, I can fix it if you like.” Yoru tilts his head and Hashirama takes it as an agreement.

Tsuki makes a noise of surprised delight when a new gate grows up from the ground, living wood in the desired shape. Yoru makes a pleased noise, his magic couldn’t do that. He looks back down at the Senju in interest, “I’ve never seen a ninja do that before,” he muses, and the man laughs a touch nervously.

They have come to make amends, but as far as Yoru is concerned, the gate has paid their tab. Even so, he asks questions and when he learns of the Senju’s war with the Uchiha, he frowns.

“Leave my village and my forest alone,” he says, “So long as you are within twelve miles of the village, you are not to fight.” The white-haired one protests, but Yoru will not budge.

It doesn’t take long for him to have to enforce that rule.

He hears the burning of wood and the feels the flare of magic and sighs as he warps over there. A glance proves it’s the brunettes and the black hairs again.

He lets his magic surge out and flatten them in their surprise, snuffs the flames with an ice spell, and glares, “I said,” he intones darkly, “no fighting near my home.”

“You dare-!” snarls the leader of the black haired ones, only to falter when Yoru turns his gaze on him. Speechless under the weight of the gaze.

Most people are when facing eyes the color of age and blood.

“I don’t know what war you fight,” he says slowly, “but you will not fight it here. If you do this again, there will be consequences.”

He looks over at the Senju, silent warning that his message applies to them too. Then he sighs and folds his arms over his chest, “Are you even fighting for a cause? Why are you so determined to kill each other?”

Both sides break out in shouting, accusations of death and vengeance that makes him feel weary. Tsuki touches his shoulder from where she has caught up, her eyes solemn, and Yoru scoffs, “What a pointless reason to fight.”

“And what would you know?” Snarls one of the Uchiha as he stalks forward, moving under the weight of Yoru’s magic only because Yoru is not projecting it all. The sword lashes out for Yoru’s neck, and his armiger flairs to life, blocking the blade and pointing four more at the man’s throat.

The leader of the Uchiha hisses a name, it sounds like “Izuna”.

Yoru looks into red eyes with black marks and crushes the attempt at an illusion (so pathetic compared to Ardyn’s a lifetime ago) with barely a thought, “What would I know?” he muses softly. “What. Would I. Know?”

His magic begins to rise, shifting into visible spectrum, crystalline shares and licking blue fire, an armiger of dancing blades risking in ghostly white. He can feel his skin cracking open and gleaming, mortal skin fracturing under the pressure of angry magic, he lets it form, lets his skin turn grey and terrible, lets his magic coat the summer field with ice and his shoulders with ghostly blue fire.

He watches as the Uchiha who lashed out at him pales, eyes flickering frantically, trying to see through a trick that does not exist.

“Do not presume to know me,” Yoru growls, “do not presume to know my heart or my ways. I have seen what vengeance wreaks. I have walked through its graveyards, I have stood beneath its blackened skies and tasted its ash as the world rots beneath the endless night. Vengeance will eat you alive and hunger for more, it will demand more blood than the world contains and at the end of the day, the dead you claim to be avenging Will. Not. Care. Vengeance is not a reason to fight. It is a reason to die. And if it is death you want, then I will give it to you. I will burn your home to as he and stand upon the bones, and when I am done and the world goes quiet, there will be none who look upon them and will be able to tell your bones from those of the Senju you despise. Is that what you want, little ninja? To paint the world brown with your dried blood? To rouse what lies sleeping and destroy what yet breathes?” All the ninja have gone dead white and Yoru snarls, old, tired fury in his blood, memories of Conqueror-Fierce-Warrior-Mystic stirring him toward violence, “Well? SPEAK and it will be so. Speak and I will SHOW YOU what vengeance is-.”

Tsuki’s- Luna’s- arms rest on his bicep, unflinching from the heat, and she whispers, “Peace, my love.”

His anger cools. His skin heals over. His armiger fades.

Yoru steps back from the white-faced ninja, those who have heard of the supposed healer guardian of the forest but not believed it until this moment, and he warns with dark exhaustion, “Leave. Leave and think about what it is you really want. For your world to burn? Or for your children to be able to grow old rather than lie forgotten in shallow graves and crows’ bellies. Fight here again, fight anywhere with in fifty miles of my home, and I will end your blood feud for you, and neither side will celebrate my intervention.” Yoru turns away, ignoring the wide-eyed Hashirama, the spinning red eyes of the Uchiha, “go away and cease playing at war.”

Tsuki leads him home and he lies on the floor for a long time. Letting the cool of the wood leach into his bones, letting his magic curl lazy patterns in the air as his Moon and his Love curls patiently against his chest, waiting for him to rise out of the memories howling in his head.

Today is not a good day.

Tomorrow might be better, when it comes, but even if it isn’t ... well.

Not every day is a good day.

He lives anyway.

And he will never forget what a blessing that is.

[lotornomiko]

The Broken Hearted Comfort Chapter Three (A bit not work safe at times...)

A bit...not safe for work, but nothing too explicit. Gets a bit dub con at the end too...Fic is thus far one big ball of angst about dub con. ^^;;

Hook Belle Pairing...

     As had always been the case, his descent into madness of any kind, was never that of a slow thing, and this, the new and the latest of obsessions of his, had him plummeting headfirst into the abyss, To a place where no rhyme and no reason could make any true sense, Hook driven by such desire, such need. His peace, be it short lived, or long lasting, was such a hard fought thing to acquire, Hook having gone too long tortured without its relief. The memories, the grief that had so consumed him, was starting to trickle back in, his sorrow and that of a blood thirsty revenge trying to make their effect known, Hook left raging inconsoloable one moment, then almost driven to tears in the next. He’d fall into the old patterns, drinking, gambling, even womanziing. Picking fights with that of his crew and especially that of some random strangers, the pirate without caring, ready to be pounded into oblvion, maybe even killed, if it meant earning himself a single moment of respite, that of that blessed peace he had in brief so attained.

Nothing however, was working. Nothing had the magic to push back his rage and his pain. Not even when he tried to drink himself sick, the memories not only remained, they seemed to surge even stronger. Milah was made more vivid in his head than he could ever actually remember her being. As was the past, their all too brief life together colored with such sorrow so that even the good moments, the happy ones of which there had been plenty, were now tainted, ruined by her loss. By the brutal death she had suffered, murdered by Rumplestiltskin’s own cowardly hands.

That moment seemed so potent before his eyes, playing out far too often in his head. It left an already desperate man driven to extreme lengths in his quest for relief, that brief peace attained, having left him crazed for it to happen again, for HER to be chanced on once more. She didn’t though, the woman having vanished in the most strangest of ways, leaving Hook to his own vices. He was made one part furious, angry at the stranger for having abandoned him, while trying to convince himself that her effect had been nothing but a mere fluke. A chance that would not repeat, or one that could be found in the arms of another. It left him drinking, and it left sampling a finer selection of women inside the port town. Everything from whores to what nobles he could lay hand on, it didn’t much matter who. He was beyond being picky, taking what he could get and paying for what he couldn’t. It left him feeling more empty than ever, despising himself, and coming away cold with the realization that the woman, that Belle, was indeed something special. Something that was fast becoming as necessary to his mental well being as what the very air was to his lungs.

Within a week’s time, he had tired of trying. Left disgusted by the failures, and rendered utterly despondent, Hook was more than a little irritated by the lengths he had been driven to. It had achieved nothing, had left him feeling dirty and cheap, and all the more certain that that time with Belle hadn’t just been some fluke. She truly was that vital piece that he was needing, regardless of how little sense it, any of it,, actually made. She was so essential an essence, and it was terrible, horrible, the pirate reeling, knowing he had let that vital a piece slip free so carelessly of his own fingers. He should have never let her go, but more than that, the man wished he had done so much differently.

Unable to keep from tormenting himself with those musings, with wondering what would have happened instead if Hook had shown that beautiful woman the care that she actually had deserved. Would she have still run from him then? Or would he have had to carry her off instead, to keep as his own private spoils aboard his ship? Regardless, it was a dark, dark path that he had decided on, for the pirate already knew that if he was so lucky as to be graced with another chance with Belle, Hook wouldn’t be letting her go. He’d KEEP her, regardless of her wishes, even if it meant making that pretty lass a prisoner, that desperate need of Hook’s the strongest made shackles ever devised. With them, what had been bound together by fate, would further tie them together. He may not properly understand it, could hardly dare believe, but something was at work here, their grief the mutual draw. The bait that had lured Belle to him, and Hook to her, and though he couldn’t fathom the HOW of it, the pirate knew what he now needed. What he was going mad without getting, thoughts of Belle that of a different kind of torment, a sweet torture he repeatedly indulged in again and again.

Driven by it, by the need to be with her, NEAR her, Hook would often return to her room at the fancy inn. The desk clerk was only too glad to take his coins, remaining quiet and circumspect about the things that Hook did inside of Belle's lodgings. The first two nights alone, had seen him reveling in the fading scent of her on the soft linen sheets of her bed. The smell of her shampooed hair on the pillows, those scents were something to savor, even as he was left feeling like some pervert. He was more than that, when he took to stroking himself off to unsatisfying climax after climax, that dress of hers crushed against his face, imagining he could pick up the fading scent of the rain, and that of her own skin’s flavor.

He was left wanting, Belle out of reach, but not that of her things. They and this need reduced him to less than a man, so crazed and obsessed, and fixated on the having. Made inconsolable over continuing to be denied, the pirate could no less stop his twisted behavior, than control how he was worsening in her absence. It left him spending more and more nights at the inn, his own ship all but forsaken, Hook lying in wait in the hopes that Belle would one day walk in through the bedroom's front door. He lived for that moment, imagining it. Fantasying about it, and the things that he would do. Not all of them were pleasant, Hook sometimes wanting to punish Belle for running from him. For making him go through the agony of this separation. Those fantasies excited him, even the violent forceful ones, Hook not always in the state of mind to coax a surrender out of her.

By the third day her scent had faded completely, the sheets smelling like Hook now. He kept on returning to the room, taking fitful periods of rest, but more often than not merely waiting, sleep eluding him save for the moments right after he spent himself on fantasies.

A full week would pass like this, Hook having familiarized himself with all of Belle's belongings. Learning the kind of stories that she liked to read, the perfume and oils she preferred to use, even finding a pressed rose preserved between the pages of one book, its color long faded. He wondered about that rose, wondered just what its significance was. And just as quickly knew it had to be a gift from an admirer, from the one who had hurt her in the first place.

The rose didn't survive that jealous realization, Hook crushing it in his fist. A single thorn had remained on the stem, cutting into Hook's palm. He'd freeze and stare at the blood, ready to laugh when a loud and familiar knock sounded on the door.

"Come in, Mr. Smee."

As usual, the man had his red cap on. He'd take it in hand, nervously fidgeting with the knit wool as he looked around the room. Hook knew it was a sight, Belle's things littered about the place, dresses on the floor, books and trinkets on the bed. It looked like a whirlwind had torn through this place, but in actuality it had been just Hook raving wild.

"Well?" Hook demanded, his voice sharp and strained. He so badly wanted Smee to deliver him some good news for a change, to give him the lead that Hook was so desperate for.

Smee nervously glanced at Hook. A mind reader was not needed to tell the older man was troubled by Hook's recent behavior. Hell, Hook was bothered by it too, at least during the few moments of sanity he was afforded. Those moments were ones that seemed to happen less and less, Hook running a hand over his face, and realizing he hadn't shaved in quite a while.

"Did you find her?" Hook asked, his tone even more urgent now.

"It seems we're not the only ones looking." Smee said at last. He looked as though he was bracing for violence, which wasn't all that unexpected given the way Hook had been acting these last few days.

"Who?" A simple enough word but one that was snarled out with all the rage and fury that Hook could muster. Wondering and fearing it was the one who had intially hurt Belle that could now be that who the one who was looking for the young lass. Fearing that fiend's intentions, and knowing Hook would steal her away no matter the danger, he was hardly relieved when Smee spit out just who else was on the hunt.

"The Queen." Smee looked torn, as though he didn't know who he feared worse. Regina or Hook, and such was the Evil Queen's power, that the mere mention of her name might magically summon her before them.

"The Queen?" Hook scowled. "Whatever for?"

"That I do not know." Smee voiced his apologies. "But the queen has offered a substantial reward for any information that might lead to a finding."

Hook grumbled under his breath, hating that the situation had gotten worse. The Evil Queen was relentless, notorious for getting whatever she wanted. Belle was as good as caught, though Hook was determined to make sure she didn't stay that way. At least not with Regina!

Hook began pacing with Smee watching him. A decision was being debated in the older man's eyes, before he finally sighed, almost sounding defeated when he did speak again.

"There's more."

Hook didn't stop, still pacing about the room like a caged animal. "What now?" He demanded, wondering if something could possibly make the situation any worse.

"Someone claims to have seen your girl leave the city on a wagon." Smee was careful not to say Belle's name, not after Hook had once threatened to split his lip for any future utterings of it. It had been completely irrational, but then Hook often felt that way now, irrational, jealous, downright possessive of any and all that had to do with the woman, and that included even Belle's name.

"And did they happen to say where that wagon was headed?" Hook demanded out loud.

"A city to the east." Smee supplied, not quite ready to offer even a glimmer of a smile. "It's a four day journey by wagon....we can be there by ship in less than two if we leave immediately."

"Then gather the men." Hook told him. "We leave within the hour."

"Right captain!" Smee said, putting his red cap back on his head. He hesitated when he noticed Hook didn't move to follow him out the room. "Captain?"

"She'll be wanting her things." Hook decided. "The desk clerk shouldn't have any problems sparing a boy to pack up and deliver them to the ship."

"Right..." Smee acknowledged but Hook barely heard him. He was too busy looking around the room, tracing fingers over a dress of hers. Anticipating how she would look in it, and wanting, needing to see it in shambles on her body, Belle thoroughly ravished and made disheveled by Hook.

Even with such fantasies giving Hook reason to pause and sweat, he managed to get himself and Belle's belongings to the ship in just an hour's time. His crew was already in place, the ship set to sail at Hook's command. He'd give it almost immediately, visibly eager to get their travels underway.

His crew was happy to set out, glad to leave the town behind them. People of the sea, they grew restless if they remained on land for much longer than a few days. Hook was the same way, preferring the sight of the open seas, and the fresh ocean breeze on his face, to being grounded on land. And yet for all his love of the waters, he felt elation when the next town came into view.

Barely able to wait for the ship to be secured, Hook disembarked, practically leaping over the side railing to land on the pier's planks. Smee would follow at a much slower pace, and both men would look around with interest at a town they had never before been to. But they weren't here to sight see, Hook sending Smee off to do his information gathering. Hook himself would swagger into a local tavern and take up residence at a table. Hoping that perhaps Belle had resumed her nightly routine and had found a place at this new tavern's bar.

It soon was apparent that she had not, Hook wondering how many bars this town might actually have. Wondering if he and Smee would be doomed to visit all of them, and fearing they’d still find no word of her, when it happened. Smee having ambled in, and zeroing in on Hook with an uncanny precision. The man's eyes were wide, his face paler than normal. Hook knew then that the news was bad, and he actually braced himself with a drink before Smee reached his table and did the same.

"She has her." Smee announced.

The glass shattered in Hook's hand, ale soaking into the cuts the shards had left there. "When?" He asked hoarsely, barely aware of his pained flesh stinging.

"Just a few nights ago." Smee said. "Captain, I am so sorry..."

"It is not over." Hook said, than snapped louder in insistence. "IT IS NOT!"

"But if the Queen has her...."

"Then we simply take her from the Queen!" Hook told him, and Smee look horrified.

"Are you mad? You will get us all killed for sure!"

"I NEED her." Hook insisted, his voice raw and naked with his desperate feelings.

"But why?" Smee asked. "What could she possibly have? You don't even love her.....do you?"

"No. Of course not. But love and need are not always the same thing." Hook tried to explain. "Nor can we always choose just where or who we will find comfort in...."

Smee continued to wear that horrified, dismayed look, his head shaking no.

"I won't ask you to come along with me." Hook said, but then turned pleading. "I'll let you go just after you do me one last favor, and find out just where she is being kept."

Smee's upset had increased further, the man having pulled off his cap to crush it in his hands. "But Captain...I couldn't leave. Not after you've been so good to me."

Hook snorted at that, and Smee turned insulted. "You have!" He insisted.

"I've treated you like shit on the best days, and you know it."

"And it's still been a sight better than what my situation was before becoming part of your crew!" Smee sounded earnest enough.

"Then I shudder to think how bad off you were if that really is the case." Hook said, with the barest hint of a smile. "All right, stay with me to the bitter end if you like. Just get me her location!"

"Right captain!" Smee said, putting his cap back on with a relieved look on his face.

It wouldn't be an easy obtaining, many more days going by. Until it was nearly three weeks that Hook had now spent apart from Belle, the hunt for her having served well as a distraction from his grief. Especially when the hunt began to bear fruit, Smee finding a possible location. The ship would travel there, another week wasted on the trip. Hook's sanity was practically in tatters, the man alternating between anticipation, and wallowing in those grief induced moments when nothing worked to keep him distracted.

Now finally he was before the queen's prison tower, the ivory white spire extending high into the sky. Belle was rumored to be at the top of that tower, held under lock and key, and guarded by no less than twenty men. Hook didn't feel the weight of those odds pressing against him, the man downright chipper about his chances. Downright lucid, thinking he could take on the entire world just so long as Belle was the prize, even as Hook had to face the facts that he couldn't go it alone. Not in this.

A small number of his crew was selected, his bravest and best fighters. Naturally Smee was left behind with the ship, the older man more apt to stab himself with a sword than any opponent he might face. Smee was more than fine with the role that Hook had assigned to him, the older man acting as captain in Hook's absence. Keeping the ship ready to sail at a moment's notice, and expected to leave without them if a worst case scenario should actually happen.

The worst case scenario could have been anything from death to imprisonment, but for once fortune favored Hook. It was almost ridiculously easy to break into the tower, a bit of powder and explosives blowing the front door right off its hinges. A bit harder yet was the actual fighting, Hook and his crew of half a dozen fighters facing odds that were three to one. There was more guards than had been anticipated, but with his sweet prize so near, Hook was undeterred, Downright feral as he fought, all savage and dealing death to any fool guard who dared to try to cross swords with him.

The fighting took place all along the spiraling stair case of the tower. There were floors with other prisoners, and even a guard's station about half way up the tower. Hook and his crew didn't bother with investigating those, ignoring the excited cries of the other prisoners until one man pointed out the validity of setting them free. Of how the evil queen would find herself busy trying to track down all the escapees, and thus might never realize the target of this prison break was in fact one person in particular.

Hook leaped on the idea of it, eager to keep the queen confused and guessing. He sent his men to get busy opening the many cells, and continued on his way to the very top of the tower. Somewhere from below came an excited cheering, the freed prisoners quick to celebrate their newfound luck. Hook nearly grinned, feeling a similar excitement, and anticipating the celebration he himself would enjoy soon enough.

That almost grin and the head that wore it, were nearly sliced off, one last guard having lain in wait for Hook. He just barely got his sword up in time, sparks flying as the metal of his blade ground against the soldier’s. A twist of his hand, had the sword turning, Hook shoving back with it. The guardsman minced a step back, Hook slashing diagonally towards his chest. The man just barely jumped back in time, Hook nearly stumbling as his sword sliced through air.

Before he could right himself completely, the guardsman's sword slashed a cut across his back. The leather of his coat split open, the skin beneath only protected by the chain mail underneath his shirt. Hook could only silently thank Smee for insisting on it, the chain mail having saved Hook from an attack that might have otherwise proved deadly.

Whirling about, his hook grabbed at the blade, sliding up the length of it as more of a distraction than a defense, the pirate then twirled his sword before stabbing it forward. The guardsman didn't quite deflect it, the hook twisting, gripping the sword effortlessly. Blood appeared, the guardsman wounded but not yet defeated. Kicking out a leg in a desperate attempt to knock Hook back, only to get stabbed in the thigh.

The pained cry of the guardsman was followed by an angry grunt. The man knew he was defeated, and yet still he did not lay down his surrender. Fearing the Queen more than death itself, the guardsman all but threw himself onto Hook's sword, the blade's tip actually piercing through to the back of him.

The guardsman gagged on his own blood, sword hand going limp, its weapon clattering to the floor. Hook held him up just long enough to get the keys off of his belt, then let the body drop to the floor with a thud.

Shaking the gore off of his sword, Hook then slid it into the scabbard at his side. Feeling his heart beat quickening ever more, Hook fumbled with the keys, knowing now was the moment when he would find out for certain if Smee's information had been correct. Anticipation filled him, even as he knew there was a chance that Belle might not be inside the room, Hook finally on the fifth try, found the right key.

The door did not so much as even groan whenhe swung it open, its hinges that well oiled. Inside the woman was not immediately visible, Hook noticing instead that the room was a windowless cell, with little luxury afforded to it. And then he heard a sound to the left of him, a gasp that drew his eyes towards the woman who was now scrambling off of the cot.

Belle!

Her beautiful and oh so expressive eyes were wide, and even with her visible shock, that blue color was dismayed. Clearly suffering both a mix of surprise and a complete lack of wanting to see him, Belle's pretty little mouth was left open. One look at her, and weeks upon weeks of that built upon lust and desire came overriding what little sense and reason he had still had left. And that was before he noticed what she was wearing, the form fitting tunic that barely kept her legs covered. Her bare legs, Belle wearing no tights to go with the navy blue prison garb.

Knowing it was woefully inappropriate, that the timing alone was all wrong, Hook still advanced on Belle. She tried to take a step back, but her legs bumped against the cot behind her. He didn't quite catch her, instead actually tumbling down with her onto the small, uncomfortable cot. Kissing her, his mouth hard and possessive, even demanding. Ignoring the protesting sounds that she made, pressing between her legs so that he could rub his half hard cock against her panties.

Hook felt Belle's body jerk at that intrusive, intimate touch, but she had no where to go. She was trapped between his body and that of the cot, the woman gasping, protesting with dismayed sounds that he was only vaguely aware of. His hook besides her on the cot, was digging into the thin, inadequate mattress, Hook knowing this was insane. He should be doing anything BUT giving in to his urges, especially while still in the evil queen's tower.

But Belle's lips were even sweeter than remembered, even as they refused to part willingly for his tongue. It didn't seem to much matter, there was so many other places that Hook could kiss, so many spots to choose from if he only could have the proper amount of time.

The hand that hadn't been taken by the crocodile placed its trembling palm over her heart. One second to think he felt its beat, and then he was pawing at her, kneading at her breast. Grabbing, kissing all over, hearing her take a sharp breath a moment before Belle screamed.

The sound didn't quite jar him out of his fantasy, Hook still desperate for her. Wanting, needing, demanding, he thought if he only had her for just a moment longer, it might take the edge off of this all consuming hunger. Even as he reccongize that as a starving man that had gone too long without this particular meal, a tiny bite of her simply wasn't going to satisfy, Hook kissing Belle once more. Whispering feverishly, lips leaving a wet caress on the skin of her throat, Hook felt Belle shiver at the combined threat and promise of his words.

"We will finish this later."

One last resounding smack of his lips, Hook lifting his gaze to meet Belle's frightened one. Only to see her eyes flash at the sight of his tentative smile, that the one and only warning he got before Belle hauled off and slapped him with all her might.

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To Be Continued of course....

8/26/2021 Updated….another one whose beginning got a whole lot of rewriting. Everything else was left about the same, except for some minor tweaking!

-----Michelle

[cypher-of-the-night]

Biography: Naoki Enjo

“Ah-re-re~? You're mistaken. Because.. You are my muse, right?”

~

Full name: Enjo, Naoki

Kanji: 円城, 直生

Meaning: Naoki - Honest Life; Enjo - Round Castle

Nickname(s):

Nao-chan (by Yui),

AOKI (as an Underground Rapper and Stage name),

Xiu-Lan Jiang (Real Name)

Age: 16

Birthday: December 20th

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

Ethnicity: Chinese

Nationality: Japanese

Status: Alive

Race: Human?

Gender: Female

Height: 149 cm (4'11")

Weight: 49 kg (108 Ib)

Hair color: Black, with blue, pink, white streaks (Naturally black)

Eye color: Pink

Blood Type: O

Occupation: 1st Year High School Student

Relatives: Riki Enjo (adoptive father), Ying-Yue Jiang (ancestral foremother), Yuuichi Kuroi (distant relative)

Place: Sakamaki Household

Favorite Food: Anything.

Hobbies: Rapping.

Seiyuu: Asami Tano ( Saki Nikaido from Zombieland Saga ) (Talking / Singing)

English Voice: Amber Lee Connors (Toy Chica from Five Night’s at Freddy’s) (Talking, 1/2)

Significant Other/Keeper: Subaru Sakamaki

~

Personality:

Naoki is an energetic, eccentric, and bold girl, with her biggest strength being honesty and an extremely extrovert personality. While it is initially assumed that she has a highly poor academic record due to her disinterest in studying, Naoki is actually highly intelligent to a point it could even rival with Reiji’s, due to being strictly raised in a traditional, political household where she had high expectations to excel at everything. Upon feeling suffocated by formalities, traditions, and high expectations by her adoptive father, She has always desired freedom and to find a place where she is allowed to be who she is.

This desperate wish became the sole reason she recklessly accepted Karlheinz’s offer which exchanges the freedom she seeks, and this is why she willingly stays with the Sakamaki brothers and follows their rules instead of escaping or resisting. Even upon becoming a sacrificial bride and choosing Subaru, and when he attempt to fluster Naoki by commenting how she looked like she was trying to say that she wants to become his woman by wanting him to suck her blood, Naoki took this seriously as an offer from Subaru and happily agreed to become his woman, which made him flustered instead; This is because Naoki highly despised her arranged (and highly abusive) fiancé and is willing to be Subaru’s woman to keep herself away from her ex-fiancé. Even if Subaru himself becomes the one that hurts her instead.

Despite the abuse by the hand of her adoptive father and her fiancé, Naoki finds salvation upon discovering and falling in love with rap music, which helped her get by emotionally. Her source of strength comes from rap, as she aspires o become a rapper, and wishes to dominate the nation with her music as it is what kept her to stay strong and hopes it would impact other’s lives and help them stay strong.

Despite her lively personality, Naoki admits that she does not fear death. Because of her stressful childhood to be the “perfect daughter” with high expectations before discovering rap music, she had already come to terms to accepting death as there has been many times where what her father and her fiancé has put her through has made her want to succumb to death; It isn’t until by the Maniac arc of the HDB Saga where she begins to fear death because of Subaru.

She also loves food to a point where she won’t mind eating anything and when asked about her favorite food, she would reply with “All of the above”. Despite having always being top of her class, Naoki has Thalassophobia, an intense and persistent fear of the sea or of sea travel, due to traumatizing experiences that almost drowned her multiple times caused and exploited by her arranged fiancé when they were younger.

~

Strengths: Patience, endurance, devotion, fast-learner, observant, highly intelligent, wise, bright, athletic, extroverted, persepctive, hard-working, kind-hearted, protective, goal-oriented, empathetic, playful, a realist, optimistic, friendly, supportive, serious when needed, self-confident, fun-loving, open, and expressive.

Flaws: Stubborn, persistent, big eater, highly curious, strong-willed, passive, has Thalassophobia (an intense and persistent fear of the sea or of sea travel), outspoken, rebellious (to an extent), fearful of her father and ex-fiance, confused, mostly fearless (has no fear of dying), lazy when it comes to studies, hasty (whenever she does feels fear), skeptical when she can see through facades, exasperating at times, slightly naive when it comes to social affairs, tend to get panic and anxious whenever it comes to her past (including her ex-fiancé and her adoptive father), lonely, unwittingly yet emotionally dependent, and sometimes silly.

Skills: Rapping, writing music, dancing, baking, is able to speak Chinese, English, and Korean, her intelligence (has even gotten a higher score than Reiji's), has high patience, high stamina, a fast runner, enhanced sense of smell, slightly stronger than normal humans, good listening skills, reading people and their emotions, skilled at playing on the piano, singing (she doesn’t like to sing), has good flexibility, charisma, negotiation skills, has slow but steady healing, quick thinker, surprisingly observant, and is slowly getting good at housework.

~

History:

For as long as she can remember, Enjo Naoki was raised in a strict household with a politician as a father by the name of “Enjo Riki”. Being the only daughter, she was always pressured to have the image of the perfect child that is expected to obey, to never talk back or complain, and to push past her own limits to meet the high expectations placed upon her. He even forces her to take a daily routine of classes every early morning, forces her on a diet, and places her in prestigious, all-girl schools where she is surrounded by snobbish, rich girls. While she wished to believe her father secretly did care for her, Riki disregards her as a tool and only uses her to gain more political power; His desire for power in the political world runs deep to a point he arranges an political marriage for Naoki to a business partner’s son, Mizushima Satoshi, who was Naoki’s tormentor ever since childhood and was even the person responsible for Naoki’s Thalassophobia by pushing and even throwing her off the boat into the ocean where there were cases where she almost drowns. Even when they both get older into teenagers, Satoshi torment her by touching her sexually; Which causes Naoki to develop genophobia (fear of sexual relations or sexual intercourse). Naoki was never able to talk about it with her father, knowing he would not listen as it would risk losing power he needs to obtain from the marriage.

Due to the neglect and abuse, Naoki held no hope in life or miracles and even considered taking her own life as she saw no reason for her to continue living. Which explains why she does not fear death as she deemed the life she lived as a fate worse than hell. That was until she discovers rap music. At first, she was confused upon the beats of the music; But would come to find comfort in the lyrics to the song as it told life stories about hardship in life. Naoki would later to become more open-minded, which would even help expand her horizons once she encounters a promotion of an anime character with a punk rock style that she was starstrucked by. It was then Naoki began to find salvation to help her keep living, and when she started to get herself involve with rap.

For a while, Naoki would begin to act rebellious, claiming to go to the library to study when in actuality she would secretly go out to research rap music and would join a unit with other underground rappers. After performing a song she rapped in front of a group of people, Naoki received a self-made bracelet from a little girl, who became the petite girl’s first fan. From this experience, Naoki would start to feel like she has finally start to fit in after many years of feeling lost and outcasted, and start to find herself passionate about becoming a rapper herself, with the dream of saving people with her music the same way rap music saved her in her time of need.

However, due to anonymous tip, Riki finds out about Naoki’s activities, forbids her from continuing her activities, and decided to make arrangements to keep her home until she is to be moved to her fiancé’s mansion, even decided to throw out everything involving her activities which also included the bracelet; Finally snapping, Naoki defies her father for the first time and attempted to stand up for herself until her father slaps her before calling her a disappointment, that it was a mistake having a daughter, and leaves her.

Conflicted, Naoki is torn about what to do. Until she is told to run away by a voice. Once the voice told her to leave a few more times, Naoki’s resolution solidified and attempted to run away past midnight; However, she gets caught in the sights of guards hired by her father as he knew Naoki would attempt to run away. She continued to run until she gets trapped in an alley with a dead end with a twisted ankle and was even forced to hide in a dirty dumpster from the guards that arrived after hearing her voice from twisting her ankle. While hiding, Naoki prayed for them not to find her and was saved what she believed was a dog, which didn’t seem to be the case judging by the guards questioning what it was before they escaped once rain began to pour. After they left, Naoki realizes that she has nowhere else to go as the guards continued searching for her in the places she initially planned of going. Resorting to sleep out in the rain, She was encountered by another politician she knows of that she remembers as her father’s rival in the political world: Sakamaki Tougo.

At first, she was hesitant to trust him in fear he would contact her father; But after offering to keep her far from her father and promising her the freedom she yearned for in exchange for her cooperation to help him by living with his sons, Naoki accepted him upon one condition: to allow her to become the person she wants to be rather than someone she isn’t, to become the rapper she dreamed of becoming. Tougo accepted that condition and even spoiled her by giving her her dream appearance (punk-rock clothes, streaks in her hair, etc). Because of this, Naoki viewed Tougo as her savior, solidify her trust in him, and is heavily indebted to him which would later affect her life with the Sakamaki brothers; However, once she started to live with the Sakamaki’s, Naoki began to find out hidden truths about her life that would later come to surface.

The reason why Tougo, who was actually the Vampire King Karlheinz, decided to take her in was because he was actually using her as the other Eve, in case the resurrection of his first wife, Cordelia, in Komori Yui’s body succeed. And Naoki‘s heart was a male first-blood’s, by the name of Asher; Thus, Tougo’s promises to ensure her safety and to give her her freedom were all empty promises to gain her respect and loyalty for her cooperation into the plan, even taking advantage of her situation into his favor. Naoki was actually born to a Chinese clan of human vampire hunters with the first-blood blood in their veins, due to their foremother ancestor, Jiang Ying-Yue; Ying-Yue was the original host of the first-blood’s heart (whom was also her lover in her former life as a human), who went by the name of Asher, was a originally human before turning into a vampire after she gave birth to a human son that carried Asher’s blood. Due to herself staying hidden for many centuries to hide from Karlheinz under her first-blood lover’s instructions, Ying-Yue was given the nickname “Lilith”, who was known to be the first wife of Adam but leaves him after she refuses to become subservient to him (in a similar sense where Ying-Yue refuses to let herself become experimented as an Eve to Karlheinz’s plan); However, their secret was revealed when one of their clan’s members was kidnapped by a vampire who found out about the truth of their blood. In fear that the clan will be targeted, The ancestor initially thought about giving Asher’s heart to a male host; However, She decided to give the first-blood’s heart to an infant Naoki, who was born by the name of “Jiang Xiu-Lan” and had a weak heart similar to the condition Ying-Yue had when she was human, to save her and send her to Japan to keep her safe from the tragedy. After Naoki was taken to Japan to an orphanage, her clan was massacred by Japanese vampire hunters under orders by a former associate: Kuroi Tsurara. It was even revealed that Riki actually adopted her in secret due the truth being that he had infidelity problems, and only chose to adopt her due to her high intelligence surpassing those of the other children and looking similar like him, making her perfect to him to use.

It is revealed that Asher was the voice heard by Naoki in her time of need, as her guardian to keep her sanity in check. It is revealed that, throughout her entire life, Naoki has been unwittingly and emotionally dependent on the first-blood, especially whenever she felt like she was going to snap. This is why Naoki did not go crazy even after everything she has been through in her life, as the first-blood was the reason she remains grounded as her conscience. They have even met during Naoki’s childhood within her dreams, where Naoki calls him “Papa” as she was never allowed to call Riki; However, as she got older, Naoki began to forget the memories of those dreams, and by extension, Asher; Believing that Asher was an imaginary friend she made up due to her lonely childhood. But even after being put to sleep and chained until the day Naoki breaks her chains when the time came, Asher will remain a father-figure to her and be there in her time of need like he always has.

~

Trivia:

• Naoki knows how to repair and patch holes on walls; This is because, whenever she was alone, she would accidentally punch a wall out of frustration from her stressful life; Fearing of being punished, Naoki would hide the damage before fixing the wall herself before her father would come home to notice the damage. She has even punched a hole in walls at school in private before fleeing the scene to resume her day before she could get caught. She viewed this as a parallel of attempting to fix the broken pieces in her heart. She even admits that, had it also not been for rap music to calm her down, Naoki would began to resort to violence and destruction. This is one of the biggest reasons why Naoki empathized with Subaru and doesn’t stop him whenever he causes damages, even helps fix and patch the walls no matter how many times he breaks them. 

This is also how Naoki gets Reiji off her back about her choice of style as she is the only one (besides Yui) that even does anything to help clean up the messes made by his brother. Of course, when asked about it, Naoki refers to cleaning everything as part of her repayment to Tougo.

• Despite her disinterest in studying, Naoki still continues to try hard in order to graduate; Even willing to take notes on subjects she already knows to give to Subaru to help him improve. It is because of this that their teachers, that once given up on Subaru, relying on her to ensure his grades improves. While she does try to help him, the progress is slow and has only gotten him to just barely passing.

• While Naoki considers Subaru as her first love, Asher confesses that Naoki did love Karlheinz, as Togo Sakamaki, for saving her life, but hidden it as she considered it a childish crush; However, this could just be something Asher made up in order to provoke Cordelia once they meet in their respective hosts’ body.

• During the time between the Haunted Dark Bridal Saga and the More Blood Saga of their friendship, it has been decided by Naoki that she will pick out Subaru’s clothes for him; As they wear a very similar style.

• Naoki’s real name is Xiu-Lan Jiang (Jiang Xiu-Lan; 江 秀兰), which respectively mean “Beautiful Orchid” and “River”; Which is ironic considering her immense fear of the sea and her favorite color being lavender.

• Asher reveals a dangerous aspect of killing him from within Naoki’s body even if Naoki lives: If He dies, Naoki will experience imbalance from within psychologically, causing a severe loss of identity/an unstable sense of self. Due to Asher being the reason why Naoki has not gone mentally insane from depression, stress, compulsiveness, and anxiety caused by the abusive environment from her childhood, his existence within her is essential to keep her at bay as she has been unwittingly dependent of him emotionally. This becomes heavily apparent in Naoki’s brutal ending in the Haunted Dark Bridal Saga.

• By the Dark Fate saga, Naoki is revealed to be a human with slightly enhanced skills; This is due to Ying-Yue Jiang, her foremother and Asher’s lover, becoming the first carrier of the first-blood’s heart; Before she turned into a vampire, She had sexual intercourse with another human in an arranged marriage to produce an heir, which lead to conceiving a human child that would later start a new family line of human with first-blood ancestry from Ying-Yue carrying Asher’s heart before the child was conceived; Thus, Naoki is a human with first-blood ancestry. But due to never training like the past clan members, Naoki is considerably weak and is only strong when Asher lends her his strength.

Asher reveals that because the child was born from two humans, despite his blood running through its veins, they can not possess magic, transform, or summon familiars like a first-blood; Instead, because of his blood, The child was stronger, quicker, and healed faster than an average human, along with inheriting the ability to sense vampires and invisible familiars. This is why the clan turned into one with phenomenal vampire hunters as, while they can’t see them, they can sense their presence, using those abilities to their advantages. Which is something that she can do, but not as well at due to lack of training.

Asher also reveals that due to her being a descendant that was born with his blood, once she becomes a vampire, She can, not only use his strength, but also use Asher’s heart and his blood as his hostess to assist her into unlocking her own potential and can awaken all of the basic/passive abilities for a First Blood by a century at the latest; However, due to only being born as a human with first-blood ancestry, Asher himself admits while the process is not that imminent and might take more than a thousands of years, but it should not be impossible to do if she was a vampire, turned or not, and focused hard on training.

• Naoki reveals to wear a padded bra, which is why her flat-chest looks bigger in her clothes, despite the fact that she is perfectly comfortable with her flat chest.

* The reason for this is because her adoptive father ordered her to wear only padded bras so that she may be viewed as “presentable” in public, finding her to be flat-chested for her age as an embarrassment; Which is why Naoki is very proud of her flat-chest, even preferring being called a “Waffle” by Ayato.

• Naoki’s habit of saying “あれれ”/"Ah-re-re" comes from the Murder Mystery anime series, Detective Conan. Which is a cute, child-like way of saying "Huh?"

• In the Haunted Dark Bridal Saga, Naoki shown to have Genophobia (fear of sexual relations or sexual intercourse), as she actually struggles and panic when Subaru started to touch her in a sexual manner in order to break her as a last resort to break her in the Manic arc. Naoki started to overcome that fear as she began to fall in love with Subaru.

• In the Haunted Dark Bridal Saga, Naoki’s greatest treasure is a bracelet gifted to her by her first fan which she often wears in her AOKI wardrobe; However, it was destroyed by Subaru. By the More Blood Saga, the bracelet is repaired, and by the end of the MB Saga, the bracelet is worn by Naoki for her AOKI activities, alongside another bracelet given to her by Subaru.

~

Height Chart:

~

Credits: Sprites made by @crezzstar-commissions, Chibi made by Me, Character sheet image provided by Yuiannii on DeviantArt.

[searchingwardrobes]

Fortunate Son

 Happy Birthday, @superchocovian! I hope your day has been an awesome one! You are a super supportive, wonderful part of this fandom, and I hope you know how much you are appreciated. The lyrics to “Fortunate Son” by Creedence Clearwater Revival have often made me think of Killian Jones, and I have therefore wanted to do a Vietnam-era AU for a very long time. I listened to it on repeat, trying to wake up my muse, and this fic happened. I hope you enjoy these 2,000 words of angst with a happy ending!

When I think about the Vietnam War, I think of the Army, the Marines, maybe the Air Force, but I never think of the Navy. I did a modest bit of research for this fic just to make sure this was half-way realistic, and what I learned blew me away. Yes, the US Navy fought in Vietnam, but it wasn’t in the way we usually think, shooting torpedoes on war ships out at sea. Vietnam really didn’t have those types of ships, so the US Navy had to improvise, creating what became known as the “Brown Navy.” The Vietnam coast is all rice paddies and marshes, and the country is a network of rivers, so the US Navy built these riverboats to patrol the coast, putting Navy seaman up close and personal with the Viet-Cong. These men looked just like we usually think of the US Military in Vietnam, wearing that jungle green, carrying machine guns with bullets strapped across their chests. The thing was, it wasn’t the type of combat they were trained for. Needless to say, Killian would have been messed up just as much as any other Vietnam vet from things he had seen, and Liam most likely would have died a very gruesome death. My mind was honestly blown learning about this, and even though I don’t directly describe these things in this fic, it definitely shaped the tone it’s written in. Can we say angst?

Summary: He was a nobody with nothing. No family, no direction, no future. He didn’t even have a left hand anymore, for God’s sake. And she was the president’s daughter. A Vietnam-era Lieutenant Duckling story.

Rating: M for language, war & drug references, and sexual situations (come on, this is a Vietnam-era fic, what did you expect?)

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @kday426 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @shireness-says @let-it-raines @distant-rose @optomisticgirl @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @killian-whump @hollyethecurious @ohmakemeahercules @xhookswenchx @gingerchangeling

 Some folks are born, silver spoon in hand. Lord, don’t they help themselves, oh. It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no senator’s son, no.

The first time they met he was a naïve petty officer who had never seen combat. His brother, who had just made Lieutenant, stood next to him. Elsa had teased them that they were chosen for the photograph because they looked so good in dress uniform. Killian was just cocky enough to know she was probably right, and he hated it. As for Emma, her blond hair was pushed back with a turquoise headband, slightly teased and sprayed like current style dictated. Her sheath dress was a swirl of psychedelic colors and her knee-high leather boots were a bright and shiny white. He could tell by the fake smile plastered on her face that she didn’t want to be there. Neither did he, truth be told. He didn’t want to be a prop in her politician father’s photo-op. He certainly didn’t want to fake charm to a senator’s spoiled daughter, either.

He looked her up and down, unable to deny what a stunning figure she cut in her outfit. She could easily have been an actress or a model. But the slight roll of her eyes irritated him. She was nothing but a spoiled princess being dragged around by her rich and influential daddy. Her mother scowled at her and gave her a subtle jab to the ribs. Killian tried not the laugh, keeping his own mask in place. The serious, intense look of a US Naval Officer.

Senator Nolan posed shaking their hands, then with his arms around them. He seemed like a genuine, caring man, and Liam chatted with him amiably. But didn’t these politicians use their charms to earn votes? Killian had a hard time believing it was genuine.

They gave the family a tour of the base, camera clicking away. Killian’s blood pressure intensified every time he heard the blonde girl’s bored sighs. Right before the Nolans boarded their private plane, the photographer asked for pictures of the Nolan women shaking hands with Lt. and Officer Jones. Liam went first, smiling politely as the camera flashed. Killian was polite as well. To Mrs. Nolan, that is. When he reached for Emma’s hand, however, the rogue in him took over.

Instead of merely shaking Emma Nolan’s hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed it, then winked at her audaciously. She scowled at him and yanked her hand away.

Yet he did note the pink in her cheeks, and he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip at the sight. She narrowed her eyes further and crossed her arms over her chest. Her cheeks however, had now deepened to a delightful shade of red. Served the snooty Daddy’s girl right.

 Some folks are born made to wave the flag, ooh, they’re red, white, and blue, and when the band plays, “Hail to the Chief,” ooh, they point the canon at you, Lord. It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no millionaire’s son.

The second time he saw her, he was more bitter and completely broken. Then again, so was she. Gone were the teased hair and go-go boots. In there place was a long, golden waterfall of tangled curls and a billowing hippy dress. Her face was hardened, yet a spark still lit her eyes. How they got her to come, he wasn’t sure, but the light in those jade eyes flashed with intensity as she handed her father each purple heart. Her gaze flickered to the blunted wrist at the end of his left arm, but then quickly rose to meet his eyes. He expected pity, maybe even compassion, but not the look of understanding. Did she recognize him?

“Thank you for your service to your country,” her father said as he pinned the purple heart to the chest of his dress uniform.

They had warned them that the first family likely wouldn’t mingle at the reception, so he was shocked when she was suddenly there at his elbow.

 “We met you before, at the base in Norfolk.”

He blinked, not expecting her to remember.

“Um, yes, yes you did.”

 “You had a brother.” She was fidgeting, grasping the fabric of her dress in her fist.

“Yes.”

She took one tiny step forward. “What happened to him?”

He swallowed, the plate he held in his one remaining hand trembling slightly. “He didn’t come home, I’m afraid.”

“Neither did Graham,” she whispered. He suddenly realized where he had seen that look in her eyes before: in Elsa’s when Liam’s body came home in a flag-draped coffin.

They both had reasons for the loss of innocence in their eyes, the hardness in the set of their jaws. A lost brother, a lost fiancé. It was a common tale. Frantic, desperate sex for just one night was a common tale lately, too. People broken by this war – this conflict that is – trying to fill the empty spaces with something to feel. But he was a nobody with nothing. No family, no direction, no future. He didn’t even have a left hand anymore, for God’s sake. And she was the president’s daughter. The God-damn secret service probably knew they fucked.

The president’s daughter! What the hell had he been thinking? She was gone the next morning, of course. He had expected that. What he hadn’t expected was the note.

Sorry I left. It’s complicated. - Emma

 Ooh, they send you down to war, Lord, and when you ask them, “How much should we give?”, ooh, they only answer “More! More! More!” It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no military son.

The next time he saw her, he was glad five years had gone by. Glad because three of those five he had drowned himself in rum. It could have been worse. He could have been tripping on acid like so many other vets. Could have ended up homeless.

Thank God for Admiral Nemo. He’d come to the squalid apartment he was sharing with Scarlet and Jefferson. Scarlet, who had a worse habit with whiskey than he did with rum. Jefferson, who unfortunately had fallen down the rabbit hole with harder vices. Nemo had practically pried a bottle of rum out of Killian’s hand and dragged him out of there. A year of AA meetings and physical therapy on his arm, and Killian was working alongside Nemo in the private sector. Ships could carry more than troops and weapons, after all.

The day she dropped back into his life, she was dressed professionally, in one of those dresses that looked like a trench coat, and her boots weren’t quite so tall or quite so shiny. Her hair was a bit shorter, the curls softer. Her mouth fell open a little when he walked out of his office, her face turning a shade paler. He smiled at her kindly, gently, trying to assure her that she needn’t be embarrassed. She wasn’t the first grieving woman to tumble into bed with a broken sailor, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Emma had a camera around her neck; she was the photographer Nemo had hired for their new company brochures. Their conversation was brief, polite, and Killian couldn’t help the feeling of loss that washed over him as she began to walk away. Then she paused.

“Killian,” she said, turning around with a smirk on her face, “you look good.”

All he could do was stand there like a complete idiot with a goofy smile on his face.

She found him later, when she was done taking pictures, and he managed to ask her for coffee. Her face went slightly pale again, her eyes going a bit wide, but she said yes. This time, it was her hand that shook as she grasped a mug of hot chocolate. The more he tried to engage her in small talk, the more nervous she seemed.

Finally, he sighed into his own mug of black coffee. “Look, Emma, I think I read this wrong. I was happy to see you again, and was foolish enough I suppose to think fate caused our paths to cross again. But you’re clearly nervous, and I don’t wish to push -”

“No,” she cut him off, “it’s not that.” She took a deep breath, then blurted out, “I had a baby five years ago . . . It’s yours.”

She may as well have punched him in the gut. She babbled on about how she tried to find him, but he’d left the military, so there wasn’t really a way to contact him. Her mother had mentioned pulling some strings with the FBI, but she didn’t want to invade his privacy.

“I hate everything my parents stand for,” she barreled on, “so no way was I letting Big Brother hunt you down.”

She bit her lip as she searched his eyes, and he had a flash of memory. Emma beneath him, long blonde hair splayed out on the pillow, moaning and biting on that full lower lip of hers as she came. He shook his head to clear it.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” she whispered.

 “I’ve thought about that night a hundred times.” Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say. It was probably completely out of context. He held his breath thinking he’d put his foot in his mouth until a smile slowly spread across her face.

“So have I.”

 Some folks inherit star-spangled eyes. It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate son.

He met Henry for the first time on Emma’s front lawn. He was riding a bicycle on the grass, with no training wheels. He kept falling over into the grass, then jumping right back on again. An elderly woman sat on Emma’s front porch swing, watching over him. The babysitter said her goodbyes, and Emma pulled Killian down on the porch steps to meet his son.

They didn’t tell Henry that night who Killian was. They didn’t tell him the next day either when they took Henry to the beach to look for shells. They didn’t tell him the month after when Killian made them pancakes after staying the night. No moment ever seemed right, until the day the three of them sat on a blanket at the park having a picnic lunch. Killian knew if he was going to use the ring in his pocket, he better let his son in on the truth.

His son. His son and Emma’s.

He still had nightmares sometimes; of men cut down all around him, the muddy marshes turning red with their blood. He still could never forget Liam dying in his arms, choking on blood. So much blood. His dreams were often red with it.

Yet Emma was there when he woke in a cold sweat, and he knew in the deepest part of him that she always would be. His son rested against his chest when he was tired, his brown hair wet with sweat, his limbs loose as jello. Despite the death Killian had seen and been a part of, this innocent child slept peacefully in his arms.

Emma’s tender smile and Henry’s wide and trusting eyes made him hope again, made him believe again. That maybe, just maybe, he was the most fortunate man in the world.

[perfectcreaturerarelyseen]

To Fall for the Fae | 01 (M)

Pairing: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Unknown Female

Genre: Fanstasy, Modern, Romance, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Words: Chapter 1: 1,774

Summary: Andrew Hozier-Byrne unknowingly searches for the woman that pulled him from the bog 3,000 years ago. Unknown to either of them that in this modern world their souls are still intertwined from the life they shared long ago. She is unavailable, he’s not giving up. Will the woman that inspires his music be wooed by his songs or will he lose his chance? That’s Wasteland, Baby!

Note: A/N: This is a story requested by my best friend to be written about her favorite musician. I have been inspiried by his songs and specific lines. Any reference to his music is use in the name of inspiration and creating art. I do not own any of his music. Any reference to Hozier in this story is fictional and used by the author in the name of crafting art. I want to thank all who read it. I have fallen in love with this story and would love to hear from you. It will be written in installments. The finished story should be well over 50,000 words. Enjoy.

To Fall for the Fae

The death had not been simple. It had not been easy. It had not been painless.

He spent his last days wrapped in sweat soaked clothes. Flushed with a fever slowly ravishing his tall lithe body like a tree dying from rot. They could do nothing more than wait for the merciful inevitable end.

It was not a quiet death. He ranted, he raved, he howled like a feral wounded beast. Then there were times when he sang. He sang the sad sweet music he used to before the draw of sin consumed him. Back when his nimble fingers would pick out slow sensual chords that matched his words that could be harsh one moment then kind the next. He would spend his days serenading the empty air. The trees his only audience, his only love.

He cried out a name, begging for her. A woman. They had never heard him speak this name before. It left them no idea where to begin to search for her. Still in his delirium he begged for her. Offering his soul for the very chance to feel her cool hand brushing his wet hair limp with sweat from his brow.

His death had not been simple. His funeral had.

A pine box. A trip deep into the bog. The wet mud sucking at their shoes. Trying desperately to drag them down along with him. It was Andrew alone destined to become one with the place he had loved most. He was the only one that wet ground would accept. It longed for him.

They laid him down softly in the cold dark earth as the bog took no time to swallow him whole.

They were still left with the ringing of that name in their ears as they trudged away from his final resting place. Perhaps now in death his soul would find a way to crawl back to her.

They could hear her name even now. It ate away at their souls. The plants whispered his forgotten love’s name.

He died alone but not lonely.

Such is the fate of the fae.

Yet as they headed back home to the warmth of their houses they could her his lyrical voice calling one last time.

One word only.

That damnable name.

He whispered it.

“Madison”

OoOo

He rolled off her neither tired nor satisfied. She moaned. Her eyes still rolling into the back of her head as the le petit mort consumed her.

She had taken him to church of that there was no doubt. Still with the sedating buzz of the deathless death he felt hollow inside.

Dissatisfied.

She was a lovely girl. A classic beauty like a heroine from an old black and white flick.

She was everything a man could love.

However, he liked them wild. Untamed, With a soul like a bird that could never be caged.

He could see her then in his mind. Eyes like emerald pools. Reminding him of the rolling hills of Ireland. Of a life clinging to his mind even though he had been far from it for too long.

Her hair was long. Falling to below her waist in dark locks. The strands would be baby fine so he could run his fingers through them for days.

Her nails...her nails he could almost feel grazing his scalp as she’d try fruitlessly to finger comb the tangles from his hair.

Dark brown most times his hair with a trick of the light would turn to a shade like copper fire in the sun.

He could never see her full on. Just a profile. Her individual features. Then she would turn from him and walk out of his mind.

Her name would be on his lips. Whispered under his breath like a prayer to a deity that he didn’t believe in.

“Madison”

He saw her like this only after that sweet release. Perhaps that was why he tried desperately to find her in the women he bedded. He did it rarely. Never cheap. Never fake. For those moments he loved them. The weight of them in the arms he never used to hold her.

He was not loose nor did he consider these women to be either. There was romance always. Seduction. A fondness that could be mistaken for love. Instead he always felt restless. They weren’t her. They never were.

“Is everything alright?” She asks. He looked at her then through the flame of his lighter as the tip of his cigarette began to glow red.

For a moment this beautiful lass, her eyes dancing in the flames, could be her. Just for a moment.

Madisonhis subconscious mind whispered.


I wouldn’t know where to start. his conscious mind thought.

“Yes baby, of course.” He leaned over then and kissed her on the light flesh of her shoulder that peeked out from beneath the crisp white hotel sheets.

He pushed her from his mind and that was that.

OoOo

His fingers picked out the notes bit by bit.

It was 5 am and the city below him glowed on like a town on fire. Everyone was asleep but still those lights burned out the very glow of the stars above. Artificial blocked out the natural beauty. That’s the way of humans though wasn’t it?

The way of love too. You could fuck and mask it as making love all you wanted. Still she had groaned out “Baby...baby...baby” the whole time. As if she couldn’t even remember his name. It would have only been worse if she’d screamed “Hozier!” at that final peak of orgasm.

He’d convinced himself it was real, yet here he was bitter and unhappy on the roof of the hotel, guitar in hand, trying to get two women out of his mind. One a fantasy that would haunt him until the grave. The other asleep in his temporary bed, in this temporary home, in a city that would one day be swallowed back up by the earth. Then only then would nature have won over the fake. Perhaps if he was swallowed by the earth once again he would be free too. Free of her.

He always felt this way after. Always. It felt so good. That romance that seduction beforehand. Hands grazing each other across the table. Crooked smiles exchanged. Words, oh how the words wooed him.

Then the way they would kiss the skin that groaned from him. Play his body as expertly as he played the guitar. It felt good. It felt real.

After though he was bitter. Restless, dissatisfied, angry with himself.

Another girl. Another broken heart. Another attempt to get her out of his head. He could hardly stand it some times.

He allowed for just a moment his mind to drift to her and the words came easy. They always flowed from him like a language of babble spoken in tongues when he thought of her.

His fingers moved over the strings and he parted his lips letting the words slip from his mouth softly.

“Wasteland Baby...I’m in love...I’m in love with you...”

OoOo

“Love with every stranger, the stranger the better eh?” One of the roadies joked as Andrew descended the front steps of the hotel alone. Oh to be alone with you his thinking mind thought as his subconscious mind called her name.

Always, always searching for her. Never satisfied by the absence of her. It called out to her as if it could simply call her to him. It had been calling to her for 29 years and had yet to deliver.

He tried to not think about her by choice. Still the part of his subconscious that he had utterly no control of constantly called to her. Nonstop. Every moment. Every day.

Until he felt like his sanity was leaving him. The only time he felt sane was when he wrote his music. It was actually her music.

She was the muse that sent him the words. No true artist can create without a little tragedy. A little torture. A lot of torment.

“I know her middle name. Mother’s maiden name. Every school she went to plus the list of every pet she’s had over her lifetime. She was hardly a stranger.” Though now she feels like one he thought of their parting.

The throwing of things. The shattered lamp he’d have to pay for. He didn’t care about the cost. He simply felt if a lamp was going to be broken in one of his hotel rooms he'd rather it be in the middle of passion.

Slamming her back against the wall until the plaster cracked and rained down on them. Her foot as he slid inside twisting out in a spasm of pleasure knocking the cheap light fixture to the ground where it would shatter. A wave of moans creating a symphony soundtrack to the ripples of pure ecstasy flowing through them.

If he was with her that’s what it would be like.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to imply...” Andrew clasped the roadie on the back and offered him a wane smile.

“Don’t worry about it.” He was trying to prove more to himself than anyone else that it hadn’t been a meaningless pursuit to clear his head once again.

He ran a hand down his face and sighed.

“I think I could use a strong drink.” Andrew smiled at the thought of the cool liquid burning a hot path down his throat. He ran a finger through his tangled hair and looked quizzically at the guy.

“I know a bar a few blocks away. I don’t think anyone would recognize you there. Decent whiskey.” The guy shrugged apologetically at the last part.

“Tonight I’ll take decent over nothing.” They exchanged a knowing smile that imparted that silent unintelligible “guy” language that women would forever cease to understand.

He shrugged himself deeper into his denim jacket as they left the scene of that hotel with the room forever damned by the smell of sex with another woman that he was never meant to be with.

OoOo

A man like a tall tree stalked a path down the cool night streets of a city he only vaguely knew. His feet dragged. He was dead tired not from sleeplessness. No he dreamed of her every night. That alone lulled him happily to sleep. Instead it was the weariness of the day. The pain of facing the world alone in sea of adoring faces.

To be alone was the fate of the Fae. That is...until their path crosses with another of the winglessly winged figures...

[firelaurel]

Until My Heart’s Unmaking

for @paigyloli​ for the @makoharuflowerexchange​!! Thank you to the mods for running this, and I hope you like your gift! ^-^

Flower: Peppermint, symbolizing fidelity and protection from illness.

read here on ao3!

“Let me pass, please.”

“Haru is not to be disturbed,” said the young man standing in the doorway, looking up at Makoto in a mixture of exasperation and pity. “Master Tachibana, he must rest if he is to get well―”

“Please,” begged Makoto, brandishing a bundle of sweet-smelling mint at him. “Please, Rei. I need to see him. Just once, before I go.”

“Go?” asked Rei, frowning. “Where are you going?”

“I―somewhere. Just, please―”

“Rei,” came a soft voice from somewhere over the manservant’s shoulder, followed by a hacking cough that sent an ache through Makoto’s own chest. “Rei, it’s all right. Let him in.”

“But Haru, you…”

“Have the strength for him, always.” The voice paused. “Makoto, sweetheart, come in.”

Rei stepped aside and waved Makoto past, letting himself out into the corridor before shutting the door behind him. Makoto was left alone just beyond the threshold, clutching his bundle of mint in worry as he saw his liege’s face―white and waxy where his cheeks were once pinker than fresh-cut blushroses, and thin as if he had not eaten for days.

For all Makoto knew, he hadn’t.

“Haru,” he breathed, stumbling the last few steps to the bed and sitting at the prince’s feet. “I―I’m here.”

“So you are,” hummed his friend, breathing the ghost of a laugh as he reached for Makoto’s hands. His eyes were still the same, Makoto thought: long-lashed and blue and clear like the sea at sunrise, blissfully tranquil and as much a source of comfort as they had been in Makoto’s childhood long ago. “With peppermint, too.”

“Oh!” he said, laying the sprigs of mint at Haru’s knee. “These were the best I found this morning, so I cut them for you to make the air fresher.”

“You remembered that I can’t have the windows open,” Haru smiled, taking the rain-damp leaves and pressing them to his nose. “So you brought the spring to me.”

“I wanted to see you so badly,” Makoto confessed, grasping Haru’s hands and kissing them. “When they called the physician, I thought you might―”

“Not yet,” his friend interrupted, bringing Makoto’s fingers up to his own white lips. “And there are worse things than death, sweetheart. I’ve seen them.”

He closed his eyes.

“So have you.”

Makoto thought back to the past year, the year that came and went without a drop of water from the skies, the year Haru broke the most sacred law of sorcery to keep the crops from dying and received a death-curse in exchange. The year Makoto resolved to lift it, only to be foiled again, and again, and again.

It had been nearly ten months since then, he mused. Ten months of Haru growing paler day by day, of his limbs losing the power to heft his broadsword and then to walk unaided, ten months of the wheat and barley and corn growing tall and full in the fields, ten months that had passed without worry for the kingdom or much thought to its prince’s recovery.

Watching it happen―watching the strength leave Haru’s heart and body―that had been a death of its own kind, he realized.

“You, certainly,” Haru observed, breaking him out of his trance. “And I am sorry for it.”

“Sorry?” gasped Makoto. “What―what do you have to be sorry for?”

“For keeping you near, when I’ll soon be so far away,” murmured the prince. “It’s been cruel of me.”

“I would have stayed even if you commanded me to leave your side,” he admitted. “You would have done the same.”

“But you’re leaving soon, aren’t you?” asked Haru. “I heard you, earlier. Where are you going?”

Makoto bit his lip and reached out again for Haru’s hands, pressing them flat to his heart.

“To the North Wilds. To find a healer, for you.”

“What?” Haru sprang upright, tearing his arms away and knocking the bunch of peppermint to the floor. “No, that’s where I went to get the rain spell, and they―they’re the ones that did this to me, they’ll kill you―”

“I’m still going to try.”

“I’ll throw you in the gaols if you do,” hissed Haru, turning three shades whiter. “Don’t you dare, Makoto―”

“Then I’ll die in the gaols, instead of out in the Wilds,” Makoto cried. “I’ve followed you everywhere, into wars and out of them, into places so dark and wretched that you had to carry me back because I was hurt too badly to walk alone―what makes you think I won’t follow you into your grave?”

“You will let me die at peace,” said Haru, suddenly becoming every inch the lord he was and speaking as a prince to a subject and not as a friend to a friend, and certainly not (though this last had never been right for them, even when they were children) as a boy to his brother. “I won’t lie here drowning in terror for you, I forbid it―”

“You’re not going to die at all,” vowed Makoto, meeting him eye to eye. “I won’t let it happen.”

“There’s nothing you can do.” Haru was weeping now, pleading with him, clutching at his tunic with shaking fingers like a child coming out of a nightmare. “I’m afraid to go without you beside me, can’t you see? You think Father hasn’t tried everything? He has, and you know it, so―”

He moved almost without meaning to, and when he next lifted his eyelashes he found his mouth pressed to the heart of Haru’s palm and Haru himself sitting two feet away, staring so hard that his eyes nearly fell out of his head.

“This hand,” he whispered, tracing its fate and marriage lines and wondering what a world without them would be―if the sun would remember to set in the evenings, if the moon would still stir the tides, if the crops would wither and die in mourning for the soul that had given them life. “I’ve always been holding it, always. What would I be without you? You’re as much of me as I am, and I’d rather die fighting to keep you than fade away grieving, after.”

“I know,” choked Haru. “I know, but for my sake, please―”

The prince turned away and coughed into a linen cloth (as he did more and more often, now that the year-anniversary of his curse was only two months away) before rolling it into a ball and stashing it under his pillow―but not quickly enough, for Makoto had seen the bright stain that bloomed between his thumbs like poppies’ petals, and as usual the proof of Haru’s suffering left him so deeply wounded that speech would not come to his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Haru told him again. “Forgive me, aynee. Forgive me.”

“I can forgive you for stopping my heart, Haru-chan,” he said, kissing Haru’s feet through the blankets. “But never for stopping me from preserving yours.”

“Those are the same things, aren’t they?” murmured his friend. “There was never a knight without his prince, or a sunbeam without his shadow. Not for us, at least.”

“No, not for us,” croaked Makoto. “Never.”

And then, because Haru’s eyes were still full of tears, he swallowed his worry and spoke again.

“Will you think about something for me, while I’m gone?”

“Anything, if you promise to come back.”

“Do you think you would like to be married, when you’re better?” Makoto asked him. “With crowns of mint for your hair, and a proper wedding-feast by the summer house. And then a month at the seaside, before coming back to the castle.”

“It sounds very nice,” sighed the prince. “Who would I be marrying? You’ve forgotten to mention that.”

“Whomever you like, aynee. No one could turn your love away, having known it.”

Haru parted his lips to argue, and Makoto brushed them once with his own before laughing and pulling away.

“What say you, my lord?”

“That a certain soldier would stay home, if he wants to make me happy. But that if he goes he must take a good companion with him, and whatever food he can carry and coin enough from the coffers. And medicine from the healing halls, just in case, and--”

“He’ll do all you ask of him, dearheart.” Makoto kissed him again, smiling as Haru pressed forward and sighed before closing his eyes. “Does he have your leave to go?”

“He does,” whispered Haru. “But you will come home?”

“I will come home, and you will heal. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Then there’s nothing keeping me now,” he said, setting the injured peppermint in the vase by Haru’s bed. “I’m taking Strawberry, if you don’t mind.”

“Please, she needs the exercise.” Haru slumped back against the pillows and groaned, already half-asleep as Makoto kissed him for the third time and rose to depart. “Keep safe, my love.”

“And you, Haru-chan.”

“Twenty years,” murmured the prince, clutching a sprig of mint to his heart as Makoto slipped out and vanished. “Twenty years, and he still remembers the chan.”

[burmecianblackmage]

I miss you~ (Because I am an evil person)

Send me "I miss you" to know what my muse will say after 1 year, 5 years, then to 10 years after your muse's death.

"...yeah, the mission went easy-peasy, a real breeze! We even finished early! There was absolutely no need for both of us to come here, so I’m really glad you stayed home with Leander, dear! How has our little man been? Can you get him on the phone for me?”

“I’d love to, dear... but he feel asleep a good hour ago. He’s been very busy today, you know? And he can’t wait to show it to his mommy!”

“Hehe, awww, such a cutie! I can’t wait to see you both again, love.”

“Me neither, dear... But gladly, you’ll be home soon.”

“Uh huh! Sooner than we thought, even! Since we finished early, I figured I could take the earlier train back home! After all, I can’t leave you two alone for too long, right?”

“Hey, we’ve been doing alright... for the most part, at least. Of course we miss you, dear. But I can promise you, I’ve taken good care of our son!”

“You better have! He’s our only son, after all!” For now, at least...

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean now?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing! Don’t worry love, I trust you. I know just how good a father you are... I’d never doubt you being able to take good care of our boy!”

”Oh you.... teasing me again, huh? Just you wait till you’re back home, Selphie. I’ll repay the favor and tease you till you beg me to stop, hehe...”

“Oh my... who says I’d ever tell you to stop...?”

“Oh you...”

“Hehehehe, well, if I want to catch the early train, I should probably go to bed now!”

“Probably...”

“Mmhm... sorry love, but your teasing will have to wait until I’m home...”

“You know I wouldn’t have it any other way...”

“Oh Sceada...”

Oh Selphie... I love you...”

“I love you too... I’ll be home real soon, okay? Oh, and when I get home, I got a big surprise for you!”

“Ohh? Now you’re making me curious dear. Did you buy some souvenirs to bring home?”

“Mmhm... not exactly... or, well, I did. But that’s not the surprise! It’s more... you know.... or maybe a bit of a mix of the two...”

“Okay, now you’ve got me really curious, love.”

“Hehe, hurray, success! But you still have to wait, hehe!”

“Heh... I will. Have a safe trip back, my love. I can’t wait to see you again...”

“Me neither... I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Uh huh. Goodnight Selphie... I love you.”

“I love you too, Sceada. Goodnight dear!”

Little do they know that this is the last phone call they’ll ever share...

"This can’t be true... it... it simply can’t be...”

“...it is. We just got the call... They... they say they already identified her...”

“No... no, that... impossible...”

“I don’t wanna believe it either, Rinoa.... but... but they say there’s no doubt...”

“But... not Selphie. There’s no way...And on a train? That’s just... just...”

“I know... but... unbelievable as it sounds... it... it’s the truth...”

“No... not... not Selphie... Irvine, please, they must be wrong! There... there must be a mix-up!”

“No... they said... they said she was identified without a doubt... the train crash was heavy, but the bodies... the bodies are mostly intact, so...”

“Don’t. Irvine, please. Don’t... don’t say another word... I don’t... I don’t wanna hear it...”

“I know... but... we... we can’t just sit here... we... we need to tell them. Need to tell him....”

“Oh no... No, this... it’ll break his heart...”

“I know, but... but we don’t have a choice... it’s our duty... as members of SeeD...”

“But what about...? If... if we tell him about that as well, it will destroy him... And what about Leander? Who’s going to tell him his mother isn’t coming back?”

“...Sceada will have to... As hard as it is... he will need to be there for Leander. His son... his son needs him now... more than ever...”

“But if we tell him about that, I don’t think he could handle it! It would break him!”

”In that case... we have no choice but not to tell him...”

“...this is just too cruel... Why... why did this have to happen...? Why to her? Why now?”

“I know, Rinoa... I know... It’s just not fair... She’d been so happy... so excited... and now...”

“Now we’ll never get to see her smile again...”

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

She was supposed to arrive at the train station like she always had, and to see her boys waiting for her with a wide smile. Sceada would have little Leander riding on his shoulders, holding a little card they had made themselves together, reading “Welcome Home Mommy” - Oh, how had the three year old boy been proud of this card, how eager to show it to his mother!

But the train never arrived, and with it, so too did Selphie not arrive.

And no matter how many hours they had waited, she never would arrive, never would return again....

1 year later

"I still can’t believe it... I... I don’t want to believe it... Why did it have to be you...? Why did it have to be this way...? It’s just not fair...”

The man before the small grave was barely recognizable, compared to merely a year ago. Back then, he had been well-kempt and dressed cleanly, with a wide smile on his face and his son’s tiny hands being the sole reason his hair was a bit messy. Now, however, he looked worse for wear, a truly worrying sight, as he sat there in front of her grave, in the middle of the pouring rain.

Oh how much things could change over a year... and all just because of a single, ill-fated moment...

“I never should have let you go on this mission... never should have let you take that train... why did it have to be this train... why... why did it have to be a train at all? You always loved trains so much... it’s just not right... it’s just not right that you’d have to die in a train crash of all things...”

They still hadn’t found the reason for the crash, a whole year after the accident. It was both pathetic and painful. How could they not find the reason? How could they leave him to suffer like that for this long? It just wasn’t right... it’d never be right...

“I miss you... I miss you so much... It’s been so hard without you... Leander.... Leander he misses you too, he’s always so sad, it... I... I...”

The Burmecian’s words would be interrupted by his own sniffling and sobbing. He truly was a sorry sight... It was fortunate that his son didn’t have to see him like this.

“It’s hard... but... but we’re trying... I’m trying... to raise him like you would have... and he’s such a good boy... Rinoa and Irvine... they... they help me, where they can... They’re also the ones watching Leander right now... I... I know you would have liked to see him again, but I... I... I just... I just couldn’t... Forgive me, my love...”

He would stay in front of her grave for hours, crying many a bitter tear while he spoke with her, until day would fade into night...

5 years later

"I never should have let you go... if only I had known... if only you had told me... I... I’d never... and then... and Leander would still have his mother, and... and...”

Once again the Burmecian is crying bitter tears in front of his wife’s grave, much like he had the first year, whereas the years before he had fared better. Yes, just last year, he had even taken Leander along for this day. But this year was different. This year, all the pain, all the sorrow... it had come back, and grown only larger.

For almost exactly five years after the accident, the authorities had released all the evidence they had still held onto, thus returning Selphie’s belongings to her family at last. And while this was meant to be the moment where all the questions finally were over and answered, where the investigation was closed and they could finally come to terms with it all and part from the last things left behind, there had been one item he never expected among her belongings. One item which changed it all.

A pair of new baby clothes.

They couldn’t have been Leander’s, for he knew them all, knew every last piece, and this one had not been among them. So it was one Selphie must have bought, quite recently before her much too sudden and early passing, and that... that had left only one conclusion. One terrible, heartbreaking conclusion...

“Why didn’t you tell me... why... if I had known... if I had known that you were pregnant again... I never would have let you go on this mission... You would never have boarded that train, and we... we would still be... you would still be... we...”

The baby clothes in his hands were damp from his tears already, yet once again he is hurting so much, he cannot help but bury his face against them, staining them even further with tears.

At first, he didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want it to be true. But when he asked Rinoa, and later Irvine, they had admitted to the truth, confirming his worst fears.

She had only recently learnt of the second child growing within her, mere days before she left for that mission, and she had told her two dearest friends. Not because she had wished to hide it from him, not because it would have been too soon after Leander, no, nothing the like. She had been so happy, had smiled so brightly, as brightly as only a mother-to-be could, and she had been so ecstatic to have another child. And she had wanted to surprise him with the happy news.

That’s why she had insisted on taking this mission alone, despite them both having been requested. That’s why she had convinced him to let her go, rather than staying with Leander herself while he’d take care of it. She wanted to prepare this surprise for him and Leander alike, wanted to go on one more mission. It might have been her last, after all.

And it had been, but for a much more devastating reason than becoming a mother again...

“Why did this have to happen...? Why this accident...? Why, oh gods, why? Why have you taken from me not only the love of my life... but also my child...?”

The fact that he had lost even more on that day, 5 years ago, than he ever knew... it was enough to break him, to render him a sobbing mess for many a day.

And if it had not been for sweet, 8 year old Leander, who not only needed him but also cheered him up again, who knows whether Sceada would ever have smiled again...

10 years later

10 years... it was such a long time, and it felt so unreal. Especially, when it all still felt so close to him.

True, the pain had lessened, and though it had been more than just difficult, he had eventually come to accept the unchangeable. But some things would never change. LIke how much he missed her, how much he longed to see her again, even though he knew it was impossible. Or how fondly he’d remember her, how she had loved him, how she had made him happy, made him smile. And last but not least... how much he loved her.

He would never stop loving her, never stop being thankful for all she had given him, from her love to her affection, all the way to Leander. And speaking of the by now 13 year old boy...

“C’mon dad! We shouldn’t let Mom and Sis wait!”

Leander was doing great, and he had grown into a splendid boy, a young man even. And he had helped his father to overcome the heartbreaking realization that Selphie had been with child when she died, in a way likely only he could have.

Soon after having been told about it, when both his father as well as Auntie Rinoa and Uncle Irvine had deemed him old enough to understand it, the boy had decided that the second child had been his sister. The gender of the unborn child had never been determined, for it had been much too early still, but no one had the heart to tell him so - and somehow, strangely enough, it had helped them all come to term with it all better, had made it more real.

And so, they had buried the baby clothes right next to Selphie’s grave, turning it from his mother’s grave into the graves of both his mom and sister for Leander.

Sceada would have never thought that this would help him feel better, but ultimately, it had. And though Selphie’s death was still saddening and a heavy burden on him, he could at least face her grave with a smile now.

“I’m coming, Leander. Just give me some time, I’m not as fast on my feet as you are, you know that. Feel free to go ahead if you want to.”

“Okay dad, thank you!”

And so the boy would run ahead, up the hill to where the gravestone stood marking his mothers grave, and the little wooden cross right next to hit, devoted to his sister.

By the time Sceada would arrive there as well, the boy would already be deep in his conversation with them both.

“...and you know mom, there’s this girl in school who keeps picking on me, and some of my friends say she does that because she likes me! Uncle Irvine thinks so too! But isn’t that stupid? Or is that really a thing girls do? Did you pick on dad too when you first met? He never mentions anything like it, at least, so I think it’s not true! After all, if you love each other, you’re not supposed to pick on each other, right? What do you think, sis?”

The Burmecian could only chuckle at hearing all of this, and would patiently wait his turn while Leander would happily talk about school, living with his dad, that one girl as well as his Auntie and Uncle. Everything going on in his young life. And once he’s done, once he’s told her everything he wanted to, that he needed to - including even stuff about another girl he hadn’t even told his father about yet, a “real cutie, just like you and Sis were!”, as he put it, bringing a tear to Sceada’s eyes - he’d carefully hug the cold gravestone and hold it close for a good few minutes.

“I miss you, mom... I wish you could be here with me and dad... I wish you could see me... and I could see you again... I love you, mommy... I always will...”

Following this, the boy would seek comfort in his father’s arms, the Burmecian holding him tightly and patting his back, before it’d then be his turn. And when the time had come, he too would walk up to the grave, sitting down in front of it, and placing a small candle right next to the stone.

“Hey Selphie... Did you miss me...? I know I missed you... Very much so... But Leander and I, we’re doing well. We try to smile each day, like you would have wanted us too... I’m taking good care of him... - well, as good as I can, I mean.... How is it on your end...? Are you looking after our cute little girl...? How is she...?”

And so he would tell her about life and about missing her, shedding a couple of tears while he was at it. But when the time came to head back home, both of Selphie’s boys would stand before her grave with a smile.

Just like she would have wanted.

~~~~

[korkrunchcereal]

What Futures May Hold

(This is the final part to Act II of Aurelian’s story! Read the previous part here)

Aurelian straightened his sleeves as he stood up, looking across to the body of his relative. There was always something rewarding of a plan coming together perfectly; it even made the wine taste good despite its obnoxious flavor. Illuria Indaris was dead by his hand, and he did not feel an ounce of regret. It was just business, in a sense. Perhaps had he known her for more time he might have felt some form of sorrow yet looking now at her lifeless form he felt contempt.

“Not a true Indaris; hah.” He stumbled a bit as he stepped forward, having to brace himself against the table. He had not lied when he said both him and Illuria had been poisoned, feeling its effects begin to creep into his system even now. It was a bit risky he confessed, but with great risks came great rewards. He looked up to see Balor standing at the doorway, arms crossed.

“Who won the chess?”

“I did, of course.” He straightened himself, walking towards the man who was more than that. “The guards?”

“Disposed of outside. It’s a clear walk from here. Valkorius should be right outside with the full antidote for you…I must say it was a foolish plan.”

“Foolish perhaps, but it worked. See the thing is Aldronya, no one expects your assassin to also poison themselves; that would be insane.”

“Clearly.” She said with sarcasm. “She looks…peaceful. Is she smiling?” Aurelian craned his neck around to look. Sure enough, the faintest tug of a smile had formed on the woman’s lips as she died.

“I think so, though I’m not sure why. Ah, but she’s dead now and could not tell us anyways. Best not to dwell on questions we can’t solve now.” Aldronya, disguised as Balor, eyed Aurelian curiously. “What?”

“Nothing. Come on. Can you walk on your own?”

“Yes of course. The poison hasn’t hit me fully yet.” She gave a nod in response, turning to move through the house. Aurelian gave one final look back towards Illuria, before departing. As Aldronya had said, the way to the front door was clear of anyone save Valkorius, who stood beyond the entrance. He held a small vial in one hand, offering it out to Aurelian.

“Drink.” Aurelian did just that, grabbing it and gulping down the contents. His face contorted in disgust as the man gagged.

“Ugh that’s absolutely awful. That might in fact be the worst thing I’ve ever had.”

“You’ll feel ill for a short while,” Aldronya began, “But it’s better than dying.”

“So she is dead then?” Valkorius asked, tone strangely calm.

“Yes. Does that bother you?”

“No. She had betrayed the Nightborne for power…I merely regret the choices that led to this.” He turned to look at Aldronya, crossing his arms. “We are settled, Aldronya.”

“We are, perhaps…but there is still much I must do. I killed too many good people under Illuria and Erimonte’s orders, and their deaths do not make up for that fact.”

“So what will you do then?”

“Aid the rebels in the way I know best, and secure Cyrenia’s safety.” She paused, sighing. “Gentlemen it’s been awful, but thank you…Cyrenia is free because of you both. While I hope our paths never cross again, if they do drinks will be on me.”

“Farewell, Aldronya.”

“Yes, yes. Farewell, and I too hope we never cross again because I don’t think I’ll survive a second meeting with you.” Aldronya shot daggers at Aurelian, before snickering.

“We’ll see, outlander.” She gave a bow of her head before departing, leaving Aurelian and Valkorius alone at the front entrance. Valkorius turned, eyeing Aurelian briefly.

“Walk with me; there’s some things I’d like to talk about.” Aurelian raised a brow before nodding, motioning for Valkorius to lead on. “We won’t walk far; to the waterfront. There’s no demons near it right now, so we should be safe.”

“As you say, Valkorius. What is it you wish to talk about?”

“I am old, Aurelian…I was on death’s door millennia ago. My magic has aided in keeping me alive, but it will not last forever. The deaths of my children mean that your line is the last of the Indaris. This home?” he turned as they were walking, waving his hand towards the Indaris manor, “Is what remains of my legacy here, in Suramar.”

“So what are you saying?”

“You must do what my children could not do Aurelian. You cannot fail this house. Your recklessness and pride will cost you in the days to come, but you must remain steadfast. Dark shadows gather on the fringes, ready to bring the house crashing down. There will be others like Illuria and Corvayon; powerful individuals cursed with weakness of will, too scared to fight. You cannot submit. When I die, Aurelian, you and your family will be all that’s left of the Indaris.”

Aurelian had rarely considered that. Until a few months ago he was certain his family was all that remained of the Indaris legacy. While that had changed, events had once more resumed such a mindset. He was the lord of House Indaris whilst his brother remained in his coma. Yet what could he show for it? What great deeds of note could he share with the world? How could he ensure his line lasts another ten thousand years, much as Valkorius’ had? These were questions for another time, and so instead he asked a simple question of the elder Indaris.

“What do you suggest I do, then?”

“Fight. You must be ruthless and cold, but you must respect your enemy. You must command respect and fear, but never one over the other. And most important, you must do what is necessary for the house’s survival, even if it is the hard choices in life.” Aurelian was quiet then, as he mused over that. Finally he broke the silence, tilting his head some to look skywards.

“Earlier you said you had regrets over the events that transpired. What did you mean by that?” At that Valkorius went silent, hands folding together.

“No father wishes to see their children killed, Aurelian. We may do what is necessary, but it does not make it simple. I regret I could not be there to steer the course of my children away from serving the Legion’s interests…but what’s done is done. Now we must pick up the pieces of their mistakes.”

“So what will you do now then, Valkorius?”

“I will remain here in Suramar. Illuria and Erimonte were indeed only pawns of a much larger game here. As long as Elisande sits upon her throne, Suramar will never truly be free.”

“What of the manor? Will you take it over once all this is over?”

“Over?” Valkorius chuckled at that. “The war is never over. Enemies will always hammer at our gates, child. Even if the Legion is cast from Suramar, they yet remain beyond the shores and beyond the stars. No, the great game of our enemy will continue to play, and so I must always fight. But…perhaps I will take over the estate, rather than let it rot.”

“A grim outlook, I must confess. One day the fighting will stop.”

“With the Legion? Perhaps. But there is always another foe to face, is there not? Now what of you, Aurelian. Will you return to your home?”

“I think so, if only briefly to make sure things haven’t collapsed into chaos and to dissuade any worries of my fate. Oh, and to drink some proper wine of course; arcwine is far too sweet. After that though? I think I’ll return here.” At that Valkorius narrowed his brow in curiosity.

“Oh? I had thought you wished to leave this place.”

“I do…but it’s something Aldronya said, of all people. This fight is everyone’s fight. I cannot hide away, for something will always come to pull me in. Whether it be relatives or demons, I know I will find myself in the conflict once again. Besides, it gives me an excuse to walk these streets again.”

“Do I detect admiration in your tone?”

“Yes. Remove the demons, hostile guards and near deaths I am fond of this city’s beauty.” Perhaps surprisingly it was true; Aurelian had grown fond of Suramar. In many ways it reminded him of Silvermoon before the fall, when elegance and beauty ruled the streets rather than ruins and bitter memories.

“I’m not entirely surprised. This place is beautiful. Ah, you should have seen it before the Sundering; the crown jewel of civilization was Suramar, despite what Azshara might have said otherwise.” As Valkorius continued talking, Aurelian’s thoughts strayed back to his own lands. He did wish to return home, to hold onto all he held dear. In a way he was homesick of the grass covered plains of Illonia, or the white marble stone of his home. But most of all, he wished to see his betrothed again. Near death experiences had a funny way of making him feel that way, he realized, and he could not help but smile at the thought of it, and of her.

 Far, far away on the roads of the Gilded Lands, a single carriage travelled across the land despite the downpour rain. Lord Arion Moonsworn hated the rain, hearing the raindrops make a dull thud against the wood of his carriage. He was alone, arms crossed as he leaned against the cushion inside. The rain perhaps was fitting, considering his melancholy mood. Discussions with the Lady Calithiel…No simply Calithiel had been sour.

“Damned bitch…” Arion muttered as he sulked. The monumental arrogance Lord Indaris had in making his betrothed, not even his wife, ruler in his place despite her lack of any title had been insulting. Immediately more insulting was her rampant disregard for the way things were in the Gilded Lands. She was an outsider, and worse still one who was a nobody at best.

Yet he could not of course say any ill word of her publicly, and arguably so not even privately for the Lord Indaris had eyes everywhere in Moonsworn’s court. His house remained heavily indebted in many ways, least of all financially towards House Indaris. He was in Aurelian’s pocket, which meant he was in Calithiel’s pocket which meant he could not voice his discontent. It was infuriating, especially so for her disregard of his ‘personal issues’ as the woman had said.

He had gone to request aid in dealing with the local criminal group known as the Unbidden, who had in recent months become more of a nuisance towards House Moonsworn. Even in his throne of Waycrest they were a thorn in his side. He saw little of the riches that passed through his court as it made its way to the coffers of House Indaris, which meant some of his own people considered him merely a puppet to House Indaris. He could not provide fully for them, which meant he needed to be replaced.

He blinked, realizing in his thoughts that it had gone strangely dark in the carriage. He looked outside the window, realizing it had become pitch black. Bolting up, he looked around inside the carriage, hand moving to grab the door handle. As he pulled against it, the door creaked but did not budge. He was trapped inside, and despite knowing little in the way of magic the hair on the back of his neck rose up.

“Lord Arion Moonsworn.” A dark voice that seemed to shake the very carriage boomed in Arion’s ears, forcing him to place his hands over them as he closed his eyes. “Lord of House Moonsworn, and ruler of Sentinel Bay, no?” The voice became a whisper then, sweet and seductive. He opened his eyes then, jumping back against his seat in shock as he saw another occupant in the carriage.

“W-who are you?” It was another elf, clean of features with oily black hair cut short. The man looked greasy, as if touching him would stain the hand.

“Consider me an interested party.”

“Interested? In what? What are you?” At that the elf smiled, revealing an impossible amount of teeth. Arion’s blood froze in his skin, the man cowering against the corner of his carriage.

“Now now, Arion I’m not here to harm you. In fact, I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?”

“Yes. We have much to discuss, and a long carriage ride to Waycrest. Relax, for what i’m about to offer you I know you can’t resist.”

[generaladviserywarning]

STUDY    :    JA’FAR.

—    BASICS.

▸     IS    YOUR    MUSE    TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ? Average height I think! Around 5″7.

▸      ARE    THEY    OKAY    WITH    THEIR    HEIGHT ? Yes. He doesn’t need to be tall to do what he does or keep a certain King in line. In his youth he cared more but now it’s mellowed out.

▸      WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ? It’s short though he lets it grow down to around his shoulders before trimming it. It’s very fine and soft and curls only in certain spots.There’s none to little pigmentation and it’s always been that way.It reflects a lot of light in the sun and sometimes even moonlight.

▸     DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ? He does brush and wash it, but aside from that and the occasional trim he has no hair routine. He does enough grooming to be hygienic and presentable. He worries more about his skin and its tendency to burn.

▸      DOES   YOUR   MUSE   CARE   ABOUT   THEIR   APPEARANCE   /   WHAT    OTHERS    THINK ? It varies? Honestly Ja’far thinks of himself as very plain looking overall which he is fine with since he doesn’t normally want too much attention. He worries more when appearances do matter like diplomatic meetings and the like. Otherwise he’s keenly aware of all the scar he’s collected especially when he’s seen too much sun and they stand out starkly on his skin. He also has scales on his chest, which he has mixed feelings about. They are the mark of becoming less ‘human’ due to assimilation and they’re hard to simply explain away to curious eyes so he covers them up.

—    PREFERENCES.

▸     INDOORS    OR    OUTDOORS ?     indoors ▸     RAIN    OR    SUNSHINE ?      Rain though he appreciates the sun (from a shady spot) ▸     FOREST    OR    BEACH ?      Forest. There’s more shade there and while he loves the beaches of his home, exposure to the sun is his enemy. ▸     PRECIOUS    METALS    OR    GEMS ?      metals make knives and armor so!  ▸     FLOWERS    OR    PERFUMES ?     flowers. perfumes can be too strong for his senses. ▸     PERSONALITY    OR    APPEARANCE ?      Personality. ▸     BEING    ALONE    OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ?  Alone working or working w friends ▸     ORDER    OR    ANARCHY ?     order. ▸     PAINFUL    TRUTHS    OR    WHITE    LIES ?     painful truths. Unless children. ▸     SCIENCE    OR    MAGIC ?     magic. ▸     PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ?     peace. it’s a shared dream he strives for. ▸     NIGHT    OR    DAY ?     day. for working ▸     DUSK    OR    DAWN ?     dusk. to cool down ▸     WARMTH    OR    COLD ?     He gets v hot v easy, so he likes cool things. ▸     MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW    CLOSE    FRIENDS ?     Close friends ▸     READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ?      Reading.

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ? He’s a full on workaholic non stop will work till he drops and can even work after he drops. The man has a problem. He also has a temper, it’s canonically listed as his weakness. He can forget self care and think of his life as more of a tool or means to an end than a experience to be lived.

▸      HAS    YOUR    MUSE    LOST    ANYONE    CLOSE    TO    THEM ?      HOW    HAS    IT    AFFECTED    THEM ? He killed his own parents at the age of six and it tore him up so much he basically almost fell into depravity because of the inner conflict it created along with the hell he had to survive and kinda thrive in.

Then he thought he’d lost arguably the most important person in his life, the one who saved him and gave him a dream to live and reach for, to a fate arguably worse than death and he couldn’t do anything to stop it at first. He was devastated, but snapped out of it due to his adopted mother pulling him back and pulled all sorts of shit to get him back. And he did! But it was a dark time.

Then he lost his second mother and so many dear friends and allies to the first fall of Sindria, seemingly including Sinbad again. It changed everything. He became relentless in all of his duties, helping to raise 5 kids, rebuilding the embers of Sindria trading company, re-honing his skills so he’d never lose anyone else. It’s here where he developed his workaholic tendencies and gained the ability to work while unconscious. It’s a lot and he hasn’t completely dealt with all of it and its aftereffects.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    FOND    MEMORIES    YOUR    MUSE    HAS ?   Becoming close with everyone after Valefor’s dungeon. The first time Kikiriku said his name or called him big brother. Travelling the world with Sinbad Mystras and Hinahoho. Taking in Masrur and like every other younger general. The first time Sinbad genuinely laughed after his rescue and after the fall of Sindria. The first and second founding of the Sindrian nation. All of his work related achievements. Meeting Aladdin and friends.

▸     IS    IT    EASY    FOR    YOUR    MUSE    TO    KILL ? Yes, it can be. He doesn’t like doing it, but the truth remains. he was born and raised to kill. After the fall of Sindria he returned to honing his skills for protections. He won’t hesitate if the conditions are right.

▸      WHAT’S    IT    LIKE    WHEN    YOUR    MUSE    BREAKS    DOWN ? He works until he drops and tries denying any feelings but they are definitely there and it only gives him more mental and emotional scars. Anger is the only time he can actually go numb and it’s primarily so killing can be effortless.

▸      IS    YOUR    MUSE    CAPABLE    OF    TRUSTING    SOMEONE    WITH    THEIR    LIFE ? Yes, but only certain people. Then again, he doesn’t care about his life nearly as much as he should anyway so it can be a moot point.

▸      WHAT’S    YOUR    MUSE    LIKE    WHEN    THEY’RE    IN    LOVE ? He doesn’t realize it. The first step. Then he gets mad at himself for falling into it the moments where he does admit to himself he’s in love. ‘If I ignore it, it will go away!’ It doesn’t! ‘If I reason out why it could never be then it will die out!’ That only works in making him miserable and breaking his own heart. He never expects it to be reciprocated; it’s very hard for him to fathom why anyone would fancy him never mind the one he secretly pines for. usually he’s unable to appropriately deal with it without outside help. If it were ever returned, he’d be still be a little shy before he becomes bolder and more confident. He’s a very affectionate supportive person willing to hash out difficult stuff and weather through many storms with his partner.

TAGGING: uhhhhhh @idealflames, @temperateskies @gravity-lord-rises and anyone else who wants to!

[indiemcn]

❛ have you ever lost someone? // Drew & Liam

@inxspacetime

in which I had muse and I sent myself a meme for our ship from this post

By all accounts the man was a bastard, but still, he was Liam’s father. News of his death had only reached Liam’s ears after the man had passed on, the omega had been running from the alpha for so long that he hadn’t prepared for what he would feel like when he was finally free of his pursuit. Their society was what it was, but Liam knew also that he could have been treated worse, were he born into another pack he might have been - his father’s death did not mean that Liam was free, but at least there was one less individual pursuing him. He’d never be free, not really, so long as he was an omega there would be those who chased after him. Perhaps their society was broken, and perhaps the alpha understood that as well as anyone, but in the end he’d wanted the best for his son, and he’d given him as close to as a normal upbringing as the omega could have hoped for. 

Stood before the alpha’s grave Liam grappled with his emotions, his face still before he felt a hand weave into his own. Cold, strong, familiar, this was how Liam had come to define the other. Unchanging and consistent, when Liam had run away he hadn’t expected to find refuge anywhere, let alone with someone who’d lived more lifetimes than the omega would know what to do with. In such a considerable life it seemed inevitable that Drew would have understood what it was that Liam was going through, at least to some extent. 

At the time Liam had only ever seen the cage in which he’d kept, the gilding that polished restrictive bars to gold. It was in the retrospective hindsight of standing before the tombstone of an alpha that Liam would never have reconciliation with that he permitted himself the leisure of remembering the brighter moments that the omega’s fate had overshadowed. A father’s laugh, his strength, his stubbornness. 

Liam’s grip tightened into Drew’s as he craned his head to rest upon the other’s shoulder. Things had been quiet for him the last month or so, at last Liam understood why - he learned now that death, too, could be a gift. Liam breathed in the familiar scent of the other, where at once he’d thought it pungent and acrid, now he likened it to worn leather, to an uncorked bottle of whiskey, to freedom. Rain punctuated the scene as gray clouds churned against the night sky, opening up to enrich the earth with the deep, rich scent of petrichor that lifted through the lines of graves. There was a question that burned at the back of Liam’s throat as he managed to bring his gaze from the tombstone at long last.

“Have you ever lost someone?”