#( V: HE SNEERS UPON HIS CONTACT WITH THE WORLD. ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

secretshinigami · 5 years

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Not Alone

Author: @jam-knife (I’m submitting through my main) For: @misas-biggest-fan Pairings/Characters: LxLight Rating/Warnings: Mature. Major characters’ deaths. Mentions of sex (though nothing too explicit, and I kept curse words to a minimum too). Angst, lots of it. Prompt: Light being tailed by L’s ghost Author’s Notes: heyyyyy first of all I LOVED your prompts! I really enjoyed writing this for you, it was a very interesting scenario to explore. I hope you like it!!! Please let me know what you think of it once you finish reading it. Second of all, this fic begins with a scene that was unfortunately cut from the anime (though it wasn’t canon in the manga as far as I know, so it’s not that bad). I don’t know whether or not you’ve watched it, but I’ll leave the link here just in case! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tX1_K-mUH94 Word Count: 12k (approximation)

“You said nothing much to look forward to, Ryuk?”

Light’s words were met only by the rustling sound of leaves being ruffled by a sudden cold breeze, which carried with it the smell of removed earth, moss and death. The dirt stuck to his palms and the fabric of his pants as he stood up. He didn’t even show the empathy it required to rub it off.

“Not really. From now on, I’m going to show you how the new world is built.”

His eyes travelled to the sky, dyed orange and red as dusk fell upon him and his –unusually silent– Shinigami. He didn’t give L’s grave one last glimpse as he turned and left. What was there to see anymore? The rocky cross was nothing more than some artfully carved stone, the body six feet below it just an empty carcass, and the dirt that covered it and clung to his person wasn’t different from any other dirt.

None of it truly represented what L had been. L couldn’t possibly be reduced to or preserved in a graveyard lot. Those symbols were hollow.

L was gone. Forever. Which meant that Light now had green light to do with the world –His world– what he wanted.

That’s when he felt it, for the first time.

A step.

Light froze. That… he must have imagined it. Just in case he glanced over his shoulder, and confirmed there was nobody else there; just Ryuk, hovering half a foot over the paved path. That means he imagined it.

That extra step, as if someone tailing him had synchronized their walking with his own, but their last step was slightly off-key.

No. It was nothing. It had been a long day… a long year actually. But now the war was finally over, and all there was left to do was conquer-

He didn’t manage to conclude that thought before the chilling breeze enveloped him in a personal whirlwind of sorts, seeping into his clothes and attacking his every nerve. It only lasted a moment, but it was more than enough for him to perceive an intention in it. One simple idea. Confrontation.

Light was free. Omnipotent. And L was no more.

That is the plain truth… right?

The second time he noticed it was a few days later. Most of the time he wouldn’t even remember it, but every now and then the extra step would announce itself. Subtle, barely present enough to tickle the back of his head. And it grew worse every time he looked the Task Force members in the eye and manipulated or lied to them.

No, he didn’t feel guilty about L’s death –or about any death that preceded it. To think that the reason why his subconscious invoked a constant sensation of being followed and sneered upon was because of some pathetic remorse was ridiculous. Light Yagami was above all that moral crap humans loved to entertain themselves with. He was the God of a newborn world; he simply did what needed to be done for true justice to prevail.

No matter how many times he told himself this, though, the sensation wouldn’t fade away. But, again, it was just that. A sensation.

Or so it had been, until that night.

He had been working on replicating L’s voice synthesizing program for hours on end. There were no windows on the building’s main room, but he knew it was probably very late by now. Even Ryuk, who didn’t biologically need sleep as the otherworldly being he was, had sprawled himself messily on one of the couches and was snoring to his heart’s content.

Light sighed and went back to work. He remembered how that artificial voice had sounded when L used it against him, and when he lent it to Light so he could contact Namikawa during the Yotsuba period. That’s how he knew he was close to getting it right; going to sleep now would only be a waste of time and concentration.

He tweaked the depth and the vibration here and there, checked it, then went back to correcting it. And finally, he succeeded.

“Hello, one two three, testing…” He spoke into the mic, and beamed when he realized he made it. Yes, this would work.

To make sure it was convincing enough to fool anyone, but mostly just because he was feeling giddy with victory, he tried out some L-ish phrases and worked on his intonation and mood.

“You’re in Japan. And your first victim was… little more than an experiment.”

That was exactly what that man had said… so many months ago. Light could still perfectly recall the smugness dripping off every syllable.

“It won’t be too long now before I am able to sentence you… to death.” He replicated impeccably, the words leaving a sour aftertaste behind as he remembered the rage they had unleashed within him back then.

Light gulped and took a breath before leaning into the mic one more time.

“I am L.”

Are you done playing detective?

Light jumped. The chair rolled beneath him and he landed roughly on the floor, together with the toppled mic and a stack of papers, causing a momentary ruckus. He quickly scrambled to his feet, finding support on the desk behind him as he eyed the room. But there was nothing there.

There was no way. He could have sworn he heard L’s voice –not the digital fake, the real deal– whispering inside his head just now. But it lacked the inconsistency of a memory; it had sounded way too organic. It was nothing like the footstep or the silent vigilance. That… was real.

But it couldn’t be. L was dead –he was absolutely certain of that. He had held his body when it happened. He felt it go numb. Still. He confirmed there was no pulse. Then why… why could he hear him?

Was he going crazy?

Every ounce of rationality in him told him so. But. If that… thing just now was real, then…

“Well… Shinigami exist, don’t they? Literal Gods of Death.” He thought out loud. “So… what would be so weird about ghosts?”

Slowly, as if not to disturb the atmosphere, he picked up the chair and sat back down. Not facing the computer, but the room enveloped in darkness. Nothing happened, but he still raised his knees to his chest and adopted his rival’s trademark position out of instinct.

He was definitely losing it.

“Did I make you mad, L?” Light teased, his lips twisted into a wry smile that lost some of its effect given how shaken he actually felt. Even so, there was no answer. “Nothing to say? Why so shy all of a sudden…”

The room was completely quiet except for Ryuk’s thunderous snores. Light waited for a whole minute, and then two more. There were no words… but that feeling of something lingering remained.

“You said yourself I’d do a great job succeeding you.” He tried out, although he was probably just trailing off. “But we both know you wanted to test me, to see if I gave you a response worthy of Kira. You weren’t expecting to actually see it unfold, were you. Does it irritate you? Do you want to hurt me?”

He was about to give up and go back to work when the quiet, familiar chuckle resonated inside him, sending shivers down his spine.

That’s rich coming from the man responsible for my death.

Light’s heart skipped a beat… and his smile grew darker. So it was really him. He wasn’t crazy, or hallucinating. L was haunting him.

“So what? Have you come to take revenge? Talk about a sore loser.”

That, right there, is where you are wrong, dear. You think you’ve already won, but the war is far from over.

He frowned. Even dead, L continued to be as smug as ever. Had it always been this annoying? Moreover, how come L could say it wasn’t over? What else was there left to do? Who else left to defeat?

“What do you mean? I killed you. Everyone left believes in my innocence and supports me as the new L. I’ve acquired the ultimate power. I can direct the police force as L while enchanting the general public as Kira. There’s nothing and nobody else standing on my way to absolute victory.”

Only silence followed his statements. Even more exasperated, he declared:

“You are already dead, L. You’re dead.”

He waited, but nothing else came from L that night.

That, of course, didn’t mean he was gone for good.

Light continued to hear the extra step following him from room to room. That he learned to ignore over time, since it’s easier for the brain to disregard what it gets used to perceiving –just like not seeing your own nose in front of you all the time unless you actively think about it.

What always caught Light off-guard, even though it had become an everyday thing, was when L spoke to him. Light would normally be able to feel when L was laughing at him, or when something he did made the ghost mad. But every time L spoke actual words, they echoed inside Light’s head and his skin tickled.

It was icky. Plus, talking to L always got Light on his nerves. Even after death, the detective had found a purpose for his existence in unnerving Light. And even that was remarkably ordinary and unsurprising compared to the fact that Light somehow managed to put up with it for over four years.

Four years of snarky remarks over his shoulder. Four years of effort dedicated to ignoring that voice and pretending he didn’t hear it, only for L to slip into his dreams where he couldn’t escape him.

Not all was bad, though. He had already experienced having L study his every move, follow him from room to room… back when they were handcuffed they even had to sleep in the same bed and take showers together. Compared to that, the current situation was not so bad. The lack of chains was an improvement, he no longer had to hide his identity as a mass murderer, and since he already had several years worth of experience with talking to entities nobody else could see, concealing L’s presence to the Task Force wasn’t too hard a task.

Ryuk would sometimes eye him like he had gone insane, but Light had no interest in explaining himself to a Shinigami. He knew what Ryuk thought of death: after passing away, the soul goes to the 無(Mu). The Nothingness. According to that, L’s existence as a ghost should be impossible. But here he was regardless.

L didn’t just talk. Light came to realize he was a great listener too. Maybe ‘realize’ was not the right word; more like… rediscover. Except that back when the man was alive, Light was convinced the only reason why he listened to anything he had to say was because he was desperately trying to blame him for something, even though Light didn’t have memories of being Kira back then.

The fact that L listened to him, now that everything was out in the open and what couldn’t be undone had been done, was… nice? That was not quite it.

Sometimes they’d just debate for hours about justice, life and other philosophical matters; sometimes Light would get engrossed in explaining detail by detail each and every plan he executed against L while the ghost laughed and mockingly praised his ingenuity. Sometimes Light felt so alone he crawled out of the bed he shared with Misa and went to the living room, just to sit down in the dark and talk nonsense to that invisible presence.

Meanwhile, time flew by and the world mutated. Kira had become the universal symbol of justice with little to no opposition from any government or social movement, and the mighty detective that once confronted him had slowly faded away, until people grew to remember him as one of many who rebelled against God and obviously failed.

Ghost L found this hilarious at best, and revolting at worst.

And even though the supernatural factor of their whole relationship also extended to how annoying the ghost could get, Light still got used to him not ever really leaving. Slowly, too gradually to pinpoint when, the rage of an imperfect victory was subdued by the solace of keeping the one person that understood.

Until Sayu was kidnapped by Mello. And that changed everything.

There were more opponents. L would call them ‘successors’. The words that were spoken by the ghost over four years ago began to make sense: the war was far from over. With the rise of Mello and Near, Light felt like he was facing his old rival all over again, except this time everything was messier, and the stakes higher.

They had to give away the Death Note to save Sayu’s life. Light did everything that was at hand to stop them from taking it… but they lost the missile. A defeat of that magnitude… It was something he hadn’t experienced in years. It was even worse than when L publicly humiliated him with his live broadcast.

It reminded him of that time. The rain fell relentlessly. He sat, soaked, and let L massage his feet while those huge, merciless yet peaceful eyes pierced him with the truth that the detective had never, not even for a second, swallowed his bluffs. And it made Light feel stupid and desperate and small. That was how he felt now.

The wrath, the impotence, the absolute disgust it all produced were so intense he did nothing but sit on his chair, staring at the ceiling. Misa approached with a cool drink, probably trying to soothe him, but he lacked the energy and the interest to pretend he gave a fuck, so he simply slapped it off her hands and to the floor.

Why was everyone so useless? Why was he so useless?!

Those two kids… he hated them for getting in his way. And he hated L, for being related to them.

Light stormed out of the room and into the bathroom, the door finding its frame with a bang. He wanted to yell. He wanted to break something. With no means to release his rage, he began briskly ripping his clothes off and turned on the shower. Steam immediately filled the room from floor to ceiling; the heat was suffocating even without exposing himself to the water and that, somehow, was relaxing.

You know, that was a very rude thing to do.

Light growled. Not now. He couldn’t handle L as he was now.

“Nobody asked for your bloody opinion.”

I knew you had some anger management issues, but I never would’ve thought you’d take it out on the only person in your life who’s ever offered you comfort and her unconditional support-

“What do you care, L!” He swirled around, yelling at the empty bathroom. He knew he wouldn’t find the man there when he turned, but screaming at the shapes in the steam was easier. “For someone who isn’t even alive you do have a lot to say. It’s pretty hard to give a shit about what you think when you’re never useful and you’re not even here.”

What do you expect me to do, then?

“I don’t know! How about you face me for once instead of hiding like a coward? Or maybe you could just disappear! Why are you even here?!”

He was being irrational, he knew it. And he could only imagine what Misa or Ryuk would think of all this if they walked in on him, screaming at the air. But he didn’t care if he didn’t make sense; he was too angry, and the only one he wanted to take it out on was L. Because it was his fault that people continued to sabotage his perfect plans. If L hadn’t shown up… everything would have been easier.

Do you really want me to leave?

“Yes.” He answered, without a shade of a doubt. “That’s the only thing I’ve wanted ever since you first threatened to sentence me to death. I thought you picked that up when I held you in my arms and watched you die with a smile on my face. Or didn’t you see me laughing at your grave?”

I did.

“Then what the hell are you waiting for?”

A moment of silence followed. Then, hesitantly…

I can’t.

What?

“Why?” Light asked, reaching the limits of his patience.

You think that if I knew I’d still be here? Don’t flatter yourself. The voice answered dryly. It was irritating, but… somewhere deep inside those words he could identify an edge of frustration and… pain. There is something that draws me towards you. Like there’s something I need to do, and it won’t let me go until I do it. But whatever that is I have no idea.

Light huffed, holding his head in his hands.

“Why couldn’t you just die normally…”

I ask myself the same thing every day.

He breathed out. So there was no way to get rid of L as it was. No chance of freedom in the near future. Well, at least he could vent out a bit. Resigned, he finished stripping and stepped into the shower.

He reached out to take the soap, and froze. The presence… L’s ghost was usually respectful of his personal space but now, it had followed him into the shower.

“What are you doing?” Light asked cautiously, his face beat red and not because of the heat. He didn’t want L in his shower, not even for old times’ sake.

You must hate my guts. Not that I have any anymore.

“Isn’t that obvious?” He retorted, not knowing when the atmosphere got so dense or why he felt uneasy about it.

I guess. Still, I never thought of our altercation as something personal.

“We literally tried to get the other killed for months, L. I’d say it was pretty personal.” Light frowned, earning himself a giggle from L.

Fine, I guess you’re right. However, I don’t think I hate you now. I hate what you did. What you still insist on doing. But I don’t hate you, even though it doesn’t really make any sense.

He didn’t answer. He had no words worth speaking, and even if he did, he wouldn’t know what to do with them.

I’m sorry. I wish I could disappear just as much as you do.

“It’s okay. I… don’t mind having someone to talk to either.” He admitted through gritted teeth.

But, about facing you… I think I might be able to do that much.

What… what was he talking about? Light stayed put as water dripped down his body, feeling the steam behind him shift and change, then settle. His skin tickled with even more intensity than it did before, and for a whole five seconds, he seriously considered running off without turning around to see. But, of course, he didn’t. The temptation was too great to ignore.

When he turned around, every nerve end alert in case he had to fight –even though he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to fight a ghost–, he saw it. A translucent figure, its edges blurring into the steam…

“L…”

The commotion of seeing his face again, his eyes, his knowing expression after so many years was so strong Light stumbled back, and found stability against the dripping tiled wall. L’s pale lips curved into a small smile.

“Better?”

Light gulped. Even his voice sounded more corporeal, now that it was coming out of a mouth and not echoing inside his head. Hesitantly, he raised a hand and reached out to touch him. L, understanding his cautious curiosity, didn’t move.

Light went for the chest, over the point where he felt that last dying throb before L’s heart failed permanently. But when he got close enough to touch, his fingers simply trespassed the specter. Energy tickled like electricity all over his hand and up his forearm. He pulled out in shock, and the steam regrouped around the hole he left behind.

“Could you feel that?” He blurted out before thinking.

“Not at all.” The man answered, calmly even though he was also eyeing his own shape with devouring interest. This was new for him too. It was the first time in over four years that he tried out a physical shape.

Wide translucent eyes beamed when a new idea crossed his mind. L tossed his hand against the shampoo rack, but it didn’t even react. It didn’t show the slightest disturbance. That new discovery had L bedazzled. Meanwhile, Light couldn’t stop staring at him, still not quite grasping that this was real. That he could see L again, just the way he was when he lived. His expressions were even livelier than they were back then, now that he was dead and didn’t need to be cautious with his thoughts.

“Can others see you?”

“I don’t know yet. But given how nobody could hear or perceive me before except for you, I wouldn’t think so.”

“Then, from now on, can you stay like this? Visible I mean.”

L’s eyes narrowed, his features shifting with amusement, and Light looked away, his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Did you miss me that much? I’ve always been here though.” He teased. Light thought he’d die of mortification.

“Shut up. I just hate hearing you speak inside my head. It feels icky.”

“Alright then.” The smirk grew meaner.

“Also, step out of my shower. This is already weird enough as it is.”

L’s laugh in response to that couldn’t have been more annoying.

L had been right… for the most part. No other person or living being could see him hovering around Light; they wouldn’t react at all to the late detective’s presence as long as he avoided being trespassed by them.

But coming to realize Ryuk could see and hear him was amusing. For L at least, who could also now perceive the God of Death and seized the opportunity to suffocate the otherworldly being with questions until Ryuk lay on the floor, exhausted. Ryuk, too, seemed flabbergasted to find out ghosts actually existed, and he even taught L how to perfect his manifestation technique, until the specter managed to muster an almost solid-looking consistency he could acquire or shed at will.

Meanwhile, Light felt like his temper was gradually being gnawed at. Having both entities annoying him separately had been irritating enough, but he simply couldn’t have imagined how much worse it would get when they did so together.

“And then he told me he wouldn’t give me any more apples unless I found all the cameras!” Ryuk whined. “Even though he knew of my terribly painful withdrawal symptoms. And then I am the monster…”

“How awful.” L shook his phantasmagoric head in exaggerated disapproval. “Oh Light dear, what a cruel, terrible Master you are.”

“You said it! Heh-heh.” The Shinigami barked in agreement.

That was it. He wasn’t taking it anymore.

Light groaned, tossed the earphones away, snatched a pencil holder from the desk’s top and unchained a vicious rain of pens and pencils against the source of his irritation. L and Ryuk simply sat, amused, and watched the items as they trespassed their intangible forms.

“For the love of everything good in this world and the next, can you both just shut up for a goddamn minute?!”

“Anger management, remember?”

Exasperated, Light simply growled and went back to work.

“Ryuk, go back to my father before the rest begin wondering where you went. We’ll be ambushing Mello’s headquarters in a few hours. I need you to be there so he’ll do the deal of the eyes with you.”

“Heh-heh. Sending others to accept deals you’d spit on yourself.” Ryuk chuckled grimly, his eyes flashing bright red for a moment. “Alright! Let’s catch up later, L.”

L nodded at the Shinigami before it disappeared through the wall. He then came hovering to where Light was and sat –or rather landed– on the desk, facing him.

“So the reason why you forfeited the ownership of the Death Note is not only passing the trouble of handing over half of your remaining lifespan to someone else, but also avoid your father realizing you are a Note owner yourself when he comes back. Am I right, Light?”

“It was the only way.” Light shrugged it off, not quite grasping why L found that little trick so interesting. “How can I hope to rule the New World if I die young? I’m not going to risk my life on the frontline, let alone give my years away.”

“But your own father’s years are alright to sell.”

Light didn’t answer.

“You don’t care at all, do you. You’re straight up throwing him to the wolves. He could be shot to death in there and even if he does survive, he won’t have much of a life ahead of him, will he?”

“Enough.” He mumbled, but L didn’t stop.

“You know it. You know they wholeheartedly believe in that 13-days rule you made up. You know that lie is the only alibi in your hands that’s keeping Aizawa and the rest at bay. Which means… that even if tonight works out how you want it to and Mello is killed by your dad, then you’ll have to murder him in two weeks for your plan not to crumble-”

“That’s enough.” This time his voice came out firmly, and the ghost fell silent. “I’m just doing what needs to be done, L. I thought you of all people would understand that, after you confined and tortured Misa and me for days and even forced my dad to pretend to shoot me.”

“But I didn’t kill anyone. We are not the same-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Light cut him, every muscle in his body tense. His stare was hard, unyielding, when it locked with L’s. “You were perfectly willing to let a criminal use the Death Note to prove the 13-days rule was false. You admitted yourself that you were expecting me, Kira, to instantly kill my dad if he tried to shoot me, because you knew damn well I’d put my own life before his. His death was no more than a calculated risk to you. In fact, in your head, it was the most probable outcome.”

The detective fretted, and Light grinned maliciously. He hit home.

“See? We both do whatever it takes to get what we want. You’re not different from me. You’re not better than me. So, instead of pretending to be surprised by my methods, how about you leave me alone so I can work on getting my Death Note back?”

The silence that followed was smothering. Painfully so. L was no longer looking back at him, but staring through the window. He looked offended mostly, but also guilty. His expression was so open and so sincerely aching Light blinked. So this was how L truly felt about the decisions he took, back when he was alive.

“Fine.” The ghost muttered finally, as his form dissolved in the air and disappeared.

For a moment that sight filled him with pure dread, but then he realized, as his heartbeat settled down, that he could still feel L’s presence coating him. He wasn’t really gone, he had just temporarily left his visible expression.

Good. Light didn’t feel strong or stable enough to face him right now.

A few hours later, Soichiro Yagami died in a hospital bed, relieved to know his son wasn’t a mass murderer.

After returning the Death Note to its rightful owner –a Shinigami that called itself Sidoh– all the Task Force had left to do was wipe their tears away and wrap it up. The trip back to headquarters was silent. Light appreciated that everyone was too shook and devastated about his dad’s death to talk about it.

Once alone in his room, he was free to be himself again.

He began calmly taking his clothes off and getting ready for bed, but before he could invoke some self control, he was already screaming and punching a pillow while tears rolled down his face.

This had been his father’s fault. If he hadn’t been weak… if he had killed Mello instead of hesitating…!

“Why did you let yourself get killed, idiot?!” Light yelled, his throat aching. His hands, which were clutching the pillow with violence, trembled vehemently as his crying echoed through the room and his tears fell, abundantly and showing no signs of stopping. “You didn’t even get rid of him! Why?! You weren’t supposed to die! Y-You… you weren’t supposed to…”

A sob shook his whole body on its way out, and he collapsed on bed, his face buried in the wet pillow. Only soft whimpering could be heard.

Later, he felt the air shift, and electricity tickled him in the leg.

“I thought you were counting on his death.”

Light’s face was swollen from crying when he lifted it from the pillow to look at L’s figure, sitting next to him in the dark with his hand on Light’s thigh. The touch held no weight or warmth, nothing quite organic; just a tingle.

“He was destined to die.” He mumbled weakly as his gaze wandered to the opposite wall. “It’s as you said. Either tonight or within two weeks, he had to. What’s more pathetic is that he only lived for a few hours after doing the deal… which means… that even if he hadn’t done it, he didn’t have much time left in his clock to begin with. He would’ve passed away naturally by tomorrow morning anyway.”

“Why are you crying, then?” L inquired softly, as his hand caressed up and down Light’s leg. “Because you couldn’t see Mello dead?”

Were other the context Light would’ve found the sparkly sensation bothersome –even embarrassing. He didn’t want to reach the level of feebleness that made him deserve L’s consolations. But that was not the case. The detective’s almost inexistent touch was comforting. Light closed his eyes, trying to remember what the real thing felt like, while fighting the devastating pang L’s question induced in him.

“My father’s death was inevitable. I know I did what I had to do. Still… that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead. In an ideal setting, Aizawa, Ide or even Matsuda would’ve taken it upon themselves to do the deal and kill Mello.”

He sat up, feeling the warmth building behind his eyes as new tears accumulated.

“Then… I could’ve killed any of them easily. But he just had to be… so freaking moral. He had to sacrifice himself… why? Nobody would’ve judged him if he had let someone else do it, then why?! It was that same attitude that got him shot in the end!”

Furious, he wiped the tears away before they overflowed. It was the truth. Even when his father died a somewhat happy death, he would’ve preferred it had been anyone else in his place. Still…

Light’s breathing settled, and he looked L in the eyes with determination.

“However, when he stood with Mello in that room, and when the building exploded and all the cameras went blank… and even as he lay there dying… all I could think of was ‘kill Mello. Kill him for me. Don’t leave without taking him down with you’.”

The pain of actually losing his dad came a while after, and even then it had been tainted with frustration and resentment. He wanted Mello dead. That, together with retrieving the Death Note, had been the whole point of the mission, and he had failed because his father chose the worst possible scenario to be humanitarian.

Light hated the feeling. He lost, even though he did nothing wrong. He hated not having control over his own battles. He hated how his father had chosen to die without revenge. He hated Mello for being alive out there somewhere.

“Even if it had been someone else in his place, I know your methods well enough by now to know you won’t be able to hide your true self forever.” L placed a finger on his chin. Even though the gesture wasn’t useful in practice since he simply trespassed it, Light still raised his head to look at him “Eventually, you’ll be wiping all that is left of the Task Force. And then it won’t matter anymore that your dad died today.”

Yes. L was right. Light… would have killed Soichiro eventually. It was only natural to take that course of action. And Light would bite his tongue and choke on it before letting himself hesitate on that matter. L’s eyes as they regarded him were incredibly sad, but not surprised.

“Do you find me disgusting, L?” He asked, a wry smile taking over his lips even though he was terrified of the answer he’d get. The ghost shook his head.

“No, Light.” An incorporeal hand brushed over his cheekbone. He closed his eyes and leaned into the tingle. “I’m just trying to decipher whether you’re a remorseless psychopath faking the pain you show, or if you’re actually acting remorseless to hide how much you’ve wounded yourself. Either way… I find you pitiful.”

And Light wanted to be angry. He tried his best to feel rage, indignation… even shame. But he couldn’t find it in himself. He was empty.

“Maybe… you’re both.”

“Tell me, Light. Did Misa approve of this plan?”

“Shut up.” He scowled, fixing his tie in front of the mirror.

Of course the answer was no. If Misa ever found out about this then she would gouge out both his and Takada’s guts. Giving up her Death Note and passing it to Mikami didn’t really make her any less lethal.

“I thought so. Especially by the way you whispered sweet nothings into the phone earlier.”

“Look, L.” Light turned around to face the late detective. L had become so good at expressing a physical shape that, if it weren’t for the blur at the edges when he moved, Light could’ve believed he was actually standing there in flesh and bone. “Whatever I choose to do with my love life is not your business, especially if it has something to do with my plans as Kira.”

L narrowed his eyes. Whether or not he was judging Light was hard to say.

“You have no moral structure whatsoever, do you?”

“As previously established, you don’t have much of that either-”

“I know.” The ghost cut him, raising a hand. “And I admit I wouldn’t hesitate to do the exact same thing you’re about to do to gain a benefit, as you already know.” At that, Light looked away. The room was too dark for his blush to be discernible. “Still, your shamelessness continues to amaze me.”

He chuckled ironically, staring the specter down as if it had just dared him to do it.

“Aizawa will come to install the cameras and mics now. Once he begins, I’ll have a perfect excuse to ignore you for the next few hours.” Light opened the box on top of the coffee table and began pulling out wires. He then halted, a meditative twinkle in his eyes, and addressed L. “Actually, could you disappear? I don’t want to see you through the corner of my eye when I-”

“You know that I’ll still be here even if you can’t see me, right?”

“Ah, yes. I forgot you’re a prime voyeur.”

“Trust me; this is about the last place in the world I’d like to be in.” The detective retorted, and for some reason his voice had an irritated edge to it.

“I guess we both have to compromise, then. As long as you stay invisible and keep yourself from talking inside my head until I’m done here, I’ll make sure not to kick your ass in Hell.” Light satirically extended a hand to him. “Deal?”

L simply stared him back, scorn invading his whole expression, before disappearing. Light could feel he was mad –uncharacteristically so. Yes, Light had seen him in a foul mood many times, while they lived chained to each other and they both had to listen to Matsuda speak.

But whatever got him so on edge about tonight, Light had no idea.

In fact, L’s mood grew worse and worse as the night progressed. He didn’t notice it at first; It became a constant buzz in the back of his head after Light looked Takada in the eyes and said ‘I missed you’, so he managed to ignore it quite well. However, by the time all mics and cameras were disconnected, he realized L was on the verge of bursting.

Lately, L’s thoughts had grown more tangible, together with his physical shape. So much so they sometimes became suffocating. When L would forfeit his form and settle back inside his head, Light often had a hard time differentiating their mixed feelings.

In life, L had always been incredibly skilled in the art of preserving a cool semblance. Even when he had been visibly annoyed or angry, the way he carried himself always sold the idea that the matter in hand was no more than just a mild inconvenience for him.

“Listen, Kiyomi. I am the real Kira.”

Light would’ve never expected to come face to face with that bubbling rage.

Takada gasped in surprise.

“That’s right. I’m Kira.” He repeated, mostly to confirm she had heard him right, but also to assure himself against L’s violent, thundering emotions. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.” Takada didn’t respond immediately, so Light took the chance to raise the phone to his ear and wrap up the conversation with Mikami. “Listen. I won’t allow you to ask Kiyomi who I am; you don’t need to know my identity.”

“Yes. I’ll leave the rest to you, God.”

Bastard.

Light shook. It had been a while since he had last heard L’s voice inside his head. Didn’t he explicitly tell him not to do that?! He’d make sure to devote the rest of his life to researching a way to kill a ghost again. He hung up the phone and turned around to address Kiyomi, as he stifled down his irritation.

“Do you understand? I am Kira. The man who was on the phone, is one of my followers who I’ve shared my power with.”

Takada’s eyes lit up.

“I… I can’t believe it’s you!” She whispered in awe. “You are the only man I’ve ever really admired. To be honest… the only man I’ve ever felt a connection with.” L growled. “And now, to find out you’re Kira… it’s incredible.”

As planned, Light had Takada curled around his finger in no time. He would’ve been able to fully enjoy the sweet taste of victory if it weren’t for L’s sour invasion. Oh, but he wasn’t about to let that bloody ghost spoil his mood. Was he pissed off now? Then he was about to become completely infuriated.

Light stepped closer and willfully lowered his voice to a deep whisper as he cupped Takada’s cheek in his hand.

“Please… join me, Kiyomi. And you will be the goddess of the New World.”

“Light…” She immediately pulled him into an embrace he didn’t fail to return.

He smirked over her shoulder –he had her right where he wanted her… and she was about to have him right where she wanted him too.

When Light leaned down to kiss her, L’s wrath pulsed through him.

Two and a half hours later, Light finished doing his tie, put his coat on and exited the room. Takada had already left –it was best for both that they weren’t seen leaving the hotel together.

Everything was working out smoothly. He now had a connection to Mikami through her, which would make everything easier from now on. The annihilation of the whole Task Force, together with the SPK and Near were visible in the horizon. In a matter of days, there would be no one left in his way. He’d be the only, unquestioned God of his own New World.

Confident with his secured victory, Light pulled the phone out.

“Light! Are you okay?” Matsuda exclaimed. Of course they were worried, after losing all connection with him for over two hours.

“Yeah… Kiyomi was able to work things out with Kira. I decided that from now on, I’m gonna pretend to be dating her.” L, who had fallen unusually quiet for a while now, suddenly shifted uncomfortably inside of him. He smirked. “We might be able to find Kira that way.”

“Alright, if you say so…” Matsuda answered, and for the musicality in his voice it was clear to everyone that a) he had serious doubts Light was just pretending and b) he knew Light simply hadn’t spent the last two hours with Takada playing Monopoly.

Right after that, a smack could be heard. Matsuda whined out loud as Aizawa scolded him. Light rolled his eyes and hung up.

So you actually went and did it.

He stopped on his tracks, overwhelmed by how the voice reverberated inside him. He growled in annoyance.

“I told you not to do that!”

As an answer to his protest, L materialized in front of him. All the ire he had felt bubbling inside him left. It shook him to realize that L had turned back to his old –living– habits. The expression in his face was barely a washed-down version of the consuming wrath Light now knew inhabited him.

“Still manipulating women and using sex to get what you want, uh?”

“You say it like that’s the worst thing I’ve done.”

“Oh, no. Of course it isn’t.” L shook his head. When he narrowed his eyes, the gaze he bore was venomous. “When are you gonna kill her, then?”

Light gulped, glaring at him. He wanted to be surprised that L brought that up, but he couldn’t; he knew how vicious he could get. The ghost smiled back at him, even though the gesture held no warmth, sympathy or bliss whatsoever. It was a dry smile, filled to the brim with a wish to hurt.

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? Attachment and intimacy are alright as long as you can get something from it. As soon as the other person becomes a hindrance you dispose of them.” L spat. “So? How long until you murder Takada too?”

“I hate you, you know.” Light hissed. “I hate how you always talk like you know everything about everyone. I hate how hypocritical you are, going around making moral statements about other people when you were just as bad or even worse. And I hate how you are convinced that everything has to be about you!”

The ghost took a step back, and Light seized the opportunity to push further. They had already pulled each other down on the mud; they might as well fight.

“Maybe I just like sleeping with Takada. But… oh? Does that irritate you?” One look at the detective’s face told him he had hit the nail’s head. “Does it drive you crazy, that it’s her and not you?”

“This is nonsense. Stop talking before you humiliate yourself.” L growled, earning himself a barking laugh from the other.

“Come on. I felt it. I felt how your blood boiled when she embraced me. Admit it.” The ghost stood there, and said nothing. Suddenly intoxicated with rage and something close to desperation, Light walked up to him and reached out to grab his arm. He grabbed nothing. “Admit you’re jealous.”

“How…” for the first time ever, the specter’s voice came out so terrifyingly low it sent chills down his spine. “… am I supposed to be jealous, when we both know you’re just using her? We both know she’ll soon be dead meat. She isn’t getting anything I haven’t gotten already.”

Light shivered, unable to talk through the knot in his throat.

“You can’t fool me, Light. I see everything, remember? Goddess of the New World… How many times have you used that trick on Misa this month?”

“Shut up.” The words were no more than a tremulous whisper. It was mortifying.

“Then how about this very week?” L pressed, and even though Light couldn’t feel a breath meet his face, he still stepped back, looking hurt. When he replied, his words were calm with bitterness.

“So now we’re pretending you’re not the same?”

It happened often during the lapse of time Light had to cope with L cuffed to his wrist and without his memories of the Death Note. He’d constantly be shaken awake by nightmares that didn’t seem his own. Sometimes the startling would be soft enough to simply wake him up, and he could just roll over and go back to sleep without disturbing L. And sometimes, like that time, he’d physically jump on bed and find himself drenched in cold sweat.

He sat up and looked to his left –by his side, L slept soundly, curled into a ball with his knees to his chest, the half of his face that wasn’t buried in the pillow giving off an expression of peace.

Light sighed deeply as he wiped sweat off his face and neck. He wouldn’t mind being able to lock himself up in the toilet, but handcuffs. He directed his energy into staying still and steadying his breath instead.

“Another nightmare?”

Light blinked. So L wasn’t even half as asleep as he pretended to. He looked at him from below, his face still half-buried in his pillow. It was way too adorable –Light looked away.

“Yes.” The detective sat up too, the sheets sliding down his torso.

“What was it about?”

“I… stood on top of a very tall building.” He narrated, his gaze lost somewhere in the shadows that inhabited the room. “Below, at ground level, people were screaming. I wanted to look down to see what was happening to them, but I was too afraid. Then, from behind… a tall massive shadow hovered over me. It’s silhouette wasn’t that of a human. The thing laughed; that wasn’t human either. I tried to look over my shoulder, and was pushed off the building. I fell. The screaming grew closer…. and I woke up.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence.

“Is that all?” L inquired quietly. A crease took shape between Light’s brows, and he fixed his stare on his lap.

“I know what you’re thinking. I’m not stupid enough to not be able to deduce what you think my dream represents. But, Ryuzaki…” He formed fists with his fingers to keep them from fidgeting, and raised his eyes to L’s. “I can’t be… I don’t remember ever doing any of that. And I know. I know people can do the unspeakable when pushed to the limit, but I’d never kill on my own free will.”

“Light…” L hesitated, and then crawled across the bed to reach out and grab one of the towels from a nearby hanger. When he crawled back, he pressed it to Light’s face. “There is a chance Kira somehow possessed you during that period. In that case, you wouldn’t have been in control of your own actions.”

His tone was soft, but it wasn’t enough to conceal his real thoughts. Light smiled sadly as L wiped the sweat off his neck.

“But you don’t think I was possessed.” He spoke the truth nobody wanted to acknowledge. L stopped drying him. “You’re certain I was the original Kira. Even now, you must be wondering whether I’ve been bluffing ever since I was inside that cell. You’re probably thinking all this is just part of an act; some greater scheme on my behalf.”

The detective didn’t respond immediately. They looked at each other for several seconds; when he did, his words were grave with the amount of seriousness the statement deserved.

“I am.”

Light nodded. He didn’t really blame L for thinking that. He, too, was slowly getting more and more obsessed with the idea that he might have been, indeed, Kira. Yes, the justice system was flawed. But if he had had Kira’s power, would he had actually used it like Kira did?

“I understand.” He replied. “You’re just doing your job. And I want to help however I want. I want to reach the bottom of this, and cleanse my name. It’s just…” Light sighed and scratched his head. Saying it was much more awkward than he had anticipated. “I really wish it could have been different.”

“What?”

“My relationship with you.”

His heart was beating like crazy, but he had already begun talking. The rest gurgled out and he couldn’t restrain it.

“I wish I could’ve stood on equal ground with you when I met you; with me being a detective, not the prime suspect for the greatest mass murder of the decade. I wish I could’ve gotten to know you, without all the games and the lies. We could’ve held conversations that didn’t feel like interrogations. You’re very smart, and determined.” His face was burning up now, but he kept on talking. “Even though that shouldn’t be good, considering you suspect me… I admire that a lot.”

Their eyes locked, and Light’s stomach turned.

“I admire you.”

For a long while, L didn’t move or react at all; instead of widening eyes or abrupt exclamations, that was how the mighty detective processed shock. It was pretty embarrassing for Light, though. The blush crept to his ears and neck, and he was about to roll over and pretend none of that ever happened, when L cleared his throat. A soft, pink shade took over his pointy cheekbones.

“You admire me.” He reiterated, as if not completely believing it. Light would’ve found it funny had he not been focused in his racing pulse. He nodded… and L gulped. The detective raised a hand and brushed a strand of brunet hair away from his eyes. “Do you only admire me?”

“I…”

“How else do you feel about me?” His finger curled around Light’s ear. His voice was soft, but deep. “Tell me.”

“Not all is good.” He admitted, too distracted by the touch to watch his words. “Sometimes I hate you. So much I want to punch you-”

“Yes, you have done that.” That made him laugh.

“Yeah… it’s because I hate it when you prod me for a confession I can’t give you. And when you say things like ‘it’s pointless to keep on trying’, when my name is in as much of a stake as your title, and when you’ve already done too much to me to just dismiss it like that. I hate being reminded that you only see me as a potential murderer; that you were lying when you said we were friends… And I hate being unable to accept your kindness without thinking you’re playing with me, because I-”

Crap. That was close. He barely managed to bite his tongue before he spurted something dangerous. But L, being L, simply wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily. The detective scooted closer –their legs were touching, and they were breathing the same air. Light’s heart fluttered. L’s fingers on his cheek were cold compared to the flushed skin beneath.

“Because?” L whispered, and Light’s gaze fell on his lips, fascinated by their shape, the cadence with which they moved, their invisible, indescribable allure.

Don’t make me say it if you already know. That was what he would have liked to say, but he couldn’t speak. He barely had a moment to process what was happening and take a breath before L closed the distance between them and delicately sealed their lips together.

Light held his breath and sat, static, as his mind was filled with the subtle, tingling sensation of L’s mouth caressing his. That alone was enough to make his heart pound hard against his ribcage. It was a soft kiss; plush, barely more substantial than the brush of a finger. When the man pulled away –only one inch, just enough to end the contact–, their lips separated with a quiet pop.

Light’s whole body was tingling, and he had to forcefully stifle down the urge to tremble that was building steadily in the pit of his stomach. He breathed out, and in, and out; shallowly. He didn’t want to risk inhaling any more of L’s scent.

He should have backed off. Gone back to sleep and pretended that never happened. It would have been wiser. Instead, he remained still and did not oppose L’s movements when the detective cupped his nape and angled his face into another kiss.

It was a deeper one this time, given how their mouths were briefly open. Moisture quickly built up over his upper lip as he felt L’s lower lip seductively pressing against his teeth. Light closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Swiftly, without letting the chance slip by, the man expertly locked their jaws together and entered Light’s warm mouth with his tongue.

A soft gasp that escaped him and coated L’s lips, and then transformed into a barely audible whine. It was inevitable. He couldn’t fight the trembling anymore. He felt feverish all over. Touch-starved and about to burst. His tongue tingled when L’s caressed it, and it filled him with desire and a deep-rooted desperation. He changed his angle to reciprocate the man’s movements, their lips now moving in unison as they sank deeper into each other.

Nobody had ever… not like this. Misa’s kisses weren’t necessarily bad, but they were always messy and indelicate-

L’s free hand began travelling up his thigh, and the spasm that triggered on the muscles of his leg was so powerful Light jolted backwards, and the trance was broken. Out of breath, he searched the detective’s face, and looked away when he realized he could only focus on the blush in his cheeks, the intensity of his gaze and the moist spot on his lower lip.

“Ryuzaki-”

“What’s wrong, Light?”

He bit his lip. L’s voice was still deep, but it was gradually acquiring a sharp edge. Now more than ever, he knew he shouldn’t have allowed that to happen. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“What about Misa? Even if she never finds out…”

He shyly searched the man’s face again. L held still for a moment, as he considered his words. Slowly, he seemed to assimilate them. He nodded, and cupped Light’s face again.

“Then… you can hold me accountable for it.” L whispered, and dived back in. That time their mouths locked together even more naturally, and although Light’s whole body was brimming with the urge to give in to the kiss, he still couldn’t brush off the feeling that it was wrong.

Disrespecting Misa, playing with her feelings for him… he wasn’t like that. And the fact that he had to instruct himself to feel guilty about it only brought him self-disgust. He turned his face to the side, and L’s lips slid away from his. The detective didn’t waste over a mere second to understand that this –whatever it was– would not drag any longer.

“Could it be that you were pretending to be interested in me?” He inquired.

Light flinched. His words stung more than he could’ve predicted.

“Do you think I’d do that? You know what, don’t answer. Either way, this… it’s not fair on Misa. I told you I would never use a woman’s feelings to my advantage, so don’t make me betray myself-”

“You don’t love her.” Light gulped. “You don’t even know why you are with her, do you.” L’s gaze grew harder as he went from appreciating Light to analyzing him; a shift Light himself was all too familiar with. “You forgot… together with everything else-”

“That’s enough.” He cut him, his voice coming out firmer than he had expected, and brushed L’s hands off his face. “I’m not about to believe I am a murderer. And Misa isn’t either. I’m not what you think I am, Ryuzaki.”

That being said, Light rolled over and pulled the covers over himself, signaling the end of the conversation. What they just did… it was better off forgotten. As things were now, stubbornly trying to follow that path would only bring pain, regardless of Light turning out to be Kira or not, and regardless of his feelings for Misa and the man. Which didn’t necessarily mean that Light wasn’t already aching over it, but he’d never admit to it.

After a good five minutes of complete stillness, L finally tucked himself in bed, he too giving his back to Light, and before drifting to sleep he murmured:

“If it’s worth something, I really hope you weren’t.”

Yes. The memory of that night’s events, no matter how long gone, was very fresh in their minds. Though, just like the nightmares had been back then, the Light from the present didn’t quite feel that it belonged to him.

When he lost the Death Note… it was crazy. He became a completely different person. It wasn’t just about not remembering being Kira; it reached the point where thinking of what Kira had done revolted him to the core. Then he began questioning himself, doubting his own innocence, and came to realize he could understand his actions to some extent. He used to think the world was rotten before Kira entered the picture, and he still did during the Yotsuba period.

However, the retrieval of the Death Note carved a crack in his moral system he didn’t remember ever sealing. He went back to his old ways, used Misa just like the dangerously volatile tool he had always seen her as. He used everyone, including Rem, a God. Thinking back, it made sense L was suspicious of his most tender side; the Light he was now would have definitely tried to seduce L if he had seen some utility in it.

Kira would have never fallen for the detective.

Even so… what he had felt back then had been real. He did fall for him. And he was given a chance to shatter that burden when he got his memories back –his priority went back to being himself, and L was simply an obstacle–, but this was the first time he let himself think about what could have been, and he found out his feelings weren’t shattered at all.

It still ached.

“Didn’t you do that just to test me?” Light said, accusingly. “You thought I was acting it out, didn’t you. You had to see for yourself how far I’d take it.”

L didn’t kiss him because he felt something for him; he did it to see if he would recoil. In fact, the way he rejected the man in the end was probably interpreted as a positive result.

The ghost didn’t need to answer –Light could see the admission in his face.

“I pretty much confessed to you.” He looked away. That was in the past now. It should have been. L was dead. Then why did he still feel so bitter about it? “And you didn’t even care. You were too busy studying me like a bloody scientist.”

“Can you blame me?” He couldn’t. “Besides, that is not entirely true.”

Confused and untrusting, Light locked eyes with the ghost. L sighed.

“I do admit I didn’t believe it at first –it was too convenient. But I never gave you any hints I was romantically interested in you, and I couldn’t have imagined you were. Therefore, I didn’t understand why you resorted to that method if you just wanted to manipulate me. I began to wonder if it had been for real; but before I could question you further on the subject it was too late. We captured Higuchi, and it didn’t take me long to notice that you… changed.”

Light’s stare landed on his feet. He believed L; he was dead and didn’t need to lie. What if the detective had said something before they cornered Higuchi? It was pointless to dwell on it, since Light was certain he would have killed him in the end. The world needed L to die so Kira could reign. In retrospect, it was a good thing he didn’t, since he allowed Light to move forward with his heart unscathed.

Or so he thought, before all the pain he wasn’t even aware existed inside him through the years came back to bite at him. He hated it. Despising L was easier than this.

“Why are you telling me this?” He bit back, arms crossed as he returned L’s gaze, his ache now obvious in his features. “If I had broken into tears back then and told you I still felt the same way for you, would you have let me go? Would you have risked trusting me? No, you wouldn’t have given me a chance-”

“I did give you a chance. That’s how I know Takada is as good as dead now.”

Light’s eyes widened. He couldn’t mean…

“That time…”

It had been the night after Higuchi’s capture. He had his memories back, and L had, according to the Task Force’s wishes, begrudgingly agreed to dispose of the handcuffs that had bound them together for months. Light was allowed to spend the night in his own room, alone, for the first time in what seemed ages. However, he couldn’t sleep.

It must have been because the excitement at seeing his plan work out perfectly had been too great. Or maybe he had grown used to having someone else lie next to him. His bed seemed huge to the eye and cold to the touch, even though it was the same size as the previous one and both rooms’ thermostats shared the same settings.

He was pacing around aimlessly when he heard a knock on the door. It was L. But Light didn’t get to talk to him, for the man immediately raised his dark eyes to Light’s and determinedly jumped him, pulling him into a ravenous kiss. And before nobody could get in the way, the door was slammed shut and they were in bed.

This could work for my advantage, Light had thought as he gave in without a care for the world. He had wanted it for so long, anyway. In the end, it had been a good way to release pent-up frustrations and unnecessary feelings, and no sweet words or pathetic confessions were exchanged.

“I woke up, alone.” He recalled. “You had gone out to the roof, even though it was pouring. That’s where I found you.”

Right now, Ghost L looked just as sad and decidedly hopeless as he had looked back then. Light could even imagine the rain dripping down his face and dampening him whole in between one blink and the next. Later, at the staircase, L had smiled sadly and said ‘It will be lonely, won’t it? You and I will be parting ways soon’.

He couldn’t have predicted that wouldn’t really ever happen. Still…

“Back then… you already knew you’d die, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” L nodded solemnly.

“But why? I… I gave you my consent. We-”

“Exactly. I knew you disposed of people as soon as you stopped finding them a use. By letting me have you the night before, you were clearly trying to manipulate me. If you had been the same Light I’d been handcuffed to for months –if you had felt strongly enough not to kill me– you would have rejected me. But you didn’t resist or hesitate. Not even when I-”

“Enough.” He breathed. He felt like he was choking. So that was why L had called him a liar back at the roof. The detective had seen right through him… the whole time. But… he was missing a vital piece. A thunder resonated in the distance.

“I invited you to use me. And you did.” L concluded, a small smile forming in his lips without reaching his eyes. The first few droplets began falling.

He had to say it. If he didn’t say it now, he never would.

“Yes, I admit it.” Light lowered his head. The rain grew stronger above him. “I wanted to manipulate you, just as much as you wanted to call me out for it.” Then he raised his chin to look straight into the ghost’s eyes, water rolling down his face as he spoke up. His voice came out broken. “But that’s not all it was, and you know it.”

L’s specter froze, his eyes slowly gaining focus. Light, on the other side, let out a long exhalation. The aching deep in the pit of his stomach didn’t really yield, but shifted. A weight had been lifted; one he couldn’t claim back even if he wanted to.

“Are you saying you truly wanted me?” L breathed out, as if worried that raising his voice would disturb the atmosphere. However, he looked more aghast than hopeful.

“No.” He shook his head, his expression softer. “I’m saying we wanted each other.”

There was silence, and rain. L stood there, petrified as the falling drops trespassed him without disturbing his clothing or his black messy hair. And with every second that he spent with his wide, desperate eyes glued on him, Light’s heart beat faster. Harder.

He had to wait until the man was already dead, but he finally did it.

He finally confessed.

“Won’t you… say something?” He whispered.

L opened his mouth… then closed it. Then opened it again.

“I…” The ghost looked away, and Light realized then how utterly devastated he was. His voice quavered. “I can’t.”

And then he disappeared.

…

Wait.

Why… why couldn’t Light feel him… he was always able to feel him when he vanished, then why?

No.

No… No.

“L…” Nobody answered. “L!!!!!” It was useless.

L wasn’t there. All there was, was silence and rain.

Events continued to develop without further disturbance. He met up with Takada several times –with the Task Force listening, so he didn’t try anything–, and passed his instructions to Mikami. The SPK found out about Mikami and tried to tamper with his Note, so a fake Note was crafted. Everything was going according to plan.

Even Mello’s decision to kidnap Takada, though unexpected, worked out perfectly for him, as he managed to dispatch both of them easily. He had been waiting to see Mello dead since the explosion. As for Takada, he was relieved to take that weight off his back. And he would have actually been able to be a hundred percent remorseless about it had he not remembered his conversation with a certain deceased someone.

As for L… he didn’t return. No matter what Light did or how awful he became, L didn’t manifest, talk inside his head, or give any other signal whatsoever of still existing. And Light had expected it to hurt… maybe he wanted to feel hurt. But he was too empty to feel nothing other than rage, and greed. All that occupied his mind was Near, and their encounter at the warehouse. He was too busy with conquering the world to feel lonely.

Still, some nights he’d surprise himself yelling at the top of his lungs at a soul that no longer tailed him. He’d yell stuff like ‘Aren’t you going to show yourself?!’. There never was an answer.

Then the day came. Mikami did his job perfectly, so much so Light physically struggled to avoid bursting into laughter ahead of time. And right when he was feeling giddy with victory, desperate to rub his success in Near’s juvenile face as the boy’s heart failed… everything was gone. It slipped from between his fingers as easily as the seconds ticked away in his watch.

He didn’t go down without a fight. First, he desperately attempted to accuse the SPK of framing him, and when that didn’t work, he used the truth. The mask he had carefully crafted crumpled. In a feverish, delusional moment of revelation that lacked little to reach hysteria, he gave the greatest speech of his whole life; he shared with them the legacy he had tried to leave behind, hoping they would understand. Even so, Near still called him a crazy serial killer, nothing more, and nothing less.

He had his watch with a piece of the Note inside, but he could have never calculated that Matsuda would shoot him; repeatedly. When he fell to a puddle on the floor and Matsuda stood over him, tears streaking down his betrayed face as he glared and aimed his gun at his head… Light realized how badly he had screwed up.

He could have died. That man could have killed him in a mere instant. Even through the multiple layers of tortuous pain his fresh bullet wounds were inflicting on him, he only had the mental capacity to process that gut-deep, swiping fear.

He called for Mikami… but the man was of no use. So he simply lay there in his puddle as it changed its color from transparent to red. He gasped for air, and cried out.

“Where are you, Misa?!” He had used her, and left her at home, deprived of her memories. “Where’s Takada?!” He had killed her. His actions finally settled fully on him, and tears swelled at the corners of his eyes.

Someone… w-what do I do n-now…

…

L…

Mikami stabbed himself, and Light wasn’t about to grow out of old habits. He used his follower one last time, to crawl to his feet and escape while everybody else focused on the bloodshed.

He ran. As fast as he could, with his body bent over in pain and his injured arm hanging like dead weight by his side. Every step was excruciating to take, and every gasping breath was more difficult to inhale than the one that preceded it, but he didn’t stop. He knew his legs would give in soon. The blood loss was taking an exponential toll on his body. He kept on running, even though it was futile.

Every decision he had made up to that point, only now he could see how they had stuck to him like parasites. He had been rotting away ever since he picked the Note. Ryuk… had been right. In Kira’s crimeless world… the only rotten apple left was him.

However, if he had been given the chance to go back to being that seventeen-year-old, naïve boy he once was, he wouldn’t have taken it.

His running slowed down to walking; he had lost Aizawa and the rest long ago. By the time he reached the abandoned building, he could hardly stay on his feet. He sprawled himself on the stairs… and then he felt it.

It coated over him. It felt like coming back home after what seemed forever.

Hello, Light.

Tears overflowed his eyes. He could have never imagined that his voice would bring him such intense joy.

“L…” he whimpered. “Y-You’re back-”

The specter materialized before him… weird. He looked more corporeal than he ever had before. Or was it just that Light had forgotten how he had looked after so long? There was some sort of ethereal blue aura around him, though, which hadn’t been there before. And he was smiling… fondly.

“You don’t look too well.”

Light laughed, which made him cough and wince in pain.

“Missed you too?” He retorted sarcastically, and it lacked most of its usual bite. Everything, even just raising his head to look L in the eyes, felt awful, but he did it all the same. “I thought… you were gone for good.”

“And give you the pleasure?” The detective grinned, his eyes gleaming. “Never.”

“Good.” He replied, relaxing and smiling at last.

It was at that moment that his heart hammered through his chest… once. Burning pain irradiated in all directions from there. He felt the tingle taking over every inch of his body as his vision blurred and his focus faded.

“W-What…” The pain, suddenly, stopped. All at once. He jerked to his feet, utterly confused, only to realize he didn’t feel the pressure of a floor beneath his feet anymore. L was staring at him wide-eyed. Whatever he saw had him flabbergasted. Light looked over his shoulder… at his own limp body, lying on the stairs and with no soul in its eyes. And he understood. “Ryuk…”

He shook at the incorporeal sound of his own voice.

“That makes two of us, I guess.” L mused, walking over to face him. “Welcome to the realm of the dead, Light.”

“I’m…” He stood still, having a hard time processing it. Then, slowly… a sparkling sensation in his stomach bubbled up, and he giggled. The smile he gave to L was radiant, as he reached out to him.

And as if things couldn’t get any more amazing, when his inexistent fingers landed on the man’s chest… there was resistance to oppose them. Solid, and warm.

“L!” He beamed, patting the other repeatedly. “I can touch you… I’m touching you!”

“Yes. Yes you are.” L confirmed, laughing too. He was bedazzled. “I feel you…”

The moment after, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, laughing. It shouldn’t have felt this real, but it did. Light could even perceive a hint of L’s scent when he dug his face into raven hair.

“You’re here…” He squeezed harder. “What happened? Why did you disappear? Where did you go?”

“I was always here. I was just in such conflict with myself I couldn’t reach out to you.” The man murmured against his shoulder. “I get it now… this was my mission all along. I was supposed to be here, to welcome you when you passed away. Everything makes sense now…”

Light pulled away. He needed to look L in the eyes.

“So, a moment ago…” He hesitated for a moment that didn’t last too long. “When you spoke to me. Was I able to hear you because I was agonizing, or-”

“I don’t think that’s the reason.” L shook his head, and smiled. “I finally found an answer to my conflict. To my feelings for you.”

Light blinked, finally understanding. He didn’t think he’d be able to feel butterflies in his stomach given how he no longer had internal organs, but he did.

“What I said that time…”

“You wrecked me.” L joked, and cupped Light’s face in his hands. When their eyes locked, his were full of devotion. “But you were right. I shouldn’t have, you were a mass murderer not to mention my nemesis, but I did want you. More than you can imagine.”

Light reached up, to fondly caress L’s knuckles.

“L, I loved you.” He swallowed, and leaned into the warm touch. “I… still do. Even after everything.”

“Me too.” The man whispered back, and for the first time, Light heard him go weak.“Even after everything.”

He grabbed him by the collar and locked their lips together. He melted into the kiss, trembling feverishly. He had missed this sensation so much he could barely stand it. The plush, wet and enticing brush of their lips soon grew hungrier, starving, even though they were both smiling into it. And it felt, both literally and metaphorically, more real than any other touch they had ever shared, dead or alive.

Then, they slowly began crumbling away. The kiss was broken as they both stared down. It began at their feet –they were dissolving into iridescent specs of dust that caught the light, and then into nothing. Gradually, it crawled up their shins, reaching their knees, and thighs.

But it wasn’t painful, or scary. Neither of them was scared. It was very peaceful. But just in case he didn’t get another chance, Light pressed every part of him that remained to L’s shape.

“L…” He breathed against the man’s mouth. “Are… are you even real? Or have you just been a product of my imagination all this time?”

L looked puzzled for a moment, but then he simply smiled.

“Does it even matter at this point?”

Light looked him in the eyes, as their torsos began to fade, and felt it deep within himself. He took L’s face in his hands, even though the tips of his fingers were disappearing too.

“No.” He concluded, and leaned in for one last loving kiss which L reciprocated.

And after that, nothing.

#Death Note #L Lawliet #fanfiction #submission #jamknife #misasbiggestfan #ratings: mature #L #Light Yagami #lawlight #B's Bitchin Borthday 2k19

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chille-tid-universe · 5 years

Text

Status Report

Archivist Report 1305-47.b

Archivist: Just for the record, you are assigned item… 16-dash-T-point-four?

Vigilant: Yes, yes, that is correct, as you already know. I don’t see why you felt the need to draw me from the feast for this. That castle had been dormant for months, and the item hasn’t been disturbed since before I began my watch.

A: True enough, but there is talk from upstairs that the travelers from your last report might be capable of discovering the item’s resting place.

V: *snorts* That fancy scatterbrain with the dagger couldn’t find it, and he made himself right at home. Sure, the big one lines up with the basic description of the spell, but she’s a stickler for the law. No way it picks her!

A: *sniffs* Yes, your report concludes as much. Still… we do prefer thorough documentation of each contact, even potential contacts. At least… *glances at horn of ale dripping on table* … in my office that’s how we do things.

V: By the beard of… Fine, fine, let me pull up the scrying sphere. Your blasted quill is recording? Good, let’s see where they got off to…

Melpomene walked briskly down the southern road from Daggerford. Of course, the blasted barkeep had found a replacement mere hours after the rest of the party had left the tavern. They only had a half a day’s lead on her, and the gnomes had such short legs, but Melpomene could not seem to catch up.

Unbidden, chords and lyrics flowed like water through the aasimar’s mind. As the miles marched past, Melpomene hummed a new song or two, mentally noting those tunes with the greatest potential. Yes, this strange party seemed to attract stories like flies to sugar. The devilish svirfneblin, the hapless gnome, the noble she-warrior, and the charming half-elven bard. If they could be believed, they had accomplished much already, and if Melpomene knew anything of folk-heroes, there were many more tales this group was waiting to spin. And Melpomene was in the business of good tales.

Halfway through her second day from Daggerford, Melpomene came upon a crudely constructed barricade stretching the width of the road, with a ramshackle hut to one side. Upon closer inspection, it appeared hastily vacated, and the gate through the meager wall was hanging on one hinge.

Obviously there had been some sort of toll collection going on here, legitimate or not, but the proprietor appeared to have packed up in a hurry. Upon closer inspection, there was a bolt imbedded in the windowsill of the shack that looked quite familiar, and as Melpomene headed on she was chuckling.

The next day brought with it a frightful wall of mist, stretching to either side of the road as far as her eyes could see. There had been no tracks leading off the main path, however, so Melpomene shrugged and carried on. As soon as she stepped foot into the murky fog, she could sense a dark presence, looming just ahead but never getting any closer. It was a persistent paranoia that quickly set her nerves on edge, and as she saw the darkened silhouette of a castle wall fade into view, Melpomene’s mood had tangibly soured. Her mood only slightly improved as the forms of her new companions became clear in the mist, standing over the mangled bodies of several orcs and fiends.

“Yoohoo!” she called out, jogging the last hundred feet to the castle walls. Nissa’s hand went to her crossbows before she recognized Melpomene’s voice, and Wun Way called out jovially, “How nice of you to join us! Don’t worry, we’ve only taken care of the welcoming committee. I’m sure there’s plenty left for you to help with!”

As the reunited party walked into the less-foggy courtyard, they relayed the events of the last few days to Melpomene, from the specifics of the information they had gathered from Trista/Vitalius, to the brigands they had dealt with a day past (“They weren’t even unionized!” Nissa scoffed), to the waiting party they had just dispatched.

As they walked about the courtyard, several things became clear immediately. The so-called Dragonspear “Castle” barely deserved the name anymore; almost the entirety of its construction had fallen into disrepair, with most of the walls crumbling or already fallen, limited reminders of where most of the previous buildings had stood, and the stale taste of inaction upon the air itself. There were merely two points of interest in the whole courtyard, they concluded, as they finished their rounds.

The western tower, which sat adjacent to what, in another time, might have been a barracks, was almost completely whole. As Pock and Nissa explained, it appeared that there were stones of different ages, from a variety of quarries, that had been used to reconstruct the areas of decay on both the tower and barracks (Nissa was quick to dissuade Pock’s initial hypothesis that time travelers had built the structures).

The only other building worthy of that designation was a simple, stout stone structure, barely more than a large room, which Brienne quickly identified as a chapel. It was not immune to the many long years it had spent exposed to the elements, but somehow it still stood. As they finished walking along the inner wall of crumbling stone, Melpomene recalled all she had heard regarding this foul place during her time in Daggerford, and shared with the others.

Years and years ago, the stories went, this castle had been the staging ground for an invasion from the nine hells. There had been a portal opened, then, though tales told of an effort by the forces of Daggerford to seal it. There had been little told of this area since then, until around a year ago, just about the time of Morwen’s rise to power, when this strange mist had descended upon the land, and fiends began roaming the area.

Unsure of which area to investigate, the party placed their Immovable Rod against the door to the west tower and settled in across the courtyard to catch their breath from the previous engagement.

As the party rested, both Brienne and Nissa’s heads suddenly jerked up. Nissa turned to the chapel, and Brienne asked, “Did you guys hear that?”

“Did we hear what?” Melpomene asked.

“Someone called for help… Said they were trapped… It sounded like it was coming from the chapel…” Brienne tapered off, glancing at Nissa and following her gaze to the chapel. “Did you hear it, too?”

Nissa seemed to think for a second, then nodded, “Yeah, someone was asking for help. Definitely coming from the chapel.”

The other three glanced among themselves. Pock shrugged and started walking toward the chapel before Brienne stuck out an arm to stop him. “Well, we didn’t hear anything,” Wun Way said with a hint of questioning in her voice.

Nissa just narrowed her eyes and sneered at the bulge in Wun Way’s backpack. “And none of us ever hear your ‘egg’ either, but we don’t call you completely crazy,” she shot back, fully aware she had called Wun Way completely crazy before.

The party moved toward the chapel.

Archivist Report 1305-47.b (cont.)

Vigilant: What in the realms are they doing?! The she-warrior’s file said she possessed a potent Circlet of Intellect! How can they even contemplate this?!

A: Keep in mind the mist surrounding the premises. We theorize it could have a deadening effect on victims’ sense of morality, and certain members of the group have already shown preference for dubious decisions. *reference to file Svirfneblin-143.16598*

V: *takes a long draught of ale* Still don’t think there’s going to be anything here worth reporting on, but if you insist…

A: I do.

The party stood beyond the door to the chapel. Nissa had glanced in through the windows and had recognized the trappings of Tempus, a deity of war. They had decided that Wun Way and Pock would stand guard outside, ready to intervene if anything malevolent occurred, but as Brienne walked in the gnome trotted after her.

As soon as the four stepped beyond the threshold of the door, the voice became audible, and Pock and Melpomene glanced around. “Help me… They trapped me here…” the feminine voice called, whimpering as if in pain. Outside, Wun Way could hear nothing.

“Who trapped you? When?” Brienne asked, looking around the room.

“It was those terrible priests of Tempus,” the voice seemed to pout, and it was clear now that it was coming from the solid granite altar at the end of the room. As the four stepped forward, they noticed that the area around the altar seemed better preserved than the remainder of the chapel; while piles of broken pews were pressed up against the walls, there was still reddish paint coating most of the floor in an area surrounding the altar. However, there were spots where it seemed the paint had been clawed away.

A sense of dread filled the four, and Brienne motioned to Pock, and then the altar. He nodded and closed his eyes briefly, then confirmed, “Yep, abjuration magic, pretty strong. Spells of binding, protection, sealing.”

“What do you need from us to be freed?” Nissa asked, glancing around the sparsely decorated room. “And what would you offer us for our services?”

The voice took on a cloying, pleading tone. “In the early times, it would have taken the blood of a follower of Tempus, but their bonds have weakened. Now, all it would take is a drop of lifeforce from a devout individual. As to rewards…” The voice went quiet for a moment, then seemed to focus directly onto Nissa. “I can offer a means for your people to defend themselves, Nissandra.” Nissa’s eyes glazed over, as if she could see some long-chased-after goal within reach.

Brienne moved herself between the two gnomes, knowing Pock was the closest to devout among them. “Why did they trap you here?” she asked, directing her question at the altar.

“They did not agree with my world views,” the voice explained coyly, “that anything worth having should be taken by, strength or by guile.” Wun Way, tired of hearing this one-sided conversation, inched a little closer to the doorway, but still could hear only her friends.

“And what of the settlements around here? Your intentions do not involve ill-will toward them?”

They felt the voice recede a little, as if it spoke across a great distance. “I have no aspirations towards them.” The four glanced among themselves. Nissa’s eyes clearly pleaded that they try something. What was the worst that could happen? And this was clearly a being of power. Their comeuppance would certainly be worth the effort.

Brienne’s jaw set like stone as she glared at Nissa. There was no way to know what this thing was, and to take it at its word would be foolishness. Pock simply glanced between the two women, tapping his warhammer against his thigh. “I could offer you and your loved ones protection,” the voice offered, tone as sweet as honey. “No harm would befall you or your families.” Nissa gestured toward the altar in triumph, while Brienne simply shook her head.

Melpomene shook out her long hair and sighed. She knew the traps and pitfalls that words hid. They needed assurance that this voice spoke plainly. Her eyes began to close, and she reached out with her mind, immediately detecting a nexus of thought centered on the altar. On the surface, Melpomene’s mind skimmed thoughts of freedom, decades of thirst for the outside world, a longing that went bone deep. Unsatisfied, the aasimar frowned and pushed a little deeper.

Immediately, she heard a deep, rumbling chuckle in her mind, and the four felt a wrenching pain as the ground beneath them tremored. Melpomene fell back, the mental link severed, and the voice called out, demanding, “Free me!” Wun Way felt the brush of the coatl’s mind against her consciousness, and she gasped.

“We need to get out of here!” the half-elf cried. Brienne looked back at Wun Way, and nodded, ushering Pock out and helping Melpomene to her feet. She turned and almost dragged Nissa away from the altar.

Outside, it was still misty, but it seemed that diffuse rays of sunlight filtered down a little brighter than they had seemed minutes before. The five caught their breath on the sparse lawn while Wun Way explained. “The coatl egg, it told me it was protecting me from… whatever that thing was. It couldn’t hold her off much longer.” The four glanced at the bulge in her backpack, then back at the now-silent chapel. Brienne turned to Nissa, who shrugged.

“Alright, so we don’t do anything for now. Maybe once we check out the tower and you’re sure there’s no other big, bad evil here we can hear her out, see if we can trust her.” It was the closest to a compromise Nissa was likely to offer, so Brienne nodded, and they turned to the west tower.

The door appeared to be normal, apart from intricate text that sprawled across the top of the wood in golden lettering. It read thus:

“A farmer wishes to plant 9 trees to form 10 straight lines, with 3 trees in each row.”

Brienne and Melpomene immediately began discussing how they could solve the riddle while Wun Way began sketching in the dirt. Pock asked if they could plant some of the trees in the air, to which Nissa replied with a punch to his shoulder. After a minute of discussion, Nissa threw up her hands and stalked to the door. She punched her finger into the wood below the engraving, and a yellow dot was left behind. Encouraged, she quickly punched in eight more dots in a grid pattern. As she jabbed for the ninth time, however, there was a flash, and an acrid smell filled the air. Nissa was thrown backwards and landed in a heap. Her nine dots flashed red for a moment, before fading like breath on a window into the wood. Below the puzzle, three green circles appeared, and the first turned red.

Brienne and Melpomene glanced at Nissa, nursing her lightly smoking finger, then back at the door. “Maybe we need to enter the answer thee times,” Pock suggested, and stepped over Nissa’s leg toward the door. Brienne grabbed him by the shoulder.

“I do not think so, Pock,” she stated. He shrugged and began searching the masonry for clues. Melpomene raised her eyebrows at Brienne, who responded under her breath, “He means well.”

There was a low growl from Nissa before she whipped out her crossbows and fired off two bolts at the door. They quivered slightly after they struck, deep into the wood, but there was no other change. The svirfneblin then reached into her cloak and removed a vial of green liquid, whose contents she tossed across the door. Where the acid hit wood, it ate away slowly, but the gilded lettering seemed unaffected. Nissa peered closely at the damage, but was careful not to let her skin touch the cursed wood.

Brienne returned to the etchings Wun Way had scribbled in the dirt. “No… it has to be symmetrical. But no matter how we move the saplings…” She crossed several lines through the etchings. “I can’t get more than eight lines!”

Melpomene thought for a second, then grabbed the stick from Brienne. “You’re focused on rotational symmetry. What if…” She placed five dots in a cross, then placed the remaining four above and below the cross. “Ha! Take that, you leafy little bitches!” Brienne stood back and nodded.

“...Seven, eight, nine, ten! That does it, well done, Melpomene!” Brienne glanced to the door. “Who wants to do the honors?”

Nissa shook her head. “No way, one shock from that stupid door is enough for me.”

Brienne shrugged and stepped up to the door, placing her finger lightly onto the grainy wood in nine different spots. Brienne winced as the last impression was made, but the door merely hummed a moment before the yellow dots turned flashing green before fading back into the wood. She gingerly gripped the metal handle and twisted it.

The wall separating the tower and barracks appeared to have been removed, creating a single long room with a curved wall at one end. For all the ruin of the castle, the inside of the building seemed quite well kept. A winding staircase along the inside of the tower wall lead up to a second story, and beneath the stairs was a cellar door to some sort of basement. There were several pieces of mismatched furniture strewn across the floor, with tables and stools crowding what appeared to be a full bar along the side wall. Shelves were stocked with a multitude of bottles behind this bar, and below the shelves stood a man.

The party immediately recognized the bushy red hair and mustache and the scar beneath one eye as belonging to Haesten, and there was a glint of a golden hilt by his belt. Weapons were gripped as their quarry came into view. With a blink, the wizard smiled and waved. “Hullo! Splendid, you opened the door! Was beginning to think I’d rot here, and that’s the truth! Come in, come in, won’t you have a drink?”

Nissa’s eyes darted to the shelves of alcohol, immediately marking which were the most expensive. “Don’t mind if I do,” she responded with a smile, darting past Brienne and climbing up onto the bar. She ignored the offered cup from Haesten and instead began examining the hefty bottles near the top. “Got anything gnommish?”

The wizard’s smile wavered for a moment before returning. “Er… Yes, I do believe there should be something around there.” His interest piqued, Pock also stepped around Brienne and clambered up onto a stool, tugging on Nissa’s cloak and beckoning for a bottle.

“Haesten, I presume?” Brienne accused, a cold chill creeping into her voice. This man held the dagger, and surely had some sort of defense set up in this place.

“A pleasure to meet your acquaintance… sir?” Haesten bowed, tilting his head in a question. “I presume you’ll have been sent here by Delphin. Oh, how silly he’ll think I am!”

“Did you steal his dagger and flee from Daggerford?” Brienne asked, gripping her battleaxe and sensing Melpomene reaching into her cloak for her blade. Nissa still perused the collection, and Pock was pulling out a magnifying glass to read the miniscule text on a bottle.

The wizard sighed. “Yes, I did indeed. Oh, it all began as one big joke, but…” He pulled the dagger from its sheath, and it glittered in the light of the lamps dispersed through the room. “...it really is a wonderful item. I’m sad to say I was tempted, and my greed got the best of me.”

“No need to apologize for that,” Nissa exclaimed, trying to shove several bottles into her cloak.

“Yes, well, I headed south with the dagger and found myself at this curious place. Did you know there’s a portal to hell sealed nearby? The power I could siphon from that source is immense! But I had learned from Ol’ Ondabarl how to set up a wizard’s tower, so I set to preparing the defenses. Unfortunately,” he mumbled, speaking into his drink, “I started with that door, and didn’t quite leave myself with a way to unlock it from the inside… But now you’re here, and we’re free!” Haesten threw his arms open, his drink sloshing over the rim, before his eyes darted from Brienne and Melpomene to the dagger he had laid on the bartop. “I do suppose Delphin has asked for his dagger, back, eh?” He picked up the dagger and held it out to Brienne. “I suppose I owe him that much, after the trouble I’ve caused.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes, but strode forward into the room and reached for the dagger. Melpomene shook her head as Brienne walked away. Something wasn’t right… “Wait. He said we!” As Brienne grabbed the offered hilt, Haesten gripped her forearm with his other hand, and grinned hideously.

All at once, there was a pressure behind Brienne’s eyes, like a drill was digging out her brain, and then there was blankness, emptiness that spanned the last three days. Brienne could not recall where she was, or how she got here, but she recognized Haesten as if he had just been described to her. She glanced down and saw the dagger, and his hand on her arm, and assumed the worst. She let the dagger fall to the floor and pulled away, shaking her head to free it from a ringing sensation. She felt drained, as if she had run many miles, and there was a deep pain throbbing behind her eyes.

Nissa had been watching the discussion from the corner of her eye, and when Brienne had seized up at Haesten’s touch, the svirfneblin knew something was wrong. Bottles forgotten (for the moment) she whirled around and leveled her crossbow at the wizard, letting loose a bolt aimed for his shoulder. The bolt flew through the air and struck its target, and from her position mere inches away, Brienne saw the shaft of wood thud into Haesten’s body. There was no blood, and only a slight squelching sound as the bolt pierced what should have been flesh. “He isn’t human!” Brienne cried out as she reached for her battleaxe and shield.

“Oh, is he an elf?” Pock asked with curiosity, then turned to see the bolt sticking from Haesten’s chest. “Ah.”

There was a clang, and the cellar door opened to reveal a female adventurer, climbing from the basement below. Melpomene cried out to alert the others, then her blade darted from beneath her cloak. Across the room, Pock had advanced upon the wizard with hammer in hand. Nissa had darted behind the bar and was taking shots from her hidden position while Brienne brought her battleaxe down upon his arm with a sickening squelch, as if she had struck a boggy marsh. Haesten’s mouth split in a rictus grin, and his eyes turned towards Wun Way. The half-elf’s eyes glazed over for a moment, then she turned to see Nissa aiming at the wizard. “STOP!” she yelled, and pointed a finger at the gnome. Nissa’s eyes widened as she felt her muscles freeze, then she turned her gaze to Wun Way. There was murder in her eyes.

The adventurer had jumped at Melpomene, who took a deep breath and let her earthly guise fall away. All her heavenly, corrupted splendor shone forth upon the adventurer - and seemed to have no effect. She instead adjusted her leap and darted past the aasimar’s terrible visage.

A moment later, Brienne slammed the flat of her axe against Haesten’s face, and Wun Way slumped forward. Nissa was freed, and quickly turned her crossbow on the half-elf. She might have fired, had Wun Way not managed to quickly explain between breaths, “Mind… control…” This seemed to upset Nissa even more, and she renewed her attack on the wizard. Or would have, if the adventurer did not jump behind the bar and strike Nissa down with a heavy blow. The gnome fell unconscious, slumped over the bar. Pock turned around and placed his hand on his fallen friend, breathing words of life as he felt her body stir, but was then struck by the adventurer and sent reeling.

Brienne gathered her strength and unleashed a flurry of strikes against the wizard. As her last blow struck, it sliced clean through his torso. With that terrible grin plastered onto his face, Haesten’s body began to melt, becoming viscous and an ugly crimson. At the same time, the adventurer’s body underwent the same change, and within seconds there were two piles of sludge where they had stood a moment before.

Wun Way turned to the fallen companions and began administering aid. Melpomene composed herself and her beautiful and slightly less imposing form returned. Brienne took a deep breath and asked, “Does anyone want to fill me in as to what’s going on here?”

Archivist Report 1305-47.b (cont.)

Vigilant: I see what you mean. She definitely fits the parameters. Still, will it have any effect? It’s been centuries, and still no indication that -

Archivist: These discussions have already been exhausted elsewhere. *reference to open forum 928346.8*

V: Well, none of this will be worth a raven’s caw if they can’t find the blasted casket. Generations have passed by it without noticing anything.

There was something strange about the wall beyond the bar. As Melpomene reviewed the events of the past few days for the three who had been injured by the wizard and his accomplice, Nissa’s eyes kept getting drawn back to a section of wall, much like any other in the long room, except for an unmistakable gut feeling that Nissa was getting from it. She recognized it as her treasure-sense, and had learned to follow it over the years. Cutting Melpomene off mid-sentence, the svirfneblin strode across the floor (avoiding the still bubbling mass that had been Haesten) to the odd wall.

The others eyed her, but knew better than to get between Nissa and potential wealth (unless that wealth belonged to someone else, in which case Brienne usually intervened). After a few seconds, Nissa let out a satisfied exclamation and, with a click, the false wall swung open. Within, there was a shallow wooden box, and as Pock helped Nissa remove it, an emblazoned warhammer crossed with a lightning bolt became clear on top, in stunning color as if it had been painted yesterday. Beneath, shimmering text, was written in Common:

“Used to threaten / Used to defeat

Sometimes it grows / Sometimes it shrinks

Used to conquer / Used to protect

It marks your downfall / It marks your success”

For the next few minutes, the party threw out possible solutions as Brienne lugged the half-casket around the tower (there was something about it that just felt… right to her), and they checked the second story, where they found a fledgling wizard’s study, complete with agents and reagents, globes and tomes, a fancy leather-bound tome they took to be Haesten’s spellbook and safely stored away in the bag of holding, several potions, and even an exquisitely ciphered scroll of teleportation, which Melpomene slid into her coat.

The second floor being for all intents and purposes looted, the party ventured a search into the cellar below the tower. Upon close examination, there appeared to be a thin trail of the crimson substance that Haesten and his adventurer had been diminished to, leading from behind the bar and down the stairs to the cellar. As they cautiously descended the cold stone steps, a hideous sight met their eyes. A bulbous red mass of oozing pustules was in the process of decay in what appeared to be a cell, strands of slime already seeping through the bars.

Wun Way leaned a little closer and announced that, given the circumstances, this was most likely an oblex, and an elder one at that. She explained that they had been known to incorporate the personalities and likenesses of those they fed upon, and one of this size could easily maintain several bodies-facsimiles at the same time. Pock asked in a hushed whisper if the elder oblex had fed upon a pile of red goo, and Nissa sighed and informed him that this was most likely its actual form.

As the party returned to the first floor, they resumed the discussion of the casket’s puzzle. “Government?” “Money?” “Citizens?” “An army?” On and on they threw out answers as they finished scouring the first floor. As they finished up and started towards the curving staircase, Melpomene pursed her lips and thought a second before offering, “Power?” There was a sound like a thunderclap, and the insignia on the casket glowed bright white for a split second. As the party’s sight and hearing returned to them, the lid had shifted off the casket, revealing its contents.

Within the casket, there lay a neatly folded bundle of cloth. There was an emblem stitched into the cloth, matching the symbol on the casket; a warhammer crossed with a lightning bolt. As Melpomene removed the cloth, it unfurled to show a handsome standard. Beneath the cloth was a metal rod, to be affixed to a pole or other weapon, to hand the standard from, and next to the rod was a warhammer matching the emblem.

Brienne felt a sudden need to hold that warhammer. She slowly reached in with her hand, and as her fingers slid around the cool metal of the handle, she felt the mental fatigue and heavy paranoia she had been suffering from since they had come to this place disperse. She braced herself to lift the heavy weapon, but was surprised to find it much lighter than it had seemed in the casket. There was a carving along the side of the hammer, an intricate lightning bolt woven in strange knots that seemed to shift from the corner or Brienne’s eye. She turned to face the rest of the party. “Neat,” Pock commented.

Archivist Report 1305-47.b (cont.)

Vigilant: *cheers and bangs horn on table, endangering records with spilled ale* She’s done it! The crazy she-devil’s done it!

Archivist: *adjusting papers to avoid spillage* Technically she is a fallen angel, not a devil.

V: No, the warrioress! Do you know what this means? My watch it ended! That blasted hiding spot is finished!

A: Yes, it appears your position is no longer required. The paperwork will be distributed within a week. Please await your new orders. You may return to your… feast. *gathers files*

V: Not on your life, archivist. I’ve waited damned centuries for this moment. I want to see who we’ve been waiting for. At least until they’re out of range.

A: *reopens ledger* Very well…

“Incredible,” Brienne breathed, feeling her moral ambiguities evaporate like morning dew under the intensity of the hammer’s influence. “You need to feel this.” She waved the hammer around easily, passing it to Wun Way, in whose hand the hammer dropped like a boulder, clanging loudly on the wooden floor and leaving a dent.

“Stars, Brienne, I know I’m not that much weaker than you!” she complained, straining as she attempted to lift the hammer. Brinne frowned, brow furrowing, as Nissa and Pock both approached the hammer and attempted, unsuccessfully, to lift it together.

“Curious,” the human muttered, reaching down and plucking the hammer from the floor to the chagrin of the others. “Well, there doesn’t appear to be anything left to find here. Let’s go.”

The party decided it wanted nothing to do with what was obviously a portal to the Nine Hells, and decided to head back for Daggerford immediately, hoping to escape the oppressive mists before the end of the day. So, still wounded and wearied, the group left the tower and headed for the gates of Dragonspear Castle.

Seldom has an oversight had such drastic ramifications.

The group walked with easy gait across the courtyard, but stopped as they reached the gate. Beyond, a semicircle of orcs were arrayed with a pair of hellhounds, and a large orc decked in intricate furs and skins in the center. As she began speaking, Brienne, Nissa, and Wun Way recognized her as the shaman from their journeys before Orlane. “We’ve finally tracked you down. Guthran will be most pleased to know those who slaughtered his tribe have been dealt with.” She waved her hand at Melpomene and Pock. “We have no business with you. Leave the others, and you will be spared.” The gnome and aasimar grabbed their weapons and stepped closer to the other three. “Very well,” the gravelly voice rumbled. “You have chosen.”

Lifting high the wondrous hammer, Brienne ran forward to face the old foe. As she passed between the towers, however, the shaman lifted a gnarled hand, and a torrent of flames shot up from the ground, creating a wall of fire between the structures. Caught in the midst of the inferno, Brienne cried out and pushed through, emerging singed but whole in the midst of the orcs and their hellhounds. With a grin, the shaman raised her other hand and two tears in reality opened before her, and two tall devils stepped through to the plane wielding long chains barbed with hooks.

As the foul enemies collapsed on Brienne, the other four dashed to the ladders that would take them to the top of the towers; Wun Way to the right tower, and the other three to the left. From their lofty vantage points, they saw Brienne dash in among the orcs and, swinging the warhammer about easily, knock one orc’s head clean off with a single blow, then spin and crush the ribs of another foe. In a flash, two other orcs had been felled, and the human woman was left grinning as the other orcs approached more skittishly. This, this was right. Mind clear, morality restored, and fell enemies to remove from existence. Though her body screamed for respite from the battles of the day, Brienne yelled a challenge to those before her.

Nissa called out as a trio of the strange spiked birds swooped down from the misty skies, flinging their barbed tail feathers at the party. Ducking from the assault, Nissa pulled out her crossbow and leveled it at the shaman. “This time you won’t get away,” she growled, loosing a bolt. Atop the other tower, Wun Way grabbed her own hand crossbow and aimed at the devils, calling out for Brienne to watch herself.

The devils approached, twirling their wicked chains as the orcs swarmed Brienne. She held her ground, throwing her shield between herself and her attackers, until the devils whipped out their hooks. One was knocked aside by the hammer, but the other struck, and Brienne grunted as the scythe-like hook dug into her arm. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, the hellhounds circled around her, breathing torrents of fire that engulfed Brienne and a few of the remaining orcs.

Melpomene narrowed her eyes at the devil that had ensnared her comrade, and breathed words of power beneath her breath, feeling her divine magic flow through her body. She raised her voice, and in mocking tones directed threats at the fiend. It turned to look at the source of the calls, and its eyes went wide as a horrible vision appeared before it. With a strangled yelp, it dropped its chain and fell back, almost colliding with the shaman. Brienne took the opportunity to smash another pair of orcs.

The party continued to fire from above, attempting to pick off the devils while the birds continued to swoop across the battlefield, emptying their deadly plumage toward the adventurers. Pock glanced down at the fray and called upon Rill Cleverthrush to shield his friend. A golden aura surrounded Brienne which sparkled in the eyes of her foes, causing them to squint through the brilliance.

Unfortunately, the devils were still able to find purchase with their swirling chains, and two hooks pierced Brienne, holding her fast. She gave a mighty roar and flung the bonds aside, panting with the exertion.

By this time, the birds’ feathers had pinned Wun Way and Pock, who were both beginning to gasp with the effort of staying conscious. Glancing over at Pock and the others, Wun Way called out to Brienne, “We can’t take much more!”

Herself beginning to feel the extent of her exhaustion, Brienne set herself in a defensive pose and called out, “Melpomene! The scroll!” Just then, another bolt from Nissa went sailing through the air and struck the shaman in her flank. With a deep grunt, the orc’s concentration slipped, and the wall of fire flickered into nothingness. Nissa cried out in triumph right before a pair of feathered barbs sank deep into her chest, sending her sprawling across the floor. Pock cried out and dove to assist her, but was struck as well, and toppled to her side. Wun Way saw the motion from the corner of her eye and sang out a desperate healing spell, not daring to breathe until she saw her friends stir and clamber back to their feet.

“The scroll, Melpomene!” Brienne repeated, fighting off another assault by the devils. “It’s the only way!” The aasimar nodded to herself and feverishly searched her cloak, locating the crisp roll of parchment they had taken from the wizard’s study what seemed a lifetime ago. The spell was beyond anything Melpomene had attempted before, but she could just begin to make out the general shape of the mental components necessary. The words swam before her eyes as if she had had too much to drink, but she knew she needed to read them if they were to survive this.

“Ready!” she cried out.

“To Melpomene!” Brienne roared, readying herself to break from the fray. Atop the other tower, Wun Way fired a last shot at the deadly birds before launching herself at the ladder. Pock peeked over the edge of the parapet and concentrated, creating his divine weapon next to the chain-devil and sending it careening into its leathery flesh. The gnome cried out happily, even as a firebolt from the shaman’s fingers punched him squarely in the chest. Pock’s smile stayed on his face as he fell backwards, eyes rolled back.

Nissa watched her fellow gnome fall back, and glanced down at Brienne, thick in the middle of the orcs and devils, then to Wun Way, just now reaching the bottom of her ladder. “No time,” she muttered, then turned to Melpomene. “I need to drop him,” she blurted, hoping Melpomene would catch on. “No time to climb.” With that, she dove for Pock’s unconscious form, grunting as she hauled his armor-laden body to the edge of the tower. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she tilted him into the open air. She did not spare him a second glance as he tumbled to the earth below; for this to work, she needed to get down, herself. She jumped for the ladder and half-climbed, half-fell down the rungs.

Brienne chanced a backwards glance, and her heart nearly stopped as she saw Pock’s body hit the earth. She checked another blow, then extracted herself from the brawl, charging for the fallen gnome. She arrived at his body just as Wun Way did, and she saw his chest rise slightly with his breath just as Nissa jumped the last few feet off her ladder. Brienne glanced up into the misty sky and saw Melpomene unfurling the scroll fully and taking a deep breath. The fiends and orcs had started their charge to the damaged group as the fallen angel plummeted earthward again.

Archivist Report 1305-47.b (cont.)

Archivist: *does not notice ale flowing over report* Is the work of a vigilant always this enthralling?

Vigilant: *does not seem to have heard* No no no no no no no no no no…

Brienne found herself holding her breath as she watched the beautiful form of Melpomene fall like a comet. She placed a hand on the body of Pock, bracing herself for the teleportation spell.

Nissa held her leg, sucking in deep breaths as she assessed the damage. She didn’t think it was broken; most likely just sprained. Once they returned to Daggerford, she would need to find a professional healer to be sure.

Wun Way’s breath caught in her throat as she stared up. The sight of the imposing aasimar hurtling toward her, flowing hair buffeted by the wind, glowing face scrunched up as she deciphered the scroll, would be with her ‘til the day she died.

Melpomene felt the intense pressure of this moment. As air rushed by her face, she smiled. All spotlights were on her, and this was her time to shine. If she could only make out that last part of the spell… She didn’t dare look away from the scroll. She knew the ground was fast approaching, and that she couldn’t spare a split second to stare at the oncoming earth. Her usual performance bravada cracked, and her smile faltered. This last line was not making sense! Melpomene’s eyes grew wide as she scanned the scroll again, thinking a full reading might jog her intuition and help her complete the spell.

She was on the last word when she hit the ground.

The shaman grunted in a close approximation of a laugh. “How nice of them to bundle themselves up for us.” She called out to her underlings, “Strip them of their weapons and bind them! A quick death is too good for these monsters. We take them to Guthran!”

Archivist Report 1305-47.b (cont.)

*span of several seconds without sound or motion*

Archivist: What the f-

*Report terminated*

#dnd stories

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dailydoseofdacre · 6 years

Text

Teenage Dirtbag

(v)

request: angst w makeup at the end,,, also including a song Drabble, “the night we met” by lord huron

a/n: I’m so sorry. this week is not my week for life honestly,,, but since it’s Valentine’s Day, I figure I owe you guys this chapter... thanks for the feedback, follows, and reblogs, it means so frickin much to me. A note that if my timeline for ST2 and this story is off, I’m sorry. If not, think of this like a au ST story. :)

word count: 1k+ (v v pathetic srry :[)

Closing your eyes, you let your lungs expand greatly within you as a deep breath was held in, and all of the tangled nerves that bunched in your body was freed once the breath was exhaled. The soft November breeze was perfect, the wind subtle, as if Fall wasn’t lingering in Hawkins, it felt like Spring had dawned that evening. Small bursts of wind blew your hair back and away from your face.

Taking in a couple more of deep breaths, you finally opened your eyes when you found your mojo. That your temple was at its most serene state, ready to take on the world again. Your heart beat at its normal speed as your eyes glazed over the scene before you. River as dark as night, with the illumation of the moon reflecting the trees and bushes. A soft bed of grass that was mowed recently danced with the breeze of the whistling wind. The moon was out, making known of its presence high up in the sky. You wondered what it would be like on the moon. To feel the bumps and grooves of the massive craters, to glare at the Earth with such curiosity.

Billy was taking a stroll through the ugly forests of Hawkins, eyes wet with tears and cheek still stinging from the contact his father dawned upon him. He would muster a sniffle here and there, the back of his hand wiping his nose every so often. Beneath him as he walked, the crunching of leaves and twigs echoed, bouncing off from tree to tree, alerting any animals that a potential predator was nearby.

Hargrove’s mind whirred, pondering as to what he could possibly do to appease his father. Get a job? Get good grades? Become a saint? He nodded to himself in disapproval, another soggy tear fleeing from his deep sapphire orbs. Billy could be a spitting image of Jesus and his father would still act the same way. Sucking a deep breath in, Billy managed to put a hold of his crying and sniffles as a glimpse of moonlight peeked through the vast amount of trees. In a low position, Billy crept through the path, all senses aware in case he bumped into anyone.

The Californian perched up against a tree when he noticed a girl merely 6 meters away from him. He glossed his tongue across his bottom lip, a smirk plaguing his lips. Billy figured he could swoon the girl, easing him of his personal troubles with some sex. The previous grin that marked his face went straight when he focused a little more on this mystery girl. His heart skipped a beat every thirty seconds or so when he recognized his doll. Suddenly all thoughts of seducing someone were thrown out of his mind, the only thing being you. Looking at you, holding you, and kissing you just as he did that one Halloween night. The night you broke down.

You were completely exposed, your true emotions raw in that moment of Billy embracing you in his arms. Scolding himself, Billy asked himself where his manhood was. What happened to Billy fucking Hargrove? How did these feelings for you develop? When did they develop? Why didn’t he just want to fuck and flee like he normally did with all of the other girls? He slumped his shoulders and ran his hand through the textured curls his hair occupied, sneering at himself that he wasted hairspray for his expected (yet cancelled) date.

Mind lost within the scenery before you, you barely noticed someone whispering the infamous nickname. “Doll.”

Chills exploded throughout your body as Billy’s fingertips caressed your arm with such care, as if he would hurt you. With extreme hesitation, you turned around, head down in attempts to avoid his piercing gaze. Biting the inside of your cheek, your heart sped when Billy’s index finger brought your head up to gaze into his sea irises.

“Billy,” you responded softly, not surprised that he was in your presence. A small smile tugged as you reached out to button his maroon shirt, hands resting on the fabric for a lingering minute before retiring your hands back to your sides. “What’re you doing here?”

Billy’s body busted out in shivers when your hands unintentionally made contact with his chest as you buttoned his shirt. He glared down at you with such admiration, but took a double take when the moonlight exposed the shiner on your cheek. Index finger retreating to your chin, Billy lifted up your head, examining you with concern etched onto his face.

“Don’t think I can’t see it, doll.” Billy said with slight anger. Hargrove swore to protect you, and the exact opposite happened, needless to say, he was upset that you hadn’t gone to him for help.

His comment resulted in you tip-toeing to reach his level, newly white polished fingertips outlining the slap mark on his cheek. “Don’t think I can’t see this, Billy.”

“It’s nothing.” Billy defended quickly, dismissing his measly slap mark, then turning the conversation to your swelled cheek. “Who did this?” He ask in a stern voice, taking a step closer to you, which didn’t help anyone because the two of you were mere centimeters away from each other. One step closer and your face would collide into his chest.

“No one,” you breath out, faking a chuckle as you threw your hands up. “You wouldn’t believe me if I said this.” Rolling your eyes, another nervous laugh filling Billy’s ears.

Billy stood quiet, plucking out the lie that easily slipped out of your lips. From his body tension you stepped away, giving him distance away from you. “I don’t have to explain this to you.” You huffed, crossing your arms and walking away from the 177 cm Californian.

“Yes, you do.” Billy called out, voice raising and blood boiling as you were about to make your way home. His boots crunched the leaves and twigs beneath him as he trudged to get closer to you.

“And why should I? Because we’re dating?” You mocked, storming up to him in a way that slightly intimated him. This side of you was hardly shown, and if so, it was only when someone really upset you. “No,” a humorless snicker followed. “You wouldn’t date a girl like me in a million years, Hargrove. I’m lucky enough to have even had your help on Halloween. You flock to the girls who have experience, who smoke cigarettes with you, who will have sex with you, Billy. Get a reality check! You don’t like me, you don’t even know my name! So, for you to demand why I got this here bruise is insulting.” You pointed to the shiner on your cheek, then letting your arm return to cross against the other one. Billy stood before you, dumbfounded and surprised as you spit some truth and some lies.

“As if you actually care for me. Billy, we haven’t even known each other for what? Two months? I know your motive, you want sex, so you can toy with my heart and cut the strings once you got what you wanted. I’m not stupid, you know.” Finishing, you held your head up high, as if to flaunt that you finally had your turn to speak, and that what you said was a reality check for Billy. That you had finally called Billy out for the real cause of the attention he was giving you.

A ping of hurt flushed in the Californian’s heart. Disbelief covered the features of his face. “I don’t care about you?” He asked, the soft side of his emotions poking against his arrogant and badass state.

Lips forming into a pout, you nodded your head, then spitting out a no.

When the night was full of terrors

And your eyes were filled with tears

When you had not touched me yet

Oh, take me back to the night we met

Without another minute wasted, Billy strode towards you, one hand wrapping around your waist and the other cupping your jaw. Passionately, Billy crushed his lips onto your plump ones. Fireworks went off, it was a weird sensation, but he continued on despite his rapidly beating heart. Stunned by his action, your body froze for a second, not comprehending what was going on. The other second quickly gave into Billy’s kiss, both of your lips moving in sync. All the while, your body went numb, all but your poor heart, which was nearly beating out of your chest.

Resting your hands onto his chest, you pulled back from the lip lock, hastily glaring at him through your eyelashes. Billy’s arm was still secure around your waist, and his thumb rubbed your swoll cheek as his minty breath fanned your blushing face. “If I didn’t care, would I have done that?” He whispered, his lips hovering against yours, the urge to kiss you again invading his thoughts.

The kiss had felt so natural, like his purpose was to find you, care for you, kiss you, love you. Never in his life, even with all of the girls he’s ever kissed, had a pair of lips make him so speechless. Billy felt that the both of you were like the perfect puzzle pieces, handcrafted just for each other. He wanted his lips against yours again. Oh, so, desperately.

“I didn’t know...” you piped up, heart thumping in your rib cage so fast, actually surprised that no one else could hear it. It was hard to admit that you had feelings for the badass, because he could’ve been easily joking around with you, just to steal a kiss and brag about it to everyone.

Billy took your words by pressing a soft and gentle kiss on your lips. A kiss that left you wanting more. Glaring up at him, you adorned his beautiful features with admiration. Without another word exchanged, Billy draped your arms around his neck, the King leaning down for another passionate kiss as the moonlight shining on the two of you as if it was nature’s spotlight.

#dacre montgomery #billy x reader #billy hargrove imagine #strangerthings2 #teenage dirtbag #fanfiction??#pt5 #happy valentines day #dailydoseofdacre

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ilovelocust · 7 years

Text

Mirror Mirror V.2 (Part 10)

Note: Interlude time to answer the great question. What about Alt!Shiro? Enjoy guys!

By the way, the next chapter is 6,000 words long. I’m going to start working on it today, but I have a Pathfinder’s game tomorrow and I’m helping my brother move on Sunday. There is a non-insignificant chance that the next update won’t be until late Sunday or early Monday, sorry.

Warning: *Spoiler* suicide *Spoiler*

<< First < Prev.

The Champion is magnificent. Bloodthirsty and clever. He’s faced a hundred aliens faster and stronger than him in the arena and come out victorious each and every time. He is also the first of his Father’s race that Keith has ever seen.

Many deca-phoebs ago, Keith’s mother had come back from a scouting mission pregnant with the bastard child of a backwater race from a planet with little to no strategic value. Interbreeding may not be frowned upon in the Empire, even encouraged in the cases of species with useful traits for the Galra species as a whole, but the child she gave birth to was an embarrassment to his mother’s family. Keith was tiny, smaller than any of his cousins. No claws tipped his chubby fingers or sharp little fangs in his mouth. In fact he had no teeth at all! He didn’t even have fur to hide his sickly pink skin from the elements. Truly the tiny bundle his mother clutched to her chest was shameful in his weakness.

A creature only a mother could love, and when she died, his fate seemed to be sealed. He would be cast out. Thrown from his familial home, like so much trash, to navigate the world alone. A just place, for one with so little to offer. That would have been his future, if not for one of his uncles seeing the spark of something greater in his anger laden eyes.

He’d been taken in, granted a chance to prove himself worthy of his name. His uncle’s molding had been harsh, no room for vulnerability. Where others were merely expected to succeed, he was to excel. He was to be the quickest, the cleverest, the most learned, and the most skilled among all his peers. A finely tuned weapon, sharpened to a razor point. His upbringing had left scars, reminders of failure’s consequences, but his uncle’s care had created the Galra he was today.

Once unleashed upon the world, his preparation had made his rise to the uppermost levels of honor and power as a matter of course. He knew no mercy, raining down a cruelty on the enemies of the Empire unmatched by his pure blooded peers. His reputation became legend, the mere presence of his ship on the battlefield caused his foes to flee in terror, few managed to escape their fates. His prowess and blood thirstiness was whispered among the weak of stomach and toasted at feasts. Until tale of his work reached the Emperor himself. When offered the position of Prince, he had accepted his due. All knew the honor of his presence.

Now, in the blood soaked sands of the arena, he sees a kindred soul. Someone else wrapped in soft flesh and pink skin, who tears the throats from any who dare underestimate him. A member of his Father’s race, reminding all that Keith was not bred from an inferior strain. His was a heritage of victorious warriors, one to be feared. He would meet this gladiator, this reflection of himself, and he would own him.

The Champion stands quietly, letting Keith circle him unhindered. Mute but wary under his examination. He is taller than Keith. It’s disappointing to see that even among his Father’s kind he is short. The gladiator’s muscles are bigger too, shoulders broader, dwarfing Keith in every way. The effect is oddly appealing, dredging up flashes of desires he normally has no time for. He will forgive the gladiator his size.

“Champion, what is your name?” Keith asks.

“Takashi Shirogane,” The Champion answers promptly, his eyes not wavering from their forward position. Dutifully respectful.

“Takashi Shirogane,” Keith tries the name in his mouth. The combination of syllables is strange, but not the hardest he’s ever been asked to pronounce, “I assume that is your whole name, what is your given?”

“Takashi,” Hmmmm, yes, the alieness suits him. A constant reminder to all who hear, that the Champion is not one of the Galra.

“He will do,” Keith says to the guards. They will take care of all the necessary arrangements, “I expect him in my quarters by morning.” He turns and leaves them to his orders. He has gained quite the prize this day.

Takashi is everything he could have ever dreamed of possessing. Knowledgeable about his Father’s species, a deadly fighter, never disappointing in the arena, and a beautiful playmate in bed. If he could ascribe any flaw to the man, his tendency towards monosyllabic answers might rank. Conversation truly doesn’t seem to be his strong point, but that isn’t too much of a hardship to bear. He much prefers to be listened to anyways, and Takashi is an excellent listener.

Keith hurries through the halls. The desert in his hands will surely cheer his pet up. Takashi has been terribly depressed of late. Keith really should have refused to look up the fates of the humans captured with him, but his pet had asked so sweetly. Did that thing Keith adores with his tongue, then made his request in the after glow. He would have given the man the world in that moment. Keith sighs. What’s done is done. Takashi knows about the other’s deaths in the work camps. He can’t take the information back now.

He really doesn’t understand, why his pet cares so much. They’d been weak, unfit for his company. His very first act in the arena had been to attack one of them in his eagerness to fight. Of course, considering what he knew of the species so far, maybe such acts of violence where how they showed affection. No matter, he was carrying his Takashi’s favorite treat. Everything would be fine.

He found his pet where he left him, in their bedroom. Sitting with shoulders slumped on the edge of their bed. Takashi was staring at his prosthetic, activating and deactivating the deadly purple glow rhythmically.

“I’ve brought you something,” Keith announces, opening the box to show him the goodies inside. Takashi looks up at the confections for a moment, eyes dull without the usual excitement for his treats. He doesn’t reach for them, doesn’t hoard them to eat all in one sitting, just drops his eyes back to his hand.

“Don’t be like that. These are your favorites.” Keith cajoles, sitting down beside the larger human. Trying to coax him out of his funk. Takashi doesn’t look up from the slowly flashing light, “Come now, if you eat quickly, you can finish a few before your next match.” If he’d just behave like normal, Keith would gladly let them be late, so he could finish his snack.

The glow leaves his arm, but he doesn’t look up, “Match?” Takashi asks quietly. There is something strange about his eyes, almost too wide.

“Yes, a match.” Keith answers eagerly, arranged specifically to improve his mood, “Sendak has returned from his expedition and he’s found the most interesting new species. They haven’t achieved space flight yet, but they might prove capable in the arena.” Keith explains. Maybe he’s exaggerating their potential a bit, but all for a good cause, “I know you’ve felt terrible, so I’ve arranged for you to be their first opponent.” The fight would be a slaughter. Most these first contact fights were, but an easy slaughter would do his pet good right now.

As he speaks, Takashi stills. He hardly seems to breathe. His arm reactivates, the purple glow casting his skin in odd shades. His pet is shaking? A flash, a streak of light. Pure instinct has him throwing up his arms to protect his head. Something warm and wet splashes him, a droplet finding its way through to his lip. Keith lowers his hands…Takashi…His prosthetic, his arm, is still active. Boiling. Buried-dark red leaking, not purple, why isn’t there more purple-to the wrist, in his own throat.

The body falls over. Keith screams.

Takashi had been dead before he hit the floor. The heat from his hand had boiled his brain. Erasing everything that he was. Even the druids couldn’t bring him back.

Keith had raged in his mourning. His underlings had scurried to appease him. Offering the most beautiful, the strongest slaves they could find to replace his loss. Most never left his room alive.

One enterprising officer had taken a ship all the way to Takashi’s home planet. Coming back with a hold of new humans for him to own. He’d still hurt, but temporarily his rage had subsided. Only to come back ten fold when he found them to be weak cowering creatures to the last. None held a candle to the memory of his Takashi.

The doctors had offered to clone his pet. Bring back a perfect copy for him to train as he pleased. Keith had shut them down with a sneer. He didn’t want a faltering child for a slave. He wanted the Champion, vicious and victorious. What good was the body without the mind?

A druid was the one to finally come up with a plan to give him what he truly wanted. She’d spoken at length about the existence of multiple dimensions. How out there, somewhere, there were hundreds, thousands, no infinite amounts of Takashi’s with just the slightest variation from his own. She’d promised him, that with her power she could pluck one of these Takashi’s from his universe and bring him to Keith’s own. The price had been steep. More than a planet’s worth of quintessence and holds full of slaves for her experiments. He’d required her life as collateral, but if she succeeded, then all would be well spent.

She’d worked day and night. Requisitioning the labs of his ships for her machines. Calling in the highest level prisoners for consultations. Anything she needed, Keith granted her. Until one quintant, many phoebs later, she came to him. She was done.

The room is covered in wires, running to and from machines of unknown purposes, operated by cowed assistants. Mystical runes, stinking of dark magic, are carved into every wall and circle the floor in a building spiral centered around an altar. Raised from shadowy metal that absorbs light and play tricks on the eyes. This is the culmination of the work that will bring Takashi back to him.

The druid has warned him that she can only bring back something that is close to his original. Searching the infinite dimensions for an exact match would take an eternity he does not wish to wait. She will find him a Takashi. One brought from his home planet to become Champion of their arena. He will have his deadly gift from the druids replacing his organic arm. Even his scars will be mostly the same, but his memories will differ. Small changes that must be ironed out with harsh training to mold him back into Keith’s beloved pet.

This is an acceptable caveat. He’s prepared accordingly. The perfect cell, the right tools. He is confident in his abilities. Within a deca-phoeb, he’ll have a perfect copy of the original. Not even he will be able to tell the difference.

“Begin,” Keith orders. The druid nods and signals to her assistants. A switch is flipped. Black energy begins to pulse out of her, dancing between the runes before feeding into the machines surrounding them. The very air is building, charging, in preparation. A moment of heavy anticipation, and then, a blinding flash of light. Keith shields his eyes, blinks away the spots. Dark lightening is crackling from the alter, striking out against the walls and those unfortunate enough to be too close.

Takashi is unconscious upon the dais.

Next >

#Sheith #shiro #keith #voltron #Mirror Mirror #my fic

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smuttbunnie · 7 years

Text

Disgraceful Blood

Member: V

Genre: Smut / Angst

Series: The Moon Child

Theme: Halloween

Part: 1 / {pt.2} {pt.3} {pt.4} {pt.5} {pt.6} {pt.7}

Description: With eyes like rubies and hair as white as the driven snow, you were a creature desired by all who were descendants of the night. A child born from the moon, somehow having landed in the greedy hands of a prince. And he, like all the others before him, craves the sweet taste of your blood.

You slowly opened your eyes, the lulling of the swaying carriage calling you back to sweet slumber. Wincing as the pain of your body reached you, you sluggishly sat up on the wooden floor, wondering how much time had passed since you’d fallen asleep. Drifting your hands over the iron bars, they were comfortingly cool to the touch, calming your throbbing head.

You could hear the loud echo of doors closing behind you, grimly announcing your fate. You tried to make out where you were through the white cloth covering the cage, but a world of shadows, outlines and vague figures was all you could see. A world without form…a faceless world.

“This way young master! The neighboring country had prepared this gift especially for you. They wish you prosperity and good fortune, and hope to build a peaceful relation between our two countries.”

Clenching your fists, you were revolted to feel that your palms were sweaty. You were scared…damn it. Footsteps drew closer, and the claws of fear sank themselves into your flesh.

“Hmm…did they say what was inside?”

The voice that spoke was deep, raspy and held an air of authority to it. That must be the prince, you thought… you had never seen him before. Hopefully he wasn’t cruel, like all those before him. Hah…what was with this wishful thinking all of a sudden?

“No Your Highness, only that it was a rare, exotic and exceptional gift.”

Exotic and exceptional. What an honour to be called that, you morbidly laughed to yourself, tremors starting to wrack your frail body. This whole situation was bringing up past memories…memories that would be better off left in the graves you buried them in.

“Servant. Remove the material.”

You felt your heart thrash against your ribs, and frantically scrambled towards the corner of your containment. Grabbing the dirty, thin blanket, you tossed it over your head, covering your peculiar hair and shrouding your face. You pulled your knees up against you, and tightly clung to the fabric as you curled your toes in terror. Squeezing your eyes shut, you wished against everything this was just a dream. No.

Just another nightmare.

You heard the sound of cloth being pulled back, and could sense a difference in the lighting. Murmurs broke loose under the people surrounding you, and you felt your skin crawl beneath their gaze. No. Stop looking. You know you’re atrocious but you can’t help it. Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it.

“A girl? I don’t particularly need another servant in the castle…”

You heard the stranger snap his fingers and the loud clang of the cage’s gate, jolting as your eyes came to land on the burly man. Your mind raced for what to do, but strong hands were already on you, grabbing you cruelly as they dragged you towards the exit. He tossed you heavily to the ground and pain coursed through your body upon impact. You could see a person’s boots in front of your face, golden buckles lavishly adorning the shoes.

“Y-Your Highness…that girl she-”

“Yes, I can see her hair Jin…”

The person in front of you crouched down, grabbing a fistful of your stark, white hair and harshly yanking it up, gritting your teeth and wincing at the stinging sensation. Tentatively opening your eyes, they came to focus on the man’s face; pale skinned with hair soaked in a brilliant shade of crimson, and his scarlet eyes critically looking you up and down.

Upon the revealing of your eyes, his expression turned to one of shock, realization quickly settling across his face. Forcing two fingers into your mouth, you almost gagged as his digits ran over your teeth, feeling the small fangs, dull against his skin.

“Your majesty…might she be a-”

“A moon child…” the boy gasped, a wicked grin starting to spread across his full lips, revealing a set of sharp fangs that seemed to glint with malice. Using your hair to jerk you from side to side, you hissed between your teeth, finally coming to stop in a sitting position. He sneered at you, his blatant glee shown off like that of a child’s, using his other hand to grab your chin and tilt your head back.

Moving mere inches away from your neck, he inhaled deeply, causing your whole body to tremble beneath him. “Aah…” the boy exhaled, his eyes shadowed with yearning…yearning for this intoxicating scent. Giving a low growl, he stood up, brutally kicking you so that you were sprawled on the floor again, a short cry leaving your lips.

“Jin.” He called, his voice stern and laced with lust as he glared down at you.

“Y-Yes Your Highness…?” Even he sounded scared…

“Tell the maids to prepare a bath and lay out clothes that I’ll personally arrange for.”

“Of course…whatever you wish, prince Taehyung.”

Ah…so that’s what he’s called. Taehyung. Your new…master.

***

You were very used to three kinds of looks. You had seen them all throughout your life, to the point where they had become nauseatingly familiar.

A look filled with disgust. A look with with lust. And a look, filled with pity.

The maids in this castle, chose the last option. They glanced at you with deep sorrow in their pitiful eyes, before quickly looking away, as if the sight was too much to bare. You felt like you needed to apologize for being so appalling…tell them that you’re sorry for being born with such a shameful appearance.

“Poor girl…how awful it must be it to be a moon child…”

How awful…to be a moon child. A child born from two vampires on a night of a red moon, to later be disowned and outcasted by the very same people because you brought nothing but scorn to the family’s name. To be born a weaker breed, to have tainted blood; a child that could never be a fully fledged vampire, yet failed in the basic aspects of being human. With fangs too undeveloped and blunt to be able to drink blood, but cursed with blood so desirable that all want to drink it.

Yes…how awful, to be you…

Taehyung raised his head at the knock at the door, uttering a curt “come in” as he put down his book. A maid entered, bowing deeply and muttering “Your Highness” before speaking. “Your majesty, the girl has been thoroughly washed, and dressed in the clothes you requested.” “Thank you. Send her in, and then you may take your leave.” She curtsied before exiting, his attention momentarily turned away as he put the book back on the shelf. When he turned around, he froze, his breath catching in his throat.

Hair as white and pure as winter’s touch cascaded down your shoulders like fallen snow. A black, velvet choker tightly hugged your tempting neck, and you felt like it was a testimony to his possession of you. The dress you wore was bathed in a deep shade of cherry, trimmed with a fine, delicate edge of lace that came to stop above your knees. It had no straps, squeezing your upper body before gently falling and flowing against your frame once it reached your waistline. A bow at your back kept the entire garment together, your feet bare against the cold floor…

His eyes wandered over you, taking in your eyes of ruby, and your pale complexion. How your body was somehow made for that dress, or that dress was somehow made for your body. How he wanted to memorize every touch, every taste of you…how you were suddenly so desirable, so irresistible.

“You will address me as ‘master’ and do as I command. If you do not comply, I will have to resort to punishment. Am I understood?”

You paused, glancing at him from under your lashes. What a scary man…eyes that brimmed with control, graceful and prestige in every manner possible. He was composed and elegant, the very definition of royalty. Maybe he would be able to restrain himself… Hesitantly nodding, you spoke softly to his Highness.

“…Yes…master.”

He didn’t say anything, his eyes were all over you yet again. You felt your skin burn relentlessly under his intense gaze, and shifted nervously as you looked at the floor.

“Now then…come over here…” he breathed, and you could hear the craving in his voice. You took deliberately slow steps towards him, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Your heart was frantic against your chest, and your knees felt pathetically weak. You hadn’t even stopped in front of him when he grabbed you by the arm, pulling you in as the prince lost to his impatience and greed.

His hands drifted over the curves and edges of your body, feeling the way your body was designed beneath the fabric of your dress. You bit your lip as his lips grazed over your exposed shoulder, the feather-light touch making you squirm. It was happening again…the same thing every time.

“M-master…” you tried, but you heard him inhale sharply before releasing a shallow breath, the sound of your panicked whisper making him loose the little self control he had left.

You cried out as he pushed you up against the wall, his hands forcefully grabbing onto your wrists. He licked his lips in anticipation, his hungry eyes scanning you over with lust before meeting yours, frightened, knowing that a predator was holding you captive.

“Come now, don’t look so scared…” he chuckled, the sound making you tremble. His bright red hair obscured his feral eyes a bit, but the grin spreading across his plump lips was easy to see.

Moving his lips towards your collar, you unconsciously tilted your head up, trying to create distance between you two but only giving him access to your porcelain skin instead. You could feel his hot breath against you, a mewl leaving your trembling lips as he dragged his tongue up the side of your neck.

“I just want a little taste, that’s all…”

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling his selfish lips close around the corner of your neck. Whimpering softly into his ear, you felt the tips of his fangs press against you, before crying out as he painfully broke past the barrier of your skin to delve into the sweet archive or your flavour. A mixture of sheer pain and pleasure overwhelmed your frame, trembling beneath him as the unearthly feeling wracked your body senseless.

He sucked gently and gradually at first, but as soon as the warm, thick liquid flowed past his eager lips, he threw all logical reasoning to the side. It tasted like nothing he had ever savoured before, such an exquisite and enticing taste that he couldn’t have enough of it. Ambrosial, piquant, delectable and heavenly in every aspect possible. It slid down his throat and rolled off his tongue like the finest wine, like the sweetest syrup. It was absolute euphoria…

He greedily drank from your neck, his ravenous feeding accompanied by moans and sighs of immense pleasure. You felt like you would collapse any second now, your body becoming hot and sluggish as agonizing ecstasy enveloped your senses, soft whines and cries leaving your breathless lips.

He finally released you, your heavy panting only matched by his gasps for air, your knees buckling beneath you as you succumbed to fatigue and dizziness. Catching you by the arms, he lifted your limp body up, lapping at the drops of crimson bleeding from your wound. Wordlessly and weakly clinging to the boy, he let no blood go to waste, his voiced pleasure sending your mind into turmoil.

Running his tongue over the leftover scarlet on his lips, he left passionate, open mouthed kisses across your neck, carrying you towards the bed as you quietly moaned against him. Falling down onto the silk covers, he urgently connected his mouth to your chest, his yearning for something so indescribably and desirably sweet kindled into a burning lust.

“Master…” you whimpered, and he suddenly pulled you up into a sitting position, latching onto the fresh bite mark to tenderly suck at the flesh, drawing circles with the tip of his tongue as soft cries left your quivering lips. Spinning you around, his hands reached for the bow at your back but your body jerked away from him.

“P-please master, d-don’t…” you pleaded, anxiety colouring your voice with fear.

“Shhhh….” he hushed, nibbling at the lobe of your ear. “Stay still for me and just indulge in this pleasure…”

You shook your head wildly, trying to get up but his strong hands pulled you back down onto the covers. No…he’ll be the same like all the others…he’ll look at you like a beast…like you’re some sort of monster. Don’t look…don’t look when you, yourself know that you’re an atrocious creature. You heard him growl in annoyance and felt him tug at the bow, your hands nervously clinging to the front of your clothing as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Master don’t! My body is-”

Your drastic words fell short, your eyes wide and the ribbon coming undone as the edges of the dress fell to the side, the front only held up by your shaking hands fiercely clutching at the material. Silence consumed the room as Taehyung recoiled in horror, gazing down at the horrific sight before him.

“…disgraceful…” you finished your sentence, hiding your eyes beneath the veil of your hair as you shrouded your shameful face from the prince. Scars…scars from every shape, size and length stretched across the plains of your back, like gruesome lifts in the terrain of your skin. Imperfections so cruelly etched into the landscape of your body; the lacerations and cuts permanent marks left behind as if to mark the territory of your flesh…

The boy slowly reached out his fingers, but pulled them back, hesitating, before cautiously resting his fingertips on them, feeling your body jolt beneath his touch. He instantly recognized some of the scars as bite marks, crudely having been carved into your skin by using both the upper and lower fangs to brutally sink their teeth into your flesh. He drifted his hand from the nape of your neck down to the dip in your spine, uncontrollably shaking at the contact.

His breathing had become laboured, and his throat felt like it would close up any second now. Licking his lips, he swallowed before speaking, his choked voice betraying his trepidation and dread;

“…H-how…how did you get these?…”

There was a long pause where you were unable to speak, and all the boy could do was stare in grotesque horror at the disturbing image of a small, precious girl, disfigured by greed and possession.

“…They’re from…my previous owners…” You could hear your own voice crack under the burden of the daunting memories that came with that sentence, fresh tears starting to sting your eyes. What would he do? Send you back to your country since you were broken? Maybe he wanted to leave a mark of his own to prove you were once his. Would he beat you for looking so marred and mangled? Maybe tarnish you even further for the sick pleasure of it…

You felt the bed creak as his majesty stood up, covering his mouth with his hand as disbelief jabbed at his mind. How…how could someone do…do that to you? How many “masters” have you gone through in your lifetime? How could you say the word 'owners’ as if you were some sort of dog to them?! How many times were you used as a bargaining chip by your country, a pawn in their sick game of chess to overthrow the king? How could your own people, possibly think this was okay?!

He paced back and forth as the grisly thoughts snapped and howled to be answered, stopping when a final realization struck him. How could he, treat you exactly the same way…?

You heard the door slam behind you as Taehyung stormed out of the room, his loud footsteps echoing down the desolate hallway. It’s all over now…it’s all going to repeat itself, all over again. Again and again and again and again and again and again. Tears rolled down you ashen cheeks as a sob tore itself from your trembling lips, clutching at your hideous hair you had come to hate so much. You wanted to gauge out these mortifying, red eyes, yank out these useless, pointy teeth.

You so desperately wanted not to be you.

~To be continued.

[next chapter]

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patheticnugbaby · 7 years

Text

Hunting Grounds: V

WARNING: Battle scenes, cursing, the general horribleness that is demons.

Real quick, the reason I don’t elaborate much on Solas in the battle scenes is because where Adahla is and who she’s usually going after are vastly different targets than the ones Solas would be going after (as a ice/support/rift mage) and the majority of Adahla’s combat interactions would be with Cassandra as they both specialize in melee combat.

Adahla is exceptionally done and exceptionally angry at the end of all this, not even at Florianne. She hates that this kind of greed, at the expense of the world, could even exist in a person but recognizes that Orlais should judge her (Oh wait, SURPRISE ADAHLA, that’s your job) She is absolutely infuriated that any of these things even happened, largely because of the negligence of the entire court, especially Celene.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy. Cassandra is reciting the Canticle of Trials.

The whistling sound of arrows flying through the air, followed by the dull hum of magic. Silver-blue light shimmered as the arrows shattered on contact with a protective barrier, it almost tickled her skin.

Adahla rolled to the side, landing on her feet and holding out her hand to the rift. The humming intensified to a sharp whine before the rift snapped open with a crack, like thunder. Spears of black-green crystal erupted from the ground, piercing the archer's feet and through their chests. Swirls of green light flooded the courtyard, two of them bursting with the sound of a harsh wind, the others slowly, agonizingly pulling demons through, piece by piece. Gnarled hands and twisted limbs bent horrifically with the awful snapping of breaking bones.

Cassandra charged forward as the archers drew their bows back for another volley, sheltering Adahla behind her shield. A glacial wind gusted up behind her, the lawn turning silver with frost. She heard the screaming of the terror demons, like the voices of children caught in a fire.

Adahla ducked around Cassandra, racing forwards, slashing her dagger across the back of the demon’s knee. Its leg gave with a crack, like the sound of dry, dead wood splitting. She barely dodged the needle claws of the terror, plucking a flask from her bag and hurling it at the creature. The glass shattered as brilliant blue fire poured over the demon like water.

“Maker, my enemies are abundant.” Cassandra’s voice drew the terror’s attention, it twisted to approach her, hissing, “Many are those who rise up against me.” Cassandra blocked its slashing claws with her shield, circling around, baiting the demon back. “But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me.”

“Andruil’enaste,” Adahla murmured, prowling up behind the terror demon, jabbing her knife into its side and ripping the knife around to where its spine would be.

The demon shrieked and whirled, its claws catching on the midriff of her shirt. Cassandra’s blade lopped its horned head off at the neck, a spindly tongue lolling out from the rest of its mouth. Adahla turned, gripping another flask as she raced towards a rage demon, freshly pulled from the fade. She threw it, icy fog cloaking the demon, turning its molten body black with cold. She slid around to its back, sinking her dagger into its flesh, twisting to crack the brittleness of its frozen hide. Arrows flew just in front of her nose, landing with soft thunks into a human who’d been slipping up to her left side, curved knife gleaming.

The anchor mark on her hand droned louder, pulling at the core of her arm towards the turbulent, bubbling mass of green light that hummed shrilly in her ears. Her hand was drawn to it like a magnet, a wildly snapping rope of green light springing between the anchor and the rift. There was the odd feeling of a string being pulled from the center of her bones and out her palm. The hum grew louder, more insistent before it burst with another clap that rang in her ears. She snapped her hand away, shaking it to alleviate the sting of closing the rift. Her ears flicked at the sound of someone cutting ropes. The Ferelden.

“Andraste’s Tits, what was all that? Were those demons? There aren’t any more blasted demons coming, right?” Adahla wrinkled her nose and barely fought the urge to slap him as she turned around.

“Yes, those were demons. Well spotted,” She snapped, grabbing his hands to look at his wrists, “Are you hurt?”

“No! Maker’s Balls, never saw one that close before,” The Ferelden man yanked his hands away from her, scowling at the bodies in the yard, “I knew Gaspard was a bastard, but I didn’t think he’d feed me to fucking horrors over a damned bill!”

“I’m sorry, Duke Gaspard lured you out here?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, his sister, but it had to come from him, didn’t it? And all that garbage she was spewing doesn’t mean anything. Gaspard had to be the mastermind!” The man folded his arms, looking around the courtyard with disdain.

“Right. Sure. Whatever you want to believe,” She sighed, rubbing her hands over her face, “Gaspard hired a Ferelden ‘band?”

“The duke wanted to move on the palace tonight, but he didn’t have enough fancy chevaliers. So he hired me, and my men. Had to offer us triple our usual pay to come to Orlais. Stinking poncy cheesemongers.” He sneered, rubbing his hands together, like he was cold.

“If I ask you to, would you testify against Gaspard in a court?” Adahla muttered through her hands, still pressed tightly to her face.

“I’m game. Anything’s better than this bullshit. You want me to talk to the Empress, or the court, or sing a blasted song in the chantry, I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful. Go to the ballroom, find Commander Cullen. He’s the only one in the room that’ll look Ferelden.” She gently steered him towards the doors, ushering him on his way.

When he was gone she gave a heavy sigh and rubbed her hands over her face, like she could scrub the frustration off. Her left hand still stung a little from closing the rift, she wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver.

“Would you like a coat, Inquisitor?” Solas asked, gesturing at the long slashes through her shirt. “A little close for comfort.”

She looked down, remembering the near miss of the demon’s claws, “Ah. Not yet, the cold will keep me alert.”

Adahla rearranged her satchel and sheathed her dagger, leaving out the same doors they’d come in. As she came into the vestibule she didn’t bother to re-ornament herself, drawing a few shocked gasps from wandering nobles. Her fancy shirt was shredded, the blood of lesser men and demons stained her trousers, four silverite daggers belted tightly to her legs. She knew her hair had started to fall from its elaborate trappings and irritably yanked it out, tearing a shred from her shirt to bind it into a ponytail.

“Inquisitor, are you sure-”

She interrupted Cassandra by pushing open the ballroom doors with both hands, the green flashing of the anchor giving her away. She marched to the opposite side of the room from Florianne. The duchess gave her a nervous look, a flickering at her lips that gave away her surprise.

“Thank the Maker you’re back! The empress will be giving her speech soon. What should we do?” Cullen nearly ran up to her, then his eyes went wide, “Maker, what happened?”

“Never mind that, Cullen. I’m going to have a word with the Grand Duchess.” Adahla growled, pushing past him.

“What?! There’s not time! The empress will begin her speech at any moment!”

She ignored him, prowling down the stairs and across the empty dance floor. A red lion, closing on her prey. Her heart beat slow, calm, ears pinned tight against her skull as the steady warmth of victory rose steady in her chest.

“We owe the court one more show, Your Grace,” She ignored the incredulous gasping of the court, standing confidently at the base of the stairs.

“Inquisitor,” Florianne turned to face her, voice calm but her eyes were wide. Caught.

“The eyes of every noble in Orlais are upon us, Your Grace,” Adahla started to climb the stairs, a feral grin on her lips, “Remember to smile,” She stalked up the stairs, Florianne slowly backing away from her, a cornered rabbit, “This is your party. You wouldn’t want them to think you’d lost control.”

“Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?” Florianne was nearly backed to the wall, slightly curled in on herself.

“‘All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike.’” Adahla paused, cocking her head to the side, “Wasn’t that what you said?” She smiled, circling around to the duchess’s left side, “When your archers failed to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn’t save me the pleasure of another dance,” Adahla straightened, hands behind her back as she circled Florianne’s back, “It’s so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a Council Emissary.” Adahla circled back to the front of the woman, stepping forward, forcing her to give ground, “It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds... All your enemies under one roof.”

“This is very entertaining, but you do not imagine that anyone believes your wild stories?” Florianne was still backing away, Adahla taking up every inch of marble floor the duchess gave up until her back was pressed to the wall.

“That will be a matter for a judge to decide, Cousin.” Celene’s voice floated down over their heads, Florianne turned, almost desperately, to look at her brother.

“Gaspard? You cannot believe this! You know I would never-” Gaspard backed away from her like she was a mad dog, turning his back and marching up the stairs. Adahla’s tongue flicked out to lick her teeth. “Gaspard?!”

Florianne slid along the wall away from the guards, Adahla slipped behind her to block her retreat. The duchess glanced behind her, eyes wide with fear, Adahla sneered.

“You lost this fight ages ago, Your Grace. You’re just the last to find out.” She watched them drag the woman away, then looked up at the Empress, “Your Imperial Majesty, you and I should speak. Elsewhere.”

Adahla took the steps up two at a time, just behind Gaspard and Briala. She stormed past the guards to Celene’s little balcony, slamming the doors behind her.

“-sister attempted regicide in front of the entire court, Gaspard!”

“You’re the spymaster!” He shot back, turning with an arrogant set in his shoulders, “If anyone knew this atrocity was coming, it was you.”

“You don’t deny your involvement?” Briala needled him with a little smile.

“I do deny it! I knew nothing of Florianne’s plans! But you... You knew it all and did nothing!”

“I don’t know which is bet-”

“Enough!” Adahla snapped, a snarl on her lips, “I did not cut my way through dozens of Tevinter soldiers and a fucking fade rift in the middle of fucking Halamshiral to listen to you two bicker like infants!”

“You dare-!”

“I dare as much as I damn well please, Celene,” Adahla rounded on the empress, “All of you had your heads jammed too far up your own asses to see this coming and you should have seen it coming.”

The silence that followed her tirade was heavy enough to hear the quiet hum of her anchor mark. The three of them nearly looked embarrassed, but they were Orelesian, they didn’t have the decency to look embarrassed at their own inadequacy.

“What would you suggest, Inquisitor?”

Adahla laughed without any humor, the sound sharp as an edge of broken glass, “You are asking me what you should do with your empire?”

“Perhaps it shouldn’t be hers. This happened on her watch,” Gaspard seethed.

“Don’t you dare,” Adahla growled, taking a step up to him, waving the letter she found in his office “You ordered your general to sneak troops into the palace and I found your mercenary captain. He’ll testify that you hired him and his men to sneak infiltrate the palace tonight.”

“Hired thugs? I didn’t expect you to stoop so low, Cousin.”

“Don’t be naive, Celene. The only difference between a mercenary and a common soldier is a uniform.”

“Keep talking, Gaspard-”

“Would you kindly shut up?” Adahla snapped, wrinkling her nose, “The fact than any of you would be considered rule-worthy makes me sick.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re dalish, from the Marches. You wouldn’t understand,” Celene sniffed, then turned to Gaspard, “In light of overwhelming evidence, we have no choice but to declare you an enemy of the empire. You are hereby sentenced to death. Guards!”

Two men marched through the doors, closing them behind them, “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Take this man away. He is to be executed.” Celene spoke in a voice that was cold and hard as iron. Adahla wouldn’t be able to convince her to let him live if she wanted to.

Adahla took a slow breath, softening her voice, “Briala was actually instrumental in the course of my investigations tonight, Your Grace. I wouldn’t have caught Florianne in time without her.”

“You were working together?” Celene took a glance at Briala.

“Of course,” Adahla smiled a little, Briala didn’t miss a beat.

“Thanks to her, I was able to ferret out Gaspard’s and Florianne’s plans for this evening. She was adamant that I investigate for the sake of your personal safety.” Adahla prayed that Celene couldn’t tell that she was lying through her teeth.

“I can scarcely believe you did all this for me.”

“Celene.” Briala smiled, the first warm, genuine smile Adahla had seen the entire night.

“Inquisitor, I must thank you, for all your efforts tonight.” Celene paused, “In time you may become a skilled player in The Game, if you could curb your tongue a little,” Adahla managed not to look too angry at that, “I owe you my life, and Orlais owes you its future.” Celene turned and left the balcony, Adahla and Briala following close behind her, the Empress turned back, her expression almost warm, “You have done so much. For my people and... For us.”

Briala stepped up to Celene’s side, giving her a sidelong glance, “We won’t forget this.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Adahla remarked, narrowing her eyes, “I need both of you to do better. If I hear about another purged alienage, another set of pointed ears that met an unfortunate end in the wrong part of the palace I will be back.” She leaned up to the Empress, scowling, “If you muck up Orlais, know that I will bring your rule down around your ears.”

“I... Understand, Inquisitor,” Celene bowed her head a little, then took Briala’s hand. “We must address the nobility.”

#patheticnugbaby's inquisitors #patheticnugbaby writes #PAtheticNugBAby #halamshiral #Wicked Eyes and Wicked hearts #adahla lavellan #briala #Celen #Gaspard #Florianne #Cassandra

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jumunkrp-blog · 7 years

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RESIDENCY DIRECTORY UPDATING...

LOADING RESIDENT INFORMATION: ❝ — [ JOO SEUNGHOON ] is currently 26 YEARS OLD, a PUREBLOOD (SQUIB), and currently is a FREELANCE ARTIST. Please click here for more information on this resident.

ACCESSING DATA...

— LOADED PERSONALITY:

he could not make fantasy into reality, make it possible and non-fiction—but he could create a fantasy and show it off to people that belonged in reality. he liked to imagine a world where all was well and better—it was his escape. the sceneries he built in his mind became a safe haven for him to go to at times when he needed to think. his creativity became his relief and his life saver, one which he cherished dearly.

towards people and everyone else, he may seem like an amiable, thoughtful and polite man. he smiles and talks and sets lines to maintain a comfortable atmosphere—at least, that was how most would think. the lines he drew, which were thick and high and by then was even more impressive than the great wall of china, was meant for his own defense. and his nature was to make sure that you would know not to be too nosy—an equivalent exchange. yes, he may be friendly in manners but that was because he was being like others and avoiding to be troublesome. you may have him in your contacts and may have talked to each other but you and him will most likely never break down those walls.

the truth is, he’s much more negative than the surface of his personality would show. he is extremely repressive and would force down his feelings of inferiority towards his siblings and more, the negativity that build up towards his family, and anything that would show something bad. he holds back and unleashes all the stress from these emotions in the form of artworks which would never get to be shown in public and boxing practice where he could pummel training equipments to satisfy it.

he forced himself to be ignorant, to be optimistic and naive in order to ignore the vileness of the situation. keep a positive thinking and don’t think otherwise—all because he just did not want to face with how bad his family had been or how alone he was. he truly wanted to feel good for once in any way or form but recalling everything made him feel as if he could never be such. that’s why he forced himself and believed a false light to feel as if all was alright. it’s not a healthy way of thinking but he was stubborn to hold onto it as he did not wish to face the truth.

to sum it up—he was a boy who wanted to stay in a world of fiction to avoid the painful, painful truth.

— LOADED BACKGROUND:

i. he is born with magic in his blood and wizards and witches for parents. majority will say that he would be like them—someone that made fiction a non-fiction—but majority didn’t always result in them being right.

he could not bring fantasy into reality and do what was impossible—for he was a squib and a disgrace to the family’s bloodline.

ii. he is the eldest of the children but the worst of the lot. mother would look at him with disappointment and father would sneer once sighting him. his younger brother and sister followed his parents and they all made him the dark void of the family.

when the younger two did a misdeed, they will point at him as the culprit. then he would find himself locked outside in the cold winter clad in nothing but underwear. they would lock him in closets and always say that it was his fault. they only ever gave him a decent treatment when he proved to be useful—become their servant of sorts and never miss a chore.

they treat him decently despite all the horrid things they’ve done in order to maintain an image. they still tried to find a way to ‘cure’ him of this unfortunate happening. and in the end—instead of hating them and running away or plotting vengeance—he grew to ignore all the horrid events. to pretend that every time he has been punished was merely a nightmare and never happened. his family were great, they were nice and had done good things. they weren’t abusive in any way.

he had forcefully became ignorant, naive and optimistic.

iii. he went to a muggle school, become one with the people who were like him yet not. they told him he could at least be useful by becoming successful, at least be good for something. and so he tried. he tried to get good grades or be amazing in any way or form.

he forces himself to study math and sciences to the best of his ability. tried making himself excel in anything. but he was never first and just above average—not good enough.

he had no talent what-so-ever is the thought that whispered in his mind ever so often, one which he had tried to lock away into a place where he could no longer hear it. yet, every time he failed to exceed or even reach expectations, it comes stronger than before.

until he found out about arts.

he had been given a chance to hold the pencil in his hand and was told to draw his family. and he did—made a rough circle in one stroke, added lines to form the body, the face, the background and…the smiles.

that day he had been punished and locked inside the closet—framed by his brother yet again—and he sobbed as he held the drawing he had done earlier that day, as if it was the only lifesaver he had.

only in these drawing will he ever be close to bringing fantasy into reality.

iv. now he had a notebook for drawing and the grades which he tried so hard to achieve became a tad bit lower than before. lunch became a time to eat as quickly as possible before he started to draw. classmates that were ‘friends’ who knew him enough to be considered as one in their terms had inched closer to inspect his work. the children would be in awe and compliment him—which had shocked him to the core the first time it happened.

art became one of the things which gave him life. it became something that he was talented in and could be proud of.

but it wasn’t something his family approved of.

he had showed it to them, the notebook filled with drawings to showcase that he was good at something—that he could do something at least—instead they scoffed and with a flick of the wand the book was shredded and burned into ashes. just like his soul and heart as he saw it happen.

he was punished again, locked in a room without anything and starved for two days before he was nurtured again to look normal enough so he could return to school without raising suspicions.

it was a blessing that a classmate of his had gifted him with a sketchbook, one which he hid with all his might from everyone. this time he won’t let the only thing which he could pretend to be his only magic disappear.

v. he found out that he didn’t only have a single talent soon enough. as he visited his classmate’s father due to their group project, he ended up growing interested in a sport called boxing.

the man had been a boxer before, retiring since he decided to focus on family more. that day he and a few others had been thought a bit about boxer since they still had a lot of time to spare after their project finished.

the man praised him for his jabs and stance. it was proper and right and for a very brief moment he had wished that the man was his father instead. he would never be praised by his own parents is a fact he knew but tried to ignore vehemently.

he found himself visiting the man more often to learn how to box. he kept a guise of groups studies in front of his parents and made sure to hide anything that may reveal his lies.

he didn’t want this love for an activity to be spat upon again.

vi. it became obvious that the man he grew to call his boxing instructor was more of a family than his actual family.

even after the son of the man who was a classmate of his had died—he still came to learn. but spending more time together had led to the eventual bond that he had never expected to have with how his life had been for all these years. it was refreshing and different—it was the light of his day and he could find himself smiling more and more often.

the man would be the only one able to to get the true him to spill all that he pent up for a very long time. and he would also be the only one he could call a true friend and family.

vii. his siblings were the light of the family and were always gifted with many that he would never be able to gain. they were younger but treated him with no respect. they were taught to see him as a lower being—a different species that was inferior to them.

he stayed home alone every time the rest of his family had to meet others. he stayed in his room as others came to visit them. at times he had followed and he was met with scrutinizing looks. sometimes others pitied him for his lack of magic, or they openly despised him for it, or they may have just been indifferent or decided to not even notice his existence.

he kept his distance at all times and the feelings had been mutual—except his seemed almost non-existent with how thoroughly he hid such thoughts.

viii. when he was old enough—they gave him a place to stay alone. he saw it as them wanting him to be independent but knew what it truly meant. of course, he ignored the harsh truth for the sake of a better fantasy.

when pangs of joy came from the decision his family had made for this separation were to show itself, he would push them all away. it was bad to think such thoughts at such a situation is what he forced himself to realize. but it was because of this that he find himself spending a lot more time with the boxing instructor and find himself not able to care about repressing those emotions.

they pay for his living expenses and gave him a yearly allowance to survive a year with cheap meals. every time he got lower than expected grades they will cut his allowance money bit by bit. during such times, the boxing instructor would help him out and he would thank the man profusely.

and then more years passed by and his life shifted for the worst again.

ix. he had still been in college when the man he greatly attached himself too was diagnosed with dementia. he had been in university when the illness reached it’s middle stage. he had graduated from university when he was asked about his identity.

these moments that were spent with the man had turned from one of his most greatest time to a pain which could not be described. he couldn’t do anything lo stop it no matter what he tried. he tried to cope—but his only coping method was a despicable act for such a scenario.

so he lived in pain and no one knew. because he only showed himself to the man that was the reason behind this agony. he regretted that he could not be able to do any more than what he had done. especially when he saw the tombstone with the name of the man engraved on it—no longer able to hear his problems and give him a comforting hand.

for a long time, he had only been able to paint his feelings and destroy it as soon as he finished it.

x. he is now a freelance artist. after finally being able to return to a somewhat normal state, he had started to try and live. he was jobless no longer and even though he was still financially supported by his family he was scared of them stopping such acts. no matter how much he tried to avoid negative thoughts—he knew this would have to be an exception. plus, he really did not want to eat gimbap and ramyeon for the rest of his life.

the fortress between him and his family had grown to such imposing levels that it would put the great wall of china by then. of course, he ignored it and let his family do what they wanted. his family still wanted to have an image of being nice and he was their tool for it—of course, such way of thinking would only be ignored by him but deep down he knew that was the case.

life had returned to a much more steady pace and that was what he wanted. this time, he hoped it stayed that way.

#jm: acceptances #kang haneul #jm: squib #krp #krp ad #kpop roleplay #kpop roleplay ad #kpop rp #kpop rp ad

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mapowrites · 6 years

Text

Misericórdiae (Erwin Smith/OC)

Chapter 7: Rain Check

[ I ] [ II ] [ III ] [ IV ] [ V ] [ VI ]

Two weeks passed before Lyor first received the news of Faye’s safe return. She had been at her father’s house for the winter break, and she had nearly fallen over when they opened the letter.

Wilhelm and his daughter sat across from each other in the carriage on their way to Faye’s hospital. With a bouquet of yellow crocuses in her lap, Lyor quietly peered from the carriage’s window as the bumpy road rocked her. She watched the hospital building approach expectantly. This was their fourth visit so far. Each visit had proved more fruitful than the last with Faye’s quasi skeletal appearance dwindling each time they saw her. Lyor’s guilt never lessened though. The young girl seemed so vulnerable and troubled in her hospital bed. Faye would never admit it, but Lyor knew she was traumatised. After being left alone outside the walls for nearly six weeks, who wouldn’t?

When Faye was well enough to accept visitors, she had told her group mates how she survived: a hollowed out tree trunk, plantain leaves, and a near-by stream for drinking water. For those long, lonely weeks, Faye had eaten only plantain leaves, and remained glued inside the shelter of the hollowed out tree. Occasionally, she was able to spear a fish in the stream if she was feeling particularly courageous. She had admitted to herself early on that there was no way she could make it back to the walls alone, so she waited patiently for help to arrive, away from the titans’ eyes. In the moment, Lyor had been taken aback by the girl’s wisdom, but after some time she realised it wasn’t so surprising coming from the child prodigy that was Faye.

The teen had described her rescue to the best of her recollection — she had been so relieved to be rescued that exhaustion and malnutrition had finally imposed themselves on her, and she had soon found herself unconscious. But what she did remember was witnessing the deaths of several scouts on their way back to the walls — a titan had chased them home. Lyor had refrained from asking if a blond man had been amongst those soldiers.

“You look perplexed.”

Lyor’s eyes moved from the window to her father. She shrugged.

“I’m anxious to see Faye.” Lyor replied, her eyes dropping to the flowers on her lap as she played with the white ribbon keeping the stems together.

Her father watched her mutely. He knew his daughter well enough to see through her mask. “It’s not your fault she got left behind.”

Lyor inhaled deeply. “I convinced her to work with us. It may be indirect, but it’s still my fault that she was out there.”

“So what? I bought the last loaf of bread the other day at the bakery, which means a starving child wasn’t able to steal bread that day. Maybe he’s dead now, and it’s indirectly my fault,” Wilhelm’s reply made Lyor look up from her hands, her face pulled into a frown. Wilhelm held her gaze steadily. “That kind of thinking is destructive — don’t sabotage your decisions based on guilt. Faye made her decision when she accepted to work with us, and when she insisted on accompanying us outside the walls. Accept what is out of your control.”

Lyor chewed on the inside of her cheek, her eyes acquiescently returning to her lap. She grumbled. “You sound just like mom.”

Wilhelm’s lips pulled into a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Wilhelm squared his shoulders before he continued, his smile fading. “Now, we haven’t talked about the Scouting Legion since Faye’s return. I’ve talked to Rick and Heinrich, and they’ve agreed to sign the contract. I want to know if you still think it’s the right call.”

Lyor blinked, surprised that her father placed so much importance on her approval. After some thought, Lyor nodded. “It’s the only way to keep our cause alive.”

The two of them spent the rest of the carriage ride chit-chatting; from the future of their group to Faye’s recovery. When they arrived, they both stepped out of the carriage and walked into the hospital. Wilhelm was speaking to the nurse at the front desk, who gave them permission to make their way to Faye’s room, when Lyor spotted a familiar face round the corner of the hallway. He looked irritated, to say the least.

Upon his blue eyes meeting hers, the man marched over. She noticed the teddy bear in his hands and raised an eyebrow. Once he reached the woman and her father, he ran a hand through his brown hair, seemingly to calm himself down.

Lyor pointed to the stuffed animal in his hand sarcastically. “Hi, Rick. Nice teddy bear. What’re you going to name it?”

Rick rolled his eyes, his jaw twitching in irritation under his beard. “Faye’s parents are here… They all but decapitated me when they saw me knocking at the door.”

“So a full grown man ran away from a teenager’s scorned parents?” Wilhelm sneered.

“I didn’t come here to be screamed at,” Rick pushed the stuffed animal into Wilhelm’s chest, his voice coated in annoyance. The older man took it into his hands. “In order to come with us, the little brat snuck out without them knowing. If you manage to get past the door, tell her this is from me. I’m done.”

With a huff and a wave, the broad man bid the two goodbye. Lyor and Wilhelm shared an uncertain look between them.

“Well, if anyone has to face them, it’s me.” Wilhelm commented, tucking the bear under his arm as they steeled themselves for the walk to Faye’s room.

They walked in silence through the marble-floored corridors, the heel of Lyor’s boots clicking and echoing off the pristine walls. They found themselves before the wooden door within minutes, and Lyor took a deep breath as her father knocked before opening the door. Inside was a middle-aged woman — her eyes sunken and framed by dark bags. She bore a slight resemblance to Faye. A man of similar age sat beside her at Faye’s bedside while the young girl slept, a hand on his daughter’s arm and his face riddled with worry. His wife’s brows instantly knit as her eyes set on the pair.

“How many of you are there?! You shouldn’t have come here! Get out!” Her face twisted in anger, and she stood from her seat to approach Wilhelm at a frightening pace. “It’s not enough to send my daughter to her death but you also have to come here to pester her?!”

Lyor opened her mouth to respond, her eyes apologetic and heartfelt, but her father held out his arm and spoke to her over his shoulder. “It’s best if you wait outside.”

Before she could say anything, Wilhelm stepped into the room and closed the door gently behind him. Albeit muffled, she heard him murmur something softly to the woman through the door only to be replied to with a roar of wrath. Lyor sighed to herself in the hallway as their conversations continued in the same pattern.

She brought Faye’s bouquet to her chest, holding it close to her as she looked around the hallway to spot a bench across the way. She walked over to it and took a seat, quietly trying to translate the muffled argument coming from Faye’s room. A few minutes passed this way as she idly twirled the bouquet of flowers in her hands. What made her look up from her hands was the sound of footsteps clicking down the hallway.

Her heart skipped a beat upon recognising the man who strolled down the hall, a brown haired woman to his right. He was wearing civilian clothes: a white button up tucked into his black trousers underneath a casual jacket. She would never admit to herself that she was relieved to see Erwin safe.

She took the time to curiously eye the woman he was with before she was spotted. She was around his age, her unruly hair pulled into a ponytail, and a pair of oval spectacles upon her nose. Her brown eyes met Lyor’s before Erwin followed the woman’s gaze. Lyor stood from her bench, a small, polite smile on her lips as the two approached her. Both the woman and Erwin returned her smile.

“Hi there,” Lyor greeted them, standing before the two taller adults.

Erwin’s gaze seemed to soften for half a second. “Hello, Lyor. It’s nice to see you.” He expressed.

Her eyes poured into his and she replied, her voice as soft as his gaze. “It’s nice to see you, too.” He broke their eye contact as if breaking from a trance in order to turn to the woman beside him.

“This is my colleague, Hanji Zoë. She is one of the Recon Corps’ lead researchers, and also one of the soldiers who rescued Faye,” The blond stated. Lyor smiled and held out her free hand. “Hanji, this is Lyor Reichart; Wilhelm’s daughter.”

“You’re Lyor?!” Hanji took her hand enthusiastically with both of hers, her eyes sparkling as a wide grin spread on her face. Lyor blinked in confusion. “Wow, I didn’t picture you like this at all! Erwin told me all about your codex on the flight of birds… I have so many questions! I tried to ask Faye, but she said she hasn’t even read it yet! You have to let me borrow it!”

“Hanji…” Erwin warned.

Pleasantly surprised by her intensity and warmth, Lyor returned her grin and squeezed the woman’s hand, ignoring Erwin’s disapproval. The world wouldn’t be an interesting place without people like Hanji.

“It’s not quite finished, but I promise you’ll be the first person to read it when it is. Consider it a gift for bringing Faye back.” Lyor responded, and Hanji laughed heartily before letting go. She spoke before Hanji could twitter about anything else. “Are you two here to see Faye?”

“Yes, we try to bring her some real food on our day off. I wouldn’t even feed this hospital's food to a titan!” The woman remarked as she gestured to the package in Erwin’s hand. Erwin chuckled, and Lyor savoured the sound after not hearing it for several weeks.

“How sweet of you.” Lyor commented, smiling at her, but her smile didn’t last long when she heard the muffled sound of something smashing from inside Faye’s room followed by more screaming. Automatically, Hanji and Erwin, both being military officers, twitched in response, their shoulders now square and defensive. Lyor could tell by their movements that they had both received the same military training. She held her hand up in appeasement, a hesitant smile on her face.

“Now may not be the best time to visit. We just learned that Faye had snuck out of her house to come outside the walls with us. We had no idea her parents didn’t know… And now that she barely made it home alive, they’re blaming my father. He’s trying to defuse the situation.”

“Sounds like he’s doing a good job.” Hanji replied sarcastically.

“Hell hath no fury like a mother scorned, Hanji.” Lyor offered, earning a laugh from Hanji and another chuckle from Erwin. She turned her attention to the eventful door beside them, hiding her giddy smile. She liked making him laugh.

Before their conversation could progress any further, Faye’s door swung open, her mother on the other side. “You’re just a monster! Exploiting a teenage girl! I’m going to report you to the King, and then we’ll see how sorry you really are, you scum! Now, get out!”

The mother violently motioned Wilhelm, who was still inside the room, towards the hallway. After opening the door, Lyor must’ve caught her attention for she turned savagely towards the young woman.

“And you!” Faye’s mother pointed at the brunette, stepping out of the room to shove her index in Lyor’s face. Lyor tried to back away defensively, but the woman followed her. “You abused your influence as Faye’s upperclassman to get her to join! I’m going to denounce you to the university and have you stripped of your degree! You’re nothing but a depraved trollop! Go back to your rat hole, you damned bit-”

Lyor watched as Erwin seized the woman’s defamatory finger in his imposing hand, and lowered it from Lyor’s face. “That’s quite enough, ma’am.” His voice was firm and domineering; it made Lyor’s skin prickle.

The woman seemed to blanch at Erwin’s demand, but she quickly snapped her hand away and regained her composure — although she refrained from raising her voice to her previous decibel level. “Just what my daughter needs: humanity’s greatest tax money waste visiting her. Just leave her alone!”

The mother stomped back to her daughter’s room, and after confirming she had successfully kicked Wilhelm out, she slammed the door behind her with a furious glare.

“Well,” Hanji cooly broke the awkward silence that filled the hallway between the four of them. “I guess Faye won’t be joining the Scouting Legion anytime soon.”

They exchanged a disarming laugh, and Wilhelm introduced himself to Hanji. Erwin turned to Lyor when she spoke to him over Hanji’s squeaks of excitement. “Let me take that for you.”

He watched her take the bundled package of food that was in his hands, and he revelled in how calm she was after just being vituperated by a stranger. She gathered Erwin and Hanji’s package, Rick’s stuffed animal, and her bouquet into a pile as Hanji and her father conversed, and neatly placed it beside Faye’s door.

“Shall we?” Lyor turned to Erwin, and he nodded.

The foursome made their way down the halls and to the hospital’s main entrance, Hanji and Lyor’s father deeply engaged in a discussion about something regarding a chemical oxidation process. Outside the hospital, Lyor and Erwin listened quietly, both amused by the strange friendship blooming before them.

“Well, why don’t we go out for an afternoon drink to finalise our contract?” Wilhelm proposed, the four of them facing each other. Hanji and Erwin exchanged a glance before nodding, Hanji more enthusiastically than the blond.

“That sounds great! I know a great bar in this area!” Hanji exclaimed, dragging the older scientist along with her before diving right back into their previous debate about something Lyor could only guess was chemistry. Erwin began to follow them until he realised Lyor didn’t move from her spot.

“You’re not coming?” He asked, stopping to turn and face her inquisitively.

Lyor offered him a humble smile. “No, I have to go home — my final semester starts tomorrow. I have to pack and return to Sina tonight. But, please, go enjoy yourself.”

“Allow me to walk you home; it’ll be hard for you to get a carriage at this busy hour. Do you live in the area?”

Lyor hesitated, suppressing a bashful grin. “I’d hate to separate you from them.”

“Nonsense. I know exactly where Hanji’s taking him; she’s got a go-to bar to talk people’s ears off.” He argued with a smirk. Lyor pondered for a few moments before she nodded and began to lead the way with a small smile.

They fell in step together, a comfortable silence falling between them as they walked through the cobblestone streets. The two of them maintained a chaste distance from one another. The sky was basked in pink and purple from of the setting autumn sun, being that it was nearly sundown, and it gave a peaceful quality to the bustling area of Wall Rose. Merchants were packing up their markets for the day, mothers beckoned their children to set the dinner table, and men were returning home from their long day of work. Lyor enjoyed this time of day; all felt tranquil for those few hours.

She eyed Erwin in her peripheral vision as they walked, and she finally mustered the strength to finally blurt what had been floating in her head.

“Faye told me about the four soldiers who died rescuing her,” Erwin looked at her. “I’m sorry about your comrades. I also want to apologise for behaving the way I did when you brought me back to the walls. I was a perfect ass.” Lyor attempted a remorseful glance to the tall man to her left. He was smiling calmly, but the smile never quite reached his enigmatic eyes.

“Apology accepted.” He responded, his voice deep and as smooth as always. He caught the sound of Lyor releasing a relieved breath. “How was the book?”

Lyor looked at him again but this time she wore an amused expression. “You think I finished that monster of a book in three weeks?”

“Of course not,” He then smirked. “Six days?” Lyor held his gaze challengingly, her devious smile only making him smile wider and vice versa. “Five?”

“Four. Nearly failed my final exams.”

Erwin feigned exasperation, and Lyor couldn’t repress a giggle. “I seem to constantly underestimate you.”

“I found the passage on whether or not humility is a virtue fascinating. I never thought of it as being the ‘antidote to pride’,” Lyor continued to answer his previous question, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. “And then he goes on to describe Descartes’ different types of humility… What were they again?” She mumbled to herself, not expecting an answer from Erwin.

“Virtuous and vicious humility.” He completed her thought, and she gawked at him in excitement.

“Who the hell writes a single line about it and moves on to the next topic without citing anything?! I wasted an entire eight hours looking for Descartes’ book at the library! The librarians thought I was crazy.” Lyor exclaimed, and the way her tone of voice expressed her annoyance made Erwin laugh heartily. The image in his head of her slumped at a desk, appearance bedraggled, and grumbling incoherently to herself didn’t help either.

“It’s not funny! I thought I was losing my mind.” Lyor defended herself but Erwin’s laughter was contagious.

“Ah, then I’m sure Voltaire would be very proud of himself,” He commented, and the two of them exchanged a smile before focusing on the busy street before them. “What did you think of his passage on instincts?”

The two adults continued their walk absorbed in conversation. Subject after subject, they traded perspectives and bartered arguments — all amidst laughs. It was the fastest half hour walk of Lyor’s life. Though they didn’t necessarily agree on everything, she had to admit that his arguments were based on solid foundations, and she quickly found herself respecting him and his intellect. Not knowing whether or not he would agree with her, or what he would say, excited her. But when they did agree, they both felt an indefinable growth of camaraderie between them. And in those moments, she didn’t notice him watching her; not as a man who looks at a friend, but as a man who looks at a woman.

They found themselves in front of the main door of her father’s house, and Lyor paused as she eyed the doorknob, having left the front door unlocked.

“I’d invite you in for a cup of coffee, but I’m afraid I won’t make very good company. I have to start packing now or I’ll miss my ferry.” Lyor turned to face Erwin, unable to suppress a disappointed smile.

“I’ll take a rain check.” Erwin replied simply, returning her smile but hiding any sign of disappointment. He offered her another smile to bid her goodbye and began walking away.

“Wait,” She stood at her door, and he watched her hands fidget, deep in thought, before she lifted her eyes to meet his unflinchingly. The depth of her eyes swallowed him whole, and he refused to acknowledge the skip in his heartbeat. “I haven’t thanked you for finding Faye. I’m not sure how I’ll ever repay you.”

He chuckled. “Come work for us.”

Lyor blinked before she breathed out a scoff. “That’s already a given. All that’s left for us to do is dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”

“And have that cup of coffee with me some day.”

She returned his chuckle. “You saved someone’s life, and for your bravery, I offer you coffee. That seems fair to me, too.”

With a chortle and a wave goodbye, he turned on his heel and began walking in the direction they had come from. “Good luck with your classes.”

Lyor, with a leftover smile, let herself watch the blond man walk for a bit before she let herself in. Closing the door behind her, she leaned her weight on it with her back and let her eyes go out of focus as she stared at the floor. Her heart fluttered happily. She wondered if there had been any double meaning behind his words. She flushed at the idea, but deemed it impossible before she shook it out of her mind and went on with her day.

Erwin smiled to himself the whole way back.

“You’re fifteen minutes late!” Rick hollered from the wagon as he watched the brunette skitter down the stairs of the hospital. She hurdled into the carriage, slamming the door behind her inelegantly, and the immediately man ordered the driver to step on it. She collapsed in the carriage bench across from Rick and wheezed out a sigh.

“Sorry; I had to wait for Faye’s parents to leave before I could visit her.” Lyor barely had enough oxygen in her lungs to speak.

Rick rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath as she fixed herself up; smoothing down her dress shirt and pulling up her pants that had almost fallen down her ass from sprinting through hallways without a belt. “That’s what you’re wearing to meet the commander of the Survey Corps?”

Lyor frowned. “And what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“I don’t know,” Rick ambiguously gestured to her clothes, a grimace on his features. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a dress or something?”

The younger woman guffawed. “I don’t know, Rick. Shouldn’t you be jumping off a cliff or something?”

As the carriage took them across the district, the two ended their bickering in a truce and quietly watched the scenery from the windows. They were on their way to the Scouting Legion’s headquarters deep within the countryside of Wall Rose. Lyor had already visited the grounds when she and her father had dropped off their signed contracts a few weeks ago, but she had yet to meet commander Shadis and the military police brigadier general who was in charge of their project supervision.

As stipulated in their contracts, the group of engineers had been permitted to carry out their research but only under specific conditions. One, the engineers must complete and store all their work at the scouts’ headquarters. Two, all experiments must be escorted and documented by military personnel, then immediately relayed to the MP. Three, a weekly project inspection must be completed by military police officers, supervised and directly reporting to one brigadier general of the interior police, Markus Schoenberg. No one in their group had ever heard of or met the officer, and being drowned in midterm projects, Lyor hadn’t had the time to ask about him.

Lyor recognised the surroundings as they pulled onto the path leading to the Survey Corps’ castle headquarters. The carriage stopped, and the two engineers stepped out of the wagon to find themselves past the castle gates and near the stables. A Scouting Legion officer waited for them as they exited, and he asked them to follow him to Shadis’ offices after pointing out that they were late. A few recruits stole glances at the two civilians as they made their way through the intimidating halls, but Lyor tried to copy Rick’s nonchalance and pretended not to notice.

After climbing two sets of stairs and walking down a long hallway, the soldier stopped in front of a wooden door and knocked. Feeling a little bit insecure after seeing Rick — who normally couldn’t care less about his appearance — tidy himself up, Lyor took the opportunity to take out the hairpin from her bun and quickly brushed through her wavy locks with her fingers, letting her hair loose.

“Come in.”

The soldier opened the door to reveal a large room with several people gathered around a coffee table; some on chairs, some on couches. She recognised Heinrich and her father who sat on the couch with a cup of coffee in front of them, but a few unfamiliar faces scrutinised her and Rick. She was surprised at Erwin’s absence. The soldier saluted who Lyor could only assume was Shadis, and motioned for the two engineers to enter the room. The door was closed behind them as the soldier exited. Wilhelm shot Lyor and Rick a disgruntled look.

An intimidating military man with sunken eyes and a head of short brown hair eyed the two heavily, standing behind his desk with both of his hands strictly folded behind his back. “Did you misunderstand when I said we would be meeting at 1500 hours?”

Lyor swallowed when Rick didn’t seem phased by the man’s words. “E-erm, no, sir. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s right, for your sake, it will not happen again,” Shadis warned. “I do not and will not tolerate such disrespect in my— ”

“Keith, Keith! Give them a break!”

Everyone’s attention turned to the military man who spoke out, sitting on the couch across from Heinrich and Wilhelm, his deep voice booming. Lyor watched the tall man, in his late thirties, unfold from his seat and stand to his full height; shoulders broad, chocolate locks slicked back, and a chiseled jaw powdered by a trimmed beard. He wore a long, leather uniform coat with the Military Police’s insignia on the breast pocket. His green eyes fell on Rick, and he walked over to him, holding out his hand. “They’re not soldiers! Greet them properly, for God’s sake.”

Rick — being reluctant to this whole partnership with the military ordeal — gingerly took the man’s hand and shook it.

“Markus Schoenberg, at your service.” The military man flashed a charming smile, his canines sharper than any Lyor had ever seen.

“Rick.” He replied bluntly, purposefully omitting his last name to show his dissatisfaction.

“I don’t care if they’re not soldiers. By extension, they are part of the Scouts and they need to learn to act like it.” The commander snarled, taking a seat at his desk.

Markus’ stare moved from Rick to Lyor, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand as his eyes pierced through hers, a sharp smile on his face. Nobody but her had noticed that the look in his eyes was not at all the same. Nervously, but diplomatically, she held out her hand to shake his as he walked over to her, but instead, Markus took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. Whether he kissed her hand out of chivalry or not, she couldn’t tell.

“You must be Wilhelm’s daughter,” he spoke, his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke. “Lyor Reichart.”

She cleared her throat and retracted her hand from his rather peeved, but she bowed her head respectfully. She grit her teeth into what could pass as a smile, and spoke through her teeth, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, brigadier general.”

She witnessed an emotion unbeknownst to her flicker in his eyes at her defiance.

“Alright, that’s enough. I don’t have all day. Take a seat,” Shadis interrupted, and Markus smiled airily at her before regaining his seat, completely dissipating any of his previous aggressiveness. Rick and Lyor sat on the closest chairs, facing the commander across the room over the coffee table. “I’ve gathered you here today to go over the expectations of this partnership.”

Shadis then went on to reiterate what Lyor had read in her contract, but he ad libbed a few rules: mandatory participation in physical training four times a week, abiding by military rules if chosen to stay in the barracks — AKA mandatory 0500 hours wake up and 2200 hours curfew — and some adjustment to their compensation method. Otherwise, they were considered civilians and were expected to “act accordingly”.

They were to directly report to the fourth squad leader, Augie Hills, who was in charge of their assigned squad, and to Markus Schoenberg, brigadier general of the interior police, when required and during weekly inspections. Augie, who sat beside Markus, was a middle-aged woman with tight traits from stress, but otherwise she looked quite pleasant to Lyor — an honest face and bright hazel eyes. After Augie shook hands with the new additions to her squad, Shadis ended his articulation.

“I will ignore any weak first impressions,” Shadis punctuated by staring at Rick and Lyor across the way. Lyor stared at her feet. “And I welcome you to the Scouting Legion. I’ve called an assembly in the courtyard to introduce you to your colleagues.”

With this, Shadis stood and everyone followed suit, the engineers falling back a bit as Wilhelm scorned Rick and Lyor for their tardiness, away from the commander’s ears. The commander led the way down the hall and a flight of stairs, his walk brisk and aggressive, and the squad leader opened a set of doors that led to a raised wooden platform. The group stepped onto the scaffold as Shadis barked at his men to stand at attention. Lyor couldn’t help but laugh to herself at the way she jumped at his command, but her smile soon vanished when she realised that they stood before the entire regiment.

“Men, before you are the newest additions of engineers to squad four. For better or for worse, they are to be treated as your colleagues and nothing less. Our partnership has been finalised and is effective immediately. Salute!” Shadis bellowed, and Lyor watched 150 soldiers salute, the sound of their fists colliding over their hearts sounding in unison. She spotted Erwin in the front row — his hair neater than the last time she had seen him, and his traits solemn. She admired how noble and tall he looked saluting; like the perfect knight.

Before she knew it, Shadis ended his speech and dismissed his soldiers. Each engineer shook his hand before parting ways, and Augie led the group to her squad before excusing herself to a meeting. To Lyor’s surprise, she found Hanji waiting for them with seven other soldiers. The brunette happily greeted Lyor and her father after they had stepped off the scaffold, and introduced herself to Heinrich and Rick.

“Meet the guys! You’ve got Rashad, Moblit, Nifa, Keiji, and Abel.” Hanji spoke, and each member acknowledged the group in their own ways; some smiled, waved, or grunted. They started chatting easily amongst themselves before Hanji proposed to show the group the squad’s workstations. Being the research and development squad, Lyor was excited to see what kind of equipment they had.

But her excitement was interrupted when she was cut off by someone towering over her; his build athletic and tall. She watched her group walk away, too busy making acquaintances to notice that she wasn’t following. Finally, she looked up to meet brigadier Schoenberg’s scrutinising eyes.

“I’m sorry to isolate you from your group like this, Ms. Reichart,” Markus spoke, his vixenish voice contradicting the innocent smile that stretched across his face. “I just felt the need to apologise to you for flustering you earlier.”

Lyor blinked before she held back a scoff, out of respect for his high rank. She didn’t want to start trouble this early on. “You didn’t fluster me.” She simply replied, matter of factly.

“Well, then, you seemed displeased by my greeting,” he offered, his eyes drinking in her every expression. She suddenly felt suffocated by his presence. Her malaise only fed his smirk. “I only meant to greet a lady like a proper gentleman.”

Lyor offered a disarming smile in order to alleviate her discomfort, and to trick him into thinking she wasn’t phased by him. “You mistook my reaction. I assure you I was not displeased. Now, I’m sorry, but my squad has nearly disappeared, and I don’t know my way around here.”

“Oh, please,” The officer cooed and offered her his arm. “Let me escort you. I know the grounds like the back of my hand.”

Lyor swallowed the uneasiness in her throat and eyed his leather coated arm. If she declined, she wasn’t sure how her immediate superior would take it. With an artificial smile and a disconcerted inhale, she timidly took his arm and he began to walk her towards her squad’s station, striking a conversation as they made their way down the dirt path.

From a few feet away, Erwin stood with Mike and another squad member. The latter was occupied with a document, discussing its content with Mike, their backs turned to the walking couple, but Erwin had a clear view of Lyor over Mike’s shoulder. His icy blue eyes glared daggers into Markus’ back as he watched the couple disappear from his sight as they rounded a corner. He noticed how Lyor had tried to hide her distress. Despite his perfect mask of indifference, he felt his eyebrow twitch.

For the first time in a long time, Erwin felt — in the truest sense of the word — uneasy.

Notes: LEAVE ME SOME COMMENTS BROS

Sorry this chapter was so uneventful, but I needed an entire chapter to set the foundations for the rollercoaster that awaits y'all. 3-3 Thoughts on Schoenberg?

#erwin smith #erwin smith x oc #erwin smith/oc #oc #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #fanfiction

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