#Millenia gate au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sculptorofcrimson · 5 days

Text

Dance Macabre Pt 1

Traitor!Valdor AU Synopsis: The cycle begins again. And the one shard he spared. The one shard, in all his millenia, that he did not kill. Relations: You'll see ψ(｀∇´)ψ

She was the one and the only. The error in the code, the flaw in the machine, the exception to the rule. She was the shard that lived, the one and the only to be spared from the bite of his blade.

She was nothing exceptional in many instances. Slight above average psychic ability. A little above average of the Emperor's essence. Average intellect, strength, emotional response. Absolutely nothing at all. And yet she lived. She was the one, and the only, in all ten thousand years that the Traitor Captain reigned for his terrible, tyrannical rule before he was finally brought down and he ended the same way his master had ended: with golden ichor. Master and slave, Emperor and bodyguard, victim and assassin, let them be intertwined in death. Let him love Him, if only in death.

For all the years he had spent as a traitor, she was the only one who felt his wrath, and lived.

It was not love, the twisted thing they had. It was not even lust. He did not lust. He could not lust. He quite literally could not know desire. The one thing he had once cherished, worshiped, reveled in was dead, and He had torn out the machine that had been a heart when he betrayed Him. He had cast him down, through the gold and through the brume. His talons in his breastplate, His scorn upon His tongue, His hatred blazing in golden eyes as He speared Valdor through upon His claws and cast him down. That final, snipping cut, severing the bond between master and slave in a single, terrible instant upon the Vengeful Spirit.

It was no longer love. He loved Him, and He did not care.

He loved Him. He hated Him. He loved Him. He loathed Him. Around and around with the pendulum, desperate, broken, singing. The call of a mind stripped of all its gifts. Such a broken, piteous sight.

And so he hated His bones. His shards. His remnants. He did not know hate, his master had torn it out of him in so many regards, but he loathed them. He regarded them with no more kindness than if they had been Horus himself, as if they had been the ones to have poisoned him and given him the broken gift of being able to feel all he had lost. Of being just human enough to hate, to thrash and to weep against his chains, but without the true power to care, to know what he lost. Doomed to forever wander for a city he could not name and did not know, groping around blindly in the dark for something he lacked, but could not remember.

He loathed them.

He cursed their name the same way he cursed Horus. Horus, for his treachery. Horus, for his gift. Horus, for the way he had so gallantly smiled and welcomed Constantin with open arms when he had lowered the walls of the Palace, when he had broken the Siege of Terra alone and greeted Horus' hordes with gaping gates and scrambling defenses. Horus, for bringing him the truth.

Look at them. Despicable things. Wearing the face of his master as if it was a mask. He could not loathe Him directly, He had taken that away, but he could loathe them. He could loathe them for being Him but not being Him enough, he could loathe them for looking like Him, breathing like Him, living like Him once upon a time, he could hate them for carrying what should have been his. It was like looking upon the corpse of the sun, feeling its dying warmth screaming across the void but knowing it was held in the palm of a worthless mortal. A mortal. Nothing at all, when compared to him.

His master left His bones to the gentry instead of His servant. There was no greater insult than to see Him again, alive, living through their useless bodies, when He had died for their countless, dreary lives and they had lived. They lived for Him, they lived in His place, they're living and desecrating His corpse which should have so righteously remained dead. Let the galaxy burn, let it burn itself to ashes and consume itself under the weight of its voracious hatred, let the mortals stumble and fall and lead themselves to a piteous doom, he would have gladly let them all burn if only he could see Him again. If only to feel the warmth of His love, even if he had to torch Him alive to feel it.

He died ten thousand years ago. And in His place, they wear His corpse.

He sees His face imprinted upon theirs, he sees His bones, rotten and crumbling, stretched over their fragile bodies. He sees His essence, trapped inside, cradled in flesh and bone and it was his duty to tear it free. It was his duty to punish such blatant disrespect of His legacy, his righteous crusade to set Him free and return His soul where it belonged: in the palm of His favored servant. Let them all burn, he reasoned, let them all burn if only he could ignite his lord one last time.

When they fell into his claws, nothing awaited his master's bones but destruction.

It would have been impulsive for the normally heartless captain, if it had been any but his master. It would have been cruel, it would have been horrifying, it would have been treachery and blasphemy and heresy. But it was also justice. Justice, at least for him. Justice as he watches them scream, sob and wither away, as he watches their fragile bodies break down from starvation and dehydration, dying as their bodies struggle from the poisons pumping through their bloodstream, drowning in their own blood. How he replicates His wounds one by one, first the tendons, then the muscles, then the eye, and then the corpse itself. The Apollonian Spear, carefully, with infinite precision, carving tiny cuts upon them, bleeding them out drop by drop, tasting his lord's memories with each slice. Listening to Him screaming as he sets his boot down upon a fragile, mortal chest, hearing Him roar out in indignity and in betrayal as he presses down and hears the shard's ribs crack and then crumble beneath his weight, as their chest finally gives out beneath the endless pain. And feeling Him die, once more, blood dripping like ichor over the Apollonian Blade, finally preserved in the last tomb He would ever know: the very spear of his servant. Home again at last, as He deserves to be.

He will kill them all. It was spoken in his vows.

There is no respite for a shard in the Yellow King's arms. There is only oblivion. He will never spare them, never love them, never hold even a candle of adoration for his former master. To those that dare desecrate His corpse, there is only death, and a slow, horrifying drowning, lost limb by limb to uncaring treachery. He always kills them, as soon as the Aquilan Shields are scattered, their shields shattered and their spears cast aside. His brothers are nothing compared to him. They always die, in hours, or in days if the Aquilan Shields are resourceful, if they're willing to sacrifice themselves for the shard. They rarely succeed, of course. He is Constantin Valdor, and he is the Emperor's greatest assassin, and he will tear His soul shred by shred from the mortal corpses He wears.

When he has them, they always die.

She alone was the exception.

In all ten thousand years, she was the only one who has faced his wrath, lost by the Aquilans, and lived.

She was an Inquisitor of the Ordos Malleus. She had been the one hunting him, the King in Yellow, until the day he caught up to her, and tore her ship open in the middle of the Warp. The Aquilan Shields had come soon before, they had told her what she had to know, and in the Inquisitor's arrogant, off-handed way, she had dismissed them. She had dismissed the fear she saw in their eyes, dismissed it the same way she had dismissed her concerns and plunged into her hunt.

She still remembered that day, the golden devil clad in the raiments of his lost brothers, his cloak a ragged, dead thing hanging over his shoulders, glorious and golden and horrifying as he gutted the ship apart hunting for her. The fear in Ashavar's eyes, visible even through his helm. The way they danced, blade over blade, spear against spear. Valdor fought in his peerless, immaculate style, but now with vicious abandon, the mark of a soul that had nothing left to lose. They had prepared for this. They had prepared a thousand contigencies for this day, yet none of them would serve them at all. Ashavar clashed against him, forcing all his strength into a strike that made even Valdor stall. He punched him in that gap, without fitness and without grace, without any of the training Valdor had enforced upon him. He smashed one of the jewels on Valdor's armor, ducking under Valdor's riposte and dancing around the edge of the Apollonian Spearblade before Valdor stabbed him in the gut.

There was utterly no honor at all.

Valdor struck him three more times with the misericordia, Apollonian Spearblade briefly forgotten. He smashed his fist against the side of the Aquilan's helm when he had stumbled, pinning him to the bulkhead with one hand and bashing him against it for good measure. Casting him aside as if he weighed no more than a guardsman, Valdor had turned around to face her. And the Inquisitor had not fled. Gazing up into those blank eyes without even a hint of fear, she raised her own vox and spoke a single, terrible command. Her lips were trembling from nerves. But her eyes were calm, and dead, and utterly triumphant

‘Ship command. This is your Inquisitor speaking. Activate the Cyclonic Torpedoes we're carrying. Activate all of them.'

That was her secret. She had been willing to kill both herself and him even before she had set out upon this journey, before she had met the Aquilan Shields. The captain goes down with her ship.

That brief, brutal moment of deathly cunning flashing through red eyelenses. The moment of revelation, spreading like ink through water. The way she had smiled, vicious, cruel, and victorious.

The Inquisitor had smiled mildly at him, and gave a nod in the direction of the engines. His eyes had tracked that movement, just for an instant, flickering between her and her command box.

'We'll die together, Constantin.'

She was still triumphantly holding her command box when Ashavar pounced.

He crashed onto not Valdor, but onto her. He had wrapped her up beneath his bulk, covering her entirely with his body. She could smell his incense, feel the cold hum of his auramite and feel the bruises forming from where he had smashed into her. He crushes her with all his weight, covering her, wrapping around her. She couldn't breathe but still she tried to scream. If not for herself, then for him. She couldn't see, Ashavar's purple cloak had obstructed her face, but she could feel him. The first misericordia blow shattered his auramite. The second broke through his spine. She could feel him convulse, spasming at least a dozen times beneath the blows. Valdor was so fast, so unspeakably fast, and vicious in his frenzy to get to her. To claw her out and tear out the Emperor's last breaths from her broken corpse. Ashavar groaned above her, and she could hear that voice, so commonly kind, so gentle, now raised in agony. A scraping sound. Ashavar spasmed. A siren was blaring somewhere from lower down on the ship. Then nothing. Ashavar's blood was clouding her eyes. His cloak was soaked with it. His slumped form, once so gigantic, briefly dwarfed by Valdor's looming shadow, now emptying itself of life.

He had thrown himself over her, and Valdor had cut him to pieces.

'I'll see you again, my master.' It was a curse, as much as a promise.

The traitor Captain had left. Fled, like the coward he was, out of fear or rather "pragmatism", when he realized he would not have time to cut through his brother's corpse and escape the burning supernova of the ship. Fled to kill another day.

She remembers the Aquilans, their panicked voices, their spears and their axes. The way their Shield-Captain had bundled her up in his cloak and frantically tried to wipe the blood from her hair. Two Custodes carrying Ashavar through the winding corridors, ducking beneath the panicked crew. The Shield-Captain's voice, soft and mournful and still trying to be gentle, carrying her wounded form away from the fire. Away from the blood and that terrible, bloodstained cloak, whisking her away before the ship could implode beneath its own baggage of fire.

It was not the first time they would meet. And it was not the first time she would know, with cruel certainty, that he hated her. He hated her, as he hated all shards, and if he had the chance, he would have undoubtedly flayed them all alive, just for another sip of his master's love.

He loved his master. And he hated His shards.

~~~

They had scolded her after that stunt. The Aquilans had scolded her, their red eyelenses masking their fear. Fear for her, fear of him, fear of her and the lengths she was willing to go. They insisted on accompanying her on her walks, on tracking every moment of her health, and standing over her during her meals. It was infuriating. (Then again, she couldn't blame them. Her great-great-great-great ancestral grandmother had apparently been exiled after a much-similar failed coup. That stunt had garnered her much worse than just a few days of annoyance from Aquilan Shields being too overprotective of their charge).

She knew she was dead long before she had set foot upon Daedalus Lied, she had known she was a dead girl walking before she had even baptized her own ship after a long dead genius. The Inquisitor knew that she had been waiting for death since her love had last perished beneath the flames of a heretical cult she had failed to root out, she knew that not even her love of humanity(the Emperor's or hers now?) would have been enough to stop that tide of ink-laden despair that had threatened to pull her down since that terrible night. She had loved them, yes, she had loved this world, with every last of its worthless, tiny, miniscule lives, loved each of them to a vague, beautiful detail, but it was not enough, not enough to overcome her selfish wish for death. To be eternal, and endless, and be with her love in the lightlessness.

She was nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Nothing but an Inquisitor with a dead psyker-assassin as a lover, a dead love she couldn't even stop from self-destructing from the waves of the warp. Nothing but an Inquisitor with a deathwish and the dying gasps of her beloved, and the heart of the Emperor beating within her. She was alone, so utterly alone even with six Aquilans watching over her, and perhaps that was why he spared her.

All those other shards. Mortal. Joyous, mischievous, alive, young in a way she could never be young, frivolous and dainty and pretty. He had killed them all. Those who were cruel, a king clad in gold and crimson, a budding emperor with a tyrannical fist, those he would occasionally spare, just to gaze upon Him for a few moments longer. Inevitably, they would extinguish, snuffed out once more in this incarnation. They always died, she knew, she knew even as she relived the moments of the many girls he had slaughtered. Their eyes, reflected in his cold, unfeeling auramite, their screams, echoing through the corridors of the past and into eternity. So small, so fragile, and so utterly dead beneath his gaze.

He met them again, in the span of months after her recovery but before the Aquilan Shields could truly let go of their fear. They still hung about her, wandering meaninglessly, fussing over her every beck and call. Months had passed. Her investigation, slow and grueling, had led her, with stealth and trickery, to the heart of the storm. To the traitor Captain's own lair. Maulland. The dead world where a fallen prince had once lived in exile.

He met her, face to face, in the gaping emptiness between the dead earth of Maulland's primary moon, the grey and white of the snow sailing over her uniform. The moon itself had no name, although its inhabitants had taken to calling it the Priest-King, out of some last kind of spite for the exiled captain that had once lived upon the world. He had lived here, peacefully, in silence, in contemplation and in grief, until his hate brought him out to hunt. Until his loathing for his master's corpse and his master's throne drew him out, and he rampaged.

They had stood, immobile, and for a while she heard nothing but the empty howl of the storm.

'You are here to die.' Valdor said at last. There was no tone of inflection in his voice, no sign of regret. Only flat, cold victory. She had returned his words with a smile, and a nod.

'And you are here to slay me.'

The traitor captain had smiled then. It was a cold, insane smile, the smile of a large starving cat finally having a fresh meal. He will kill her and carve her apart, of that the Inquisitor had no doubt. So be it. She was, as always, ready to die.

He hated her, she knew. He hated all shards. Good. She hated him too. She expected to die.

'Of course.' he gestures in a curt bow, similar to the bows he had demonstrated countless times to his master when they were King and Servant. 'I did not think you were quite as arrogant as you may have your entourage believe. Where are your bodyguards, Inquisitor? Where are your troops? Have they abandoned you tonight?'

'They're preparing to slay you, I presume.' she chuckled darkly. She doubted if any had advanced as far as she, to the point of striking out against the very heart of his traitor kingdom. It was not his throne, but it was his heart, the King in Yellow's long years of ruminations and exile baked into the very snows of the planet. She wondered if he would suffer, maybe crack a little inside, if she declared Exterminatus upon the world and its inhabitants. She wondered if he would mourn. Certainly not mourning for the planet's residents, or even for himself, but for all the years and memories he had spent, and lost, there.

Valdor had tilted his head. 'Ah. You have questions.' So coldly monotone as ever, so pleasant, even when he lowered the blade. She wondered if he had been so kind upon Ararat.

She had advanced then, moving towards him without fear. She could sense the Aquilan Shields' anxiety through her headpiece, hearing their auramite sevros crackle, feeling them tense in anticipation. Lehievin drew in a sharp breath. The Shield-Captain was ready in position, waiting to snap the jaws of the trap closed, waiting only for her word. She did not give it.

'You know what we are here for. Your crimes. Your sins. Your treachery, captain-general.' she met his gaze, and did not let him drop it. 'The slaughter of your own brothers. High treason to the Throne. Rebellion against the Emperor. The sabotage of loyal Imperium defenders. The destruction of the Palace. Consorting with the dark gods. By the authority of my office, by the word of the Inquisition and Ordos Malleus, and by the power vested in me by His words, you are forfeit of this city. You will be taken to Holy Terra and tried in fair and open court. Your fate will be determined by your brothers, and by Lord Guiliman himself. May the Emperor have mercy on your wretched soul, captain-general."

Her words seemed to amuse him, in some broken, forgotten way. 'I see,' he said at last. 'And what makes you think I will obey your fickle office, when I have, by your own words, rebelled against the Emperor Himself?'

Her lips twisted into a thin smile. Harshly, she laughed, brutal and barking and laughing against the wind. He simply crossed his arms over the shaft of the Apollonian Spear and listened to her.

'Because you know, Constantin.' she finally growled out. 'You know you can't win, not against six Aquilan Shields with teleporter beacons and a direct line to Terra's reinforcements. That's why I'm not going to lie down and wait for you to kill me, like all those other shards you've captured, Constantin. You hate them. You see them and you kill them on sight. Sometimes, the best outcome is for them to escape your grasp, hide away, rot the rest of their lives in oblivion, and never be found again. Cause when you capture one, you torture every drop of life from them, and make sure they're just as dead as Him when you're done. How truly pathetic of you, Constantin.'

Nothing, not even a shift of his posture.

'But do you want to know why I'm here, captain-general? Do you truly want to know?'

'Yes.'

'I am your executioner, Constantin. You have simply lived too long. Your execution is tonight, even if mine is too. We'll die together, Constantin. Me, the shard you called your master the last time, and you, the servant. There will be no shards after me, and I suppose none before me either.' None that could have harmed him and unsettled him.

Thunder lashed in the distance. The storm whipped at him, driving jagged spikes of lightning over his auramte-clad features. The Apollonian Spear, always activated, grumbled in the dark. Its ornate carvings were encrusted with old blood, the blade gleaming dully in the gloom.

'You are going to watch your bodyguards die, my master. Their blood will be on your conscience.'

She snorted.

'I am not your master, Constantin. And conscience? You dare speak of conscience? Merely look at what you've become, and dare to utter the word conscience? Go on, preach to me of conscience and loyalty, traitor. It was not I who betrayed His throne.'

For a long moment, he said nothing. For a moment he seemed to nearly recoil, as if this encounter had suddenly gone too far from his plans.

'Surrender, captain-general.' she insisted. 'Kneel, and you will be dragged to Terra in golden chains. Refuse, and your corpse will be dragged to the Emperor in rags.'

'You are a fool if you think I can know fear, Inquisitor.'

'This is not about fear. This is about surrender. You cannot make a stand here.' There was not a trace of desperation in her voice now, but a trace of anger. Lehievin shifts from beneath his cloak, guardian spear in hand. Ophiel and Ashavar's names were engraved upon his breastplate. Two new names, to remember them. He no longer was thinking about the deeds that had earned them, merely the Custodes that had been sacrificed. His brothers. They were his brothers, and Valdor cut them to pieces. 'This is arrogance, captain-general. Madness. You, alone? You cannot face us. You have no armies. No weapons. No defenses. No allies. You have nothing left but yourself, standing here now.' Serenely, almost as if to comfort him, she smiled. 'And that's not enough. Surrender. Surrender, simply, and I'll treat you well. I'll be the only shard that will.'

Because, in some deeper, ancient portion, He loathed him too. He loathed him back, and His shards had always felt this hate. The sense of shattered loyalty and vengeance against the traitor captain.

For a moment, just enough for Lehievin to draw in three breaths, Valdor seemed to listen. If not precisely even think of accepting her offer, then to at least resign himself. For a moment, he looked almost like the broken thing he was, yielding to treachery because he knew no way out. The mind of someone without even a right to dream, and now having no other way but to scream soundlessly for eternity, crying its tears out for someone that did not know how to weep.

Had Valdor wept when the Emperor died? She found, with no great surprise, that she did not care.

'You will die braver than most, Inquisitor.' he finally said. The Apollonian Spear, already kindled, guttered to life. Its aura, now streaked with red instead of blue, crackled against the vengeful storm. 'You remind me of a High Lord, so long ago in the past. I suppose you do not remember. That is alright. But for life to move onwards, the secret does not lie in the future, but in the past. Humanity's future is dead, Inquisitor. It is as dead as my master, rotting upon His throne. His past, however, is alive. It is what drives your fickle race, it is what keeps them alive, sloughing along just for one more day. You are nothing but His dreams from the past, still imprinting themselves on the present. None of you shards have a future, and none of you will have a past.'

She watches the Apollonian Spear swing with some kind of daze. He moves towards her then, not aggressively, but the display of power was still blatantly naked. Something was moving in the snow and the storm, something was roaring that was not thunder. It was something dragged out of the past and torn from its grave, mangled memories tearing through a life that could not remember it. It was the growling of an ancient, dying beast roused from its slumber, uncoordinated and savage and so mindlessly hateful that they would have followed this crazed captain like a prophet.

'We have no future, you and I. Which is why I am telling you this now, so you may heed it, one last time, before your endless life extinguishes itself again, my Emperor. Rejoice, my lord.'

Lehievin could wait no longer. He gave the signal to strike, even as their charge seemed to be frozen, hypnotized before Valdor as he steadily advanced towards her. Three Aquilans closed in upon him from the side, their guardian spears gleaming as they rose like vengeful revenants from the grave and threw off the disguise fields ripping around them, teleporters furiously blazing as reinforcing Custodes descended upon the traitor captain. Lehievin pushed himself, shrugging past his lieutenant, auramite sevroes grinding as he sprinted, already-superhuman capabilities strained to the limit as he charged. He had to reach her before he did. He had to reach her before Valdor did....

The Apollonian Spear was hefted into its killing position.

In the heart of the storm and its wrath, where the rock was as black as oil and the thunder as hateful as storms, red-tinged helmets blazed from bronze armor, and began to advance.

Somewhere, in the distance, was an eerily familiar, ragged laugh.

'Rejoice, my dear Emperor, and gaze upon the corpses you've betrayed. You are present once more at their very first engagement.'

As Lehievin finally closed the distance, and his spear scraped against the spine-jarring thrust of Valdor's killing strike, the thunder descended to earth.

26 notes · View notes

czytling · 2 years

Text

Highlander the Series AU. Xover with Stargate.

TW: mentions of murder and general terror, planning a revolution. Honestly I don't think this goes above T at any point though.

The Horsemen haven't always been a band of Immortals running around in the Bronze Age, terrorising and murdering and pillaging.

Alright, so maybe that's not exactly correct. They were a band led by Immortals. They did run around for a good deal of Bronze Age, and even some time before it. They did murder. And terrorise. But it wasn't random. Or at least not at the beginning.

This is how it started.

The gods were real. Apophis, Ra, Baal, and many, many others with their glowing golden eyes and multitonal voices and superhuman powers. The Immortals, contrary to modern opinion, have not been part of them. That came later. The gods were cruel, and powerful, and no generation of humans slaving under their rule had enough power, knowledge and intelligence about their actions to rebel.

No generation had it, but one of the generations found a human, not loyal to the gods, who seemed to neither age nor die easily. This being became a living repository of knowledge gathered generation after generation, until one day the humans knew enough about the habits of gods to anticipate them. But the intelligence itself was not enough.

Then another Immortal, similar to the first one was found. This one was not interested in human customs, traditions and nature as the first one was. Instead, he was bloodthirsty, a bit crazy and a mechanical genius. He figured out how to trap the gods and how to force them out of the world. However, the intelligence and knowledge were still not enough.

Then came a third brother, for they were brothers in shared goal, the only ones surviving as the rebellion grew over decades and centuries. This one was nice, and friendly, and all animals loved him. He inspired loyalty and soon all were unified in struggle against the oppressors. This was nearly enough.

And then came the fourth one, the one with the spark. He could lead and convince others to follow and he was strong enough in his beliefs to raise even the cynics to fight, to finally move the struggle of generations into the light. And that was finally enough.

And so the revolution happened. And so it was successful. And so the gods were pushed back through the Gate, out of the Earth by the human armies and their four Immortal generals. And so, the humans became free people.

But some gods still remained, and those were the ones that the band was galloping across the plains to terrorise, and kill, and pulverise. And as the gods became fewer and fewer, the cause became forgotten, and the terror started.

We all know how it ended. But it's important to remember that the Loyal was not useless, the Crazy was the genius, the Cruel was the one who got every one to actually act. Noone is one dimensional. Not then, and not now. And especially not those who live for millenia.

#highlander #methos #the four horsemen #my writing #kronos #silas #stargate #stargate sg1 #eevolution against goauld #mentions of murder

14 notes · View notes

solarisrasa · 1 year

Text

An Undying Bond

A Hades AU (You don't need to play the game) with Magnus in Zag's shoes and Alec's in Than's.

Written for the Malec Secret Santa 2022 for @sivan325 who let me do whatever I wanted with the words”AU”

Malec Rated T. Usual mentions of blood and death included.

Word Count: 5066

Find it Here on Ao3

Alec, clad in his usual black chiton and himation, stared into the red waters of the river Styx, his rare moment of rest consumed by his recent discovery. The river was his silent companion, a ribbon that wound through all of the Underworld and carried the souls he did not personally escort. His favorite co-worker, he used to joke, because it never tried to make small talk.

Now he watched the waters hoping the ferryman would bring him some news or a familiar corpse might bob along its wicked current.

Magnus was gone.

Alec was a god of Death, his duty kept him away from the sprawling “house” that Asmodeus built as a resting place for all those like him.

Only Magnus had actually grown up here, one of the few Gods born like a mortal would be. Only Magnus ever seemed to bring light and warmth into the crumbling building, teaching some of the others how to laugh and smile.

Alec had returned just a short while ago, intending to find Magnus and tell him the latest gossip from Jace. It was their ritual, Alec would bring him stories of Olympus and the mortal world from his ventures and Jace’s own amused re-tellings and Magnus would listen and let Alec pretend he was disgusted with it all.

Only Magnus hadn’t been in his room. The lounge was in shambles, Cerberus whining in the middle of the mess with Magnus’ little cat curled up on one of his noses looking miserable; Simon hadn’t even made a joke about it.

When Alec had finally exhausted his search of the house, he’d turned to Maryse in hopes she knew where he could find his favored companion. She was his mother, the Night Goddess, and she was warmer this millenia than he could ever remember, but she was still painfully honest.

“Magnus is trying to reach the surface. He has left the house of his father.” She looked at him with a gentleness that made his skin prickle in alarm. “He did not leave any goodbyes for you, my son.”

So Alec was left staring into the Styx.

Though no words had been said, Alec thought that Magnus would at least tell him before doing something like this. He knew that Asmodeus was cruel, that Magnus had tried to please his father but never succeeded, he knew Magnus wanted free of the man. In many ways, all of the denizens of the Underworld wished to be free of him.

Alec let himself lean on the wide marble banister overlooking the water, trying to breathe through his thoughts.

Magnus had been his best friend, one of the few beings he felt completely comfortable around, who never asked him to be anything other than what he was. Magnus understood his jokes and his black moods, he never pushed Alec for anything except to take breaks more often. Alec cared for Magnus in a way that was different from how he cared about anyone else and he’d believed that Magnus returned that feeling.

They had never discussed it, never done anything more intimate than a rare hug, but Alec had been certain they’d been on the same page, just moving at the glacial pace that eternity allowed them.

That certainty had shattered this day.

It was a given that Magnus would not be able to escape the Underworld. He could spend the rest of eternity trying, though, forever away from Alec, forever missing each other if the Styx did carry him back to the house. Alec wasn’t even certain what would happen to him, the only god who could die, even if it was temporary.

The insistent tug on his conscience from the souls that needed him called him back to his duty, pulling him away from his silent watch of the river.

Alec could only cast his wish out to the fates that he would see Magnus again.

Magnus slumped over the fountain just past the gate of Tartarus, exhausted and confused. His red chiton was filthy and his girdle had been slashed almost beyond repair. He’d been here before, bloody from the sting of Isabelle’s whip, but this time he felt worse than ever. Every time they’d fought after the first, when she’d been angry with him for trying to leave until he’d finally shouted at her that he was trying to find out more about his mother, it had a playful sort of feeling.

She was absolutely trying to kill him, but in a. . .fun. . .way.

Magnus snorted at the thought, dragging his bloody fingers through the pure, glowing, waters. Only a fury would think fighting her friend to the death on an annoyingly regular basis was fun. Well, a fury and him,a little bit.

This time, however, she’d been all focus and little of her usual banter. Her attitude toward him was cold and she’d clearly been trying to inflict maximum pain instead of efficiently ending the fight.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he’d broken a promise. After all, Isabelle’s specialty was oathbreakers.

His only promises, to his recollection, remained unbroken. He’d never promised his father much, a few boyish promises that no fury would come to collect on about loving him always, among other things. Asmodeus had proven himself unworthy of Magnus’ oaths long before he was of an age deserving of Isabelle’s wrath.

He finished washing his skin in the fountain, watching as the blood dissipated in the enchanted water, not tainting it in the slightest. It was still strange to drink from the same basin he washed in, but there was little other choice and he’d learned to clean his hands when he could. Too much of his own blood made them tacky and his hold on his weapons less reliable, and that was to say nothing of the ectoplasm and ichor from the others.

Asphodel opened before him, the overflowing river of flame that drowned its shores making him sweat immediately. His eyeliner never survived the heat, but then again, neither did he. He rarely made it further than this, his vitality flagging and the burning river aiding his enemies in sapping what strength he still had.

This time he was optimistic.

He confidently strode onto one of the small crafts, taking the long bone oar that had to be enchanted in his hands. His sword bumped his hip with every push of the oar but it was reassuring, even when it caught and slid partially under his chiton. He lived and died by his weapon out here and the simplistic nature of his fight onward freed his thoughts.

Somewhere on the other side of all the dead, he might find his mother.

Asmodeus wouldn’t speak of her, nor would anyone in the house, afraid of his wrath maybe. Magnus hadn’t even realized that he had a mother for so long and now, finally, he was seeking her. Maryse had been the only one who supported his desire, showing him the way to connect with his distant relatives on Olympus.

His raft bumped the ruined shoreline of the first island and he shook himself from his thoughts.

“Hell-o!” he called out, stepping onto the stone shore and unsheathing his blade with a flourish. His damaged girdle disagreed with the dramatic motion though, and he felt his chiton loosen around his waist. He scowled but didn’t bother trying to fix it, not when there were already sigils appearing. His father’s power called forth souls of the dead that had been twisted into monsters for him, and any other who tried to escape, to face.

He took a breath, raised his blade in one hand and flung a wave of power from his free hand, watching lightning from his uncle crackle through his own magic.

It felt strange to taste the tang of electricity weaving through his power. He was grateful to all his relatives, of course, but he favored his cousins the most. Dionysus’ power combined with his to create a pleasant wine aroma and to intoxicate his foes and Artemis’ touch helped guide his strikes, splintering from his own attacks to pierce the enemies his father stacked against him. Neither of them felt hungry or like some display meant to intimidate him the way the others did, even Aphrodite.

The fighting was made harder by the heat and the danger of stepping into the molten puddles the river of magma and flame coughed onto the stone island. Magnus made a skipping sort of dance out of his movements, trying to limit the contact he had with them. He was born of fire and shadow, a son of Asmodeus, but even he wasn’t truly immune to the pain.

When the last of the Bloodless fell, leaving him just enough time to avoid a small cloud of ash, a familiar voice called out.

“Magnus!” He twisted in time to see Jace alight. The blonde was a bright spot in the red and gray landscape. His tunic was white and gold and perfectly clean and his bag of messages was secured to his hip opposite a golden sword Magnus had never even heard of him using.

“Jace! Come to slum it with me?”

Jace rolled his eyes and thrust a missive toward him, “I really don’t want to be here, but I heard my third favorite Chthonian was making a break for it, so I had to be here to help out. Pick something so I can get out of here, get some ice cream, would you?”

Magnus looked at the scribbled list of boons that Jace could grant him and laughed, pointing to one at random, just glad to see a friend for the moment.

“Carry a message for me?” Magnus asked, feeling the zip of Jace’s power in his bones.

“No can do, you know the rules.” Jace shifted, ready to race away, when he seemed to reconsider. His expression became more serious than Magnus was used to, his mouth hard.

“When did you leave the house this time?”

Magnus grinned, “Before father even realized I’d died, why?”

Jace shook his head, but the friendliness and warmth was gone from his demeanor, “You’re not gonna make it much further.”

“Well thank you for your encouragement, Blondie.” Magnus snapped, tired of his friends treating him like shit out of the blue today.

“All I’m saying? Hang around the house a little longer this time.” Jace nodded once, frowning still, and then he was gone in a breeze.

Magnus tipped his head back, “What the hell?”

—

He only made it a little further into Asphodel before a misstep led to his death.

He came out of the crimson pool of the Styx, purposely dragging as much of the water with him onto the floor of his fathers hall. It was barely noticeable against the dusty orange color that permeated so much of his father’s realm. If he had his way, Magnus would scour the whole house out and paint it completely. Maybe put a roof on the place. Pick up the books and scrolls his father let fall everywhere. Make the whole place a little more like his own bedroom and less like some artful ruin.

Simon, napping upright against a column, jerked to wakefulness as he passed, “Welcome back. Sorry you burned to a crisp! Also the dog destroyed the lounge, like completely. Went totally nuts when you left.”

Magnus flicked water from his hair, and used a little burst of his magic to fix his makeup so the dry look he gave Simon would have maximum effect.

“If my father thinks I’m going to feel bad about that, someone should remind him that Cerberus is literally compelled to listen to him when he gives an order. He could stop him.” Magnus tried to sound unaffected, though he did feel guilty for worrying the hound. Cerberus and Chairman Meow were two of his truest companions and he’d ached over leaving them behind, when he did eventually make it out of the Underworld.

Simon just shrugged at him, “Hey I’m just telling you the news. It’s my only job. Mostly.”

Magnus gestured to the line of shades waiting for his fathers attention, the ones that Simon was supposed to be overseeing. Simon just shrugged again, “Asmodeus never really gave me a task, just told me to ‘make myself useful’ and gave me the tools to do a job. So, no rules broken if I just. . don’t. Besides, the shades line up and take care of themselves and it’s super boring. Did you see Izzy out there?”

Simon’s crush had panned out a decade or two before, but with their jobs he didn’t get to see as much of his girlfriend as he’d like and Magnus didn’t mind sparing a moment to tell him about their encounters.

“I think she’s angry with me.” He admitted, after regaling Simon with the story of his hard-won victory.

Simon sighed, “She’s probably back by now and just stewing. I’ll see if I can find her and get her to talk to me. . .although I can probably guess why she’s upset.”

Magnus waved a hand, gesturing for him to continue. Simon didn’t say anything else, just continued to stare into the middle distance and Magnus groaned.

God of Daydreams. Right.

“Simon!”

“Wha-sorry! Yes. Finding Izzy!” Simon sputtered out.

“Wait!” Magnus tried, but he’d already vanished with a small popping sound.

Magnus huffed and went to see if Alec was around.

He was disappointed, but not surprised, to find the little nook where Alec liked to rest empty. If he wasn’t there he was out collecting souls since Izzy, Jace, and Magnus were all otherwise occupied and no one else could draw Alec away from his corner. Max might’ve, but he’d been charged with his own duty that kept him distant from them and Magnus doubted he would’ve missed Max’s light spirited energy in the realm.

He leaned heavily on the railing that overlooked the Styx, ignoring the way it seemed to crumble slightly under his touch. His father thought the appearance of decay was imposing, or something, and the house had been ‘crumbling’ for eons.

Alec was one of the other Gods who scoffed at the aesthetic and occasionally tried to point out how silly it was. He was no more successful than Magnus.

His dry humor and gentle heart were often at odds with Asmodeus, but his dedication to his duties and those he considered family stayed his tongue. His quiet rebellion was in keeping a close, fraternal bond with Jace and in the little things he helped Magnus get away with.

Magnus couldn’t imagine an existence that didn’t include Alec and if it weren’t for the knowledge that the Death God could travel to the surface, that alone would’ve stopped him from trying to leave.

He would miss his friends, but finding his mother was worth it, worth almost anything. It wasn’t worth losing Alec.

Magnus straightened up, rolling his shoulders and plucking at his chiton. He should have enough time to change before Asmodeus tried to talk to him. Then he could get back out there.

Hopefully the next time he saw Alec it would be on the surface.

They meet in Elysium.

Magnus was beautiful, even covered in ectoplasm and his own blood. There was a light sheen of sweat on his arms that caught the odd blue-ish half light of this part of the Underworld and the wicked curve of his blade glinted as he came to a sudden stop.

The flash of light that announced Alec’s presence had gained his attention and Alec drew himself up, face cold. His feet left the ground, ensuring he was floating so Magnus wouldn’t be able to reach him easily.

“Alec!”

“Your Highness.” Alec had not used Magnus’ titles for centuries and he watched the words land, Magnus’ expression pulling tight at the ice in Alec’s voice.

“What—”

He couldn’t do this. Alec had thought he would be able to speak to Magnus, to ask him if it was really so easy to leave, if Alec meant so little to him that Magnus had not even tried to say goodbye. He jerked his head at the shades prowling toward them, their focus on Magnus.

“If you kill more of them, I’ll stay a moment and we can talk.”

Alec was death. He let his weapon shift into the bow that was most comfortable for him. Magnus wouldn’t best him and he would have his excuse to try this again, some other time. If there was one. He pushed the thought away.

Magnus gave him a confused look, but whatever he saw on Alec’s face was enough to make him take a fighting stance, determined.

“Oh, we’ll have a lovely chat, Alexander.”

Together they cut down all of Magnus’ enemies, each defeat easy for Alec to tally. It pained him more than he’d expected when Magnus took a hit, his red blood splashing the grass in an arc of gore. He would blame that distraction for his loss.

Magnus wiped his sword off with a wide grin and a wink. “That’s my win, Alexander.”

“Yes.” Alec could see the bright orb of power sent by the Olympians and he hoped that Magnus would head for it and allow him to leave, despite their wager. He did not.

“You are a sight for sore eyes, darling, but what brought you here?” Magnus smiled up at him and Alec hardened his heart.

“Your foolhardy actions have consequences for us all.”

Magnus sighed, “You sound like my father. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t know when I’d see you again.” He turned away, looking over the empty chamber.

Alec swallowed against the pain of that, “So you left without a word of goodbye.”

Magnus’ head whipped toward him, surprise written across his features and Alec folded his arms over his chest, hoping he could hold himself together.

“Goodbye? Alec—” Magnus took an aborted step toward him, swaying forward with raised brows, “What are you talking about?”

Alec clenched his jaw, his throat burning around the feeling he’d refused to name since he learned Magnus was trying to leave them all behind.

“I’m talking about you, abandoning your post and not having the courtesy to even tell me. You showed me, long ago, how to be more than duty; more than who I was outside of a Child of Night and a Dealer of Death. Now you expect me not to care that you were leaving?”

Magnus dropped his blade, reaching for Alec instead, but he couldn’t bear the thought of the other Gods touch, jerking back in the air to avoid him.

“Please, Alexander. I know you’re upset I want to go, but you know that my father. . . ” Magnus shook his head, distaste for Asmodeus writ in the line of his mouth.

“I understand perfectly. You’re trying to remove yourself from that ruined relationship and the rest of us are an acceptable loss.” Alec hated the misery that was growing in Magnus’ eyes but he didn’t know how else to do this. A clean break might be better, then he could. . . he could forget what it was like to feel, to be so vulnerable, so like the mortals whose souls he claimed.

“What?” Magnus looked angry now, “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t want to leave anyone! This is what I have to do and—”

Alec couldn’t listen to this.

“You’re going where no one else can follow. Olympus is beyond even my reach. Sure, a message with Jace now and again, and you thought that would be enough? But,” Alec looked up, “sure. It’s what you have to do. Goodbye, Magnus.”

There was a flash of light and Alec left Magnus, and Elysium.

—

Magnus stood unmoving in the mist rolling off the river Lethe, staring at the spot Alec had vanished from.

“What?” He asked the empty air, again.

Seeing Alec had been nice, at first. He missed his companion and it was always a treat to actually watch Alec in action, his bow in sure hands.

Magnus collected his own weapon from the trampled grass, wiping the blade and frowning at his face reflected in the metal. He never wanted Alec to think he was being left behind.

Olympus is beyond even my reach.

Magnus rubbed at his eyes, impatiently fixing his makeup when his fingertips came away black. He’d been thinking about his escape from the Underworld as a permanent thing. He would get out, find his mother, join the rest of his family on the surface or Olympus. He knew the furies, death, daydreams, they all had domains that reached the living and he’d thought that meant the mountain of the Gods.

He’d been wrong assuming he would still be able to see them.

Magnus walked through the doorway to the next chamber of Elysium slowly, hardly aware what boon he’d taken with him. All of his friends, the people he cared for, they all had to believe he was leaving them behind.

Some, like Maryse and Ragnor had been supportive, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting them.

“I need to go back,” he sighed to himself.

He watched the shade advancing on him, their weapon raised and their empty eyes fixed. Too many sips from the river Lethe created a hollow shell that had only one purpose. Magnus lowered his blade.

The house was quiet when he emerged from the Styx. Simon gave him a nervous nod, but his eyes darted toward the lounge and he pressed his lips together instead of greeting Magnus.

Through the side door, Magnus could see two familiar dark heads bent together.

He steeled himself and headed for them.

The serpent head of Isabelle’s whip glared at him over her shoulder and turned to hiss in her ear, the muscles in her single huge wing tensing though she didn’t turn to him.

Alec’s face went smooth, carefully expressionless, as he caught sight of Magnus.

“Hey.” Magnus said, voice soft as he hovered next to their table, uncertain of his welcome.

Isabelle gave him a disappointed look he was more familiar with than he cared to admit but it quickly turned calculating as she took in how miserable he had to appear.

Alec only nodded at him.

Isabelle stood, “I’ll leave the two of you to talk. If I find out you haven’t. . .well, I am very good at my job.”

She gave Alec a pointed nudge with her wing and stalked out of the lounge, the click of her heels echoing in the quiet between them.

“You’ve returned sooner than I expected.” Alec finally said and Magnus grimaced. He sounded upset and yet, still, worried.

“Turns out I have a very easy ticket home, when I need it.” Magnus took a seat with a wane smile that Alec didn’t return. Magnus knew he would have to start them off on the right foot, or else Alec would shut him out and frame any conversation they might have around duty.

“I’m sorry, Alexander.” Magnus held up his hand when Alec leaned forward to speak. “Please, I’ve made assumptions and caused harm where it wasn’t deserved, let me explain.”

Alec closed his mouth and raised his eyebrows, waiting.

Magnus didn’t pause to think about his words, he needed to clear this mess between them, now.

“I needed to get away from my father, my failure to please him and the. . . differences in our opinions on the treatment of the dead, yes. I thought that meant leaving the house behind, the shades, and him. Death is for mortals. Daydreams, vengeance, oathbreaking, lying, betrayal, the turning of day to night, all of it touches them, is enacted or witness or experienced by them.”

Alec’s eyes sparked with understanding, his cold expression fractured into one of cautious hope.

“I did not know.” Magnus cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize I would be leaving so many behind. You behind.”

Alec’s mouth quirked just slightly, the same little smile he had when he called Magnus an idiot. “You’re an idiot.”

Magnus laughed, relief flooding him at the sign of forgiveness, but he had more he needed to say.

“Alexander, knowing that you can not reach Olympus. . . that changes things for me, but I still have to try. There’s something I have to find, out there, but I swear I will come back.” Magnus caught his hand, squeezing it and hoping it would keep Alec from vanishing.

His lips thinned as he stared at Magnus, “You’re still going.”

It was a clear statement,so Magnus waited for him to continue even though he wanted to speak, to reassure.

“You can’t know you’ll come back. When you’re gone, you can’t know that you will feel the same. I know that Olympus offers Apollo’s golden light, Dionysus’ wine, Aphrodite’s games. You are a creature of light and warmth, what if— “

Magnus cut him off with a tug on his hand that brought Alec back to the ground as he’d drifted up.

“My soulmate isn’t there.”

Alec blinked, surprised, “That’s what you’re seeking?”

Magnus had to let go of Alec’s hand to brace himself against the table in the lounge. All this time, he’d assumed that Alec knew; that he was happy with their warm regard but it wasn’t the same for him. They were Gods and their relationships were complex, faceted by immortality, by power struggles and by their duties. Magnus had long accepted that, as a God of Death, romance held no sway over Alexander. He cherished their friendship, and loved Alec as best he knew how, without any expectation for his love to be returned in quite the same way, even as it was returned in depth.

Magnus forced himself to calm, just because Alec had never realized they were soulmates, didn’t make their love less real and it truly didn’t matter to Magnus if knowing changed nothing between them. Well, almost nothing. Magnus hoped that if Alec understood their connection, he would have faith that Magnus was going to come back. If they could reach that understanding, Magnus could pull Alec somewhere it might be safe to explain he was looking for his mother.

Not that the lounge was the ideal place for this conversation, but Magnus would make do.

Alec was watching him, hands pressed tightly together in concern.

“I’m not looking for my soulmate. Alexander, I am a God of Blood, of Life. Who would ever be my perfect other half, if not Death?” Magnus gave him the gentlest smile, reaching for his hands, only to have them crushed in Alec’s tight grip as Alec opened and closed his mouth in shock, words failing him.

Magnus grinned at the wide blue eyes filled with hope and gave a hard squeeze back to encourage his words.

“Really?” Alec asked, his voice soft and his cheeks starting to flush.

“I thought you knew. Though,” it was Magnus’ turn to blush in chagrin, “I’m learning I make poor assumptions.”

“But you never, we never. . . Don’t you want to kiss me?” Alec asked and Magnus officially decided to move the conversation.

“Darling, do you really want to do this, here?” He nodded pointedly to the shades who were all staring and to Simon, who was floating uncomfortably close and gave them a little wave.

“No.” Alec said, and the world moved.

They were in Magnus room with a flash of the light he’d long associated with his— with Alec’s arrival. He gaped, “You can bring people along? ”

Alec laughed, something a little incredulous in the sound, and ran a hand through his dark hair, “Not far, not unless they’re shades.” Alec held up a hand before Magnus could ask, “I can’t transport you out of the Underworld, even if I thought Asmodeus wouldn’t try to unmake me for doing it.”

“He couldn’t do that.” Magnus said, dismissing the idea immediately, “Now, where were we?”

Alec’s eyes were bright as he stepped close to Magnus, his large hand settling on Magnus’ hip.

“I was asking why you didn’t ever kiss me.”

Magnus was happy to find the odd formality that Alec often fell back on wasn’t coming between them now, and he leaned into a more playful answer in the hopes of making Alec laugh.

“Rude to assume I was the one who should do the kissing. It’s a lot of responsibility, Alexander.”

Alec did laugh, the smile breaking the last of the ice between them.

“I wasn’t the one who realized we were soulmates and then didn’t say anything for who knows how long?”

Magnus cleared his throat, “It was only a few centuries. And, I thought you weren’t interested in that sort of relationship. I never minded, I love you, and I know you care for me the same.”

Alec shook his head, looking a bit dazed, “Well, I love you, and I would love to kiss you.”

Magnus brushed his knuckles against Alec’s cheek, “Well, I certainly won’t argue with that.”

Alec bent toward him and Magnus watched the slow sweep of his eyelashes before he closed his own eyes and tipped up to meet him. Their lips brushed and Magnus hummed in pleasant surprise at how soft Alec’s were. Alec pulled him closer and the soft press of their lips shifted as Alec gently pulled Magnus’ lower lip between his own. The kiss turned slick and warm and Magnus felt shivery and strange when they parted, swaying in for another without a thought.

When they finally parted, Alec’s mouth was a deep red that filled Magnus with smug pride.

“So. . .” Alec started, only to blink distractedly at Magnus’ mouth.

“Kissing.”

“Yeah.” Alec breathed and then he was pulling Magnus in again, swallowing his delighted laugh.

—

Later Magnus would offer him a bottle of the finest Ambrosia and they would discuss plans for finding Magnus’ mother and how Alec might still come to him on the surface.

Later Magnus would press triumphant kisses to his soft mouth after winning one of their many contests out in the realms of the Underworld and he would be grateful that Alec had come after him, that first time.

Later they would whisper together how happy they were, how grateful for the centuries stretching before them.

After all, Life and Death shared an Undying Bond.

#Hades fanfiction #Malec #Shadowhunters #Magnus Bane #Alec Lightwood #Shadowhunters AU #Malec secret santa 2022 #Malec fanfiction #stand alone #An Undying Bond

1 note · View note

crash-hawk · 2 years

Text

Burning remains, light the funeral pyre (breaking it up, ‘cause we’re tearing it down)

I was going through my GDocs, renaming or deleting old/unlabeled/defunct files, and stumbled upon this ficlet I wrote for the Kaleidoscope AU’s (AKA the AU that Color Wheel, Three, @lunarblazes’ Give Me Back My Heart, You Wingless Thing, and Hurricane all hail from) take on Last Life! I probably won’t ever put it on AO3 unless I write more to connect it to, but I like it too much to just let it languish forgotten in my GDocs forever. (Set during the events of Session 6/the Fall of the Southlands)

______________________________________________________________ “Can I trust you?” Grian asks, and Impulse thinks: Now there’s a loaded word.

Still, he answers anyway, with hardly a second’s hesitation. “Yes,” he says. “Of course you can.”

“Then why?” Grian demands. “Why did you steal it?”

Impulse’s heart makes an ugly little leap in his chest, guilt and shame and not a little bit of embarrassment at having been so easily caught out, fear of what Grian, volatile at the best of times, might do.

“You were red,” he explains, forcing his voice to remain calm and even. “You were on your last life. The others were terrified, we didn’t know what you’d do.”

Grian lets out a sharp, frustrated cry, digging his fingers into his hair. “Gods damn it. Gods damn it. Don’t you get it? None of you ever had anything to fear from me, red or not!”

That takes Impulse aback. ��But...we thought...the rules…”

“FUCK the rules!” Grian screams, and Impulse recoils from the force of it. He’s never heard Grian swear before, not once.

Grian sags, then, his head hanging. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he mutters. “B--The Southlands are dead. Done. History. Burned to the ground. You and me, Impulse, we’re all that’s left.”

Impulse wants to protest, to insist that it isn’t true...but he’d be lying to himself. He thinks of Jimmy, running away with the life, ending their desperate sham of a trust exercise; of Martyn’s half-baked excuses as he’d walked away and never come back; of the gleeful, exultant madness in Mumbo’s face as he’d set off the explosions. Mumbo most of all.

“I know,” Impulse murmurs, quietly.

“Come on, then,” Grian says. “We’d better get a move on before someone figures out what we’re up to.”

“Right,” Impulse agrees immediately, before pausing. “What are we up to?”

“We’re going to the Fairy Fort,” Grian says. “To get that skull back.”

“Grian,” Impulse begins, anxiety twisting his guts all over again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The curse is spreading...we don’t know how many have caught it this time. And besides, what are you even going to do with it once you have it? As an intimidation tactic it’s great, but...even if you had all three, the Wither...it’s not real, Grian. Maybe it was, once, but...in all the stories, the Last Lady and the Knight of the Gate destroyed it, banished it to the Outer Dark millennia upon millenia ago.”

“Is any of this real, Impulse?” Grian asks. His voice has gone soft, but his amber eyes are alight, backlit with something that Impulse could swear looks like flames. “The Last Lady...what was her name, Impulse? In the stories? What was the Lady of the End’s name?”

It’s the last question he would have expected Grian to ask--it doesn’t seem to have any bearing on anything. He opens his mouth to say so when the answer comes, and suddenly every hair on Impulse’s body is standing on end.

“Cleo,” he breathes, his eyes gone wide and round. “Our Cleo??”

Grian nods, the fire blazing behind his eyes. “I mean to get all three of those skulls, starting with the one you gave away. I mean to summon it, Impulse...but not against any of us. I’m going to summon it against him. Against the one who put us here.”

What are you talking about? Impulse almost asks, but then he realizes he knows. He’s known all along. Because this has happened before, hasn’t it?

“If none of this is real, then it’s all happening in his head,” Grian continues. “His story, his script, his godsdamned game. Well, he’s made a mistake, this time. And if we all have to go down together to destroy the board, then I say it’s well fucking worth it.” He holds out his hand to Impulse, rage and madness and hope burning on his face. “Will you help me?”

Impulse steps forward, gripping Grian’s thin fingers in his own large hand. “Yes,” he says. “Yes.”

#Last Life SMP #Fanfiction #Kaleidoscope AU #Wither Duo #Grian #ImpulseSV

56 notes · View notes

meetthetank · 3 years

Text

Beast Code Chapter 1: The Twilit City

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationship: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), Original YoRHa Characters (NieR: Automata) Additional Tags: Transformation, gothic horror, Android Lycanthropy...sort of, Inspired by Bloodborne (Video Game), Everyday i get closer to just writing a Bloodborne AU

Summary: Break the vicious cycle with tooth and claw. Unleash the beast within and destroy your chains. But the strength to defy fate comes at a grave cost. Will it be enough, little doll? Or will you succumb to despair once more?

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31546982

The assignment to the Twilight Belt comes as a shock to 2B and 9S. Rarely, if ever, are YorHa units sent to this border of perpetual daylight and eternal night. Conditions are always reported as unstable by the infrequent scans by one of the other satellite bases that orbit earth, too dangerous to deploy scanners by themselves, and too depleted of resources for the Council to care about. The mystery surrounding the strip of permanent twilight goads curious operators and scanners alike to comb through files searching for nuggets of data, image or video files, anything they can get their hands on. All but a few pieces of data reveal tantalizing scraps and clues to the puzzle of the Sunset Belt. Photographs of dead machines with toothy, gaping maws that split their spherical heads in two and minerals warped in peculiar shapes. According to one of the situation reports from a scanner that had been sent there, there was an eerie, foreboding feeling about the place; that strange and frightening sounds would echo across the landscape and that he felt close to a forbidden barrier that separated this world from another. Though the file and its contents are now treated as a human “ghost story”, many androids, including 2B and 9S, believe at least some portion of the tale.

9S relays this story to 2B as they descend to Earth’s surface, his chattering easing some of 2B’s trepidation. The pair had fallen into an easy rhythm over the course of several assignments to Earth, most of which involved retrieving data from lost servers buried in rubble or clearing out an area of machine lifeforms. Despite her outwardly cold demeanor, 9S wormed his way past all of her defenses, forming a strong, solid relationship with the battler android. His voice is a centering point for her and assists in ignoring the gut churning possibilities of what could be waiting for them below.

“...What do you think, 2B?” his voice crackles from the comms system inside her flight unit.

“Hm?” she shifts her head to the side, glancing at his jet black flight unit cruising beside hers.

“What do you think made the target go rogue?”

She bites her lower lip. There are a thousand possible answers as to why a normally punctual, efficient YorHa Battle unit would suddenly stop responding to command and not checking in at required times. Only a few of those options were machine lifeform related complications.

“We’ll find out when we arrive, 9S.” she says curtly, eager to shut down the conversation, “Focus on landing protocol.”

He sighs, a sound of annoyance and frustration, “Yeah, yeah.”

“One affirmation will-”

“Fiiiiiiiine.”

The final phase of their descent is spent in silence. They pass through the Earth’s atmosphere in streaks of fire and light towards the border of day and night, and a continent that humans called Europe. Even as they descend, the outlines of ancient, massive structures come into view. Both androids are used to the thick vegetation eating away at the remains of human structures, but here the trees are gnarled, twisted, and void of leaves or blossoms. Their branches reach to the crimson sky and permanently setting sun like bony hands in prayer or a stag’s antlers. As 2B and 9S set their flight units down a few miles away from the outskirts of a sprawling, ancient city. It amazes 9S, as he exits his own unit, that the buildings are in such good condition considering the millenia that have passed it by. Great spires of countless cathedrals pierce the heavens, casting an ominous, looming shadow over the otherwise barren landscape. A well worn cobblestone road, lined with rusted iron lighting fixtures long since burnt out, leads into the city proper.

2B and 9S stand at the precipice of this ancient beast of stone and metal in awe of its size, and terrified of what might lurk within. A hoarse bird’s caw, jolts the androids back into awareness, 2B drawing her katana and prepares for battle.

“Heh,” 9S laughs, trying to calm them both down, “Just a raven, 2B.”

“What?”

“A large black bird. Harmless to us.” He doesn’t tell her about the chill he gets down his spine as he watches the corvid gaze down at them with beady black eyes, or how humans saw these birds as ill omens or prophets of death.

They begin the trek into the forgotten city. 2B doesn’t put Virtuous Contract away.

Pod 042 alerts 2B to the presence of an unidentifiable android signal, marking the location on both hers and 9S’ map. Since the area has yet to be properly mapped out by satellite imagery (as inaccurate as that process is) only a vague street layout is available through a very low power scan. They have no way of judging what might block their path to the target beyond featureless grey masses depicting buildings, rubble, large trees, or whatever else may lie in wait. Their target, represented by a small orange dot on the map, appears to be near the city’s main gate and inside one of the larger buildings. 2B refuses to admit it to herself, but she’s relieved to not have to delve too far into this labyrinthine city.

“I’ve never seen the sky this color…” 9S muses as he stares up, transfixed by the blood red sky and orange sun hanging low.

Though hauntingly beautiful, she won’t deny, 2B keeps her gaze fixed on the wrought iron gate ahead of them. The heavens disturb her; they are the color of death. Of war. And the sun is… wrong.

She snaps at 9S to keep focused as they approach the gate to the city. Though scans indicate there are no machine lifeforms, or any lifeforms beyond their target, she’s learned from countless combat assignments to not rely totally on what the support unit reports. She’s encountered and seen machines that mask themselves from scans or camouflage themselves in the environment, and in a place like this anything could be hiding in the shadows just outside of view.

The iron gate lies ajar, worn from millennia of neglect. Clouds of rust particles burst from the hinges as 2B shoves it open further, the metal grinding against itself with a horrible grating shriek. The sound makes them both wince, and they slip through the partially opened gate as soon as they can.

Standing inside the city gates, 9S can’t shake the uneasy feeling that claws at the back of his mind. The great ancient human structures loom above them, and though he knows that the buildings themselves aren’t alive, he can’t shake the notion that he’s being watched by them. The windows are dark, but when he passes by the light of the setting sun reflects off of them, giving them the illusion of intelligence. Suddenly, 9S feels as if he’s inside a cave, or locked in a room with no exit. Suddenly… He finds it hard to breathe. 9S tugs at the collar of his jacket as if it's tightening around his throat. His synthetic lungs fill with air as much as he can take, then he releases it moments later. It calms him, if only a little.

2B’s gaze is fixed ahead on the building Pod 042 marked as the rogue android’s hiding place. It’s a much smaller structure than the others that choke the sky, but its reach stretches across the streets like a tree’s roots. Judging by the well preserved signs that hang from crumbled doors it looked to have multiple uses. 9S commands his own Pod to run scans on the words and symbols for later analysis.

“The target’s in here…” 2B murmurs, holding her free hand up in a tight fist, signaling 9S to stop behind her.

This portion of the sprawling building is similar in structure to the massive spires above. It has the same pointed section on the roof, but much smaller in scale, and similar symbols decorate the exterior. A cross, winged humans, various flowering plants, and a number of human figures bowing their heads or supplicating themselves to the winged humans.

“This must have been a place of worship,” 9S muses aloud.

“Focus.”

He nods. Typically 9S argues with his partner about the necessity for recording data like this, or excuse his wandering attention to his designation as a scanner, but he knows the danger within the house of worship, or rather, he doesn’t know. Neither one of them knows what this rouge android is capable of.

2B presses her hand against the wooden doors to the chapel and pushes it open as slowly as possible. It groans in protest, dust falls from its hinges and frame, but it swings inward. A rush of warm air washes over them carrying the scent of stale incense and dead machines. Clouds of smoke billow out of the doorway, rising into the red sky like twisted fingers. 2B enters first, sliding in sword arm first. She motions for 9S to wait for a moment, then commands Pod 042 to switch on its flashlight.

9S peeks his head around the door, keeping a few paces behind his partner. He switches on his own Pod’s flashlight to illuminate more of the pitch black interior. Long wooden benches are pushed up against the walls, opening up the center space. Ornate candle holders, rotting books, charred incense burners, and pieces of artwork among other things 9S has no name for are scattered across the ground, each one a priceless human artifact that could fuel hours of study. Yet it’s not these that hold 9S’ attention, but the statue at the far back of the chapel, and the figure kneeling in front of it.

It looks to be made of some kind of marble, a pristine white stone that has been sheltered from time and the elements. The subject is another winged human, this one wearing splendid armor and wielding a great spear. Beneath them, a grotesque, writhing beast bares its teeth and claws at the warrior as the blade pierces its throat. 9S has never seen anything like it in person, and very few records of these kinds of sculptures remain at all. It’s both horrific and beautiful at once. He wonders what the human who made this saw that inspired it. Did creatures like these roam the world during their time?

2B steps in front of him, Virtuous Contract at the ready. The figure in front of the statue rises to their feet as the Pod’s flashlights center on them. A cloak made of feathers conceals most of their form but they appear to be a female android, perhaps a YorHa model. Though, if that were the case it would have been in the mission briefing. That is, unless...

The android turns her head to the side, glaring at the pair over her shoulder.

“So, Command sent the wolves, did they?” She asks, a distinct rumble in her voice.

2B raises her blade and keeps her gaze steady. She hears 9S also ready his weapon, the golden katana Cruel Oath.

Lazily, the android turns her body to face them. Her clothes confirm her origins; there’s no mistaking the sharp white embellishments and black velvet of a YorHa uniform; however each piece is ripped, tattered, and stitched together with other scraps of clothing or… animal hide.

The rouge android drags the blade of a bloodied top heavy sword between her fingers, cleaning the gore from it. “It doesn’t matter, dog.” Her eyes shine with a strange, purplish light that refracts around her collapsed, twisted pupils. “You will fall like the rest.”

It isn’t until the rogue android rushes forward, sword raised, that 2B sees the corpses of YorHa units piled in front of the statue, and the blood that soaks it.

She dashes backward and shoves the bewildered 9S out of harm's way. The android’s bloodied sword crashes into the stonework floor, sending thousands of years of dust into the air. 2B lunges, her katana poised to take advantage of the enemy’s opening, but she sidesteps much quicker than anticipated. The rogue’s fist slams into 2B’s chest, distorting her internal sensors and throwing her off balance. 2B watches in horror as the rogue drives her sword towards her, but a golden flash knocks the blade away.

“2B!” 9S shouts, brandishing Cruel Oath. “Are you okay?!”

She shakes her head as if it would clear the internal errors from her vision, but she assumes her battle stance next to her partner. “Fine.”

Both androids launch into an assault on the rogue, attacking in tandem. Despite 2B’s scrambled sensors, she and 9S have an undeniable synergy that comes with countless missions. 2B forces the rogue back with singular, powerful blows, while 9S jabs at any opening he can reach from the sides. However, even with their combined might the rogue deflects and maneuvers out of the way of each attack as casually as one would flick away an insect or step around a puddle. She looks to be expending no effort at all as she dances around the two YorHa. Anger and frustration rises in 2B, culminating in a harsh growl. She mimics the rogue’s tactic from earlier, rushing forward and feinting with a crushing overhead strike that is easily dodged but allows no time for recovery. She slams her fist into the rogue android’s face, sending her stumbling backwards. Before 9S can dive in with a horizontal slash the rogue dashes backward, putting crucial distance between her and her hunters.

The rogue android lowers her gaze at the pair, sizing them up, taking stock of their abilities and assessing their weaknesses. 2B watches her eyes dart back and forth between her and 9S, then linger on 9S. Sensing the rogue’s motive and deciding at that moment that the outcome is unacceptable, 2B dives in front of the strike meant for 9S. The rogue’s sword slices cleanly through her chest, coating the rogue’s clothes in splatters of fresh blood. The battler falls to her knees, clutching the wound with one hand while supporting herself on her sword.

“No!!” 9S screams and lunges at their target. “2B!!”

“Hm. Interesting.” The rogue murmurs, easily deflecting the scanner’s wild strikes.

2B watches through blurred, error obscured vision as 9S drives the rogue back. If she didn’t know any better it’d seem that he has the upper hand, but the rogue’s eyes glint in a way 2B recognizes all too well. She’s baiting him.

9S slams his blade against the rogue’s, pressing all of his power and weight into the strike. It’s the moment she had been waiting for. Suddenly she pulls back, letting 9S’ weight fall forward and forcing him off balance. She kicks his legs out from under him then shoves him into the floor. 9S lets out a startled, choked gasp as his weight and the force of the rogue’s attack cracks the stone floor, sending up more clouds of dust into the air.

Clutching her chest, 2B roars and charges at the target with blinding speed. When she sees the smirk twisting the rogue’s lips and the pointed iron rod in her grip, it’s too late. With a flash of her crowfeather cape, the android meets 2B’s charge with her own, the skewer aimed at her wounded chest. 2B tries to divert her body away, but the momentum is too strong. It’s just enough to roll her body to the side so that the spike pierces clean through her shoulder, clear of critical systems.

The pain, however, is agonizing.

It’s different from the injuries 2B has suffered in the past. Countless machine swords, spears, and axes have torn through her body and of course all of those injuries hurt, but they were manageable. When the iron bar rips through layers of cloth, skin, carbon plating and frame, and synthetic muscle fibers it's as if her shoulder has been set on fire. She clenches her teeth, muffling a scream to a low growl. Her hand wraps around the skewer, close to the wound itself. Instinct tells her to tear it out immediately, but she knows that without treatment doing so would only worsen her condition. 2B doesn’t get to make that decision, unfortunately. The rogue grabs hold of the end of the iron rod and twists it side to side, driving it further into 2B’s shoulder.

2B sinks to her knees and tries to hold back the cries of agony. Her injured arm stops responding to commands and lies limp and useless against her side. She swats at the rogue android with her weakening other arm, desperate to escape from this torment. Her strength fades along with her vision; it becomes impossible to even hold herself upright.

She must not fall, she must not… she must stay strong, she must stay alive.

She will not allow him to die…

Not for the sake of a monster like her….

9S leaps into the fight as the rogue android prepares a killing blow. A flurry of Pod fire, sword strikes, and furious movement all blur together into a white, gold, and black haze. She fights to stay awake, she fights to stand, but her body begins to shut down non-vital systems and conserve as much energy as she can. First her tactile sensors switch off, leaving her in a numbing cold. Then her hearing, quickly followed by sight. A warning flashes across the last vestiges of her vision that she is entering a forced shutdown state, and despite her audio sensors being deactivated, she swears she hears 9S cry out for her.

….

…….

………

……….

……..

….

2B opens her eyes to the blinding, sterile white of hacking space. This itself is not shocking. Oftentimes she would run diagnostics on her critical systems when in a forced shutdown, both to manage critical systems and to keep herself busy.

But now, in the distance, there is an anomaly.

A single figure, black as night, approaches her. It’s shape is human up till its head, which sports pointed ears and a long snout like that of a dog or wolf. It looms over her and leaves a black, fragmented mist in its wake. But most troubling of all in this world of stark monochrome is its eye…. or what 2B believes is an eye. In the center of its lupine face is a strange geometric sigil that emits a highly saturated purple light. It feels… malicious. The thought itself is insane to 2B. Light cannot possess intent or emotions, and yet…

“This is an unacceptable outcome.” A voice booms in her head. Somehow she knows it is the entity speaking.

2B opens her mouth to respond, but instead of words, thick crimson fluid leaks from her throat.

“You will die. He will die. You cannot abide by this.”

She shakes her head. Droplets of blood fall to the pristine floor. The entity is right. If she has any strength left, 9S will live.

“Stand, little doll,” the entity commands, “Stand and unleash y-...Be——…..d.”

The entity’s voice becomes warped and distorted with audio glitches, yet 2B understands its words with frightening clarity.

“Take-......l-...s within.”

It holds a hand out to her, offering her something she can’t quite make out. The shape in its palm is amorphous, colorless, and flickers with lines of jumbled code. Somehow, she knows this piece of herself in intimate detail, yet cannot remember what this does or what its relation to the entity is.

But it promises strength enough to save 9S.

2B reaches out and takes the code in her hand…

….

………….

…………………………

………………………………………………………..

Her eyes snap open. A current of raw energy runs through her body, electrifying every nerve and sensor within her. She shakes with each pulse of her circulatory apparatus as a new, terrifying strength takes hold. 2B rises to her feet, flexing her hands, legs, arms. One arm’s movement is restricted by the iron bar still stuck in her shoulder. She tears it out with little effort, casting it to the floor. The rattling, hollow sound echoes against the stone chapel.

The rogue’s head snaps up from her combat with 9S, who is barely able to hold his sword. Something in her expression changes. She kicks 9S and points her sword at 2B, her arms shaking in a way they had not before.

2B lunges forward, her sword raised high. The rogue raises her own sword to deflect, but 2B’s newfound strength breaks her guard with one mighty strike. With blinding speed 2B slices through the rogue android’s body. Her crowfeather cape flutters to the floor, soon followed by her arm. The rouge android staggers back, an expression of shock and horror twisting her face. 2B drives her sword through the rogue’s chest, forcing her back further. Instead of drawing her sword back for another strike, a terrifying feeling takes over 2B. She leaves the sword inside the rogue’s chest and tackles her to the ground. With her bare hands and horrible strength, 2B delivers blow after blow to the android’s chest, shoulder, arms, head, and abdomen. Each piece is reduced to a pulp of flesh and metal one after the next until nothing remains but scrap.

2B throws her head back as she straddles her victim, a horrible, twisted grin plastered across her face and arms outstretched. Her body feels wrong… horribly wrong, yet for the first time since she can remember, her chest is light. She gazes up at the morbid sculpture with an emotion she can’t quite describe. It isn’t the same as a combat high, she is intimately familiar with that heady rush. This is something akin to… euphoria. A laugh begins to bubble up in her throat-

“2B?”

She’s forced back to reality by the 9S’ voice, right beside her ear. Suddenly, the terrible strength from moments before fades from her body. Her arms go limp by her sides, and it becomes hard to sit upright. Even breathing is laborious. 9S wraps his arms around her shoulders and tugs her gently, laying her head and shoulders against his chest.

“I’ve got you. We… I think we’re safe.” His breathing is uneven and ragged, much like 2B’s. He swivels his head back and forth, searching for any lingering threats as quickly as possible. “Pod, run a scan for machine lifeform or android signals in the immediate area,” he commands.

Pod 153 is silent for a moment, then emits a grating, hideous garbled noise. Words try to break through the audio distortions but neither 2B or 9S is confident it isn’t simply what they wish to hear.

“Alert:” Pod 042 begins, “Interference from unknown source is preventing accurate scans of the surrounding area. Proposal: Relocate to an elevated aaaaaaa…..a-r-....rrr……”

The same audio distortions come from 042, mingling with 153’s until they both cut off, leaving the androids in silence. “Pod?” 9S calls to the floating support unit. “Pod, respond. ... Pod?”

2B mutters weakly to her own Pod, but it's the same as 9S’. No response at all.

9S pulls up a small data screen, map data, from what 2B can tell. Or… where map data would be. Instead, there’s a blank, grey screen and a little message box that reads No Data.

“What the-...” 9S whispers, flipping through different screens at a frantic pace. “Where-... There’s… all the data is gone!” he shouts, “No map, no signal scans… I can’t even connect to the Bunker…”

“We’re stranded…” 2B muses aloud.

Silence passes between them. Only the ominous wind passing through ancient wood and stone reminds them that the world hasn’t stopped moving around them.

“We should move to a higher area, like your Pod said.” 9S suggests, rising to his feet. “Can you stand?”

When 9S offers a hand out to her, 2B takes it without thinking. His touch, even through his thick gloves, calms the beast pacing inside her.

Beast?

…..What does that mean?

2B rises to her feet, her hands lingering in 9S’ for a moment longer than she normally would. There’s a fog in her head that distorts her equilibrium. She leans on 9S for support, to which he wraps his arm around her waist and positions himself under her shoulder.

“I got you.” He says with a small smile.

2B feels just a bit lighter.

They exit the chapel and make for higher ground. 9S rationalizes that if they simply continue up stairs or inclines they would find a space clear of whatever is interfering with the Pod’s satellite connections. Perhaps it’s the fog that creeps across the cobblestone streets or the odd angle of the sun (not that it makes sense to 9S or 2B but they have to consider all possibilities), or perhaps it’s something beyond that. There’s a strange, eerie feeling about this city that neither can explain, and neither want to talk about. As if there’s a presence constantly watching over them.

They climb the stairs of one of the massive sprawling religious buildings. From what 9S assesses, it seems to have one of the tallest spires in the city. Only a larger time-keeping building looming in the distance is larger. If he could reach the top he should be far enough above whatever is interfering with the Pods. When he relays his plan to 2B who only nods, her eyes unfocused and breathing shallow, worry starts to lace its icy fingers through his chest. Something is wrong with her.

9S’ first instinct is to prepare a data backup with the bunker, but the Pods are both out of commission for the time being. His next is to contact command and ask how they should proceed, to the same conclusion. Climbing the spire is the only course of action he can take, but first, he has to make sure 2B is safe.

He leads her through the castle of worship, now supporting most of her weight. That… frightening show of strength must have exhausted her power supply. There are plenty of well preserved wooden benches that stretch across half of the main worship chambers, at least it would be more comfortable than the stone floors. Under watch by the countless grotesque statues that sit in the rafters, 9S helps 2B onto a long bench, laying her on her back. She hisses and grinds her teeth as she moves. She must have sustained internal damage from that fight…

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, “I’m going to go to the roof to get a clear signal.”

All 2B gives in response is a slow nod. He lingers by her side before leaving, a moment longer than needed.

Now alone in this spacious, hollow, human structure, 2B takes stock of her condition. There’s pain in her shoulders, particularly her right arm. Her legs are tight, most locking up from the strain of the previous battle and trekking up to her current location. Her back, as well, is tense beyond discomfort. It spasms and jolts if she breathes too hard. At least these are injury related, explainable. The black wolfman with purple eyes lingering in the corners of her vision, is not.

She sees the entity in the shadows, lurking just out of view. 9S walks right past it, not even sparing a glance at the tall, gangly creature. It doesn’t respond to 9S either, instead focusing on 2B and only 2B.

The sight of it makes her stomach turn. She tries to close her eyes, but the glowing, purple sigil is burned into her vision. With a groan she digs her knuckles into her eyelids as if she could carve the hallucination out of the air. Defeated, 2B lets her arms down once more. One hand touches the cool stone floor, decorated with elegant mosaics, and she suddenly realizes how warm she is. According to the warning messages displayed in her vision her body temperature is ten degrees above normal levels.

“Pod,” she groans, forcing herself to sit up, “retrieve water from storage-”

“Report: Mail notification received from Command.”

The monotone voice of her support unit shocks her. Pod 042 had been silent up until now due to whatever interference was in the area, and now it’s getting messages from Command? 9S must have established a connection from the roof.

Her heart sinks. If that’s the case he would contact her. The first thing she’d hear would be his voice.

She opens the message, dreading its contents.

Subject has accessed confidential records. Eliminate the Target.

At the top of the spire 9S takes in the view of the entire city, the wind rushing through his hair. It’s breathtaking. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. The sky dyes the entire urban sprawl red, as well as the mountains on the horizon. His pulse races as he drinks in the terrifying awe of what the ancient humans were capable of, hoping to remember every last detail of the buildings, the streets, and the magnificent sculptures that litter the city. It’s all so well preserved that he feels as though a human might appear, walking down the cobblestone streets as if nothing were wrong. As if they didn’t go extinct.

Reluctantly he draws his attention away from the splendor of humanity’s ruins, and shakes away the creeping emptiness that comes with that line of thought. He can’t think about that now. He and 2B are stranded. 9S produces a holographic terminal that mirrors Pod 153’s settings menu. Pod’s diagnostics on his end show buildup of foreign material in and around certain receivers, something that 9S expects, but that is only part of the problem. It seems that the atmosphere in this place is clogged with various chemicals and particles that make satellite transmissions more difficult. Considering all of the decaying metal and stone it’s no wonder that there’s so much particulate in the air. Once Pod’s receivers are clear 9S has Pod 153 hover just above the spire’s tip. It stays suspended in the air, the small light on the top of its body turning on and off at regular intervals.

“Connection established.” Pod 153 announces moments later. “Proposal: Contact the Bunker for support.”

“Great! Set up a relay connection for Pod 042 as well.”

“Affirmative.”

9S opens a data screen laden with information and begins composing his message to Operator 21O. With an unreliable connection a live call would be too risky, a simple text based message won’t be distorted or cut out. He records a brief message, attaches a transcription of his words, and sends it to the Bunker. Hopefully 21O would send something quickly-

A flash of movement in the streets below catches his eye. Something running on all fours... “Pod… run a scan for machine lifeforms…” He says, a chill creeping up his spine.

Pod 153 floats down to his side. “Alert: Multiple machine lifeforms detected. Proposal: Regroup with Unit 2B.”

“But-”

That thing didn’t look like a machine…

“Alert: Anomalous signal detect-”

Pod 153’s words are drowned by a horrific, mournful howl that reverberates through the entire building. 9S clings to the ornate decorations on the spire and covers his ears with his free hand. His body runs cold. He’s never heard a sound like that before. Nothing the machines make comes close to that. The pain and sorrow in that noise is something that no animal could produce either. That left only one possibility…

Another roar wracks the building from within…

2B clutches the sides of her head, the data screen long dismissed.

No…

Her chest strains under her panicked breaths.

No.

She hadn’t been watching him. She hadn’t been keeping track of his questions and behavior…

No… No.

And now she…

No no no no no .

She has to…

no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no.

NO.

She will not do this. Not again.

Her skin feels… tight.

She will fight off every single goddamn android Command sends until there are none left but her and him. She will not be a part of this cycle again. Her hands curl into fists as a surge rushes through her body, alighting her nerves with energy. With power.

A shadow moves across the stone floor of the castle of worship. The entity, its form inky black, its sigil emitting a baleful purple light, glides towards her. It bathes her in the highly saturated light, a light not even shielding her eyes can diffuse. It bores into her core, it peers into her mind. It speaks into her mind.

“You will not allow this to happen.” Its voice echoes off the hollow shell of where humans once sought God. “But strength comes at a price, little doll.”

The entity plunges its claws into her chest. Heat explodes throughout her body to the point where she fears she might self-destruct. The boiling tendrils of this ethereal monster sink into her artificial heart and her Black Box. Something activates, or… unlocks, and suddenly she feels… confined. Her body… it’s too small….

“Time to pay the toll…”

It rips its claws, now writhing shadow-like whips, out of her chest, then vanishes. 2B’s vision is obscured, but not by warnings and error messages, by blood. Red veins pulse on the edges of her sight in time with her heart. Each beat sends waves of heat, electricity, and agony through her body.

“Stand, little doll. Stand, and unleash your beasthood.”

A scream forms in 2B’s throat, but it cannot break through her swelling throat and gritted teeth. She takes frantic, shallow breaths. Her limbs shake, her fingernails dig into the stonework floor. It’s so hot…

2B rolls onto the floor and rips away her tight uniform. Far too tight. Parts of her dress were already beginning to tear as her muscles swell. Blood trickles from various wounds where her skin has split, revealing the thick, synthetic muscle cords that lie beneath. Her blindfold is next, but removing it does not help her vision. One eye is unfocused, blurring all of her vision.

She drags her fingernails across her body and lets out a deep, animal snarl when she tears into her own flesh. Looking down at her hands, she recoils at the sight of long, black claws that split her fingers down the center. Skin falls from them in long strips to the point where the mechanical joints of her hands are exposed.

Something snaps inside her, somewhere in her upper back. She howls in agony, in sorrow, as her spine lengthens, twists, and grows too fast for her body to maintain. Her insides are compacted and grind against each other, sending sickening vibrations throughout her. Her throat finally opens up, allowing her to breathe. She watches as puffs of steam escape her mouth into the warm twilight air.

Another crack and something explodes out of her lower back. Her balance is thrown off and she falls forward, smashing her face into stone. Another snarl, this one combined with the gnashing of fangs. Her mouth warps, splitting out of her face into a muzzle. Eyes follow, one swelling to fit its now spacious socket while the other stunts and refuses to change. She claws at the peeling skin of whatever she can reach, spilling more of her blood in the process. Everything hurts, everything itches, but oh god the power feels so good.

A growth springs from above her unchanged eye, weighing her head down and hunching her body over. She supports herself with one enormous hand, the other scooping the wires and tubing that spills out of her torn stomach and forcing them back inside her abdominal cavity. The twisting extension of her spine, a tail, thuds against the floor and counters the weight of her head.

2B shakes the mane of bloodied, white hair from her functioning eye, turns her head to the sky, and roars.

#nier automata #2B #9S #2B9S #fanfiction #nier fanfiction #Tanks fics

10 notes · View notes

aphdb · 3 years

Text

demon au, Arthur is a millenia years old receptionist for hell. He sees a lot coming in through the gates, and is generally apathetic to it all. He has stacks upon stacks of paperwork, a near absurd amount, littered all across his work place.

3 notes · View notes

ddaenggtan · 5 years

Text

from eden | myg + jhs

you've been in the dark a long time, overworked and exhausted. the only bright point is your gatekeeper, hoseok, your closest friend and the man you love but can't have. you've accepted that loneliness is inevitable for you. when a voice calls to you, though, and moves you so deeply that you rip open the earth to help them, you meet a mint-haired boy that changes everything you thought you knew about your prison. | monsters and gods pt 1 (masterlist)

pairing | yoongi x reader x hoseok

genre/warnings | greek god au, hades!reader, thanatos!hoseok, persephone!yoongi, fluff, angst, smut, mild depictions of violence, mentions of blood (well, blood equivalent, bc gods), pining, depictions of abusive parenting, v v brief panic attack (seriously, I don’t go into a ton of detail, but it’s enough, pls don’t read this if that triggers you at all), love triangle (kind of), polyamory, , mutual masturbation, oral (female receiving), face-sitting, fingering, dick-riding, double penetration, unprotected sex (gods can't get sti's but u can! Wrap it b4 u tap it!), creampie, everyone hates Zeus but what's new, demeter sucks and is the literal worst

word count | 15.6k | cross posted to ao3 monsters and gods masterlis

a/n | hello! i’ve renamed this fic at least ten times, but it’s here!! the first part of monsters and gods!!! i keep seeing hades!yoongi (who i LOVE, don’t get me wrong, seriously you should check out @/seokoloqy’s hades yoongi fics because they’re PHENOM) and while I love hades yoongs, I also keep seeing him in flower crowns and being soft and sweet and, as we know by now, I am ultimately a slut for soft bangtan. so this happened. and then i thought ‘wow this mc is dark af i need some contrast here’ and that’s how thanatos hobi happened, also i couldn’t stop thinking of his Judgement Face, which is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and how fast he switches between that and his smile, plus.....sope, I mean. c’mon. sope. and then it all kinda spiraled into a whole series of fics, only one other of which is even started tho its close to being finished whoops lmao so yeah!!!! pls tell me what u think, i’m not used to writing angst at all, so it may not be suuuuuuper prevalent in this, but i tried!!! also i really recommend listening to hozier while you read it bc i had his first album on repeat while writing it and from eden fits this pretty well imo!!!

It's dark when you open your eyes. You've spent so long down here, you're used to it, but the shadows always seem to make the air colder than it should be. Though you suppose the land of the dead isn't supposed to be warm.

You stretch and wince at the crick in your spine. Another night sitting at your desk, greek fire burning through the hours so that you can scratch away at the papers in front of you. Your siblings always enjoy doing whatever they want, using mortals and throwing them away however they please, cleaning up after each other whenever they can spare the time.

No one ever seems to think about you, nor do they remember the chaos up top only worsens your constant migraines.

No, instead they start their wars and slaughter their enemies and are absolutely oblivious about the fact that the Meadow is at 80% capacity as it is, with more souls arriving each day. Thanatos did well at his job, as did Charon, and you were always sure to be thankful to them, but you wish, not for the first time, that there was someone - anyone - to help with your work.

Your brothers have the naiads, the winds, and the lesser gods to help them with their oceans and skies. Gods of vengeance and retribution help with war, while the fertility goddesses and the muses aid the lovelorn.

And yet here you are, still alone after all these years. Millenia, you've been stuck down here, forced to live out your days in the cold darkness and manage the dead mortals. You've always been introverted, even before you drew lots with your siblings, but never like this. You've tried to leave, of course; at first making short visits to Olympus or the mortal realm, just to speak to another living soul again, someone else who understands what it's like to be trapped in your own life. It seems like every time you came back, though, the underworld had gotten smaller and smaller, nearly suffocating you in an attempt to keep its claws in your skin. And then, of course, came the curse.

You haven't felt the sun on your skin in nearly a thousand years, and while you've always been one for the shade, you miss it. You miss the smell of the flowers in the temples, you miss the sound of the river as it babbles past, you want to feel the warm summer breeze ruffle your hair as you stand in the middle of a marketplace. You're tired of the Fields, you're bored of walking the streets of Elysium with the weight of their stares at your back, sick of standing at the steps to the Isles and wondering if it is, truly, euphoric and if any mortal would ever find out. You don't wear your sandals around the palace anymore; you don't want to hear the footsteps echo. It's just a reminder that you are, truly, alone.

Even the other deities in the Underworld have stopped calling on you. The aura that surrounds you is enough to wilt most any plant, unnerve most every animal, and the gods are no exception. The only exceptions are Hecate, who makes it her personal mission to bribe you into visiting the Meadow if only for a moment, and Thanatos when he can slip away for longer than a moment to distract you from your work. They rarely succeed, but it's the thought that counts, you suppose.

You muse on this as you walk, bare feet skimming lightly over the soil of the Meadow as you make your way to the Gates. You could probably just shadow-walk, if you wanted, you do enjoy giving your Thanatos a fright, but you figure the walk would do you good. There’s no one to bother you as go, thankfully. The dead wander aimlessly around you. There's no acknowledgment as you pass; there's never any recognition of anything in the Meadow, the price mortals pay for being so utterly inconsequential and mundane.

You smile when you see that your friend is busy, and you give a silent command to Cerberus not to alert the man to your presence. The dog whines a little, but sits back on his haunches, shaking the ground as he does so. You're silent as you move up behind the judge.

"You wanted me to tell you my judgment and I have," Hoseok says firmly. "You could have gone straight to the Asphodel Meadow and existed in relative peace for eternity, and instead you request a hearing, and then have the gall to question my decision?" You grimace slightly; perhaps putting Hoseok in charge of judging the souls was not the best idea, but he has yet to be wrong about someone.

"Please, sir," The mortal whimpers. He's on his knees, suit crumpled and dirty where he sits. "I was only doing what I thought was best, please, surely that matters."

"You used children!" Hoseok says in shock. "As slaves! It's 2019 and you had nearly a hundred seven-year-olds sewing clothes together in a cramped warehouse with one bathroom. You seriously expect me to give you leniency because you thought that was best?"

"Their families would have starved without that money," The mortal says. He's on the verge of tears, which has always made you uncomfortable, so you stay hidden for now. "I kept them all fed and safe, didn't I? What would they have done without me? Gone to work in some factory, with dangerous machines and cruel managers, whipped every time they needed to eat?"

"You used children as nearly free labor, barely allowed them time to piss, fed them once every twelve hours, and you expect that to be okay because they could’ve had it worse," Hoseok says. Disgust drips from his voice and you’re inclined to agree with the sentiment. "I respect your opinion, but you are to be punished for your deeds fittingly." Hoseok snaps and two of the Bones come over. These two are in desert camo, one barely tall enough to be an adult judging by the skeletal build, but their grip is unforgiving as they cart the mortal off to the Fields. You don’t even need to mold together a punishment for him; the warehouse you sent others who’d done the same wasn’t quite crowded enough yet.

"Well, that was fun," You call, and delight at the way Hoseok jumps nearly a foot in the air. He glares at you as he turns and you don't bother to hide the smirk on your face. "Child slavery, huh? In this day and age?"

Hoseok tsks. "I know we used to allow some crazy shit back in the old days, but you'd think that people would know better by now. Using children like that, kids…” He trails off, still fuming, and you nod.

“I know.” You pull a piece of lint off his suit with a wrinkle of your nose. “You made the right decision if it helps.”

“I know I did,” He says with a smirk. “I always do.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, watching the lines of souls head through the gates to their eternal blandness. It's the best way to hide the flush he brings to your cheeks. “What brings you out here, though? Aren’t you supposed to be doing something important?”

“Don’t I wish,” You mutter. “All I’ve got to do is figure out how to expand the realm again without Zeus’ approval.”

“Wait, he didn’t approve the expansion?” You shake your head and step closer to where Cerberus is laying, all three heads focused entirely on you as you rub his middle nose. “Where does he think we’re going to put all of the souls, up your ass?”

“Clearly,” You spit.

“I know it’s not exactly great down here and that they would all rather be thrown into the Pit than visit, but they need to sometimes. If only to see what it’s like. I mean, honestly, what do they expect us to do, just toss everyone in the Meadow and call it a day until there are so many that they’re tripping into Elysium? What the f-”

“Thanatos,” You say quietly, and Hoseok stops. It’s not often that you call him by his title rather than his name, preferring the familiarity of his friendship over the detachment of your positions. “Even here, the gods have ears. You know better than to criticize them like that.”

He huffs but nods his head. You press a kiss to Cerb’s middle nose and coo at him until he starts wagging his tail. When you turn back around, Hoseok is stumbling to keep his balance on the shaking ground. You laugh, which he does not appreciate, but before he can say anything in his defense, another soul is escorted to him by a Bones. The guy is already pleading with Hoseok, who’s returned to the stony mask he usually wears. The silver aura that surrounds him always brings you comfort, reminding you of the moonlight that bathes the surface world, but it has turned colder and is as deadly as mercury. You envy the way he can switch back and forth between his professional mask and the bright, loving man you know; if only it were that easy for you. Without so much as a wave, you weave the shadows around you once more, ignoring the soul's cries to you for mercy, and let yourself disappear into the darkness.

When you emerge from the shadows, you settle at the base of your garden tree. The only living thing that would grow down here, the sole reminder of the world above. Its branches show that it should be close to the harvest soon, maybe a month away at the most. You reach up, weaving through the darkness to pluck a pomegranate from the tree. You don't even like pomegranates anymore, you think as you inspect it. Ripe, juicy, and utterly disgusting; the gods' idea of a joke. The thing that brought about your isolation, your solitude, yet it continues to be the only thing that grows in this wasteland.

You laugh bitterly before tossing the fruit up in the air, letting it fly through the shadows to land beside Hoseok, whatever he's doing. He always appreciates your little gifts, the only real thing you can do to show that you aren't cross with him and are glad for the work he does. He's long been stuck here with you, but the fruit doesn't turn to bile on his tongue the way it does yours. Perhaps the willingness he had that first time made a difference.

Please.

You glance around, looking for the voice that suddenly echoes around you. It's soft, a memory of a whisper. It's not rare for you to hear the voices of the dead in your realm, but this is different. This one strikes you to your core, for this…

This one sounds hopeful.

The prayers that make their way to you are never hopeful. They are sad or angry or scared, always filled with tears and regret and more than a little hesitancy, but never do they have any shred of hope in them.

You stand, eyes narrowed as you look through the darkness for whatever soul may be calling to you.

Please. I don't want to go back. Don't let her take me.

Without thinking, you reach into the shadows. The blackness swirls around your fingers, unsure where you're trying to go. You don't know yourself, and you wish you did. You aren't sure why you're doing this; you rarely answer prayers, least of all the ones that don't mention you specifically, but something in this voice calls to you. It resonates in your chest, shakes your very being because you remember that feeling. You remember the way it felt to be free, standing in the sun and clawing at the earth as Gaia dragged you back down to your post, tears mixing with the dirt as you pleaded, begged her not to take you back down there.

With a jerk, you pull the shadows apart, and the ground quakes above you. You watch, anxiety pooling in your gut, and it's only the intensity of your focus that lets you see it: a figure, falling limply through the earth that you've opened. The string of curses you let out would make even Ares blush, and it's with a rush you haven't felt in millennia that you weave the shadows together into a net and toss it upwards. The figure falls into it with ease, shadows wrapping around the body to glide gently downwards until they can deposit the person with ease at the roots of your tree.

Your breath catches in your throat as the darkness recedes, revealing soft mint hair with flowers woven into it, pale green robes that are sliced nearly in half at the back and caked with mud. The man is beautiful and soft and bright, every inch the antithesis to your own black and grey clothes. You hesitate to even look at him, too afraid of dulling that sun-kissed skin with the death you carry on your fingertips.

His brow furrows and he winces, though his eyes remain closed. You blink owlishly before guiding the shadows around him once more; when you're sure he's secure, you pull him along behind you until you reach the only spare room you have in the palace. You situate him on the bed there, fluffing pillows and smoothing blankets until you can almost pretend he fell asleep there of his own accord. With pursed lips, you assign three of your Bones to watch him; one just inside the door and two outside of it, just in case whatever he was running from attempts to come for him.

You don't want to leave him, but you have work to do, and the land of the dead cannot rule itself.

It's dark when he opens his eyes. There is Greek fire in the corner, and shadows dancing on the walls around it, but he cannot make out much else. When he sits up and slides his feet off what feels like a bed, he hisses. The marble is cold and unforgiving against the bare skin of his feet and he doesn't know of any feeling like it. He's too accustomed to the dirt and grass from his mother's domain, and even the white marble of Olympus was warm to the touch. This is different. Alarming. New.

He eventually works up the nerve to stand fully. Looking around, he doesn't see any kind of light sources other than the brazier in the corner, so he grips one of the coals in his palm and uses that bit of light to find the door. The fire tingles against his skin, but he's long since grown used to holding fire in his palms for his mother. The warmth is comforting for a brief moment before the image of his mother flashes through his mind. He flinches at the memory of her face, twisted with wrath, and the stone drops out of his grip before he can catch it.

The marble of the wall is cool against his back as he slides to the ground, knees brought up to his chest and his eyes screwed shut against the darkness. There's a vice around his chest and he can't breathe and he can't see and he doesn't have any idea where he is or if he's even alive or if she's stuffed him somewhere he'll never be able to escape and the thought makes his head spin as the air catches in his throat and gods don't even truly need to breathe and yet he can feel the cold claws of death tighten around his throat and all he can see in his final moments is the horrifying face of his mother's anger and he can feel the vines and roots around his ankles once more and-

"Who the hell are you?"

He looks up, pushing the sweat-covered hair out of his eyes. There's a man, in the darkness, who exudes a faint silver light around him that illuminates the walls and black marble floor. The man doesn't seem angry that he's there, or even all that surprised; just curiously resigned. There are so many questions on the tip of his tongue, so much he wants - needs - to know but only one makes it past the rock lodged in his windpipe.

"Am I dead?"

The man frowns and shakes his head. "I seriously doubt it, since you didn't cross the river." The man looks him over, taking in the flushed skin and sweat beads and the purple robes he donned the moment he decided to run and seems to decide something. He crouches down so he's eye level, poised on the balls of his feet with his elbows on his knees, and even in a full suit, he looks impeccably put-together. "I'm Thanatos. You can call me Hoseok. If you'll let me, I'd like to take you to someone who probably has a better idea of what you're doing here." All he can do is nod, and Hoseok extends a hand, which he uses to bring himself to a shaky stand.

"I'm Yoongi," He says, hesitant and quiet. "Um, I'm Kore. Or, Persephone. Either one."

"I think I'll stick with Yoongi," Hoseok says. His smile lights the hallway that Yoongi stands in, and it eases something inside him, though he isn't sure what. Hoseok doesn't let go of his hand as he guides Yoongi through the corridors, and talks to him the entire time. He speaks of his duties there, souls he's judged that day, ones he wished he could do more for, comforts Yoongi when a walking skeleton in Roman armor passes him and explains that those are the security force of the palace. By the time they make it to a large room, lit on each side with braziers of Greek fire that give the room an eerie glow, Yoongi has a fairly good idea of where he is, and who Hoseok is taking him to see.

The large ebony throne at the end of the room and the black-robed figure sitting atop it only confirms his fears.

When Hoseok enters the throne room, you're only slightly surprised. It wasn't entirely uncommon for him to take a break from his judicial duties, and so long as there were plenty of Bones to watch the gates, you had no issues. Years would sometimes pass before Hoseok needed to return, relieving the judgment council once more and returning them to their own afterlives.

To see him shadowed by the mint-haired boy you pulled through the earth, however, is a shock.

You set the papers you'd been writing at to the side. Your robes, woven from shadows and dipped in the Styx, swirl around your bare feet as you move to sit correctly with your back straight instead of lounging as you'd been doing before. The darkness you’d brought forth to cushion your chair, plump and fat and soft underneath you, shifts as well, keeping the hard edge of the marble from digging into your skin. Hoseok stifles a smile at the sight and you narrow your eyes at him. You wish he'd say something about it, the punk.

"What can I do for you, Hoseok?" You eventually ask as he and his companion reach the steps just below your throne. Even now, you can barely bring your eyes away from the boy behind him; he's radiant, the light in the room seemingly drawn to him despite the way he's slouched into himself.

"I was just wondering if you knew how this young man came to be in the underworld, my lady," Hoseok says. Your eyes dart back to him and you can't help the way your heart softens at the soft silver shine around him. You look to the mint-haired god again; his eyes dart around nervously as if he expects something to jump out at him, and he's close enough to Hoseok that if the other were to step back, they'd both likely fall to the floor.

You lean forward in your throne, doing your best to project a calm and friendly air to the shorter of the two gods. "Do you not remember?" You ask quietly. Your eyes don't leave his big brown ones, and you can see the moment the panic sets in. "It's fine, you don't need to answer me. Just know that you're safe here."

"Yoongi?" Hoseok says quietly, drawing the boy's attention. "Hey, it's alright. We're not gonna let anything happen." It takes several minutes but eventually the boy - Yoongi, apparently - nods. He hasn't relaxed at all, but he doesn't seem like he's about to bolt out of your throne room, so you consider it a success.

"You were praying," You tell him softly. "You asked for my help, so I gave it, as best I could. I don't think you meant for your words to reach me, but they did." Yoongi frowns ever so slightly as he takes in the knowledge. There's a hint of anxiety in his face, his brow furrowed adorably, but he doesn't startle when Hoseok rests a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, though, and the two of them seem to have a silent conversation. Something settles in your stomach, seeing the ease with which Hoseok interacts with him, and you swallow down the lump in your throat. It's ridiculous to feel anything like this; Hoseok is your subordinate and friend, and you've hardly known Yoongi for five minutes.

"He can stay here, right?" Hoseok asks. You look to Yoongi, wondering if he even wants to stay, if he even wants to be here at all or if he wished someone else had answered his prayers. Hoseok calls your name softly and your gaze flicks to him. "Can he stay?"

You find that you're debating with yourself. Yoongi clearly doesn't belong here; he is soft and sweet and gentle and completely at odds with the harsh, depressive atmosphere that lingers in your palace. He looks terrified even now as he takes in the room, eyes lingering on the bones that were fused together to make your throne. And yet...you cannot escape the fear and hope that had echoed in his prayer, the sheer desperation that someone would help him. He had been running and terrified, which could only mean that he was being chased by something or someone, and you couldn't force him out if he was in danger.

"If you would like to stay," You say after a moment too long, "Then you are, of course, more than welcome to do so." You rise from your throne, shadows dissipating as you do, and take a couple of tentative steps toward the pair. He doesn't shrink back in fear, which you take as a good sign. "The guest quarters will be yours to do with as you please. Hoseok can show you around the palace and grounds, so you don't get lost, and the Bones can bring you anything you require." You move to press a hand to Hoseok's arm, and you level him with a careful look.

"Of course, my lady," Hoseok says. He turns to Yoongi with a radiant smile. "And you can leave whenever you'd like."

"Of course," You agree quickly. "Hoseok can take you back and forth across the river as you wish. Charon can be quite fussy about it." Several times, your guests have been stuck on the wrong side of the river until someone brought your ferryman his payment. Yoongi looks slightly less terrified, and in the emerald glow of the fires, you notice how wide his eyes are. "Oh! You're from the surface, of course, I forgot."

With a snap of your fingers, the sconces along the walls light themselves, and the candles ringing the large chandelier in the center of your throne room surge to life as well. Yoongi startles a little, stepping closer to Hoseok.

"Ah, I forget you surfacers can't see as well down here," Hoseok mutters. "We'll get you a candlestick as well, just in case." He nods to you, Yoongi copying him in a most adorable way. They're halfway out of the room when a thought occurs to you.

"Yoongi?" You call after him. He turns, and the green halo around him makes your heart falter. "Don't eat the pomegranates. Not even the seeds." His brow furrows in confusion but he gives a hesitant nod before he turns and hurries after Hoseok.

As much as your chest aches for him, you won't subject him to this life. You watch him go and wonder how long he'll last in this hellscape.

When their shadows have long disappeared from the walls, you turn and retake your seat on the throne. With a wave, a small team of Bones appears in front of you - the same uniforms, with the same unit numbers, stamped on their dog tags, and the same haunted look where their eyes once were - and you do a quick count. Ten should do fine for what you need.

"Scour the earth. Do not speak to anyone. Find out what he was running from, and if it still searches for him. Don't let anyone see you, and don't let anyone know why you're looking. Return if you're in danger. Report to me immediately." They salute, and you watch their forms slowly disappear, becoming more and more transparent until they glide upwards and through the cracks in the ceiling.

You sit back and wonder how long it will take for you to get answers, and if it will be before or after Yoongi realizes he's too good for this place.

Yoongi is quiet. That's the first thing Hoseok notices about him. He doesn't initiate conversation, really, instead content to listen to Hoseok talk about the various souls he's judged and the occasional escape attempts someone has made. At first, when Yoongi speaks, he's quiet, like he doesn't really want - or expect - to be heard, and he always looks pleasantly surprised when Hoseok answers his question or responds to his comments.

It makes his heart ache, and he wonders what exactly Yoongi has gone through to make him so shocked that anyone would actually listen to what he has to say. It takes weeks for him to warm enough to Hoseok to start speaking more often, to ask questions about his day, to actually request specific things. The day Yoongi asked Hoseok, soft and hesitant, if he could show him the Meadow and the tree, Hoseok almost cried. Yoongi was so obviously ready to be told no, fully expectant for Hoseok to decline such a simple request, and it only reinforced Hoseok's need to give the god everything he could ever want.

"What are you doing, Yoongi?" Hoseok asks when he looks up. They're at the gates, Hoseok in the usual position, eyes roving over the lines of souls slowly shuffling forward, and Yoongi sitting nearby. Cerberus is curled up behind him, dwarfing the god with his massive body, all three heads snoring and slobbering as they sleep haphazardly on top of each other. Yoongi glances up at Hoseok as he grabs another flower from the basket beside him.

"I'm making Cerb some flower crowns," Yoongi answers as if it was obvious. Hoseok frowns.

"Flower crowns?" He echoes. "What's a flower crown?"

Yoongi gives him a disbelieving stare. "It's a bath salt. What the fuck do you think it is, Hobi? It's a crown made of flowers." Hoseok is caught off guard by the sarcasm, as he has been every time Yoongi has spouted off some kind of sass to him. He strides over and crouches beside the mint god to watch him.

Yoongi's fingers are sure and steady as he weaves the stems of the flowers together. It's already half-dozen, Hoseok thinks, the crocus blossoms blending together prettily and not straying in the slightest from where he places them. Hoseok hasn't ever seen anything like it, and he's entranced by the way Yoongi's fingers move and the way the flowers seem to just do whatever he wants without much coaxing on his part.

"I had the Bones bring me back a basket from their last excursion," Yoongi says. "Since none grow here." He stops with one last crocus and eyes it critically before apparently deciding it was good enough. Hoseok can't take his eyes off the thing, enraptured even as Yoongi sets it gently on his head. Hoseok can feel his eyes widen and his cheeks flush red.

"Thanks," He says after a second, one hand darting up to steady the crown as he shifts his weight. He smiles, unable to help himself and poses. "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

"Ugh, you wish," Yoongi says. Hoseok can see the smile in his eyes and is satisfied with the mirth threatening to bubble past Yoongi's lips.

"Y'know," Hoseok says after a while, hands in his pockets as he watches Yoongi make the second crown for Cerb. "I bet if you planted some seeds near the pomegranate tree, they'd grow." Yoongi's hands stop moving, his eyes drifting up to look past Hoseok. Something similar to excitement hides behind his eyes, and Hoseok wants nothing more than to bring it out to shine. Yoongi cocks a brow as if to say 'really' and Hoseok nods.

The gummy smile he gets in return, full of hope and light that the underworld hasn't ever seen before, is well worth the potential scolding you may give him for suggesting Yoongi fiddle with the tree's courtyard. And the way he keeps the flower crown nearby, hanging off a hook on the gates long after the blossoms have wilted and died, is worth the shy smile Yoongi gets every time he sees it.

You don't see Yoongi for the first few weeks he's there. Not really. You catch glimpses when he passes through the palace halls with Hoseok, and he sits with Cerberus while you visit Hoseok at the gates, but he makes no effort to seek you out, and you respect that distance. You can't bring yourself to force your company on him. You're an acquired taste; Hoseok has been in this realm for so long that he's accustomed to the darkness that follows you, the aura of death and despair that usually surrounds you. He's been surrounded by the dead almost as long as you have, so you know he can't be affected by it. Yoongi, though…

Yoongi is life. He's the springtime blossoms in a summer breeze, he's the sound of birds chirping in the treetops, he's vibrant and fresh and lovely and you cannot ruin that. You can't watch him wither away like a winter garden, you can't watch the color drain from his skin until he's just as much a ghost as the souls that wander the Meadow, you can't let him become just as dead as everything else in this cursed place.

So you leave him be. You offer curt nods when you see him with Hoseok and polite waves because giving any more of yourself to him without letting yourself get closer would be too dangerous. Even with the distance you keep, your chest tightens with every smile that graces his lips, you ache to hear his voice even just once, and it's too much. It's too much for someone you haven't even had a real conversation with. Someone who looks at you with apprehension and anxiety, yet brings undeniable joy to the man you've always held in your heart.

It's too much for you to feel like this for someone who makes Hoseok smile as if he's seeing sunlight for the first time in thousands of years. You love Hoseok too much to stand anywhere near them.

You've been avoiding both of them for days. You can't bear to see Yoongi's gummy smile and Hoseok's adorable dimples as they gaze at each other, and you're busy enough to make a decent excuse for it. Expansion isn't difficult, but keeping it quiet is. Plus you've been on the hunt to figure out what had been after Yoongi with such ferocity that it sliced right through his robes and had him praying to anyone who would listen.

You had a few helpful leads, but nothing concrete, and it was more than a little frustrating. Which is why you find yourself stepping out of the shadows of the pomegranate tree, hopeful that it could help to ease even just part of the emotions rolling in your gut.

The sight of Yoongi surprises you, even more so when you see that he's on his knees beside the tree with dirt covering his hands and a smidge of something on his cheek. He looks absolutely wondrous, like everything you've been missing from the world above, and it would bring tears to your eyes if you let it because he's so far out of your reach.

"Hi," You say after a long debate with yourself. Yoongi's head shoots up and he fixes wide eyes on you. He reminds you of the ones who come to you with no memory of what's happened to them, scared and alone and about to get the worst news of their lives. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," He says immediately. "I didn't mean to, not really. You just said not to eat them, and I'm not, so I thought it would be okay. Hobi suggested it and you two are so close that I figured he'd know if you'd be upset."

"I'm not upset." Your voice is as gentle as you can make it. "I'm just curious. Hoseok didn't mention anything to me, and no one really comes here."

"Oh." The relief is palpable as it courses through him, and he looks back down at the ground in front of him. "I'm just planting some flowers so I can make more crowns for Hobi and Cerb. The others died so fast, and I don't want to keep sending the Bones out to get more if I don't have to."

"Oh, you made the flower crown for Hoseok?" You'd figured as much. No one else in the underworld knew how to make them, and Yoongi was the only consistently around him. "He showed me that, it was gorgeous."

"Obviously, it was made by me, after all," Yoongi spouts. You gape at him, and he gives you a contrite grimace. "I'm sorry, my lady Hades, I forgot who I was with for a moment. It won't happen again."

"It should," You say before you can stop yourself. He glances at you curiously. "I don't mind if you're relaxed and casual around me. I've never been one to enforce the rules that Olympus has. Hoseok is proof enough of that. And you can use my name, I don't mind."

The way he whispers your name, almost as if he's practicing it to himself, makes your heart flutter in your chest. It's so dangerous to be around him like this, relaxed and casual; it's so easy to forget that it's Hoseok that gets this, that deserves this small piece of sunshine.

"Well," Yoongi eventually says. "In that case, you can get to work. I've got an entire basket of seeds left to plant around this thing, and I can only work so fast. Plus I'm getting hungry."

"Oh. Okay, show me what to do." You don't hesitate to mirror his position, robes bunching under your knees in the dirt as he points at the small holes he's carved out of the dirt with the trowel and rake the Bones nabbed for him.

Yoongi is patient, you learn. Not extremely so, but he walks you through what you need to do with clear directions. The seeds are small in your hands, which amuses you to no end, and there's an odd delight in packing the soil around them and dripping water down onto them after. You're smiling for the first time in...you don't know how long, and the feeling of Yoongi's hands around yours as he shows you how to use the trowel is something akin to paradise.

His hands are rough; calloused and weathered and wonderful against the softness of your own. You start to talk freely to him, asking him about each seed you plant and what they are and how they look. He tells you about each one, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. He rolls his eyes at every joke you make, despite the way he smiles, and hits back with several quips of his own. He listens as you tell him, voice shaking, about the pomegranate tree, and how it curses anyone who eats its fruit to stay trapped in the underworld forevermore. He talks and listens and jokes and laughs and it's only after you've made a particularly ridiculous joke that you realize your mistake.

"You've spent too much time around Hobi," Yoongi says. "He made the same joke yesterday." He's looking down at the last few seeds, plotting where in the courtyard to put them, and doesn't see the way the smile dies on your face. You'd forgotten. For a brief time, you'd forgotten that this is just pretending.

You don't get to keep this. You don't get to stay here, in this courtyard, with Yoongi and his rough hands and the mint hair that falls in his eyes and his gummy smile. This isn't yours. You don't get flower crowns and jokes and soft kisses, no matter how much you want them, just like you don't get Hoseok's bright grin or his dimples or his long fingers intertwined with yours. Your heart aches for these two beautiful boys, both of them everything you could ever want in so many different ways. And yet you have neither of them, you don't get either of them. They are each other's, and there is no room there for the death you bring in your wake. You kill everything you touch; the mortals whisper about the cold grip of your hands on their neck as they pass over.

You look back over the seeds you've helped Yoongi plant and wonder how many you've killed before they even lived.

You stand and brush the dirt off your robes. "Well," You say, careful to keep your voice level. "I've got some things to do. I trust you'll be alright on your own." You can't bring yourself to look at Yoongi, can't bear to see the dirt that smudged along his cheek, can't stand to see the way the orange robes drape along him and remind you of the way the autumn leaves looked coating the grass in the meadows.

He doesn't even get a response out before you flee, but you feel his eyes on your back long after you've hidden in the shadows and sunk down onto your bed.

It's astounding, you think as you rinse the dirt off your hands later, how a single afternoon planting seeds with someone can be so detrimental to the walls you'd put around your heart. Tears blur your vision and your fingers are trembling, but you keep scrubbing until the phantom slide of his hands against yours is gone and there is no more evidence of the planting you'd done. When you finally stop, your skin is raw and throbbing, and there are tears running down your face.

You had long accepted that Hoseok could never be yours. You were in two different positions, and he was much too bright to want to be with someone like you. Your shadows would have suffocated him, so you resigned yourself to being his friend. Friend is safe. Friend is good.

You’d known the same when you met Yoongi. Bright and colorful amidst the darkness of the underworld, you wouldn’t dare to get any closer to him, too familiar with the fluttering of your chest and the jumping in your stomach every time you saw him. Just being friendly was enough, ensuring he is safe and happy is fine with you.

But this? Watching the two of them grow closer and closer, able to love each other so wholly while you stand alone in your darkness, watching their bright smiles and soft looks, all directed only at each other, for eternity? This was too much for you to bear. Being hopelessly in love with one man you can’t have is bad enough, but two of them…

You wish for the first time that you were not immortal, but a meager human upon the surface, unaware and blissful in your ignorance.

He never expected this. Not from the moment he woke up, not when he was sprinting through a forest to escape his mother, not for a single heartbeat could he ever imagined everything that has happened to him since he arrived in this cold land.

He’s been alone for so long, hidden away in his mother’s garden with only the rare visit from Artemis or Hestia as he learned how to do anything and everything his mother wished. He’s never had friends before, he’s never had the subtle inside jokes that he shares with Hoseok, familiar enough that even just a quick glance can have them both bursting with laughter. He’s never known a goddess like you, able to weave together the darkness into something tangible, something useful, something real. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen, and Hoseok’s uncanny ability to bend the environment around him and use his silvery aura to turn almost invisible to the naked eye never ceases to amaze him. The two of you are so powerful, so utterly awe-inspiring, and every single thing his mother had told him is so far from the truth that it almost hurts.

Neither you nor Hoseok is standoffish, really; he can see the hesitant friendship in every smile you send his way, and Hoseok’s primary concern at any moment is making sure he’s happy and safe. It warms Yoongi in a way he could never explain, not even in a million years, simply because he’s never felt this way. In all the books he’s read, the plays he’s seen, every mortal he’s watched, he’s seen this.

He’s seen how they turn red with just a look, how their hearts stutter when hands brush, how they smile, soft and private when they think no one is looking at them. He’s seen this feeling, the bubbling in his chest that he gets every time Hoseok laces their fingers together while walking and the moment you step into the courtyard and see the kaleidoscope of colors that you helped plant. He never would have guessed that he would feel it, though, too isolated from the rest of the world until he came here. Until you pulled apart the earth itself to help him escape, without even knowing why or who he was.

The feeling grows inside of him, thorns pricking into his every breath because he knows it can’t last. He’s seen how you and Hoseok look at each other when you think no one is watching, can feel the pull between you and the years upon years of familiarity that lie between you. The two of you are closer than he could ever get, two sides of the same coin, and more suited to each other than he would ever be.

And he can’t stay.

That’s the worst part. He knows it, knows that she will find him before long and wrap her claws around his throat and drag him back into that gilded cage she calls a greenhouse just to leave him. It’s for the best, my dear, she’ll say, it’s to keep you safe.

Yoongi doesn’t want to be safe, though. He wants to be happy and free, and he’s found that place here, surrounded by death even as he carves out his own little area of life. With Hoseok’s warm grin across from him and your own cool fondness beside him. With flower crowns atop his head and Hoseok’s, and the small buds are woven into your own crown of bones and grief as a small reminder that even in death, there is life.

But she will find him. She always does. And though he cannot bear the thought of leaving you, he will, if only to keep you safe.

Yoongi's been there almost a year when you summon Hoseok to dine with you. By the time he gets to your office - a very understated term for the sprawling library - you're already sitting at your usual desk, food pushed aside and forgotten in lieu of the papers stacked in front of you. Even with your head bent low and bags under your eyes, you're the most beautiful person Hoseok has ever seen.

He remembers the first time he met you when Zeus had assigned him to be the gatekeeper for the underworld. You were so young, so skittish and worried that you were going to be a terrible ruler as if the dead could be disappointed in you. You'd been beautiful then, too, but not in the same way. You've grown into yourself since then; you're no longer afraid of being a bad queen. You know that you're competent and capable, you know you can do this, and you frequently prove wrong any Olympian who says otherwise. You're mature now; strong and confident and brilliant, and even with the bags under your eyes and the shadows that lick lovingly against your skin, you are absolutely radiant.

Hoseok is so in love with you that it physically hurts him, and every time he looks at you, he is reminded of how you are just out of his reach.

He clears his throat and you look up. The tired smile that graces your face warms him, and he settles into a chair on your left with practiced ease. This isn't the first time you've asked him to dine with you, and it won't be the last.

"What's the occasion?" He teases, delighting in the way you roll your eyes and gesture to the food and nectar that sits in front of him.

"How is Yoongi?" You ask. It doesn't escape him that you don't answer, but you always have your reasons, so he doesn't call you on it.

"Well. He wanders around on his own and doesn't seem to jump at the slightest sound anymore. He came with me the other day when I judged and managed to pick fifteen people for Elysium in a row." An expression passes over your face that he can't decipher. He continues anyway. "He still won't talk much about what happened, but he also doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry to leave. I imagine he'll get bored eventually, and we'll need to give Cerb extra treats when he does, but I'm not concerned just yet."

You nod and Hoseok starts to eat as you rifle through a few more papers. "You know he's Persephone?" You ask, and Hoseok nods. He'd forgotten to share that knowledge with you, but clearly, you had your own way of finding things out. "So then you're aware that his mother is Demeter."

Hoseok pauses for a minute. He swallows the food in his mouth and really looks at you for the first time since he sat down. The bags under your eyes are more prominent, and you're wearing your Hades expression. The one that stays professional and controlled and tells people nothing of your true thoughts. Well, people that haven't known you for more than a thousand years.

"Hoseok, he can't stay here forever," You eventually say. "She's been looking for him everywhere. The humans' crops are ruined, ice and snow have covered the earth, more people are dying than we can hold right now. She won't stop."

"And that means we kick him out?" Hoseok hisses. You close your eyes and he can feel the sigh you're holding back. "You said yourself that he could stay as long as he wants. You can't just rescind that because some wheat goddess is going on a rampage. We still don't know what he was running from, or if it's still out there, and I won't watch him-" He stops, frozen by the way you're pressing your tongue into the side of your cheek. It's the only tell you have and he rarely sees it, because you rarely keep things from him. "What do you know?"

You don't answer, and he repeats the question, louder this time, as he surges out of his chair.

"I was running from her," Yoongi's voice echoes through the library. You and Hoseok both turn to see him standing in the door, and Hoseok's heart swells at the sight. He's in soft, muted pink robes that Hoseok knows he made himself. His cheeks are rounder, and he's no longer curled in on himself. He looks stronger. Confident. Unafraid. "I was running from my mother. That's what you found out, right?" Hoseok looks to you, and the regret in your eyes just confirms it.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi, I was only trying to make sure you were safe, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," Yoongi says as he moves to run his hand along your cheek. "I know." He smiles at you. Hoseok looks between the two of you - Yoongi's hand resting lightly on your cheek and a soft smile on his lips while his eyes crinkle with rare happiness, your own eyes wide and full of what can only be described as pure, unadulterated love - and his stomach rolls violently. Even after all the time Hoseok has spent with you, and with Yoongi, and the times he's entered a room to find the two of you in comfortable silence, he never expected this. He should've, he realizes; the two of you are a perfect match, complementing each other to near perfection, each fault being smoothed over by the other's strengths.

How could he have thought you wouldn't fall in love with Yoongi? Soft, kind Yoongi, who had just enough snark inside of him to make every word out of his mouth an unexpected joy. Yoongi who braids flower crowns with the flowers he's started to grow in the courtyard, surrounding the pomegranate tree with the beautiful blooms. Yoongi, who encourages Hoseok to judge more and more souls, ones that don't request it, who can somehow pick the good people from the bad just by looking.

And how could he have ever expected Yoongi not to fall for you? Strong and intelligent, determined and kind. You who opened your home to him in his most vulnerable moment and never expected anything in return. You who did everything in your power to find what was chasing him, and find a way to stop it. You, with your lonely smile and your bare feet. You, who Hoseok himself has been in love with for tens of thousands of years.

How could he have expected either of you not to fall in love in the months that you have known each other when Hoseok couldn't even stop himself?

“I’ll go back to her,” Yoongi says softly, finally dropping his hand from your cheek and turning the radiant smile on Hoseok. “She’ll have no reason to continue this if I return.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Yoongi,” You say immediately. ““You were desperate to get away from her, and...what she almost did to you, that’s unacceptable.”

“Let her rage,” Hoseok agrees. “You’re safe here, no one can get to you without getting through the two of us first, not to mention Cerberus and the Bones. No nature goddess will last in this place, not with our full force around you.”

“Thank you, Hobi, but no. I can’t ask you both to do that, not when it could end so badly for you. You don’t know what she can do, it’s not-”

“You aren’t asking us,” You say. Your voice is as quiet as always, but there’s a firmness there that Hoseok recognizes. It’s usually saved for the throne room when some mortal has been particularly annoying or stubborn, and it’s a shock to see it directed at Yoongi. “We are offering. Let us protect you, Yoongi. At least let me speak with Zeus about this. I may be able to convince him to intervene.”

Yoongi hesitates, the indecision is written all over his face, and Hoseok leans to lace their fingers together. It’s a familiar gesture, done so often to prevent Yoongi from getting lost that it’s second nature at this point.

“Please,” Hoseok pleads when Yoongi looks at him. “Please, Yoongi.”

The reluctant nod is all the confirmation needed. You’re already scribbling out a summons for Hermes to carry to the lord of the gods, and Hoseok is halfway through the halls to reinforce the gates and ensure Cerberus knows his task. He tries not to think about the way Yoongi lingered behind, one hand on your shoulder as he watched you write and the other caressing the flower-riddled braids he’d made earlier that day.

He doesn’t think about it, because in the end, it doesn’t matter. Hoseok is so deeply in love with the two of you, so grossly enamored, that he would go to the end of time itself if it meant keeping the two of you safe and happy. Even if that meant watching you love each other and not him.

“What do you mean, he won’t help?”

You massage your temples without looking up from the letter Zeus had sent back with Hermes. He was, unsurprisingly, not helpful. Hoseok had appeared not long after the messenger had left, and is, also unsurprisingly, irate.

“According to him, he has no dog in this fight, because Yoongi isn’t his son, he’s Demeter’s, and if he were to get involved, he’d side with her since the humans are dying so quickly, which isn’t exactly good for worship numbers.”

“Are you kidding me? He seriously said he’d take her side in this?”

“Not in so many words, but yes. And I get it, Hobi. His job is to keep the peace between everyone in Olympus, and without actually coming here to give me an audience, all he has is Demeter’s side of the story.”

“Which is?”

“That I kidnapped her son and am currently holding him captive in a dungeon down here.”

“That’s absurd. He’s not captive at all, he’s happier here than he ever was up there, and you didn’t kidnap him!” You give a slight nod to show that yes, Hoseok, you’re aware of the truth. “Does he know what she does to him? How she treats him?”

“Hoseok, please,” You mutter. The weight of Zeus’ words is like a blade against your throat and you want nothing more than to help Yoongi. Clearly, the Fates have decided against that. “You know how he is. Do you honestly think he’d care? She has a claim to him, despite what he wants, and unless we find a way to get Zeus down here or go there ourselves, our lord won’t be able to hear any other side of this story.”

“Then we’ll...we’ll go there! We’ll make them listen! You could talk sense into him, make him see that he needs to help.”

“You know I can’t do that, Hobi.” Hoseok flinches, as if just remembering that you are as captive here as the souls you keep. You’re glad, not for the first time, that Death Itself cannot be contained, so that Hoseok, at least, is free to come and go as he pleases. “And before you say it, no, we can’t ask him to go. It isn’t safe. The second he sets foot outside this realm, she’ll pull him back. We’re lucky that he hasn’t already told her where Yoongi is.”

Your statement is punctuated with a muffled thud, and the anxiety that runs through you is mirrored in the look Hoseok gives you. Another thud echoes through the palace, the ground rumbling under your feet, and you stand.

“Where is he?” You ask, already pulling the shadows around you.

“Just past the gate, walking through the Meadow. If we hurry-”

“Go.” You disappear into the blackness, never more glad that Hoseok can sense the living in your land. When you step away from the shadows, Yoongi is there, confusion written across his face and fear in his eyes. “You have to run.”

“No,” He says. “I’m not going to keep running from her. I’m staying here, she can’t take me back.”

“Yoongi, please,” You beg. He’s too vulnerable here, too open, too easily seen with his spring green robes billowing around his feet and flowers woven into a crown atop his head. He takes your hands in his and pulls you close, and you’ve never seen a fire like this in him. It burns hot and strong and it makes your chest ache for what could have been.

“I won’t let her hurt you while I hide away like a coward,” He whispers. His thumb wipes away tears you didn’t know were there, and determination floods through you.

"Please, Yoongi. Let us help you. Let me help you. I-" The words choke in your throat, but Yoongi nods as if they made it out.

"I love you, too." His voice is soft, barely audible over the shaking ground and the deafening sound of hooves slamming into your gates. You feel more than see Hoseok land beside you, and his hand rests on the small of your back without hesitation.

"Take him," You tell Hoseok. "Go to the palace. You'll be safe there. Don't let him leave."

Hoseok's eyes are fire-bright as he wraps an arm around Yoongi's waist. The god's protests fall on dead ears, even as you let your hands brush over the softness of Hoseok's ink black wings. Just one moment, that is all you want, just one single second to pretend.

"I'll see you after, my lady," Hoseok says firmly. You don't have the heart to correct him, nor the time, so you just nod. Yoongi's screams echo in your ears even as you turn, the blackness that lingers at every corner of your realm swirling around your feet and ready to be whatever you need. You let one last year fall from your eyes as the gates crumple, and the furious eyes of Demeter fixate on you and the black-winged figure carrying her son away.

Hoseok flies faster than he ever has, determined to get Yoongi into the palace and relative safety. The god sobs in his arms, still struggling to get back to where you stand in the Meadow, the massive form of Demeter towering above you, but Hoseok doesn't relax his grip. You gave him an order; he hadn't disappointed you yet, and he isn't about to start now. Not with Yoongi caught in the middle.

He doesn't hesitate when he touches down in the palace, wings retracted and brushing ever so slightly against the black marble floor. He turns to the nearby Bones and orders them to the doors, summoning as many others as he can spare from the gates and Fields to help barricade the palace from the goddess.

"Hobi, you have to go, you have to help her," Yoongi sobs. "She's gonna...I can't, Hobi, please, you have to keep her safe."

"I have to keep you safe," Hoseok replies. He's got a vice grip around Yoongi's arm as he pulls him deeper into the palace, doing his level best to avoid any window or door to the outside. "That was the order she gave and that's the order I shall obey."

"How can you say that?! Don't you care that she could-"

"Of course I care!" Hoseok spits, rounding on the shorter god the second the words leave his lips. "Do you think this is easy for me, Yoongi? Do you think I enjoy choosing between the two of you like this? Because I don't. I want nothing more than to be helping her right now, but I can't...I can't leave you alone here. It's too dangerous."

Hoseok isn't stupid; he knows exactly how he feels about you, and Yoongi, and he's not oblivious to the way the both of you look at him. Still, the two of you are powerful deities, worshipped and loved, feared and prayed to. He's just a guardian, content to sit in the background and watch for threats. Yes, he loves you, with every fiber of his immortal soul, but he also loves Yoongi, and he knows you love Yoongi, and you gave him an order.

"Hobi," Yoongi whispers, eyes wet and red and beautiful. "Hobi, please, you have to help her. She needs you. I can manage, I can hide, but she needs you. No one else can help her."

The fact that he's even considering this shows just how easy it is for Yoongi to manipulate him. Hoseok understands now, what you meant all that time ago. Yoongi's voice is rough and lingering and fearful but it carries so much hope that it digs into Hoseok's skin like a hook. He curses and bundles Yoongi into the corner.

"Stay hidden. Don't make a noise. You can't let her find you." Hoseok hesitates for a split second before pressing a quick kiss to Yoongi's forehead. "I will see you after this."

"I know."

It's never been harder for him to turn his back on someone, but Hoseok manages, with only one last look back before he takes to the air and surges forwards to where you stand, keeping Demeter back with every piece of your power.

Yoongi runs. He runs and runs and runs, the bare skin of his feet silent on the cool marble. The braziers have long since gone out, but he stopped needing them months ago. He knows where he is, even as he tucks himself into a small, nearly invisible niche in a corner. He hardly dares to breathe, too scared that the sound will alert his mother of his location. The palace is silent, not a single sound in the entire thing, and it's deafening in the aftermath of the rumbling screams that signaled your battle with her.

He isn't sure how he managed to convince Hoseok to leave him, whether it was the obvious love the god felt for you or the sheer desperation in his own eyes, but he could only pray the two of you made it out. As gods, you're all difficult to kill, but it's not impossible. Not for other deities.

Come out, little flower.

Yoongi stifles a whimper, panic coloring his vision white for a long while before he can breathe again. Memories flash behind his eyelids and he pried them open just to stare into the darkness.

You can't hide forever, little flower. You know that.

Her voice echoes against the marble. It makes her sound like she's everywhere and nowhere at once, able to find him even as he hides. He clenches his teeth and reminds himself that you and Hoseok are the only ones that know this palace better than him.

You're making me very angry, little flower. Why do you run? I only want the best for you, and you insist on causing such a fuss.

The sound of her sandals reaches him, reverberating off the walls and telling him that she's far too close. He slips silently out of the niche and pads across the floor on the balls of his feet. He doesn't make a sound, something he perfected in his time with her, and just as she slips around the corner, he's darting down another hallway.

Look at what you've done, little flower. All this mess, and for what? Do you like it when I'm angry? Do you enjoy this game of ours?

He slips into another hall just in time. Exhaustion has made him slow. The marble of the wall is cool against his heated skin, and he wonders where you are. Where Hoseok is. If you're alright or if you're laying in the Meadow, golden ocher pooling around you. The thought enrages him, and for the first time, he can feel power at his fingertips; real power, not the simple gardening magic she taught him as a child. He's ready to use it, he thinks. He's so tired of running, so tired of being afraid, and he's so fucking angry that the people he loves have had to fight his battles for him.

Found you, little flower.

Warmth circles his ankle and pulls before he can jerk away. Her nails are sharp than before, like sickles at the end of each long finger, and he scrabbles uselessly at the smooth stone floor. She's speaking but the sound of her voice - wind whispering through a field of wheat, a brook babbling in the summer - is drowned out by the blood pumping in his ears.

"No, I won't go back, you can't make me," He hisses, kicking at her hand with his free leg. He doesn't feel the cuts on his soles, doesn't register them at all until he sees the gold dropping onto the floor; the adrenaline masks the pain. She says something else and he stops kicking, though he doesn't know what she's said. He isn't listening, too busy thinking of a way out of this.

It comes to him, all at once, and he relaxes in her grip. His chest heaves in a sob, because he knows exactly what he has to do, and you will never forgive him for it.

"Alright," He says flatly. Demeter stops in her monologue. "I'll go with you. Just leave them alone." The smile that splits her face is more grotesque than any corpse he's seen in the Styx, but the way she releases his ankle is a blessing. He keeps himself hunched and downtrodden as he pushes himself up, into her waiting arms. The hug is bruising and brings vile to his throat, but it is necessary.

It's with a flash of green as he pulls away from her that he makes his move. The flower crown previously atop his head has morphed, grown into thick, thorny vines around her arms and keeping her in place.

Yoongi is gone before she can so much as screech, sprinting as fast he can through the halls to the one thing that can help him. He feels it when she rips through his flowers, his very soul shaking at the pain that rips through him, but he's determined. He's made good ground, he only had a little further to go.

The vibrant colors of the courtyard have never felt so welcome. He's halfway through, blossoms crushed under his feet as he tears through the carefully tended flowers, when she catches up. The blade of her scythe rips through his back, but the adrenaline masks the pain. He's bleeding, he knows, but he can't bring himself to focus on anything but the way the bark feels under his grip, branches reaching down to help him reach his goal.

She tears him out of the tree violently, no longer wearing the carefully sculpted mask of love. The scream that she unleashes when she sees him shakes the entire realm, soft pebbles falling from the ceiling of the cavern miles above his head, but he doesn't care.

The pomegranate is ripe against his tongue, juice tinting his lips pink, and the weight of it against his chest has never been more welcome. Demeter screams for what could be centuries, but Yoongi does not care, because he has won, and he has never tasted anything so sweet in his entire life.

"Come to bed," Hoseok pleads, not for the first time. You look at him with a sigh. His wings are gone, hidden away until he needs them again, and his arm is free of the bandages he's been wearing. It has taken so long for him to heal, and you still aren't sure he should be up and about. There's a small, barely perceptible scar along his forearm, the faintest reminder of what the two of you survived.

"I have to finish this before he returns, Hobi," You tell him, also not for the first time. Hoseok scoffs and comes around the desk to stand behind you, eyes roving over the documents in front of you.

"It's been over six months," He whispers in your ear. "Zeus has approved your expansion requests. I'm fine. You're fine. Yoongi will be back from Olympus soon."

"Hoseok," Your tone is warning despite the way he whispers your name. You deflate, falling back in your chair and letting him rub your shoulders. "I just miss him."

"I know. I do too." You're both quiet for a while. It has been six months since Demeter crashed into your world and rampaged through the Meadow to find Yoongi. You remember it so vividly, the way you struggled against the unbridled fury she had, the way Hoseok screamed as she broke his wing, the pain in your chest as you'd crawled to him and just held him in your arms until the Bones had made it to the two of you and carried him to the palace.

You had been, and still are, vastly proud of him and Yoongi for fighting back, but that didn't change the fact that they had both put themselves in immense danger by doing so. Even with the - admittedly brilliant, if stupid - plan that Yoongi had come up with, things never really worked out for you. Hoseok had been bedridden for weeks, unable to even more because of the pain in his wing. Hermes has helped with the healing process, which you were unendingly thankful for, but Yoongi had been carted off to Olympus almost immediately for negotiations.

Zeus, benevolent leader and incompetent moron that he is, had decided on a compromise: Yoongi would stay with you in the underworld after the harvest was finished, free to do whatever he liked, but until then he had to stay in Olympus. The letter had mentioned something about reparations to the mortals for the utterly obscene amount of crops they had lost - which was ridiculous really, they were doing their level best to kill the planet and you are gods, since when do gods pay reparations to mortals? - that Yoongi was required to use his abilities to help with.

You'd sent Hermes back with several colorful threats of what exactly would happen to the billions of dead you kept here should Yoongi return in any way other than utter perfection, and you've been anxious for days to find out whether you get to follow through on them. It only worsens when you remember that you have a decision to make when Yoongi returns. You remember the way he looked when he said he loved you, returning words you couldn't bring yourself to say, and you remember the elation and subsequent depression that came after the battle at the realization that you could have had him, were he not gone for half the year.

And yet you also distinctly remember the way Hoseok looked, wings splayed over several tables to hold them in place as they healed, vulnerable and shy as he told you that he was sorry for disobeying you. You won't ever forget his face as he explained, the way his lips formed around your name when he told you he couldn't beat to see you hurt, not after so many years spent loving you. The feel of his lips against your skin is like a phantom even now; Hoseok had waited until he was healed to do anything more than press chaste kisses against your knuckles, and even still you've not felt him the way you want, but it hasn't stopped him from trying.

"Come on, my lady," Hoseok says, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Just for a while." You grumble under your breath - you really do have work to finish before Yoongi arrives - but you allow Hoseok to pull you from your chair and lead you down the hall to your bedroom.

So lost in your own musings, you don't notice the figure lounging on your bed until he speaks.

"Six months and I don't get even so much as a hello?"

Your eyes shoot up and your breath hitches in your throat. Pale green robes lined in the most beautiful black and silver embroidery pool around him, matching the braided crown that rests atop his head. You didn't know flowers like that existed, let alone that they could look so wonderful on someone.

"I didn't know you were back," You breathe.

"That's the point of a surprise, my love," Hoseok says from behind you, hand tightening around yours. Guilt begins to grow in your chest and Yoongi tsks at you. He rises and comes to stand in front of you, brow furrowed.

"That's no way for a queen to look, is it? What has you thinking so hard?" His thumb smooths the space between your brows and you can't help the glance to Hoseok.

"I can't...I don't want to hurt you." Your voice is barely a whisper, and the familiar sting encircles your heart once more. You couldn't choose between the two of them, not if you tried, not even if it meant getting out of this place.

"You won't," Hoseok tells you with a familiar grin. "Yoongi and I have already talked about what we feel for each other, and for you. The only question now is if you'll have us. Both of us."

Months ago, you would have called them crazy and had them exiled for fear they'd gone mad. You never imagined you could have one of them, let alone both; you had been ready to tell them both that you had been mistaken because having one by your side while your heart still yearned for the other was far more cruel than anything you could put in the Fields of Punishment.

Now? Now you know what the Isles must feel like. It is Yoongi in front of you, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek while Hoseok's warmth is steady behind you, one arm encircling your waist and keeping you steady.

"Both of you?" You echo. Yoongi nods.

"You don't have to," Hoseok says from behind you. "But we know how you feel about us, and we're sure in how we feel for each other. There are stranger pairings in the world, aren't there?"

"Only one of you could be king." You aren't sure why you say that, can't remember why it even matters when Hoseok trails his lips over the shell of your ear.

"I never have looked good on a throne," He says. Yoongi's chest rumbles in a laugh, and you could cry at the sight of that familiar gummy smile.

"Please," Yoongi eventually says. "Please say yes." You search his eyes for any hint of indecision or regret, and when you find none, you turn to Hoseok. He has a soft, encouraging smile on his face, and he holds your crown in his free hand. The cool black metal is harsh against his tanned skin, but what draws your eye isn't the way the bones are fused together or the etchings of historical scenes across each. No, it's the soft pale green blossoms woven in among the metal, a stark contrast to the harshness of the bones, and the silver thread twined around all of it, dipping in and out in various places but clearly noticeable in the light. It's a perfect representation of the three of you and it makes your chest swell.

"Yes," You breathe. They don't move, and your eyes dart between them. "Yes, absolutely. I can think of nothing I have ever wanted more."

Yoongi surges forward, capturing you in a long-awaited kiss. His lips are soft as blossoms against yours, warm and gentle as the hands that cup your jaw and draw you closer. You're aware, distantly, of the soft clink of metal on stone as Hoseok sets your crown to the side, though his arm never leaves your waist.

Hours could have passed with Yoongi kissing you. You aren't sure. Time runs together and blends, a dizzying whirlwind of slow drags of his lips across yours followed by quick, messy bursts of his tongue. You can barely focus on what is happening, mind split between the absolute euphoria of kissing him and the heat that comes from Hoseok's fingers dancing along your waist and shoulders, his breath ghosting over your neck as he watches. When Yoongi finally detaches from your lips, he ducks down to suck at the exposed skin of your collarbone, and Hoseok turns your chin so you face him.

"May I, my lady?" He asks. His voice is rough and deeper than you're used to, affected by the sight of you and Yoongi. His fingers twine with the strings holding your robes together and you give him a nod. It doesn't even take a full breath before the black material is pooling at your feet. Hoseok stifles something that sounds suspiciously like a moan behind you, and you think Yoongi actually purrs. They both run their hands along your skin, basking in the goosebumps that they raise and the shivers that crawl up your spine.

"Absolutely ethereal," Yoongi mutters. You pull him into another kiss, one hand coming up to rest against his shoulder while your other tangles in Hoseok's hair where he's doing his level-best to leave his mark on your neck.

"Please," You murmur. "I want to make you happy."

"You've already done that, my queen," He says. His smile is soft and the glint in his eye is sharp. You huff a little and tap twice at Hoseok's neck; when he pulls away, pouting but compliant, you push Yoongi until he's falling back onto your bed. He goes with no objections, one hand twining his fingers with yours and you crawl up to straddle his hips. "Let me please you, my queen. I've been waiting six months to taste you, and I don't want to waste another moment if I don't have to."

Your breath hitches as Hoseok steps up behind you. The bare skin of his chest is a shock as it presses against your back, and he slides his hands along your sides before beginning to tease your nipples. You stifle the moan, emitting more of a whine than anything, and you think you nod. All you know is the heat between your legs and the knee-deep ache to make them happy.

Yoongi's between your legs in a flash. You can't be sure how exactly he moved so quickly without jostling you, but the thought is all but shoved out of your mind as he swipes his tongue against you for the first time. You're glad Hoseok is behind you because your legs are already trembling where they're curled under you and your head drops back to rest against his shoulder. As merciless as Hoseok is in his torment of your chest, Yoongi is doubly so.

You imagine a man starving and dehydrated in a desert wouldn't be this invested in a sudden banquet laid in front of him; Yoongi worships you, circling your clit several times before dipping down to dart teasingly in and out of your hole. He laps up every single drop of your arousal, dutiful in his mission even as Hoseok begins to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. The heat of his breath has you closer to the edge than you want to admit, but the sheer love that radiates from his words at the same time Yoongi rumbles out a heavenly moan straight into your folds, tongue buried inside of you, is what drives you over the edge.

You aren't surprised when neither of them stop; you get the sense Yoongi is thoroughly enjoying himself between your thighs, based on the growing tent in his robes. Hoseok grinds against your ass, and his own hardness presses against you with every painless thrust of his hips. A pang of guilt shoots through you and your hands drop. It's a bit of an awkward angle, but you make it work as you glide your hands over him. He's thick, that's for sure, and nearly as long as your forearm. How you're supposed to take that inside of you is anyone's guess, but as Yoongi brings you to yet another orgasm with his mouth, you realize that's exactly what they're preparing you for.

The whimper comes unbidden, walls clenching around nothing at the thought of them filling you, and they both shudder. "Please," You gasp, "Please, I need you. Both of you."

Yoongi graciously lets you rise off of him, and when you settle on your back, he sits up to smile at you. His lips and chin are absolutely coating in your slick, the sight erotic and exciting. The feeling is doubled as Hoseok grips Yoongi's chin, turning the mint-haired god to face him.

"How does she taste, my flower?" He purrs. You don't hear Yoongi's response, just the deep thrum of his voice, but you see the way Hoseok runs his thumb across Yoongi's lips, collecting your juices, before sliding it into his own mouth. You moan at the sight, Hoseok's eyes falling closed as he relishes in the taste of you. Yoongi strips out of his robes while he can, and he doesn't seem to miss the way your and Hoseok's eyes watch hungrily.

"Tell me what you want," Hoseok says, pulling you closer as Yoongi settles behind you. "We're here for you, my queen."

"I…" You falter. You aren't even sure what you want now; you've spent six months trying to figure out how to tell both of the men you love that you can't be with either of them and now you have both of them naked in your bed, waiting to please you. You can hardly think, can't focus beyond the feel of their skin against yours and the heat of their gaze, but you know one thing.

You need them to know how desperately you love them, and with the fire burning between your thighs, there is exactly one way you can do that.

"I need you inside me, Hobi," You tell him. "I need to feel you inside of me. Yoongi, too. Both of you." Hoseok's cock twitches and something in his jaw clicks. You don't wait for more of a response, choosing instead to slide across the sheets to straddle Hoseok's hips. His hands rest lightly on your hips, tentative now, and you smile at him. His hands are gentle now, soft as the smile he gives you in return. His cock is dripping and red, a warm heat in your palm as you guide him to your entrance.

The look in his eyes, the small moan he releases, the hitch in Yoongi's breath behind you as you slowly sink down onto Hoseok will forever be etched into your memory. You're so full that you could cry; he feels absolutely perfect inside of you, and it only gets better as he guides you carefully up and then back down onto him. Your moan is felt more than heard and it only gets louder as he speeds up. His fingers are marble against your his, unmoving and firm as he slides in and out. He doesn't look away for a second and neither do you; all the years you've spent thinking about him, the millennia you've ached to love and be loved by him, it has all led to this. Your hips moving against his, connected in a way you've never been before; if it were possible to read his thoughts, you think you could at this moment, because they must be a mirror of your own.

"I love you," You whisper. Yoongi's warmth presses against your spine as he slides a finger between the two of you to rub slow circles into your clit, and you gasp. "I love you, Hobi, so much." The words are a mantra on your lips, and you think there may be tears in his eyes but you can't be sure because you're coming again, shuddering on top of him, and Yoongi is gently pulling you off.

Hands turn you, and now it's Yoongi between your legs, cock red and throbbing where it sits against his stomach. He isn't as long as Hoseok, but he's wider, and you clench again at the sight.

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him with a soft kiss pressed against the corner of his mouth. You slide down onto him, welcoming the slight burn that comes with the stretch. It takes two breaths for you to become impatient and begin to move, grinding your hips down against his. Yoongi isn't as loud as Hoseok, soft pants and whines where Hobi is echoing moans and groans, but it's just as attractive. He moves his hips in tandem with yours, and the muses themselves couldn't have created a better rhythm. The words fall from your lips again; it's easier, now that you've said them to someone, to let them go. They don't ball in your throat, aren't a lump to swallow down anymore, and you revel in the feeling.

"I love you," Yoongi returns, thumbs ghosting over the skin of your thighs. "So much, both of you. Saved me, can't fucking...fuck, can't tell you enough." You nod and loose another moan when Hoseok slides a finger in alongside Yoongi's cock.

"Do you think she can take us both, my flower?" Hoseok asks. His voice is raspy in your ear and you shudder as you orgasm again. There's a moment when you wonder just how many times you can come from the two of them, but it's gone the second Yoongi speaks.

"I think she could," Yoongi responds. "She's certainly wet enough. Absolutely soaked, aren't you, my queen? Do you want that? Both of us in here, filling you up?" He punctuates every word with another thrust of his hips and you nod. You don't think you've ever wanted anything more.

Hoseok is careful as he fingers you, working you open with one, then two, then three fingers as Yoongi slides in and out. You'd commend them both on their stamina if you could spare a single thought to anything but the feeling of them. Yoongi looks wrecked, covered in sweat with swollen lips, panting and desperate as he writhes beneath you.

When Hoseok finally decides you're ready, he slides his fingers out and asks you again if you're sure. You barely have the presence of mind to nod, too close to coming again, but it's enough for him. He slides in, and all three of you are moaning. You can't be sure what it feels like for them, but you're in absolute bliss. Hoseok peppers your shoulder with chaste kisses, murmuring encouragement as he sinks deeper inside. His cock drags against your walls and Yoongi's dick, and the thought makes you clench around them both. You're so full, you may explode, but it's perfection. When Hoseok bottoms out inside of you, you're all still for a while, just getting used to it.

"You're perfect," Hoseok whispers into your skin. "Both of you, you're both fucking perfect. Fuck, can I-?"

"Yes," You interrupt. You're already grinding down onto them, desperate for any kind of friction. "Please, Hobi." He grunts as he starts to move, and Yoongi does the same. They get a steady rhythm after a while, one sinking in as deep as he could get as the other drags outward, only to slam back in at the last second.

A sob builds in your throat, the sheer pleasure rolling through your body too much to handle as orgasm after orgasm slammed into you. There are hands everywhere, two on your hips keeping you steady, two roaming your body and teasing your nipples, on one Hoseok's neck to keep him close as another rests lightly against Yoongi's throat. You aren't sure which are yours, can't tell where you end and they begin, too fucked out to be able to think beyond the drag of their cocks against your walls and the growing ache inside you.

"Please," You gasp. "Please, need it. Fill me, please, need you both to fill me, make me yours, forever. Mark me. I'm yours, always, please, fill me with you." They both groan at that, and their pace speeds up. They're hitting harder and deeper and brushing against the spot inside of you that makes your vision turn white. Something gushes down your thighs as you spasm around them wildly, hips jerking of their own accord, and you feel it as they come together, hot seed spilling inside of you as you ride out your highs together.

You're panting and sweaty and hot and still, you don't think you'd trade this for even a moment of sunlight. They slide out of you and their cum seeps down your legs before you can stop it. You fall to the bed beside Yoongi, chest heaving even as he wraps you in his arms. A wave of your hand creates a small fan near the bed, shadows churning out cool air that feels like ambrosia on your skin.

Hoseok reappears with water for you both, and you thank him. Your voice is nearly gone, but it's worth it, you think. You pat the space beside you and Hoseok climbs in. His skin is hot against yours; the three of you are essentially a furnace at the moment, but you can't bring yourself to care. You can't count how many orgasms you had or how long you spent with them; it could have been minutes or hours or even days. It doesn't matter to you, really. Sprawled between an already-sleeping Yoongi and a Hoseok that's tracing invisible designs onto your skin, you have everything you could ever want.

Later you sit atop the shadows near your bed, chin in your hand as you admire the card between your fingers. Yoongi and Hoseok are wrapped around each other in your bed, lightly snoring as the sheets rise and fall against their naked chests. As you watch them, Hoseok’s brow furrows and he lazily stretches his arm to pat against the bed in search of you. He snuffles a little, and Yoongi nuzzles deeper into the crook of his neck until they’re both quiet again.

Silver foil glints in the light and you look back at the card in your hand. There’s a stack a hundred high beside you, all of them identical to the next save for the curling letters that make up the recipients, but this one is special. This one is your favorite. If you didn’t absolutely have to send it off, you would frame it and hang it above your throne; ultimately, though, you’d rather bask in the aftermath that’s sure to come.

With a small smile, you set it atop the others and wrap the bit of twine around them all. It’s gone with a wave of your hand, no doubt appearing wherever Hermes is. You wish you could see the look on his face when he realizes what they are, but he’s not the one that you really wish you could watch.

The raspy call of your name brings you back to the present, and you look up to find Yoongi watching you, lids heavy with sleep and eyes dark. “What are you doing?” He asks.

“Nothing.” You grin and stand, letting the shadows underneath you fall away. “Just sending out a quick notice.” You slide in beside him and Hobi, the latter still asleep but turning to wrap his arms around you nonetheless. Yoongi presses kisses to your knuckles and you pull a stray flower petal from his hair.

“You’re gloating, aren’t you?” He mutters. There’s a smile behind his eyes, and it warms you.

“Maybe a bit.” You lean over and kiss him, gentle and tender and you hope that it conveys everything you can’t put into words. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No,” Yoongi answers after a long pause in which he moves to straddle Hoseok’s hips in order to get close enough to suck marks into your neck. His lips are slow against your skin, tired and lazy from sleep. “I think I enjoy this side of you, actually.” “I, for one, am very much enjoying this side of you.” You grin at Hoseok’s words, smiling down at him. He’s half-hard again, hands resting lightly on Yoongi’s hips and eyes fixed on the bruises that bloom on your neck. “I thought we were sleeping.”

“We were,” You tell him. “You can always go back to sleep if you want.”

“You wish,” He mutters. Yoongi groans against your neck and you look down to see Hoseok palming him, working him up to fullness as Yoongi fucks into his hand. You wrap one of your own around Hoseok and return the favor; the way his moan echoes through the room is better than anything the nine muses could have created.

It’s slow and tired, each of you already spent from your earlier activities, but when you eventually drop between them, chests heaving from your orgasms and already half-asleep again, you think it’s worth it.

When you wake later and find a card sitting on the flower-woven throne - a new addition to the hall, one most welcome - crumpled and half-torn with a thorn sticking out of it, you know it’s worth it.

1K notes · View notes