#there's so much emotion in that talon flicking | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

acersthings · 11 months

Text

Heartless

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!Woman Reader

Summary: An ex comes running back in need of help. But, old memories still haunt you.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, Miguel is a whole warning himself, death, grief, kinda short (may be a part two??)

Three years ago, you would've said yes to anything he asked you. Three years ago, you would've done anything for him. Three years ago, you would've disrupted any canon event just to be with him.

But now, you could give two flying fucks.

"All I am asking is for you to stop and think about what this could do and how it can affect us," Miguel pleaded, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

It had been a quiet night on your Earth, allowing you to swing around the city with no danger or worry. One night to yourself. That was until Miguel's cat claws ripped a breach right behind you.

"I stopped thinking about us a long time ago, Miguel," you scoffed, perching on a water tower that overviewed the whole city. "I can't help you."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

Miguel wasn't one to give up but right now, he was feeling hopeless. He knew arguing with you was not a fun path to take.

"Y/n, if not for me, do it for Peter."

You flinched hearing the name you swore to never bring up again. Especially out of his mouth. Your body grew tense at the sound of those two syllables. You've learned that one word could do so much damage to a person.

You jumped off the tower and stood face to face with Miguel. Well, more of face-to-chest. You watched as he straightened his back and followed your every step with his half-lidded stare.

"Don't ever say his name again, asshole. Now, I don't know if the message isn't getting through that thick head of yours, but I am not helping you. Go find another Spider," you pointed at him. You hadn't been this close to him since that night. You didn't like it.

"You are the only one I want, Y/n. Your powers and strength are exactly what I need to stop this anomaly. Whether you like it or not, you are my only hope," he placed his hands on his waist, shaking his head in despair.

"Yeah, well guess what, Miguel?" You flicked out your wrist to get ready to swing away to the nearest building. He interrupted you by applying a good amount of pressure to your wrist, but not enough to leave bruising.

He grasped your wrist and pulled you closer to him. So close that you could sense his heart beating twice the normal pace.

"You're the only one I need."

His talon trailed up to the edge of your mask, lifting it up ever so slightly. Your breath hitched as felt his talon curve up your neck. As much as you hated to admit it, you missed his touch. His touch made you become the person you were years ago. It gave you hope.

You stopped him before he could take off the mask, denying the feelings, and used your watch to open a breach behind him.

"Leave, Miguel. That's your last warning."

Miguel dropped his head in defeat and began walking towards the breach. Before he left, he turned his head ever so slightly.

"I know you blame me for what happened to Peter. But, please try to look past that and remember that I know what happens when you try to mess with fate. I didn't want that happening to you. I'm sorry, Y/n."

He disappeared and left you with the everlasting memory you've always wanted to burn.

Three Years Ago, Earth Y/E/N, Christmas Eve

You always loved Christmas time. The food, the weather, the holiday, the movies, the people. This Christmas was spent swinging around the city with your boyfriend, Miguel, and your brother, Peter Parker.

The three of you ended up on the rooftop of your old apartment, laughing at old stories of you and your brother as kids.

"I love this time with you guys," Peter confessed, smiling at his best friends.

"Don't get too emotional on us now, we still have to watch 'It's A Wonderful Life' and we all know you start crying like a baby," you patted his shoulder and laughed.

"That is not true! Miguel, back me up here," Peter laughed, looking over at a dissociated Miguel.

"Miguel? Love?" You rested a hand on his arm as he focused back on reality.

"Oh, yeah, cariño. Mhm."

You knew something was up. He was never like this, only when thinking about Gabriella. You and Peter shared a knowing look and shrugged, knowing not to bother Miguel when he was in deep thought.

The three of you sat on the roof in comfortable silence until a boom was heard down the street.

"Time to do our jobs," Peter sighed, pulling down his mask.

You followed, pulling down your mask. Peter took off while you were stopped by a harsh grip on your waist.

"Miguel? We have to go, Peter already left." You tried shaking out of his grip on your waist, but you had no luck. His talons were digging dip into your sides.

"I think Peter has this one covered," his tone was sad. Depressed, even.

"Okay, what is the matter? You've been in a different world ever since I woke up this morning. Can we please go help Peter and then we can talk?" You begged, placing a comforting hand on Miguel's cheek.

"No, Y/n, please. You need to listen to me."

"No, Miguel. You listen to me. We go help Peter and then we can talk about whatever is on your mind. I promise," you planted a kiss on his pouted lips.

Miguel's pleading eyes finally fell as he nodded slowly. "Okay."

You swung off not realizing Miguel stayed where he stood. Miguel murmured silent Spanish curses as he looked down at his watch.

CANON EVENT DETECTED

CANON EVENT APPROACHING

"Mac! My man, how has the Raft been treating you?" You greeted, landing next to Peter at the sight of the bombing. Peter smiled at you as he taught you most of his one-liners. He was proud to be your brother.

The green arachnid-suited man grinned evilly as he turned around and saw you two.

"Ah, the Spiders who finally got caught in their own webs."

As if on cue, Peter and your's spider sense started going off like no other. It wasn't until you heard a mechanical laugh in the distance. Peter jumped out of the way and so did you.

The Goblin flew past you, making sure to make his dramatic entrance.

"Wow, now this is a Christmas dinner," Peter remarked, "The Goblin and the Scorpion, is there a return receipt for this gift?"

Peter nudged you with his shoulder and whispered, "Like always, Spider-Sis?"

You smiled under your mask, "Like always."

The two of you shared a look and went after the according enemy. Goblin vs Peter. You vs Scorpion.

"Come on, Mac. Had to ruin Christmas for me?" You webbed his poisoned tail to the back of his suit, making him go around in circles.

"Oh trust me," he grabbed one of the webs and pulled you close, "it is about to get a lot worse."

You shook off his threat and began fighting him like you always did. Avoid his poison and then you'll be good.

You had finally knocked him and webbed him up until you realized Peter was still fighting the Goblin. You ran over and webbed onto the Goblin's back, distracting him from Peter. You began throwing all your might into your punches.

The Goblin laughed and shoved you off, pinning your body behind debris that was horribly heavy.

"You are going to want to watch this," the Goblin sneered at you and went to fight Peter again. Before doing so, he made sure to break your web slingers.

You were confused by what he meant so you tried getting out from under the debris. You struggled until you saw Miguel jump into the building. You motioned for him to come down and help you but he wouldn't.

He shook his head at you slowly.

You looked over to Peter, seeing him slowly lose his battle. The Goblin was beating him up badly. You looked up to Miguel.

"Help him!" You screamed.

Miguel looked away.

"Miguel!"

Nothing.

You looked back at Peter. You felt hopeless. His mask had been ripped in half, there were slash marks on his chest, and he had been slowly losing effort.

Looking up at Miguel, you sobbed and screamed.

Nothing.

All of a sudden, everything stopped. The world moved in slow motion. All the air got sucked out of you.

The Goblin had stabbed Peter with the glider.

No.

No. No.

No. No. NO.

It was all a blur. You don't remember how you got out of the debris but you did. You knew you were running but it felt slow. Your breathing and heartbeat were the most prominent sounds.

Before you could get close to the murderer, Miguel stopped you by taking care of him. He ripped out his talons and fangs. He got rid of the Goblin. Like he should've done ten minutes earlier.

"Peter." You sobbed, falling to your knees next to his lifeless body.

You ripped off your mask and threw it to the side. You didn't care. You were completely numb. The last thing you cared about was someone seeing who you were.

"No. No. No. Pete, this isn't funny. You can wake up now," you placed your hand on his cold and pale face. Your other hand went down to his stab wounds, covering your hand with blood.

Your body took control and screamed for you. A scream of agony. Pain. Grief. Betrayal. Anger.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and instantly shot up, "D-Don't you fucking touch me!"

Miguel stood back and watched as you stared at him with dead eyes.

"Y/n, I-"

"Why didn't you do anything, you bastard? You stood there and fucking watched my brother and your best friend get killed! Why?"

Miguel took a step towards you and tried to reach for you. You took a step back, contradicting his move.

"Why?!" You gritted through your teeth.

Miguel wanted to comfort you and tell you everything but he couldn't. He watched as tears traveled down your cheeks. He saw so many emotions swirling in your eyes. He saw Peter's blood on your hands when it really was on his hands.

"I can't tell you."

You felt your heart shatter even more when you heard his words. Your chest began heaving as your breathing grew rapidly.

"I fucking hate you."

Miguel's whole body broke down when you said those words.

"No, please, I-"

"You either tell me why my brother is dead or I'm gone. You will never see me again."

Miguel sighed as his eyes became blurred with tears.

"It was a canon event." He whispered, looking down ashamed.

"What?" You spoke, not hearing what he said clearly.

"It was a canon event," Miguel snapped, his voice breaking as tears began to flow, "It was supposed to happen and it can't be changed, okay? How do you think I feel when I realized I couldn't do anything to save him? Just like I couldn't save Gabriella! I tried changing it and it didn't work."

He didn't realize how close he had gotten to you. He could finally see the damage he had done. The color had been drained from your face. Your eyes didn't shine anymore. Your love for him was gone. And the way you were looking at him, it scared him.

You looked up at him with pure hatred in your eyes.

"How long have you known? And don't you dare lie to me."

Your clenched fist twitched in anticipation as you waited to hear the answer that would change everything you knew about Miguel.

It would change how you viewed Miguel.

"I've known since the day I met the two of you."

#miguel o'hara #oscar isaac #marvel #spiderman #miles morales #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #oscar isaac x reader #miguel x reader #angst #2099 #spider gwen #peter parker #peter b parker #may day #spiderman into the spiderverse

333 notes · View notes

feralfather · 1 year

Note

DUDE NOOOOOOO!!!!😭😭😭😭😭 that ask about Quaritch dying was so SADD—

Could we please have an alternative ending to it, where he does wake? Just a little, teeny tiny drabble 🥺

For you, anon, I shall!

“Quaritch!” Spider screamed, in sync with Cupcake’s own hysteric screech, his trembling hands punching into the man’s chest as the Irkan flapped her wings in agitation. “Dad! Wake up! Wake up! Please, wake up! Dad please!”

He didn’t even notice the term of endearing slipping from his lips as he tried to force his father’s heart to beat.

Spider screamed and continued chest compressions until his arms were nothing but dead weight and he could do nothing but pathetically press his masked forehead to the man’s still chest. “Please… please please please…” He sobbed, clenching his weak fists against cold blue skin. “Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave.” He shook his masked face against Quaritch’s skin, snot and tears mixing near the bottom of the glass. “Don’t go.”

His breath was ragged in his lungs, straining and burning like they were on fire… and as he lay sobbing against his father’s chest, that fire slowly spread to bubble throughout his body until his trembling fists were warm with a familiar emotion.

Rage.

“You promised.” Spider rasped, teeth gritting as he lifted his head from the man’s chest to stare at his lax face. “You promised me you’d always be there.”

Spider’s breath was catching in his throat as he tried to blink away the tears that blurred his vision.

His fists were no longer shaking from exhaustion, but for a different reason entirely.

“You son of a bitch!” Those hands shot out and slammed down onto Quaritch’s chest as the boy was swallowed in his grief and rage. “You fucking lied to me! You’re nothing but a stupid liar!”

Spider’s words were punctuated with his slamming fists.

Cupcake’s screams of protest were barely static in his ears as his vision tunneled entirely on the still form of his father.

“I fucking trusted you! I-!”

The body under him started convulsing.

Spider’s head snapped up in time to see Quaritch vomiting up water all over his lower face and chest.

And it was the most beautiful sight Spider had ever seen.

The boy was jerked from his shock when his father’s tail slapped into his thigh, forcing him into action as he lunged up to crouch near the man’s head, the Irkan clicking and shifting excitedly behind him. “Oh Eywa, thank you.” He choked as he wiped the expelled water from Quaritch’s cold face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Quaritch’s yellow eyes were wide and delirious, his ears pinned back, and his mouth slightly gapped as he panted and gasped for breath. The man’s hands flailed at his sides and reaching for his bare chest, and his feet and tail kicked and thumped wildly against the stone.

Spider continued to cry and praise Eywa as he rolled his father onto his side and slapped him on the back, forcing the man to cough up as much water as he could.

Eventually, Quaritch’s eyes closed once more and he drifted off to sleep. Spider felt panicked at not being able to see his eyes… but he knew sleep was the best medicine he had at the moment. So, with his limbs heavy with exhaustion and his heart heavy with a rollercoaster of emotions, he collapsed onto his rear next to Quaritch and leaned his back against his side, staring blankly out at the distant wreckage and the rising daylight. He couldn’t even bring himself to care that the Sully’s were somewhere out there, possibly waiting for him to find them… and he forced himself to ignore the sharp stinging on his chest, where Neytiri’s blade cut into him…

Cupcake’s talons clicked across the stone as she took her position curled near her rider’s head, eyes focused on the sleeping Na’vi and the boy who lay against him.

Spider took comfort in being able to see his father’s chest rise and fall, in seeing his face twitch and his ears flick, in seeing his tail shift and move… in feeling the man’s thunderous heartbeat under his hand. Everything that told him he was alive.

… Quaritch was alive.

His father was alive.

And Spider would wait here until he wakes up. They they could figure everything else out later, but for the moment, he would stay right here and drink in the fact that his father’s eyes would eventually open once more.

#miles quaritch #recom quaritch #spider soccoro #avatar quaritch #avatar spider #na'vi quaritch #spider socorro #avatar #avatar wotw #angst with comfort #angst with happy ending #angst with a hopeful ending #the one moment Spiders anger issues come in handy #quaritch lives!!!#answered asks

161 notes · View notes

birdpersonposting · 6 months

Text

Just yell out in pain if you need help. ///

Birdrick smut one shot 🪶🧪

Birdrick fic set in the Pocket Mortys universe. They fuck

Rick blacked out, having failed to strategize a decent plan to win the previous Morty Battle.

Sometimes he just wanted to get back to the Citadel so he could drop the Mortys off to daycare Rick and go get shitfaced. Rick is a bad father, yes, but he was a damn responsible trainer.

As he lay on the floor, contemplating his existence, the other trainer that decimated his team gave him a thrice over.

“Uh. X Ggg?” The alien gurgled at Rick, his Communication Ultra Module (or C.U.M.) translated the words and conformed them into an idea that can be equated into vague human terms.

“You okay?” Is what the C.U.M. sent back into his brain.

Rick groaned, his dazed Mortys sitting on the purple grass of the current planet with him.

“Jxs uuuhyk. Cxxxv”. “Aching loser. Haha.”

Rick could shoot him, but he didn’t want MPS to take his Mortys.

His second groan turned into a scream of annoyance, the flabby alien backing away. He kept screaming, out of stubbornness maybe? Making noise. How rebellious. Really saying “fuck you” to the system.

After a while, his hangover flicked at his brain until he closed his eyes. Maybe a nap. Rick Sanchez could nap fucking anywhere. And has, very long list of stories.

Whooooosh. Flap…. Whoooooosh. Landing? Something like that. It was a thump. Give me a break.

He didn’t crack his eye open until he felt his skin cool, a shadow resting over his face and blocking the light-provider for this quadrant.

“Rick Sanchez.”

The man that stood atop of him carried a hard glare, hardly blinking. His pronounced nose framed his rather stoic face well. The wind on this planet blew hard, tussling the others feathers.

“Present,” Rick grumbled, turning his head away. It’s embarrassing to be seen losing.

“I see that you’re in need of help.”

“I— uuurp— hate that phrase and you know it, Pers.”

“I will get you to the Healing Center.”

The seventh mother-fucking time Birdperson had helped him. Seven too many times for Rick. That’s seven total times it can be milked for favors. Seven times he would have to think about what others expected from him.

He would have to deal with this upper-hand Birdperson had on him quickly.

A hop, skip, and a bridal carry away, Birdperson’s talons scraped the Citadel’s concrete.

Rick pushed away from the larger man, stumbling and mumbling towards the Healing Center. Birdperson’s hands followed after his leaving body for a moment, chasing touch. Rick’s thoughts picked up speed.

The Surgeon Rick smiled in a way a caretaker definitely shouldn’t. He purred the same question as always, and Rick answered with a simple toss of his Control Tabnel.

“Your Mortys are, fucking fi, fixed. Asshole.” Surgeon spat. Belching and tossing the device back to its owner. A doctor drinking on the job was much less horrifying here.

Holding a middle finger to the damn Worker Rick, he slipped around towards the side of the Healing Center.

Leaning against the sleekly designed building, his hand found its way towards his Flask. He tried to keep his eyes from doing the same towards Birdperson. Stupid sexy Birdperson, damn he has a thing for squawkers.

Birdperson nonchalantly scooted towards Rick. Brush it off as randomly coded movement cycles.

“Are you feeling okay now, Rick? Did you hit your head?”

He gulped for what seemed like minutes.

“Jesus, fuck. Birdperson, why do you care so much?” He groaned, hoping to sound like a rhetorical question.

“I care about you and your physical, mental, and emotional health. That comes with our bond.”

“You fucking Birdpeople and your connections. Connections are what get you killed, boom boom pow— URP— style, man. But hey, you aren’t dead yet.”

At this, Rick could hear the soft exhale from Birdperson’s nose. A nice fuzzy sound of entertainment that he did not often let breath.

“Y’know, makes me feel like I owe you something. And I know you know how hard that is for, like, anything.”

The commissures of Birdperson’s lips deepens and unturned, a content smile chipped into stone.

“I thought you were familiar enough with the natures of our bond to know no such thing is necessary.”

Rick leaned into their now shared space, the air between them intermingling and becoming familiar with the others' completely unique carbon emissions. Rick could feel the heat rising from the avian from where he (hardly) stood.

“I don’t fucking care, Pers. Whaddya want? Money, birdno mags? Shit—I’ll suck your fuckin’ dick, man.” Rick rambled, grabbing his hair and tugging. He did this often when he explained things, finding it a grounding sensation when his mind begins to take off into thought like a rocket ship.

“Anything, Pers. I hate feeling like you’ve got a favor on me. I just wanna do shit for you cause I feel like it,”

“Then you understand why I help you as well.” Birdperson replied, setting a firm grip onto the lanky man’s shoulder.

He let go of his hair.

“Even if you don’t wanna accept, just— URP— let me do somethin’.” He spoke, and it was surprisingly desperate.

“Uuuhh. Okay. Rick.” Birdperson answered, nodding.

“So what can I do?”

“It does not matter to me.” The avian answered, his head feathers puffing a bit. The scientists eyebrows raised as he checked a device that poked out of a cybernetic implant in Rick’s arm.

“Alright, suit yourself. Drop that skirt for me, pretty please.” He spoke, like it was totally normal. Instantly, Birdperson’s shoulders jumped, his wings flapping hurriedly.

“Rick, what are you saying?” Birdperson asked, voice now slightly (very slightly, this is Birdperson we’re talking about) startled.

“I’m saying that your inability to know what you want lead me to use my Decision Indicator Cybernetic Kindle. I call it DICK. I literally used my DICK to decide.”

Birdperson squawked. “What?—why does it have ‘Kindle’ in the name? And why did it tell you to tell me to take my only article of clothing off?” Birdperson doesn’t usually ask this many questions, but Rick doesn’t usually tell him to take his loincloth off.

“Oh, well I made it out of a a kindle fire. So I thought it would be funny to put it in the name. Yknow— URP— so it would be DICK. get it?” Rick replied, rolling up his sleeves.

“I get it, Rick. What did it decide on..?”

Rick smiled, and it was in such a way that only happened when Rick was 1) about to steal something that will benefit him, or 2) get some tail.

“Nothing much, just givin’ you a mind-blowing, eye-opening, blood-boiling, envigorating, fucking—amazeballs Lewinski you have ever experienced in your whole Dumbass Bird Life.” Rick grinned, his eyes shining something that is worrying to the average public. Drool escaped his lips and trailed down his chin. His smile lines framed this crazed look perfectly—Birdperson snagged his eyes away from him.

“Wh… what is a Lewinski?” Birdperson murmured.

“You’re about to find out, egg head.” Rick giggled, spindly fingers pulling at the belt that secured the feathered fabric.

Now, Birdperson had Seen Rick give some bjs to a lot of different kinds of people. They all displayed some level of finesse. Rick was very proud of his mouth.

But there was no way in hell that Birdperson would be prepared for the sight of Rick Sanchez (reminder: SMARTEST MAN THIS SIDE OF THE FINITE CURVE!), crouched down, and flitting his fingers through the down feathers on Birdperson’s crotch.

“Jesus—BRRRP—Christ, man. It’s like searching through the Amazon. Where you hidin’ that thing?” Rick demanded, unibrow furrowing down the middle.

“I… have not been sexually active in some time. My phallus may need time to ‘wake up’, or so some say.”

Rick groaned, though his expression then changed into something devilish.

“Fine by me, I’ll wake the rooster this time.”

“Horrible pun.”

The scientist’s adept fingers dipped underneath the down feathers, smoothing them. Feeling their softness. Birdperson’s thigh muscle twitched.

Soon, Rick found what he was looking for. The pads of his fingers grazed over the slit opening. The feathers around it were damp, the air humid. Rick’s hands shook with something, excitement, fear, arousal. Whatever it was, it made him determined to speed things up.

His middle and ring finger dipped into the hole, slowly. Birdperson’s gloved hands found purchase on the smooth wall behind him.

“Rick…” Birdperson cringed at his own desperate voice.

“What’s up, Pers?” Rick replied, voice calmer than usual. Huskier. Maybe it was just Birdperson’s mind.

“None of my previous partners have cared for that part.” He admitted, wings twitching against the wall.

Rick seemed shocked about this. His widened eyes trailed up his body; across his stomach, chest, and up his feathered neck. Finally reaching his face, his eyes made a sharp stare into Birdperson’s own.

“So you’re telling me. That no one’s ever, EVER eaten you out before?”

Birdperson nodded, eyebrow feathers turned down into a worried expression. He had a vague idea of what that meant. He thinks.

Rick’s smile hadn’t left. Digging an unused hand into his lab coat, Rick uncaringly tossed it onto the ground under Birdperson. It made a mechanical noise, transforming into a photon-based stool. Birdperson squawked at the sudden reposition of his legs and pelvis.

Rick made a meaningless sound with his mouth, just to pass the time. He hefted the avian man’s legs over his boney shoulders. As usual for Rick, this was every other Tuesday.

Birdperson stayed silent, honestly not knowing what to say next.

Rick’s hands were on his southern region once more, coming through the down feathers to reveal the pinkish hole. It was shiny with the man’s natural lubrication. This is both hot and valuable data!

“So, are you…”

“Birdpeople take pride in their hygiene.” Is all Birdperson said, and honestly he would need to be tortured for anything more specific than that.

“Sweet,” Rick spoke, and you could fucking hear the grin in his voice. Rick Sanchez then proceeded to swan dive, tongue-first into that region.

Dipping the tongue inside, desperately tasting and experiencing all of Birdperson. There was something so interesting about the man to him. How his bluntness caused Rick to try harder to force surprise out of him, even if ever so slightly. Rick would rather die than admit he was trying to get something out of someone just for his own selfish head. He was an emotional wreck first and “human” second.

This horrible part of him was fed as Birdperson failed to keep keens and chirps in. They echoed off of the wall behind them.

Rick looked up, catching a glimpse of Birdperson’s overwhelmed face. His wide nose and cheeks were brushed with pink, and his feathered eyebrows were raised a bit. Birdperson’s usual expression of content and neutrality was shattered, and the pieces were put together by Rick to show absolute pleasure.

The scientist’s mouth showed careful attention to his cloaca, keeping his teeth mostly away.

Removing his face from his friend’s hole, Rick wiped his chin.

“That a good enough first time for you?” He spoke, a side of his unibrow quirking up.

Birdperson continued to breath laborly, panting. Undertones of a whine on his tongue.

Birdperson didn’t say anything for a few beats, and Rick was honestly a little worried he overstepped something with his awesome head.

That was until the roughness of Birdperson’s glove met the back of Rick’s head. His fingers buried themselves into his roots, pulling. Damnit.

Rick made a strange noise, somewhere between a gasp and a choke.

He could hear the avian breathlessly chuckle. And any insult that tried to manifest on his tongue swiftly died as a warm, wet, warm appendage slapped onto his cheek.

Rick’s jaw fell open, and though his eyes fell to the cock currently resting on his cheekbone, he could see Pers’ smug expression. That was new for him. Last time he was smug was when they were 30.

“It seems your tongue has done the trick, Rick. Don’t get cold feet now.” Birdperson broke his fixation.

“… why the FUCK haven’t you shown me this before?” Rick spat, grabbing onto the phallus harder than he should have.

Pers winced.

“You did not make it clear that your friendship included penis showcases.”

“I’m Rick Sanchez. That’s pretty much implied. I can’t believe you hid this fucking monster from me!” Rick rambled, stroking the wet, pink cock slowly.

“I was, aaahnm… not aware it was something to flaunt.” Birdperson’s face heated up impossibly more.

“NOT AWARE? If you think THIS is average then either I need to move to Birdplanet, or you’re in for a disappointing surprise.”

Birdperson groaned as Rick ended his reply with a kitten lick to his sensitive cock. It didn’t stop there, and soon teasing lip strokes became wrapping his mouth around the organ that slowly drooled precum.

Rick’s mouth ventured further, Birdperson’s cock slowly filling more and more of his mouth. Pers knew that the only way to shut Rick up was to shove something of his in his throat.

As the mouth gratification was being expertly performed, Rick decided that giving anything but his best show was a complete and utter waste of his ability. God may not be real, but if he was, and if he made him, he would have really wanted Rick to rock this damn bird’s world. His fingers searched through the Down feathers that made up Birdperson’s pubic hair and traced the pink hole still slick with his own saliva. His calloused finger slowly breached the muscle.

It was intimate, such an important part of him being allowed to be touched. Soon, the stretch was hardly noticeable, and Birdperson was regularly groaning into his hand. One stuck to his mouth to hide the sounds, and the other pulled on the old man’s hair.

Full finger deep now, his scissoring brought a delicious, whole-hearted moan and the flush of an orgasm. His hole loosened to allow two fingers to penetrate him, and his cock lazily spat out rope after rope of cum. It was a taste he was familiar with, yet somehow it tasted better. It made no sense and was illogical in every sense of the word, that didn’t really matter right now.

As he swallowed the seed, Birdperson was in his own world.

“Aves, mercy.” He panted, nearly silent. “A part of me was waiting on that. For you to pay attention to me in this way finally.”

Rick knew he was a romantic but… god.

“And I have seeded you as well. My bad.”

Hey, when did his crotch get wet? Oh right. Stupid words exciting Rick Jr.

When Rick finally released the softening cock from his mouth, he chuckled.

“Do I need to take any Plan Bird? Get it? Like Plan B. But you’re a bird.”

“I am starting to miss when you were performing oral sex on me. Now take your fingers out of me.”

#rick x birdperson #rick and morty #birdrick #rick sanchez #birdperson #bird person

28 notes · View notes

sjolldorei · 1 year

Text

there's just something about my dracthyr that i find insanely pretty and hot. like. look at their fucking hips, their waist, their THIGHS oh my god their thighs with the little patch of lighter coloured scales in the inside, following down the underside of the tail. their clumsy stompy feet, their GORGEOUS thwap thwappy tail with the cute little spikes on it. their arms, their massive fingers, their soft little palms and their dainty little talons. look at those chest/shoulder spikes, look at the texture they add i LOVE them. i love their giant floppy wings always dragging behind them, wings that show emotion like a catboys ears. little twitches of joy and fear and curiosity.

and have you seen their face??? their stupid little goofy face?? everything is new and exciting and they cannot hide their joy look at those teeth!!!! rows of little lovely needles!! their little lizard tongue that flicks around when they talk, their gorgeous glowing eyes and their massive massive shiny horns.

i love this fucking idiot so much i think they're increadibly hot and loveable.

#this has been dracthyr loving hours #sorry i just came back to the game after a little end-of-season break and was overcome by lust and adoration #and felt compelled to share for fellow dracthyr and dragon enthusiasts #dracthyr #world of warcraft #please talk to me about dracthyr and/or dragons i am very normal about them #i promise #authos

41 notes · View notes

dyrewrites · 4 months

Text

Pale Blood (revised) - bird full of words

There were few things in Morne that could frighten Daughter Dusk, fewer still that would try, and yet she found herself faced with one flagrantly doing the other.

It wasn’t much of a thing, at first glance, a little bit man and a little bit bird. And it wasn’t terribly big for either, though birds did get quite large in the Wylds.

Yet it frightened her—and it knew it did, reveled in it even.

The way it moved, the way its voice left its throat with the same inflection as if it had lips to curl and pop around the words. They were uncanny, those words, that voice; perfectly human and altogether alien.

Its eyes were on a witch that had failed her. One she dragged into her wood—and bit and torn and flayed—before decorating all her dark gray branches and grim purple leaves with the Sister’s bleak black blood. Hanging, writhing, the witch’s nerves entwined with the thin tendrils of Dusk’s many roots and vines. While the Sister moaned in constant, unending agony, every other breath shuddering through what remained of her guts.

But the bird-thing did not address the witch, nor did it ask, or suggest, or even bother with the pleasantries demanded of visitors to Dusk’s domain.

It flicked its shining hazel eyes on her and spoke as if it knew her, worse, as if it were better than her, above her—it was, “You are playing?”

She said nothing.

“You were given a task and you are playing,” it repeated and, though the emphasis could be considered threatening, its voice held no emotion. Nothing to suggest it possessed the anger required to threaten—but it did, deeper than even the depths a lie such as her could plumb its anger sunk, its rage...it simply wasn’t for her. “If what was asked of you is not done it all falls apart again.”

“What does?” She asked at last, her own tone cool and hard despite the bark of her skin twitching from branch to roots beneath its talon toes.

Those full hazel eyes flashed, too bright in the shining black feathers of its face, but its voice remained even, almost mechanical, “Everything.”

Then it leaped from the perch it had made of her boughs, scarring her bark and scattering her leaves. High into her canopy it soared after, forcing her branches back with each flap of its glittering black wings and she watched it. Her own throat ached with every hot breath it took of her air, and every dangling vine it caught and yanked tugged on her fibers. And, when at last it breeched her cover, its caw wracked what remained.

Echoing, in harrowing clarity, that caw split through all her layers to shatter the knotholes of her ears. And she shivered. Every scrap of her, down to her heartwood shivered with the certainty of it, the promise.

Everything, the thing had said. Everything would fall apart...again. Again, the word stuck, like a prickle in her grooves, and she swirled it around on her tongue before sharing it with her sister and her mother—languishing in their own domains but ever-present in their shared breeze, “Again.”

She had no need to share. The bird would visit them all before halfnight fell upon the city so dutifully protected from their capricious natures—each had their parts to play, and each needed reminding of who came before, who introduce them to the flesh and bones they supped their magic from…

#writeblr #snippet #writing #novel #urban fantasy #nonhuman #pale blood #but are any of those words useful #of course not #you cryptic featherbrain #i forgot to warn #tw: blood #tw: torture

3 notes · View notes

flockofcrowsinaturtleshell · 1 year

Text

Toby

⚠️ There are a few mentions of child abuse and/or an abusive parent in these notes! ⚠️

I used this questionnaire for the prompts

Full name: Samara Tobias Sage Darner

Preferred name/nickname: Toby Sage Darner

Generally referred to as: Toby; The Crow

Appearance

Faceclaim: N/A

Sex: Female

Height: 5'2"

Weight: 110 lbs

Build: light, lean; "built like a bird"

Hair: N/A

Skin: medium golden; some freckles

Eyes: warm, dark brown; kinda has an intense stare; longish eyelashes

Mouth: small; sharp teeth

Nose: pointy

Hands: long and slender; 4 fingers on each hand; retractable claws

Feet: bird feet; big and black; has talons and scales

Scars: scars across back from beatings

Clothes: white tank top with back open for wings; jean capris; belt with foraging pouches; long trenchcoat

Other features: black wings and tail; black feathers across back, shoulders, cheekbones, bridge of nose, and in place of hair

Other notable features: crowish features; bird feet, wings, tail, feathers, retractable claws

Wings: black crow wings; 4.5 meter wingspan (roughly 14.7 feet)

Speech

Voiceclaim: she sounds like me copying Valka's voice from httyd2

Verbal ticks: tends to get louder the more excited she gets; trills, rattles, caws, clicks

Accent: faintly Norse or Icelandic? Clear and sharp.

Language: English; Bird; Draugr; Icelandic

Articulation: uses simple, easy to understand explanations

Education: prefers to use short simple words

Laughter: rattle/click instead of a laugh

Grump: grunts; makes small claws

Breathing: very quiet

Mannerisms

Face: very expressive when she wants to be, but she spends most of her time wearing a surprisingly solid poker face. She's more expressive than she used to be.

Hands: fluttering/flapping stim

Legs/feet: stomping; clicking talons; bouncing

Emotional outbursts: not rather prone to these; yelling/cawing when upset; rattles when happy

Habits: fluttering/flapping stim; trilling softly to herself; flicking her wings and tail in and out; raising and lowering feathers as a form of fidgeting; bouncing/hopping

Posture: kind of slouched to take the weight of her wings

Walking posture: slouched; either walks or hops

Sitting posture: crouched with her wings fanned out a bit

Personal space: fairly respectful of personal space, but is pretty tactile

Spacial awareness: very aware

Health

Diet: very high metabolism, so she's always foraging and carrying food. She's very opportunistic, and will eat just about anything when hungry; never turns down free food

Sleep: light sleeper; insomniac

Exercise: whenever she's not busy eating, sleeping, or taking care of mystic work, she's exercising

Activity: tends to work hard and exhaust herself; she's pretty busy, especially once the future ghosts show up

Cleanliness: has to preen her feathers for at least 10% of the day to make sure she is flightworthy; she's very picky about cleanliness

Medicinal drugs: N/A (pain meds don't work on her)

Odour: like jasmine

Narcotics: N/A

Addictions: N/A

Illness: chronic pain, The Darner Curse

Injuries: some of the scars on her back ache and sting from time to time; she broke her ankle when she was younger and it aches when the weather turns

Personal

Introvert/Extrovert: Introvert

Optimist/Pessimist: Realist Somewhere in between, leaning more towards Pessimism

Gender: She/They, leaning more towards She

Sexuality: Demisexual

Memory: photographic memory. Can remember faces for years, and can describe appearances in detail

Romantic: can be pretty romantic

Planning: pretty big planner. Always prepared (until she isn't)

Pensive: tries not to think about her past too much. If it's in the past, she can't change it

Intuition: very intuitive. Extremely talented at decision making and figuring things out from minimal clues

Problem solving: very good at solving problems from minimal clues

Goals: she just wants to make it through life. It's very rare in the Darner Clan to make it past 30 years, since their mystic power can't be "turned off" and uses up their life force faster. She's trying to find a cure, but fears that her efforts are only shortening her own lifespan

Insecurities: she comes from an abusive family, so she's worried that she'll grow up to be like her dad. She's also insecure about the Darner Curse affecting her. Usually pretty good at hiding her insecurities

Achievements: creating a potion that allows users to (temporarily?) see, hear, and interact with ghosts; making advancements in a Darner Curse cure

Anxiety: she actually has an undiagnosed anxiety disorder. A lot of things make her anxious, including the Darner Curse, problems with the ghosts, problems with her father, and rushing in without a plan

Overwhelmed: tends to hide that she's overwhelmed until she literally can't

Self-help: she carries fidgets in her bag to help for when it's just too much. She also tends to stim by fluttering/flapping her hands, trilling or cawing softly, flicking her tail and wings in and out, raising and lowering feathers, and bouncing or hopping. Preening her feathers also helps

Comforts: see above. She also likes rainy days, a soft "nest" made of blankets and pillows, a warm cup of sweet tea, and a hood fantasy or sci-fi book

Bad habits: scratching at her forearms; reading or working instead of sleeping; tends to overwork and exhaust herself ; making plans for scenarios that will never happen or overplanning; hiding her emotions; has a tendency to self-harm

Philosophy: the past is who you are; you can't change the past

Triggers: tight spaces; being trapped; not being able to move; deep water (she can't swim)

The Past

Parents/Guardians: her mother disappeared when Toby was fairly young (2), leaving her under the care of an abusive father. She was with him until he died 10 years later

School: "homeschooled", which means she was taught anything her father deemed fit and learned everything else from books she found

Adolescence: once she started getting older, her father decided that she could take more beatings as lessons. He died a few months later, and she left home to fend for herself

Leaving home: see above

Further education: taught herself how to survive in the outside world, how to use her mystic powers for the greater good, and how to create a few potions

First job: picked up a small job for Draxum when she was 14. She basically was the middleman for a ghost Draxum had been trying to contact (he was curious about an artifact they created), and in return he helped her develop her potion-making skills. This happened sometime during season 1.

Life events: left home at 12; found the Well of Seeing at the outskirts of the Hidden City; did a job for Draxum at 14 and developed her potion-making skills; began work on a cure for the Darner Curse; was contacted by Draxum for another job at 16; met the Hamatos not long after the Kraang invasion (the number of ghosts doubled just before the invasion)

Worst day of their life: the day she saw her ghost from the future get turned into a Draugr by her dead father

Best day of their life: probably either the day she found the Well of Seeing and made a home for herself or the day she learned to fly

Lessons: your past is not all you are. (You are also your future)

Looking back: if she could replay her life and do something differently, she isn't quite sure what she would change, if anything

Relationships

Family: she doesn't really have anyone to consider a family (until later) since her mom left, her dad was abusive, and she doesn't really have anyone else

Friends in need: not really any friends, but she's a good listener, and will be there for those who need to rant

Friendships: she has almost no friends (if you count Draxum, Huginn, and Muninn, she has exactly 3 real friends) She tends to be a loner and meets very few people to be friends with. Later, she meets the Hamato Clan and becomes a close friend to them.

Needing a friend: not really any friends, so she's used to dealing with stuff on her own

Annoyances: she internalizes everything and prefers to stay neutral in the moment

Romance: She tends to prefer quality time and trust over anything else

Marital problems: N/A

Adversaries: breaking her tryst; abuse; unfairness; insulting other people she thinks of as friends or family

Enemies: see above, but repeated infractions is what does it

Strangers: fairly respectful, but closed off towards strangers

Fun stuff: the things she likes doing with friends is almost anything; she likes her quality time

Dating: typically likes one-on-one quality time doing activities she would usually do with a group of friends. Talking, watching movies, working on projects, or just sitting quietly and reading are good

Best friend: she's pretty good friends with Huginn and Muninn, but eventually she's best friends with Cassandra

Love: Donnie!

Worst enemy: her father

Respect: everyone but her father, because he showed her none, so she gives none in return

Mingling: pretty bad at making new friends

Comfort levels: not very comfortable with talking, but she's a good listener

Physical: very tactile, extremely touch-starved, but shy about asking for physical affection

Groups: comfortable in a bigger group if she knows everyone personally; prefers smaller groups

Openness: takes a while to open up; you can't just get rid of a lifetime of hiding your opinion in fear of being hurt when someone disagrees.

Generosity: pretty generous with those in need, but also understands the idea that you can't help others if you can't help yourself

Jealousy: can get jealous of others for having an easier life, but the jealousy quickly turns to sadness

Temper: outwardly patient, but internalizes her anger until later

Empathy: typically empathetic, but she has her moments where she's clumsy with her words

Affection: tactile, but also enjoys quality time. She likes to help by being an ear to talk to, but this also leads to her internalizing other's problems

Distaste: she has this Stare. Leo calls it "The Stare of Ultimate Disappointment™". It's where she doesn't say anything, just puts on her poker face, clicks her talons on the floor, and just Stares. If she really doesn't like you, she combines the Stare with a deep thru in her throat and might start puffing up her feathers in a territorial display

Etiquette: sticks to polite norms of social situations best she can for someone from her background

Responsibility: very responsible. She often carries the responsibility of Ghost Therapist and Middleman to the Living, a very taxing job

Self esteem: poor self esteem. She worries that she'll turn out like her father

Confidence: cares what others think of her; gets upset when others doubt her abilities, then tries to prove them wrong. She already has self-doubt, she doesn't need to hear it from others

Honesty: will often keep things private if she feels it might upset someone; but she does her best to be honest otherwise

Leader or follower: neither. She's not used to being part of a group, so she typically does her own thing. She will step up when needed, though

Party tricks: can mimic sounds and voices exactly; uses her photographic memory to impress others

Praise: praise makes her awkward, but she does enjoy it

Failures: sometimes she's too tactile, so she keeps to herself unless prompted. She gets very frustrated when she can't properly convey her feelings

Criticism: she tries to prove them wrong

Insults: passive-aggressively psychoanalyzes the person who insulted her until they back off

Embarrassment: not easily flustered, but she tends to play off her embarrassment as another emotional. She hides behind her wings when flustered

Flirting: doesn't really flirt a lot

Attention span: she has ADHD. The concept of an attention span for longer than 30 minutes spent on a taxing activity is foreign to her, especially when the activity is not something she wants to do

Situations: awkward with social situations, but does her best to stay neutral

Life

Career: "Ghost Therapist and Middleman to the Living". It's very taxing, very stressful, and she didn't ask for it, but it's the best use of her abilities, so she accepts it

Promotion: N/A

Boss: N/A

Duty: listening to rants; helping ghosts and living contact the other; helping people accept grief and get closure

Tech: not very good with technology, but she likes the shiny gadgets and often hoards machinery parts

Politics: no political involvement, since she is technically not registered as an American citizen and lives too far on the outskirts of the Hidden City to interact with the Council of Heads

Combat skills: can defend herself. She often uses her talons and retractable claws in hand-to-hand combat, but she is also adept with throwing knives

Home: a bit of a hoarder. The Nest Isa perfect mix of messy and organized, so she knows where everything is but looks disorganized to the untrained eye. When everything is put up, The Nest feels too empty. When everything is on the floor, she can't find anything

Daily life: can take care of herself and her home

Independence: very independent

Cooking: she can cook, but often doesn't

Building: she built The Nest by herself, so I'd say she's pretty adept

Cleaning: typically a mix between messy and organized. See "Home"

Shopping: only goes to the store when absolutely necessary. Repurposes and fixes when possible. Forages when she can

Driving: she can technically drive a motorcycle

Finances: not really applicable

Marriage: N/A

Kids: more likely to adopt than have biological children

Pets: has a couple crow friends + Huginn and Muninn, but she doesn't think of them as pets

Dependents: N/A

Law: she's stolen a bit, and only when necessary (or when her hoarding instincts get out of control), but has never been caught

Court: N/A

Prison: N/A

Traveling: prefers to stay in one area

Medical: not really any licensed doctor for her type of being, but she can take care of herself

Illness: anxiety, ADHD

Worries: the Darner Curse; bad memories; anxiety; the problems of others (she is NOT a licensed therapist!)

Peace: prefers peace and quiet, but appreciates a good song playing in the background

Partying: prefers to stay in

Hobbies: hoarding; playing in shallow water; flying; talking to birds; talking to Huginn and Muninn; reading a good book; occasionally dances or sings (?); going for a ride of her totally-legally-aquired motorcycle that she totally bought with money, yes sir it is legal, no sir I don't know what you're talking about

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rotmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #riseofthetmnt #tmnt #rottmnt oc: toby #ghosts of the past and future #tw: child abuse #tw: abuse #rottmnt fic: ghosts of the past (and future)

10 notes · View notes

demonsfate · 3 months

Text

fill in the below categories with several things that your character can be identified by.

𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 / 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂.

RAGE. the emotion that consumes him most. devil was born to be a wrathful beast. taking his anger out on humanity for their alleged sins. devil is easy to anger, and he's hard to calm down.

HATE. the second emotion that's all too consuming. devil was also born to hate humanity, to kill them with no remorse. devil can't even explain his source of hatred beyond humans are weaklings who deserve retribution.

PRIDE. a devil playing god. dj believes himself to not only be above humanity, but above the other devils and azazel. look at the devil in kazuya's body, what happened to it? it's host defeated it. or azazel? humans locked it away. devil's arrogance only grew after defeating the possessed jinpachi.

PERPLEXITY. a sense of not fully understanding who he is, lost in his individualism. devil is often confused if his emotions are his own, or jin's, or even azazel's. after azazel revealed to him his true nature and purpose, devil's sense of individuality grew worse. ironically, he had hopes of becoming his own person during the war.

SADISM. the times you'll see devil smiling is when he's humiliating or defeating someone. devil takes great pleasure in making others feel worse. a thrill that comes from his never ending hatred.

𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙾𝚁𝚂.

BLACK

GRAY

SILVER

RED

GOLD

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂.

SMOKE FROM UNCONTROLLABLE FLAMES. wherever devil goes, it seems he leaves the place burning. destroying a forest and setting trees ablaze with his hot lasers. blowing up vehicles. and finally, even ordering bombings while he was in control of the zaibatsu.

THE OVERWHELMING SMELL OF IRON. from the chains wrapped around him, and the blood that soaks his talons, the gore that drips from his grin.

LEATHER. devil loves wearing leather; he often dons leather pants that, funny enough, looks as if they were designed after his host's gi pants. he also enjoys wearing leather jackets as well.

𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶.

EXPENSIVE SUITS & LONG JACKETS. despite his ' bad boy ' aesthetics, devil also loves wearing jackets. he thinks they give off the look of a truly powerful figure.

NECKLACES. skulls, chains, chokers, devil likes to adorn something around his neck. he thinks they're a nice little detail that adds to his outfit.

LEATHER. as said in the scents, you'll definitely smell all the leather he likes to wear. he's known particularly to wear those black leather pants with a flame on the right leg.

𝙾𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃𝚂.

SWORD OF DEMONIC ENERGY. self explanatory, a large sword devil can summon at will.

CHAINS. commonly found wrapped around his body: arm, waist, and leg. devil also uses chains to attack people, too. they bear several meanings. his creator was bound by humans with chains, he keeps his own host chained to him, but devil also feels chained by his own fate - chains he desperately wants to break free from.

THRONE. the zaibatsu throne that's in his office. devil spent a lot of his time during his reign on the throne giving orders.

𝚅𝙸C𝙴𝚂 / 𝙱𝙰𝙳 𝙷𝙰𝙱𝙸𝚃𝚂.

UNDERESTIMATING OTHERS. perhaps what always leads to devil's downfall. due to his arrogance in his own strength, he didn't believe he had to worry about others. and even after his defeats, he views it more as a fluke and still believes he'll rise superior eventually.

TEMPER. devil claims anger is a necessity, and perhaps that's true sometimes. but his rage goes too far; his temper causes him to act on feeling rather than logic, and leads to a lot of careless moves.

IGNORANCE. a rejection of understanding humans. devil believes he knew so much about them, yet failed to properly display humanity when he acted as jin during the war. another flaw that led to his downfall.

𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴.

FLICKING TAIL. usually when devil's angry, it's obvious. but in those times when he's merely irritated, he'll flick his tail as a warning to back off. if whatever's bugging him persists, he'll start growling and snarling.

OPEN WINGS. if devil wishes to impress, he'll slowly spread his wings out to show off their great size. this can be both done as an intimidation tactic, and to attract others.

STIFF MUSCLES AND A BLANK STARE. if devil suddenly stops all actions and stare at something with no expression but wide eyes, this means something has caught his attention. if he looks this way at a person, it would be wise for the person to run. ( even if running from devil is usually futile )

𝙰𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂.

THE COLOR BLACK. as expected, a devil is associated with darkness. therefore, black is common with him.

THE COLOR RED. similar reason - but stereotypically, devils are seen as red creatures. it's also a color heavily associated with devil due to red skies, and the blood of his victims.

DEVILS AND ANGELS. the former being his very nature, both being his relationship associated with his host.

YIN YANG. similar reason for above.

LIGHTNING.

CHURCHES. he can often be found in abandoned cathedrals. but also, the irony.

WILDFIRES.

[SCULPTED] MUSCLES.

BLACK BIRDS, SPECIFICALLY RAVENS / CROWS

WINGS, SPECIFICALLY BLACK ONES

TAGGED BY . . . i already did this with jin, so i wanted to do this with dj. :')

#👿 - ᴀ ʜᴏʟʏ ᴡᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ // (study)#// this all obvs applies to pre-tk8 dj...#// since he's more fleshed out - it's easier to fill this out for him instead of post-tk8 dj!

3 notes · View notes

robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle · 1 year

Text

An excerpt from my Ronance/Steddie Demon AU, “Is The Devil So Bad? (If She Cries In Her Sleep)”

“Nance, this is bad.”

Nancy looked up, her heart shuddering at the genuine fear in Eddie’s eyes. “What is it?”

Eddie had an old, tattered book from the Archives in his hands. His pointed tail flicked with anxiety, his yellow gaze dark with concern. “If you don’t at least visit this human, lay eyes upon them within a fortnight of falling, you’re screwed.”

She growled, irritated. “I know, Eddie, I’ll lose-“

Eddie snapped. “It’s more than just a stupid job, Nancy! If you don’t at least look at them…you’ll both die.”

That was a new development.

Nancy stood, yanking the book away from Eddie. “Where does it say that?”

“Hey, this thing is fucking ancient! Don’t yank it around like it’s some stupid toy, it’ll fucking fall apart!”

Nancy scowled. “And I suppose these Dorito stains got here from thousands of years worth of demon history?”

Eddie blushed, as much as a demon could. “I needed it for science the other day.”

“If by “science” you mean “picking the cheese dust out of your talons onto the pages while looking at naked men” I’m seriously not interested.”

“Just read the page asshole.”

Nancy turned the tattered book around to face her, leaning down to look at the text. Unfortunately, Eddie was right on this one.

“If the demon and mortal in question do not lock eyes within a fortnight of the first sighting, both will perish and meet their own untimely ends.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Yeah, “fuck.” What are you going to do?”

Nancy sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her talons. “I guess make a trip to Earth. No matter how stupid it is.”

“Wait, can I come?”

“Why?”

“I need more Doritos.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“Believe me, it’s not. Only good thing to come out of Earth.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “Fine. Just don’t look at me to bail you out when you pull some shit that gets you in trouble. I’m not doing it again, not after last time.”

“That was a fucking accident okay? How was I supposed to know that they don’t jump off super high shit up there? I didn’t even know those glass things were buildings!”

Nancy let herself relax slightly, playfully shoving his shoulder. “We don’t do that here either, Munson.”

Eddie stood up from where he was stretched out, glaring at her. “I don’t fucking know why we have different last names. We all come from the same dude.”

Nancy shut the Devil’s Archive as gently as she could, slotting it gently back in place on the night black shelf. “It’s because we’re all products of millions of different dead succubi, you know this, Eddie. We were bred for a purpose, not to be raised as humans.”

He stopped in front of her, pausing at the door. “When did you get so cynical, Nance?”

She sighed, not wanting to have this conversation again on top of the new mess they were in. “It’s our job to be cynical. Someone has to be, not everyone can spend their existence happy. I was born this way, Eddie.” Nancy swallowed a lump in her throat. “And so were you.”

Eddie looked back at her, his golden eyes shining with an emotion Nancy couldn’t place. “That doesn’t mean that’s the way things have to be. I thought you knew better than that.”

Nancy flared her wings, their bright ruby red catching on the flames outside the Archive windows. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Shouldn’t we be worrying about whether or not I’m going to die within the next twenty four hours?”

Eddie flicked his tail against her shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I totally need you in my life, couldn’t live without you. Besides, I want those Doritos, thank you very much.”

She laughed, baring her fangs in affection at him. “Let’s go before you break something, you’re already past your personal record of five minutes.”

#stranger things #nancy wheeler #eddie munson #ronance #steddie #fanfic #au #stranger things au

14 notes · View notes

survivingthelonelylife-blog · 1 year

Text

Woe is mine and I am woe - Part 3

Wednesday x Enid

Part 1

Part 2

A handful more time she had nightmares and again I held her as she cried and eventually slept and never did we speak of it in the light of the day. Each time felt slightly less forced and also awarded me sleep more than when I was in my own bed alone. Something was different tonight though; she had the past two nights had nightmares and even though it was nearing the witching hour Enid sat in her bed with her lights on.

“If you stay awake much longer the demons will come out to steal you away Enid.”

“You’re not funny Wednesday. I just... I can’t sleep.”

“Evidently.”

“I’m afraid...”

“Of the nightmares? They will probably plague you for years.”

“Wednesday! You’re not being helpful!”

“Would you like to tell me what bothers you?” I say through somewhat gritted teeth.

“Are you actually asking?”

“I would like to sleep again in this lifetime despite how enticing being driven slowly insane by sleep deprivation may sound.” Enid glares at me as though she is unsure by my clear sincerity. She must decide telling me is safer than asking me to clarify.

“I always see Tyler, coming at me, his talons reaching after me. And then I feel the pain, like it is all happening again.”

“On your face? The scars are barely noticeable.”

“Not the ones on my face, those I hardly feel. The ones on my legs and stomach are what hurt more.”

“You have other scars? Why didn’t you tell me? Show me, now.” I get up from my bed, feeling the blood slamming against my eardrums, more bothered by this information than I would have expected.

“Wednesday!”

“Enid, show me what he did.” She looks as afraid as she does confused by my demand. I must admit I feel at least as confused by myself as she seems to be.

Enid changes into shorts revealing three long scars extending from her left ankle to her right thigh. She hesitates, obviously trying to read my expression, then lifts the bottom of her shirt to reveal another scar, much lighter, but extending up past her shirt top. I struggle to choke back the sudden gasp of horror that is building in my throat.

“If I ever get my hands on that boy, I will skin him alive.” I half-whisper, at this point seeing red and digging my fingernails so tightly into my palms, hoping for the slight release that comes when I puncture through the skin.

“Wednesday, I’m fine, really.”

“Enid, you could have died, and while I admire the thought of death myself that does not mean I wish it on others undeservingly.”

“Wednesday Addams, are you trying to say you would care if I died?” She says with that stupid smile growing across her lips.

Care if you died, of course I would you ignorant fool. “Don’t flatter yourself Enid.”

Silence filled the room. “I suppose we should try to sleep,” Enid said quietly as she flicked off her light.

Once again, Wednesday was awoken by Enid thrashing and as the nights before she woke Enid who cried in her arms. Tonight, Enid did not return to sleep even when positioned in Wednesday’s lap like always. Instead, she stared at the ceiling eventually breaking the silence.

“Do you ever get nightmares Wednesday?”

“I do,” I whispered. “Though they are not nearly as delightful as they were before coming to this hellish school. Now I dream of the blood ritual and being stabbed and- “

“What??” Enid almost yells, sitting up and quickly turning to face Wednesday.

“What?” I reply.

“You were stabbed??”

“Did you not know? You were at the hospital.”

“They only told me about the arrow in your shoulder!”

“It’s fine, when Goody merged with me, she healed the wound, the scar just hurts on occasion.”

“Wednesday! You didn’t tell me that!” She says looking clearly exasperated. Keeping up with her constantly changing emotions is exasperating me.

“Well, you didn’t disclose the extent of your injuries either.”

“I- ugh-that’s not the point! Why didn’t you say anything? You’ve worn that sling like a battle trophy but never said anything about being stabbed.”

I suppose she has a point with this accusation. “I didn’t feel it necessary.” Silence hangs in the air but Enid is still clearly upset. This time I decide to break the silent tension.

“Why did you fight Tyler? You never wolfed out before. You very easily could have died.”

“He was trying to kill you. And you were trying to save the school. And you’re my friend Wednesday, that means I care about you, even if you aren’t able to admit the same about me.”

“You saved my life Enid.”

“Yeah?”

“Need I really say more?”

“I’d appreciate a little more.”

Through gritted teeth and eye rolls, “You saved my life. You have earned the role of friend.”

“Eeek! Wednesday!” Enid hugged me, I don’t feel the urge to pull away, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of hugging her back.

“Tell anyone and I will kill you while you sleep Sinclair. Now may we go to bed?”

“I’m not tired anymore though! I want to go watch the sunrise, it should be up soon, let’s go to the balcony, please Wednesday!”

So, this is how I ended up watching the glorious night turn into a disgustingly bright morning, but Enid seemed to enjoy the event. The smile on her face especially as she talks about the colors of the morning brings back that nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. Do I enjoy this, is that what this is? Enid is getting theatrical I should probably be listening.

“So that’s why my favorite color is pink. Why do you like black so much?”

“Because it is the abyss where all colors converge to become nothing. It is comforting I suppose.”

“Okay then… do you ever have answers that aren’t so dark and dreary?”

“No.” Enid smiles and gives a small chuckle. She’s looking at me. Slowly she inches her hand closer until her pinky brushes on mine. The nausea is increasing but I’m starting to enjoy the pit it forms.

#wednesday x enid #wednesday fanfic #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #jenna ortega #emma myers #slow burn #woe is mine and I am woe

11 notes · View notes

firstginger · 2 years

Note

Was wondering what ur analysis would look like of a barbet bird, a bearded barbet specifically? (Unsure if theyre all that different personality wise than other barbets)

oh i love these little birds so much, if i saw one in real life i'd probably die from joy.

i'm going to copy the quiz description of barbets and then elaborate more because i think it's a good jumping off point!

You are a self-focused and adamant individual with an assertive streak. More so than others with cavitave daemons, those with barbets are introverted and highly selective people, loyal to those who share their perspective but otherwise quite removed and critical. They have pride in spades — external validation doesn't mean much to them, as they know their self-worth without having to jump through anyone else's hoops.

unlike their cousins the toucan, most barbets (not all -- see below) are actually relatively solitary birds. they glean insects but also are frugivores with a huge range of diet. they're not very good fliers (though they are excellent seed dispersers in their forest habitat) and nest in wood holes, using their strong legs and talons to grip onto the bark and climb. most notably, they're incredibly noisy. these birds will have duets back and forth, but they're definitely not songbirds. the coppersmith and the tinkerbird are most notorious for this... they have this repetitive call that sounds like a metronome!

the bearded barbet is an african barbet and is one of the more social species, though they're still relatively independently-minded. they're known for their "SCRAWK" call, which sounds a little bit corvidish if you've never heard it before. like other species of barbet, their bills are perfectly adapted for cutting fruit stems, cracking palm nuts, and digging into soft wood to make nests. they will enter plantations and yards to pilfer fruit and their large size makes them conspicuous. their courtship comprises of tail-flicking and food offering, and both parents as well as other members of the flock will help incubate and feed the hatchlings.

someone with a bearded barbet soul would likely be cliquish but particular, quite opinionated and curious within their comfort zone. they have a natural self-confidence and take things in stride; they're generally not the anxious or wary sort, and approach life with a steady demeanor. what sets them apart from other barbets is that they're more group-oriented and seek out likeminded individuals. their altruism and dedication to their loved ones also sets them apart. it may be more accurate to characterize these individuals as helpful and driven rather than sentimental and emotional, but certainly it's up to individual interpretation of the behavior. they're clever but less boisterous than other barbet species are. compared to other barbets, bearded barbets are relatively quiet — this may indicate someone who doesn't always feel the need to speak their thoughts, or reserves that part of themselves for their loved ones. they're certainly not shy though they may come across as more introverted around strangers. they carry themselves with ingenuity and pride; adaptable within their comfort zone, they enjoy variety without needing ambition or notoriety. it's most likely that they're perceived as warm and easy-going, self-driven and curious, as well resourceful and creative. they remind me of xSFPs — Se/Fi or Fi/Se.

#daemonism #form finding #hdm

7 notes · View notes

dark-ethereal-visions · 7 months

Text

Short Story Excerpt: Night Terrors

This was another story that I had written years ago and lost when an earlier computer crashed. I’ve rewritten the story and I’m still amazed by how much of it I remembered. The plot and characters all seemed to flow from my fingertips just as though they would have if I’d had the first copy as a reference.

Night Terrors is more of an urban horror, dealing with the consequences of moving people in and out of tract housing as though there’s never anything left behind. Lydia and her neighbors quickly discover that some things do get left behind. When that happens in Night Terrors, Lydia quickly finds that it’s the new occupant who is left to deal with the ethereal fallout.

Get a glimpse of that which gets left behind in Night Terrors here:

Her first glance told her that everything seemed normal. Jacob was sleeping soundly and everything else in the room appeared still and silent. Releasing a sigh of relief and silently chiding herself for letting her emotions get so worked up, she started backing out of the room. Then, just as she started to turn her head away from the quiet scene, she saw them.

Her vision locked upon those two, narrow, yellow eyes and they, in turn, fixed upon her. The hideousness of the creature belonging to those eyes was apparent even in the dark night and still darker shadows. It was a large, black thing, nearly seven feet, judging by the awkward crouch it had taken upon Jacob's headboard. Its shiny, black claws dug into the soft wood. Its arms, nearly twice as long as its legs, rested upon its muscular thighs. As the creature grinned at Lydia and bared its jagged teeth, blood or saliva (it was difficult to tell which in the darkness) drooled from the fangs. The thing was covered in fur from head to toe and even its wings, visible only when it moved one of its arms, was cloaked in that same short, coarse hair.

It leapt from its perch with such speed and stealth that Lydia was nose to nose with the beast before she even realized it had moved. It circled her, always keeping its black lips close to her neck, and flicked its thin, forked tongue at her quivering flesh as it hissed.

"What do you want?"

She was terrified, but she tried to sound forceful. Even so, she was certain it still sensed her fear.

"Yes-s-s, I do want s-s-something from you. Until I get it, the boy sleeps-s-s."

"If you hurt my son..."

It attacked from behind, wrapping its long limbs around her body and digging its talons into the flesh of her face just deep enough to draw blood.

"What will you do, Whore-Pig? This-s-s is-s-s not your world. This-s-s is-s-s my world. S-s-so be wis-s-se." It lowered its already soft yet unmistakably masculine voice to a whisper. "Be s-s-silent."

"Just tell me why you're here."

The creature released its grip on her, but only so it could resume the steady circling of its prey. This time, however, its tongue did not flicker at her flesh. Instead, the sound of the beast lapping her blood from its talons, much like a kitten slurping cream from a saucer, echoed throughout the room. It stopped just behind Lydia, resting its pointed chin upon her shoulder while its long, bony fingers reached around the right side of her face. The creature dipped its talons into the fresh gash it had left in her cheek. How many times had she smacked Jacob's hand for dipping his fingers into a freshly iced cake in just that same manner? She wanted to do more than simply smack him and she would have...had she known more about him or what he meant about being in his world.

"Our homes-s-s were des-s-stroyed to make room for your homes-s-s. We're now los-s-st. It's-s-s plain. Lead us-s-s to our new res-s-sting grounds-s-s."

"If I do?"

"Your s-s-son will awaken from his s-s-sleep."

Experience all nine stories in Whispers From Hell: An Anthology of Horror & the Supernatural.

Follow these links to get your ebook or paperback copy:

Amazon Paperback

Amazon Kindle

Barnes & Noble Nook

#horror #fiction #books #supernatural #spooky season #short story #easy read #scary stories #spooky time #reading #demons #female hero #witches #pagan #book boost #books and reading

0 notes

delimeful · 2 years

Text

to know that song (and all its words) (3)

warnings: vague needle mention, past medical experimentation mention, panic, tension, bad self care

Virgil was normally a very light sleeper for many, many reasons, the majority of which were irritating and worrisome.

As physically and emotionally exhausted as he was, however, he found himself sleeping more deeply than he had in ages.

This was the only explanation he had for how he’d somehow managed to miss an entire Human entering the room and laying down next to him.

He woke slowly, a strange grogginess settled over him like a thick blanket, and it took him way too long to realize that he wasn’t alone.

The Human was radiating warmth and a steady sort of sleepiness, their emotions wrapped up and heavily muffled by unconsciousness. They were also curled around Virgil, not quite touching, but very, very close.

He stared at them, startled into stillness. This close, he could actually make out the details of their features, from the surprisingly soft edges of their face to the spots scattered over and around their nose, random and asymmetrical like flicked pigment powder.

One arm was tucked under their head like a makeshift pillow. There were spots there, too, telltale pockmark scars dotted all along the cool lines of their veins. They looked less severe on Human flesh, nothing like the Ulgorii scarcracks that Virgil was familiar with, but identifiable nonetheless.

Ex-test subjects.

Virgil stomped down the sympathy curling in his lungs, reminding himself that he was literally being held captive by these people, and that they were the reason he was probably never going to see his makeshift family again.

He carefully began the process of untangling himself from the blankets without disturbing the very close Human next to him, pausing whenever they shifted or breathed shallower than before.

As soon as he stood, he felt the weakness gripping his bones, demanding that he lay right back down and succumb to more rest, Humans be damned.

He ignored it with the same spite that had carried him through many a sleepless night, skipping a few feet away from the Human before letting himself stretch and taking a moment to carefully preen all his sleep-crumpled feathers into a less uncomfortable configuration.

He really shouldn’t be sleeping on them at all while they were so overextended, but getting them to settle down wasn’t exactly an option right now. He didn’t want to appear any smaller (more easily grabbed) than he already was, and even if he did, his crewmates were practically the only thing that could calm him down when he got this worked up.

He shuddered at the thought of his crewmates also being on board with a bunch of grab-happy Humans, his feathers fluffing even further out. Yeah, not a chance.

Successfully groomed back into his customary style of stressed-out insomniac, he crept across the mats as quietly as possible, approaching the door with a sort of determined resignation.

His bio-signature was an accepted admin code, so he should be able to unlock any door on the ship, but with how swiftly Square had commandeered his main systems room, there was no way they hadn’t already wiped it from the system.

He set his talon on the scanner anyhow, waiting for the red flash of denial.

The door clicked open. The door clicked open without pause, because it wasn’t even locked.

Virgil wasn’t sure what constellation configurations had apparently blessed this specific endeavor, but he probably could thank Heartfelt for the lapse in security.

He cast one last look at the Human in question, still curled up and sound asleep, and decided not to inspect the sea’s blessings too closely.

His tunnels were second nature to navigate, and he made it to food storage without any Human detection. The room looked undisturbed, and when he rifled through the pantry, there wasn’t anything missing. He made a note to hide away as much as he could later.

He was on his second cup of deathbrew before slightly concerned voices started to call throughout the ship, Heartfelt apparently having woken to a missing prisoner.

The drink had already done its job of filling his bones with buzzing energy, so he took the extra effort to climb up to the higher storage cabinets and sit atop them, staring down at the entrance.

When Heartfelt came in, they came with a wave of (worry-panic-concern) everything but the anger Virgil had expected. That wasn’t enough to necessarily say that the others weren’t upset, but he didn’t overly care at the moment. It was about time they learned that he wasn’t going to ask permission to do everything like a good little prisoner.

After a few moments of fruitless searching, he took pity on Heartfelt and let out a little whistle of ‘right here’. The Human jumped and flinched back, nearly colliding with a rack of cooking utensils, and Virgil felt a stab of sympathy at the pure terror that had radiated through them for a moment.

“Sorry,” he said, once they’d managed to find his perch. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Heartfelt replied, like it was their fault for having trauma responses. At least Virgil could be sure they understood his apology. “Okay?”

“I’m okay,” Virgil replied, which was utter bullshit but the Human (concern, worry, care) didn’t need to know that. “Just figured I’d get a drink before you put me to work again.”

Heartfelt’s brow creased in that way that meant they hadn’t caught enough words to really understand what he was saying, and they held one finger up before ducking out of the room. Virgil had no idea what the gesture was referring to, other than a probably-inaccurate Crav’n reading of it as rude, so he just stayed put as they called loudly down the halls.

The other two Humans approached hurriedly, steps noisier than usual, and Virgil shifted into a crouch but forced himself not to dart away, taking another grounding sip of his drink.

“You!” Noisy said the moment he entered the room, and then spent a few moments pointing aimlessly before Heartfelt helpfully directed his attention up to his perch. “You said no running!”

Virgil flicked one antenna up and down in an all-encompassing gesture, clearly illustrating that he was at a standstill. “I’m not running,” he said, ignoring the fact that if any of them started grabbing he was absolutely going to bolt.

The Human pursed his lips skeptically, but before he could press, Square was pushing past him. They stopped just short of bumping into the frozens drawer, staring up at Virgil with alarming intensity.

Virgil held very still, tension in every line of him as he awaited the de facto leader’s verdict.

“We need to set some rules,” they finally said, and with a few sentences, the other two departed, casting glances back over their shoulders. For once, Virgil wanted to be close enough to them to know how they felt, so he could judge how badly he messed up.

“Follow me,” Square commanded, and Virgil idled just long enough to earn a sharp glance before scaling down the side of the cabinets one handed and dropping to the floor.

They moved quietly through the halls, Square’s steps precise and stiff, and eventually stopped at the entrance to Nav. Square held a hand out with a finger extended. “Wait here.”

So, that was what that meant. Virgil took two large steps to the side, because he was nothing if not petty in his spite.

When Square returned, they didn’t comment on Virgil’s position shift at all, only a minor twitch in expression indicating that they even noticed. They had a bulky bag over one shoulder.

“Is there a private room for us to speak in?” they asked, surprisingly neutral in tone.

Virgil didn’t trust that at all, and so he led the Human to the first room with easy access entrances to his wall tunnels. It was one of the central rooms, normally used for storage or guests.

Square didn’t question the choice the way Virgil thought they might, simply moving to the center of the room and seating themself cross-legged on the floor before setting the bag in front of them. Virgil moved to be across from them, but kept a wary distance.

“You need an… a watcher,” Square started, grimacing at what was clearly a substitute word. “We need to know where you are.”

Virgil’s feathers ruffled in displeasure. “I can mind myself fine.”

“We stole your ship,” they replied dryly, and then gestured between them and Virgil. “There is no trust here.”

Virgil didn’t have a snappy retort for that, because, well, it was true.

“It is dangerous, as well,” Square added. “You are small and delicate. If we don’t see you, accidents could happen.”

He was perfectly average for his species, but compared to Deathworlders… He could envision how delicate he would seem to them, “accident” or not. “Fine, but don’t touch me. If you know where I am all the time, it’ll be easy for you to avoid contact, right?”

Square eyed him for a moment, an unsettling glint of curiosity flickering into view for a moment. “Alright. You aren’t allowed into any rooms with communication items without being watched.”

He had figured as much, and was still a bit stunned from the previous agreement. “S-Sure.”

Square raised an eyebrow expectantly, and Virgil realized they were waiting for another proposal. “Uh. Don’t stick arms or heads or whatever into my cockpit. I bite.”

“We noticed,” Square replied, but their voice seemed just as dryly amused as before. “Yes. We will try to avoid provoking you.”

What, they weren’t going to warn him not to bite? Virgil was taking that as implied permission, for the record.

Going by their slight amusement, Square seemed to have picked up on his line of thinking, but they didn’t comment or even try to appear discouraging, instead making a short rumble in the back of their throat and somehow straightening their back even further.

“Aside from boundaries, there is another matter that must be talked about,” they said stiffly, and Virgil’s nerves spiked again. It was all he could do to keep his ruff from fluffing out too noticeably as the Human shuffled just slightly in place.

Virgil was really starting to wish he knew more about Human body language. What did they want? Weapons? Information on other aliens? Some sort of Forbidden Blood Oath?

“Food.”

... Food?

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides #humans are deathworlders #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #ts logan #tktsaaiw #to know that song and all its words #alien au #space au #my writing #writing

252 notes · View notes

yandere-wishes · 3 years

Text

MONSTERS

👹 Yandere Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

👹Summary: Monsters aren’t born they're made, but Sukuna stumbles across the rare exception...

👹Warning: dehumanization, mention of gore, blood, slight dub-con mentioned in passing, death, past trauma, and abuse

👹 Edited: By the lovely @tealyjade-libran !

👹 Wordcount: 2,480

👹Alternative Tittle : If Roxanne ( from the Police song) lived in ancient Japan.

👹First Jujutsu kaisen fic! I hope you guys like it, please let me know your thoughts! Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Monsters were made.

Slowly created as once blazing ideals, withered and died under harsh strokes of reality. Stitched together with broken promises and the ashes of rotting memories.

Monsters were made

whisked into a role they once dreaded, once feared. Beaten into the role of the villain, the reprobate, the sinner.

If anyone ever asked Sukuna when was the exact moment he turned his back on the laws of "good" and "evil", shedding his human skin to regrow a pelt of hate and destruction,

He would simply answer, "Never".

Because skin is skin no matter how much it decays. Even if the epidermis turns into a rotting orange shade, littered with eyeballs and teeth that shouldn't grow there.Even if the blood from all those he's slain has finally stained his dermis, tainting it in a permanent crimson that all the waters of Lake Biwa could never wash off. Even if his hypodermis is no longer made of fatty tissue but rather spiritual energy sucked from the atmosphere. It's still skin, the same old skin he was born with.

Sukuna had never shed his skin, he'd only perfected it, enhanced it, molded it into its perfect form, until he was no longer held back by foolish human limitations.

He'd never been "reborn" only recreated; only perfected.

Spike, talon and teeth covered arms sprouting from oozing, bleeding scars, charred over by begriming infections that burned worse than the strikes he'd endured as a child. Knuckles and bones cracking over and over and over again until they grew as solid as the rocks that were thrown at him when he was all too little to understand the malice behind the insults and threats. Breaking until they could break no more, until they'd become strong enough to split a boulder with a mere flick.

There had come a time when he'd given up licking his wounds, leaving them to be kissed by the mold-covered worms who left an urticating sensation he'd soon come to associate with victory. Rotting flesh growing covered in thick layers of black tar tattoos that hid every cut he'd endured when he'd once been too weak.

Monsters were created from quarter truths buried neck-deep in fables that snipped like red-eyed scorpions.

Until the blood dancing through their veins was as black as the void they now called home.

Sukuna knew the exact moment he realized he was a monster. The day he realized he liked the crunch of skulls beneath his feet, the pitiful spark in mortified eyes staring at the heavens for a scrap of mercy. Mangled mouths barely held together by fractured jaw bones, uttering prayers and pleas that died in the scorching air.

Sukuna knew he was an abnormality, patched together by broken heirlooms and shattered family traditions. Sitting on a throne made from skulls of those who thought they could ever kill him.

You can't kill a monster, for you can not kill that which was never born.

You can't slay something made from good intentions with malevolent methods, something so vile that it might actually be pure. At the end of the day, no monster really admits that it is a monster, a nightmare that should have never existed.

Yet...

Tattered hearts and cruel orbs are never quite enough. No monster is complete until they dive off that last edge, plummet into the sea of nothingness, and finally, finally break their souls on the spiked soil. Monsters, spirits, curses any malicious being that had been mended together like a half-done ragdoll was not complete until they truly let go. Until they erased all the former humanity that they had been born with. Until their eyes reflected nothing, no emotions, no malice, no want, no need. Just the absolute emptiness.

The void in all its glory.

that was the symbol, the true markings of a real monstrosity. The void that took over their existence, that had replaced every inch of their former self. Only then could it be said that you were above all other beings, the true perfection of this world.

There are worse things created than monsters, things that are made from nothing and everything. Things above "Yin" and "Yang". Things that have no scrap of humanity, monstrosity, or anything in them.

Things that are just empty.

So maybe -just maybe- that's why when Sukuna's rotting orange eyes landed on the epitome of emptiness, a...girl, whose face was sculpted to disreflect emotions and intents. Someone who was the void of darkness itself. The true personification of nothingness.

His heart -for the first time in countless centuries- began to throb.

a truly dead face swarmed by a sea of buzzing ants, chasing their routine happiness. Smiles of delight and carelessness carved on their aging faces with sunlight knives and the melody of golden coins. The lust for life leaking from every pore of their bodies.

With every face being a carbon copy of each other it was no wonder yours stood out.

There was a silver chain of attraction, dragging Sukuna towards the village girl. Not love, never love, the king of curses was beyond certain, that neither you nor he could feel such a honey-laced sensation. It was more like....something. Something paranormal, inexpiable. Some magnetic force outside of everything's control.

It was easy enough to explain why he liked you. Why you stood out from the other insects of this middle-of-nowhere-village.

You had dark matter for blood and dead seas for brains.

Your eyes radiated an endless abyss. Making others shy away from your lifeless gaze. Scared to look into the void in fear that it may respond.

You were a thrown away doll,

A living dead,

A dying star,

You were the daughter of the number zero,

The monster that had no maker nor mother.

Something not born nor created.

Just an entity that roamed the earth, with no desire nor hope, no wish nor dream. Not leaving, not dying, just existing in the space between today and tomorrow.

There'd been no need for pleasantries, for hiding behind ghostly tree branches and frozen windows. There'd been no need to kill or ravage for you. No competition to eliminate, because no one ever came near you. Humans don't like what they can't explain, Sukuna knew that all too well.

Sukuna watched from a close enough distance to almost touch. Lingering around like a phantom begging to be noticed. Orbs trailing over you, but never approaching. Until one day he'd just stood still. Waited for you to turn your head just a fraction to the left, just to see him in all his menacing terror. To finally notice the clawing, crawling sensation that had been creeping up your spine like a hoard of spiders.

And when your dead eyes did finally land on him. Sukuna could swear that his breath hitched in his throat for the first time in his seemingly endless life.

You weren't human. Humans didn't have hollow faces or marbles for lips.

You weren't a curse. Curses didn't lack venom dripping from their souls.

You were something better than a monster. You were the divinity of monstrosity, the void itself. Black holes for eyes, answerless paradoxes for hands, and an endless maze where your torso should have been.

Exploding suns danced around you, burning, burning, till they died out, leaving behind no trace that they once lit up the universe.

The space after the end, that's what you were.

Perfect, to Sukuna you were perfect.

You hadn't run, hadn't screamed, hadn't even bothered to talk. You didn't care about him, couldn't care about him. That's what made him want you, made his mouth salivate with the thought of your flesh between his teeth.

That night the world stood still, as Sukuna's claws penetrated your flesh like twirling needles. You were as light as a feather. You weighed nothing, were nothing. All so easy to pluck and throw about. You never made a noise when your body collided with the bamboo walls, just letting gravity and Sukuna play a twisted ball game with your lump of a body.

You hadn't protested when he violated you. As his lips bit every inch of your body raw. For some unearthly reason that even the gods couldn't understand, would never want to understand, you had found the Curse's violent actions rather...adoring. Taking every slap and slash with the earnest pride of a small child getting praised for a day of relentless chores. letting the dawn-tinted-haired monster adorn your body in blue and purple jewels. It felt right, in a pathetically, nauseating, twisted way...it just felt right.

It was disastrous, sure, but it was right. Like two universes crashing. Destroying each other with every kiss and every bruise.

But...

For the first time in your meaningless life, you had truly understood what "happiness" felt like.

For the first time in his endless life, Sukuna had truly understood what "intimacy" felt like.

///

Was it wrong to kiss you? For a fraction of a second Sukuna hesitated, blood tinged lips hovering millimeters away from your own stone-set ones. The moon's cursed rays acting like an unnoticed barrier, keeping two things out of each other's grasp. His lips curled back revealing two rows of knife-like teeth. The last resort, a final hope that you'd run away, that you'd act somewhat normal. The king of curses, the evil among men, didn't mind your lack of regularity. He didn't mind how you leaned into every bitter strike, every painful display of fading affection . He adored how you merely giggled as he slashed open your uncharged skin, creating slits for your blood to spill through, onto his waiting tongue. He admired your lifelessness, the way you radiated death.

Oh, how you filled him with a startling aftershock every time he touched you. Every time his tongue lapped at your bleeding skin he'd feel the sort of electric shocks that came after the storms had passed. Your body had no shape, it molded to his touch, turning his favorite shades of red, with just a little pressure.

But sometimes, in fleeting, endless seconds. He wished he had a name for what you two were. You weren't his per se, you could never be his. Being his would indicate that he cared about you, or heck even loved you and that could never be true. The king of curses did not love, nor care. He merely tolerated you; you fascinated him, that's all.

It had been many moons since he first found you in that no-name village. Months upon months since you'd been by his side. You'd watched as he'd destroyed cities, helped him even. Eyes never shedding a single tear. Mouth never uttering a single protest.

The two of you had become the best, the King of curses and the Queen of nothingness. With the dying speed of laboring bees, Sukuna had carved himself inside of you. Twisted emptiness into flower-covered destruction. Into molten gold lava.

Leaving you with wounds that were stuck in a cycle of healing and opening. Until they began to harden like his. Until the need for spilled blood lingered on your tongue like the burn of boiled tea. Until under your nails were coated in a decaying crust of dried blood. Sukuna hadn't turned you into a monster, he'd simply showed you the powers that came with your apathy. With a heart as torn and cold as yours, it was a shame to let it go to waste.

"You're not half bad," his tone is never approving. It's always laced with a strictness that keeps you nailed into place. His words are oxymorons sounding like praise, but once you peel back the lather layers they're just taunts in disguise.

You don't answer, words die on your tongue as quickly as they are born. Sukuna can't even remember what your voice sounds like outside of small whispers in heat filled nights.

However, to the two of you, things like that didn't matter. Your lack of being even semi-alive and Sukuna's endless abuse had become a norm for the two of you. Where else were a two-faced monster and a lifeless girl going to find love anyway?

Sukuna was all you had, all you ever had. You'd die for him, kill for him, turn into anything for him. Because he gave you life.

A purpose to life, made out of raging fires and endless screams. A life fabricated from the pain and suffering of others. That was what the king of curses had given you, all wrapped in a human skin parchment. Maybe that's why all logic withered away the first night he kissed you, maybe from the first second that you sensed his presence you had finally gained a reason to be alive.

///

Whoever said the end of the world was beautiful? Whoever said the final days would be bright and glowing and pure?

It's just a blaze of stray flames and red crystal droplets that may or may not be your blood. Funny, Sukuna had always thought that your blood would be as black as the moonless sky, not a mundane red like everyone else's. He'd expected a grander death from you. Some sort of black hole opening to swallow the world whole. Not just another corpse motionless in a pool of their own blood.

Although he's not one to talk. His own 'death' is lingering on the horizon. Sukuna's head tilts back looking for the flashing jujutsu sorcerers.

"S-sukun-a..."

He smirks, fangs sticking out at odd angles. Your voice is sweet, for the first time in forever he'd even dare say it held some semblance of emotion.

What that emotion is, he doubts he knows or even really cares. He'd long since stopped trying to identify all those "feelings" and their associated names.

His orange eyes lock with your fading orbs, one last time. No, not the last time, just the final time in this lifetime. He's sure he's going to see you again. In any other life, Sukuna knows he'll be able to recognize you despite whatever flesh suit you'd be wearing.

"Shh little one," he's halfway gone before he finishes his sentence, leaving you to relish in his memory in your final moments. "We'll see each other once more, someday in another life..."

His four eyes lock on the approaching sorcerers. He finds it humorous how desperate they look. How alive and ready they seem, such a stark contrast to your ever lifeless face and dead eyes, it repulses him.

"Or maybe in one of the circles of hell."

The flames encircling his fingers remind him of the heat your body radiated in the dead of night. The crack from bones hum as they meet his knuckles, flash memories of your days wasted together doing nothing and everything.

The two of you will meet once more, he's sure of it. After all...

Monsters never die.

How could something that was never even born in the first place, ever die?

700 notes · View notes

gripefroot · 3 years

Text

Maiden of the Garden

an Azriel x Elain one shot

She had never felt so safe.

Not that she had never been so safe - she supposed she had been, for several years of her life, scattered here and there - but this was different. A different safety. The kind that wrapped her up inside and out, settled between her ribs to sleep like the closed petals of a lily. The kind that hummed a melody in her ear even in silence, unable to be shaken or forgotten - slumbered with her, rose with her.

The kind that knew her; knew all of her, and loved. Never left.

But these were solemn thoughts for the dawn. At least, she supposed it was dawn - it was hard to be sure. Elain shifted her sleep-heavy limbs with an unbidden hum in her throat, but the arm around her waist simply tightened. Her smile couldn’t be seen by anyone. Not even him: his breathing hadn’t changed, and so she knew he wouldn’t be hearing the race of her heart, either.

Blinking open her eyes, she only saw faint light filtered through the membrane of the pink-tinged wing slung over her face. For protection, or comfort. She hadn’t asked. A yawn split her face, then, and she brought the back of her hand to cover it, but not before her breath fluttered that velvet wing, just slightly.

He stirred behind her, the slightest groan thrumming from his chest and into her back. Elain shivered, and dared - dared to reach out her fingers to touch...to trace the thin veins visible as lines of darker pink spiderwebbing through the membrane. The patterns were nonsense to any eye, but they were the outline of his make. His shape. Him.

The rumble of a deep, foggy voice in her ear that sent shivers skating up the length of her spine: "If your intention was to wake me, dearest, you have succeeded."

Elain hummed then, but didn’t stop. Traced one finger up to the bone, which trembled as she swiped a gentle feel to the talon. “You were deeply asleep if it took that long.”

“I was.” A rasp. His arm tightened still, nearly pressing the air out of her - a contrast to the warm, satiny lips that pressed to the back of her neck, nuzzling that place between neck and hairline, where he breathed in deep and low. This was the safety, she knew. Of his larger, broader body tucked around hers. Even bare, as they both were, and sleepy to boot.

Here, there was no pretense. No pretending she was anything other than what - who - she was. And Elain sighed at that, ready to melt into the bedsheets and into his arms and never face the world again.

“You’re thinking.” Azriel’s hand slid up to clasp her shoulder, just as his mouth branded the base of her neck. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she couldn’t speak as his fingers made a stroking path - as gentle as hers as had been across his wing - down her arm to her fingers, still outstretched, to weave his between hers. Not a shadow in sight where the sun kissed. The scars didn’t look any less violent in the bruised light of dawn, but they belonged here. Still beautiful, with the sorrow behind them.

Just like her. He was the same.

“Am I thinking too loudly?” Elain quipped, and his response was a low chuckle before teeth nipped into the back of her shoulder - she gasped at the sensation, goosebumps breaking out across her skin. He pressed their clasped hands into the bed, and she arched, tilting her head backwards against his shoulder as his mouth made a hot trail for her ear...and her throat swelled and went thick with the flick of his tongue against the point of it.

“Far too loudly,” Azriel whispered, his tone grave. But she knew he was teasing, all the same. She knew it in her heart.

“I’ve scarcely thought any thoughts at all these last days,” Elain whispered. Again his tongue traced around her ear, suckling gently at the tip. She shivered. “Perhaps I need to make up for it.”

“No need,” he told her. “Not yet.”

She hummed. “And you have no thoughts rattling around yet, shadowsinger?”

“No,” Azriel said promptly. Laughed a laugh that made her heart pound, her thighs to clench together. “I know better than to think too loudly where my High Lord could snoop in.”

Elain hummed again.

“But…” His voice lowered an octave, and suddenly he wasn’t pressed so hard against her anymore - she bit back a moan of displeasure at that, at the withdrawing of his wing to let in more of the dawn light. No, she didn’t like that one bit. But then she felt his mouth on her spine, kissing lower with each breath and her hand clenched empty air as her head swam with heady deliciousness. “No, that was a lie, dearest. I am thinking. I’m thinking of you.”

She whimpered. The talon of his wing was pressed into the bed by her waist, and she could feel the searing imprint of his lips at the base of her spine. Slowly he peeled away the tangle of sheets and blankets from around and between her legs. They rustled, tossed aside without care. It truly was morning, Elain thought in her fog. Sunbeams shone through the glass windows, breaking around the wickedly curved tip of his wing.

“I thought,” she said, breathless - swallowed once, twice, to clear the raspiness from her throat as one of his hands slid up between her legs to part them. “I thought this - the frenzy was over.”

“It is,” Azriel told her. Then his face appeared over the curve of her hip, his smile broad and shining, hair tousled from sleep and eyes nearly gold in the sunlight. In a purr he clarified, “Frenzy or not, I still want you, Elain. I want all of you.” With his fingertips gently pressing into her thigh, he lifted it. First against his shoulder, and she twisted her ankle to keep from bumping his wing, even as she sucked in a breath through gritted teeth.

“I want you, too,” Elain whispered.

Over his bare, tattooed shoulders shadows crept curiously, as if wondering what all the fuss was about: they hadn’t been around much, these past days, and almost absently Azriel flicked one or two of the more daring ones away, and they slunk back. Then, his lips tilted into a crooked, promising smile that made her heart want to leap from its cavity in her chest and into his.

Where she was, and always would be - safe.

“Lay back,” he ordered, and into the soft pillows she sunk, closing her eyes and breathing out as steadily as she could. But that intention, good as it was, melted away like ice on a summer day at the first stroke of his tongue.

It was what her sisters had said; off-hand, in insinuating conversations she’d never been meant to hear. When it was this, it was always as intense and burning as the first time. Over and over again, with the immortal stamina and sensitivity. Elain inhaled sharply, reaching, reaching - and it was a scarred hand that held hers as she writhed against him, dignity having been left outside this house days ago. She moaned his name loud enough to wake anyone nearby.

Fortunately, they were alone, because when her release hit like a roaring wave over her, crashing again and again as Azriel groaned into her, she may have shouted.

She could feel it, as solidly as if it was a golden rope between them - even in her dizzy state, Elain reached out and tugged, wanting him, wanting him, wanting him there, with her, where she could kiss him until she drowned. He jolted at the tug, crawling up and over her body at once, though pausing long enough to litter hasty kisses at her breasts that still bore faded, lilac-colored bruises from yesterday. Or was it the day before that? She couldn’t remember.

Azriel’s mouth was salty, but she drank him in. Tasting every bit of his lips and tongue as he growled, elbows on either side of her, pinning her in - and when her lashes fluttered open she could see the expanse of his wings, flared out above him. The color of roses when they were pressed and preserved between the pages of a book. His majesty, she thought in a rush.

No, this wasn’t the frenzy, but it was no less than before. When he slid inside, stretching her until she was complete and whole and whimpering. Around his shoulders her arms hung, fingers twining in his mussed hair as he grunted, lifting and pushing one of her knees to the side...

This one they rode out together, Azriel pulling his head back slightly to stare down at her, a rush of emotion in those hazel eyes as Elain felt herself riveted to his gaze - licking her lips, tilting herself towards him for every part of him he offered: it was always all of him.

He didn’t move when they were done. Just rested his forehead against hers, breathing each other’s breaths as it all washed over them, his hands clenching hers to the bed. The heat, the longing, the love. Every part. And then he laid his head in the crook of her shoulder, and let out a sigh that felt more than a sigh. His wings drooped, and rested against the bed like a shroud around them.

A few of the more daring shadows peeked inquisitively over the side of the bed. Elain smiled at that, twisting her fingers away from Azriel to reach for the darkness - blessed coolness twirled around her hand in whorls of smoky black. Gentler than a lover.

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispered into her ear.

“I know.”

But she didn’t mind. Never had. And truthfully, the whispering cold they skated across her skin dried the damp sweat on her arm as they snooped upwards was pleasant.

“They’re being nosey,” Azriel told her. “Tell them to go away if you want.”

“I don’t want to,” Elain said. Tilted her face back towards him, smiling. And despite that morning, despite that week, color stole across his tanned face, a wavering sort of curve to his lips. “I’ve been selfish, keeping you to myself, haven’t I?”

“No,” he said at once. “Never. Never.”

“They missed you.”

He stilled. Blinked once, twice - then dark brows knitted together curiously. “How do you know?”

“Just a guess,” Elain admitted. Flicked her hand upwards, and the shadows slithered away and off the bed to play more later. That cooler hand she pressed to his face, then, the rough scratch of whiskers that hadn’t been shaved for a few days. But she liked the scrape of them in her palm. “A guess,” she went on. “Because when you’re not riveted on me, I miss you, too.”

Azriel huffed a laugh. “Flirting, El? Really?”

“Why not?” She squirmed, limbs grown heavy and tingling from the weight of him - at once he pushed himself off and away, wings fluttering back as if afraid of her feeling even a whisper of discomfort. Elain let that slide, electing to sit up with a yawn to stretch her arms overhead. She didn’t miss the poking shadows coming up again - nor their immediate disappearance at Azriel’s hiss of warning.

But his hiss was overladen by the growling of her stomach, and immediately Elain lowered her arms to cover her belly as embarrassed heat stained her face. But he laughed.

“Hungry?” he asked, and she threw a narrowed look over her shoulder, at him reclined back on the bed and his own gaze darkened at the sight of her naked back.

“I wouldn’t be so hungry if you didn’t come down to the kitchen to distract me,” she told him, trying to be demure - but he brought out this snappish part of her. This bravery. Saying what she wanted to say. Unlocking her lips.

“It was one time,” Azriel said. And grinned. Clearly remembering the afternoon she’d been too hungry to continue and begged for a respite, wandering to the kitchen in an old shirt of his to prepare some victuals for them - but he’d gotten impatient and gone to find her, and it had ended with her bent over the kitchen table and a basket of apples tipped onto the floor...

“I’m thinking that this mating frenzy isn’t well-thought out as a whole,” Elain said as she swung her legs over the side of the bed - she was leaking, but she didn’t mind that - nor did she mind the shadows that hid under the bed as she strode to the dresser where she’d dropped her clothes the first day they’d come here.

The last time she’d even worn clothes.

“What do you mean?” he asked as she shook out old underthings with a frown. They’d have to do until she had more clothes. Hopefully when the female staff returned today.

“Well - only that it’s a great deal of - of lovemaking.” She couldn’t say sex yet. “And that takes energy. And...well, food. But we couldn’t even pry ourselves apart long enough to eat.”

“I ate plenty,” Azriel said in a lazy voice. Elain pursed her lips and sent him a look - but he was grinning, and she laughed. And likely blushed, too. With a groan he sat forward, rolling his neck as she shook out her wrinkled frock. Shameful, to meet the staff in. If she’d been wise enough to take the extra ten minutes to pack clothes at the townhouse...but wisdom and mating didn’t work well together, it seemed.

She slipped the pale frock over her head, smoothing it down her front and trying to tug on it enough that the wrinkles didn’t show as much. Straightened the waistline beneath her breasts, aware of his eyes on her…

“Will you help me?” Elain asked. Shook out the ties at the nape of her neck for his benefit. Of course she could tie them herself, but when Azriel’s eyes glowed with admiration like that, and even halfway across the bedroom, he was too far…

He was behind her in the span of three heartbeats. Smiling that shy smile, his warm fingers trailing over the bare skin of her back before lifting the ties. Coolness followed: Elain shivered, knowing exactly what was tickling up her spine.

“Leave her be,” Azriel whispered sternly - not meant for her, as she felt the pull of the ties closed.

“No, I don’t mind,” she said. “Let them.”

And as if smug at her permission, she felt the shadows curl over her shoulder, drawing back her loose and tangled hair from in front of her breast, smoothing the strays from her face as she giggled at the sensation.

“I don’t suppose they can braid, too?” Elain asked in a light voice, and he grumbled.

“They’d learn for you,” he said. “But I’m going to draw a line somewhere, El. I can’t let them worship at your feet like this, otherwise there will be no room for me.”

She shivered at that, and at the warm, rough feel of his calloused hands on her bare arms. His lips behind her ear.

“Maybe I don’t want you at my feet,” she whispered. He went still, pausing as the shadows darted away again. Perhaps told to leave. Perhaps not wanting to see what was in his mind.

“Then where do you want me?” Azriel asked, his voice a rasp. Hands trailing down, over her body - then dipping between her legs, scrunching the folds of her frock there. The gentle press of his hand drew a moan from between her lips. “Here? Can I worship here?”

“Yes,” Elain breathed out. How she could want him again so soon - she didn’t know. Only that her blood was pounding, her voice cracked as she said, “And you’ve already done your morning venerations.”

“And what if I don’t want to wait until evening?”

“Then you’d better hope your household staff makes themselves scarce at opportune moments.”

His laugh broke the tautness of the moment. Struck through the air like a hand on a harp, making it shimmer with music. Elain twisted in his arms to face him, to soak in the sight of that pure joy in his expression. Rare, and beautiful: she hoisted herself onto her tiptoes to brush her lips against his.

“Breakfast?” she asked with a flutter of her lashes.

A swallowed growl as his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly against him. “Anything,” Azriel said in a low voice. “Anything for you.”

“But you can’t - you can’t take me in the kitchen like you did last time.”

His lips curled downwards in what was best described as a pout. It made him look more boyish than anything; a younger version of him she’d never known, but desperately wanted to. Just to understand him better.

“Aren’t you hungry, too?” Elain asked quietly. Traced along his jaw with her fingers, and he tilted his chin to kiss her palm.

“Food is one of the last things on my mind,” Azriel admitted.

“But you still need it.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” she said firmly. “And after breakfast I want that tour of the gardens you promised me months ago.”

His brows flicked upward at that, but he was grinning, all the same, and it made her heart swell up bigger just to see him so...so unburdened. Free.

Not unlike how she felt.

Rosehall, despite the name, wasn’t as grand as Rhys and Feyre’s river house. Elain had expected something sprawling and majestic as its owner, but now she felt foolish for such thoughts. Of course Azriel wouldn’t have a grand house - though it was as beautiful as any mansion she’d ever seen. More beautiful. With creeping vines of roses over trellises and a pagoda swarming with greenery. Belly full of cheese and apples (few items in the deserted kitchen were fit to eat after a week, or unprepared), Elain trailed her fingers over the leaves as Azriel tucked her other arm around his. A steady, solid presence beside her - though it must be terribly dull for him to explore the home he’d lived in for centuries already. But he said not a word against it.

The stucco house glowed in the sunshine, coppery-red roof tiles reflecting homey warmth. And, as they stepped into the sunshine that beckoned the garden path in front of them, Elain breathed deeply at the familiar scents that curled around her. Rich soil, sweet flowers, and him - her mate - musky cedar and rain that fell in the night.

The shadows that had nipped at their heels out of the door lurked at the pagoda, shaded from the sun, and came no further.

“It’s spring,” she said aloud, foolish as it sounded.

“It is,” Azriel said. “And you’re lovely.”

Elain tried to suppress a flush, and she didn’t know whether she succeeded or not. Casting him a look, her eyes were drawn to his wings spread behind him as if to catch the sun. Or to stretch out the muscles.

“Are you sunning them? Your wings?” she asked curiously.

“Er - no. Not exactly.” Something sheepish had stolen over his expression, but she waited until he went on in a voice that nearly sounded begrudging to her ears. “It’s...an Illyrian form of posturing,” Azriel admitted. “I can’t really help it. Staking a claim.”

“A claim?”

“On you.”

“Ah.” Elain nodded. “Yes. Because you think I’d see any other male when you are around.”

His lips twitched at that. “Flattering as that is, dearest, it’s not for you to see. It’s for the males to see. To know to stay away from you.”

“There is no one else here.”

“The staff is returning today,” Azriel reminded her with an arched brow. He hadn’t combed his hair that morning, she realized, and a secret smile tugged at her lips. His black hair was as disheveled as it had been when he’d crawled out of bed that morning...and tickled by the scarce breeze that fluttered the flowers and bushes around them. She could’ve sighed at the sight.

“Only females, you said.”

“Yes.” Something graver, more dangerous lurked in his voice then. But the pace of their slow steps on the stone path didn’t falter. Elain squeezed his arm in some comfort, and he slanted a smile towards her. “It’s best if I...I’m not around other males quite yet.”

She nodded in contemplation. Her sisters had mentioned that, too. But the heart-thudding sound of his wings as he shook them out even wider made her tremble, heat pooling in her limbs again...his breath caught at the same time hers did, his eyes fastening onto her face with the sharp immediacy of gnawing hunger.

But Azriel swallowed. His gaze dropped to her throat, as if he could see the pulse of her heartbeat there. “Rhys said he’d come when he can,” he rasped to her. “Help...me. To face others again.”

“Help?” Elain’s voice was wispy. Her knees weak.

“As a punching post until I can behave properly.” A wry twist of his lips, then, as his eyes darted back up to hers at last. She was feeling hot in the sun, though the air itself wasn’t warm. Her free hand shook as she rested it at her throat, swallowing thickly.

“I’m in no danger,” she whispered.

“No.” A colder edge to his tone now. “You’re not. Though any male that looks at you will be.”

Elain shivered. Melted against him, as if his words had cut the very strings holding her upright - his arms stole around her at once, and his mouth found hers in a bruising kiss. A claiming kiss. One that made the bond between them purr with satisfaction, until her breathing was short and his hazel eyes blazing hotter than the sun as he stared down at her, tucking brown-gold curls behind the points of her ears.

“Now that our alone time is nearly at an end, we should wait until we’re behind locked doors,” Azriel murmured. “I hate to think what would be said of us if the staff returned while we were sprawled in the garden with my head up your skirts.”

The crassness should bother her, she knew - but it only made her hotter. Sensibility all but gone, and she didn’t miss it. Didn’t miss those walls that had kept her locked away for so long.

“They already know what we’ve been doing,” Elain pointed out, her voice barely above a whisper, and his head tilted to the side as he considered her. As if he’d perked up at her insinuation. Still he protested,

“But seeing it - ”

“What difference should it make?” she challenged. Ran her hands up his black shirt, to rest on his chest where she could feel the frantic pumping of his heart. “I - I know it’s different here. And with such things as Calanmai…”

Azriel’s eyes darkened a shade to burnished gold, the thick sound of his wings posturing out further; shading her from the sun. Or prying eyes. As if the mere mention of the Rite had woken something completely, utterly fae in him; ready to pounce, to sprawl her in the neatly-trimmed grass as he’d said earlier…

“Are you saying, dearest,” he rumbled, from deep in his chest, “That you’d feel no shame if someone were to...happen upon us?”

“I don’t know,” Elain whispered. “I should, I know...but somehow…” Her voice trailed off, and anxiously she awaited some response from him. It was silent in the cocoon of his wings, where the world outside of this seemed to have stopped spinning. Pausing, holding its breath.

“We can experiment with that,” Azriel promised. “Later.”

Later. But it didn’t stop her heart from racing as he stretched out his wings, and the morning returned to its earlier activity in buzzing insects and the tittering of birds nearby. She heard them, but didn’t see them.

The winding path took them past any number of plants. Elain tried to take note of the varieties that grew here, but it muddled in her mind somewhere beneath the last echoes of the frenzy. Of him beside her, distracting her with little more than his scent and his feel of his muscled arm beneath her palm. And, even worse for her sense but delicious to her soul - Azriel started humming.

Elain let the sound wash over her for a while. Reverberating, deep, almost...hoarse. But as peaceful as the sun. Then, quietly, as he drew in a breath she said, “You can sing aloud. I don’t mind.” With her opposite hand she reached out, and the velvety petals of violet tulips bobbed beneath her touch. She almost expected him to refuse, but he didn’t, and a moment later words formed and sprang into the air as lovely and deep as the dusk:

“Hear me now, oh maiden of the garden,” he began, and she glanced sharply at him, wondering if he was making fun - but it was sincerity and softness. “Maiden of the garden, Hear... Take me to your cold and weedy bed Cold and weedy bed, hear...”

They’d stopped walking, though she pretended more interest in the thick leaves of a fern, freeing him from scrutiny that might close him up…

“Love me through the flooding, muddy soil, Kiss me through the plucks of hungry birds, Marry me in a dress of lily petals Hear...”

If there was more, Azriel didn’t go on. Cleared his throat and softly, without turning, Elain asked, “What song is it?”

“It’s an old ditty,” he told her, his speaking voice bland. “I believe it’s sung throughout Prythian, though the verses vary. I’ve heard Lucien humming the melody under his breath once or twice.”

Regret didn’t belong in that sunny morning, wrenching in her chest like a bitter tea. So Elain buried it, like the dig of her fingers into the cool soil. She’d planted a better seed in its place. Sinking into a crouch, she frowned at a weed that was threatening to overtake a bush of flowers she didn’t recognize. A swift yank dislodged it and its pale root, and she shook the dirt from it. Splatters landed on her white frock, but she merely shook them off as she stood again.

Azriel had stiffened, peering back over his shoulder. “They’re here,” he said quietly. Her heart thumped unhappily: they were no longer alone. These frenzied days had come to an end - she’d known they would, of course, the perfection she’d found in his company, and his alone.

When he turned back at her, she was ready with a smile. “Will you still hold my hand?” Elain asked. “Even though it’s dirty?”

By way of answer he clasped her hand in both of his, bringing it to his mouth for a tender kiss. He lingered there, breathing in deeply as his eyes closed. “Your scent,” he murmured, twisting her hand ‘round to breathe in again, this time his nose pressed to her wrist. “I’ll never get enough of it.”

“You won’t have to,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.” That blazing promise she allowed to shine from her face. Azriel’s eyes snapped up to gaze at her, and his lips twisting into a smile...one without humor, but saturated through with possession.

“Let’s go back. Rest before lunch.”

“We only woke a little while ago.”

“Not that kind of rest.” Then that smile turned teasing, and Elain laughed as he scooped her into his arms without effort, kicking off from the ground in a whoosh that tangled the wind in her hair and around her skirts. His chest was warm and solid - a venerable wall of strength. But if she tilted her head, she could kiss his throat - and she did, taking her time to nibble at the taut, hot skin there. His flight wobbled somewhat, a groan whipped away at speed.

She saw nothing of the staff that he’d mentioned - perhaps he concealed her. And as Azriel swooped to the balcony that jutted from the east side of the house, connected to his bedroom by double doors paned with frosted glass, she strained her ears to hear. As is from far away, quiet female voices and the clattering of pots and pans. Her meager breakfast after so many days of even scanter nourishment hadn’t been enough. Elain was starving. But she wanted her mate, too, with a different kind of ache as he nudged open one of the doors with a foot to stride through, still carrying her - and she would very much appreciate a bath, and -

“You’re thinking loudly again,” Azriel remarked.

“I was thinking of a bath,” she admitted, peering up at him.

“Oh?”

“And a meal would be welcome.”

The shadows were there, waiting for them - as soon as Azriel set her down on the floor they snaked up around her, and him - Elain felt the coolness flick the heat from her face like a breezy whisper. The prickling sweat at the back of her neck gone beneath her heavy hair.

“I can’t believe it,” he mumbled, and she turned to face him with a smile. “They’re fussing.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, but then hurried to add, “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Well, I’m jealous, certainly,” Azriel grinned. “But I don’t see why I’m so surprised. I adore you, after all. Why shouldn’t they?”

“A poignant question indeed.” Elain would have had to be a special kind of stupid not to notice that the shadows had crept up her back, and flicked the tie of her dress undone before slithering away - but it did bring a flush to her cheeks. “Dear me,” she mumbled, though she didn’t mean it as the straps of her frock fell forward. The weight of her breasts sunk the neckline low, and Azriel’s attention was snagged like a fish on a lure, eyes honed in on her. “I wonder what they meant by that.”

His throat bobbed in a swallow. Then, with no more warning than a surge of intention through the golden bond between them, he sprung across the few feet between them to gather her up in a crushing embrace, mouth branding on hers with a groan. Hers or his? Her head spun. She didn’t know -

The bodice was torn down by Azriel’s hand, with which he immediately cupped one of her bare breasts as she whimpered; his teeth sinking into her bottom lip with a ravenous growl.

“Az - ” Elain gasped, tearing at his shirt without even thinking about it - something primal had taken over. “Az - I - ” She meant to say something coy and delicate, perhaps ‘take me to bed’ or ‘please make love to me,’ but she hadn’t the words in her mind. But he knew what she meant, clearly, for she was swept up into his arms once more as he bolted for the bed - it had been neatly made, she realized dazedly - the shadows or the staff?

A knock on the door interrupted a bruising kiss, stopping his hand up her thigh in its tracks. Then an airy, almost nervous voice from the hallway as Azriel tilted his head: “We - we’ve brought up Lady Elain’s trunk sent from Velaris. Of her things.”

“Leave it outside the door,” Azriel said hoarsely. “Th - thank you.”

All the politeness he could manage, and with her heart hammering Elain nudged herself against him, his hard length pressed into her leg. He sucked in a breath at that, turning his attention back to her with burning gold in his eyes: like a breath on embers, the heat inside of her flared. Barely noticed footsteps faded away down the hallway as his wings flared slightly - she couldn’t help staring, wondering if he was posturing again...

“How do you want me?” he whispered. Nudged his nose against hers, completely in contrast to the raging need she felt. The need that surfaced from the marrow of her bones to sluice through her veins, to him.

“Any way,” Elain breathed back, and she meant it.

Azriel’s lips were parted as his gaze raked over her face. A shadow curled beneath his ear, but he paid it no mind: instead, rucked up the hem of her skirt to settle at her hips, exposing her to the air. She shivered, but it was from the molten way he stared at her, the brush of the backs of his scarred fingers on her bare thigh.

“I want you every way,” he said, his voice gone low and dark. “And we have all day.”

That mere insinuation drew a moan from between her lips, and Azriel smiled the sort of smile she suspected a wolf might wear when it saw a fawn: but it wasn’t fear that writhed through her. It was the thrill of being hunted. Being wanted.

He tucked his other arm around her neck, to cradle her close as his wandering fingers stroked up the slit of her. Elain reached up to clasp his face in her hands, pulling it down to kiss him fiercely. The groan through his chest was enough to set her on fire; with the gentle stroking of his fingers she could burn to ashes in a heartbeat.

It didn't take long for him to bring her to climax - she wondered as he peppered kisses to her breasts, if her body responded to him so violently because they were mated or if it was simply because he knew how to play her like an instrument. Breath after breath lifted her chest, trying to calm herself, but it wasn’t to be: with a grin his delved his fingers into her again, and Elain shrieked and squirmed but laughed - he laughed, too, and she felt the cooling brush of shadow against her cheek -

A thunk on the balcony they’d come in on drew Azriel’s gaze to the side, sharp and sudden as a whip. Still protected by his shoulders, Elain poked her head beneath his splayed wing to see a familiar set of boots on the ground. She couldn’t see above that, but she knew who it was. And she was practically naked -

“Well, well, well,” Cassian boomed, and then even his boots were concealed from her gaze as Azriel spread his wings further, shielding her from being seen. She rested her hands on his chest, but his head was turned and his lips curled, baring his teeth. “Still going, Az?”

“Back off,” was the snarl in response. Elain’s breath caught in her throat, but not from fear.

“Is she hiding in there? Or did she scarper?”

“I’m here,” she squeaked back.

“Ah. How are you liking that wingspan, Ellie?”

“Don’t call her that,” Azriel growled, low in his chest. She could feel the tautness of him, ready to spring - though his trousers had been unbuttoned and his shirt was hanging open, he wouldn’t hesitate to attack. Not even his brother. And his Siphons were on the other side of the bed -

“Why not?” Cassian asked, his tone innocent. “Don’t you?”

Elain craned her neck to see over Azriel’s wing - it was about what she expected, Cassian leaning against the open glass doors with the expanse of bright blue sky behind him. He was grinning like a cat that had got the cream, fully-armored, his hair tied back.

“Come out and show me how you really feel, Az,” Cassian said, and she felt Azriel shift above her like a snare. Then Cassian winked, and started walking backwards to the stone railing and, likely, safety. But he still called back, “Nice to see you, Ellie. Nes is waiting downstairs.”

As soon as Cassian went over the edge in a dare, Azriel snarled, and followed at a run. Elain felt the whoosh of air as he left her on the bed, the flap of his wings as he shot out of the doors and into the sky -

Oh, dear. And he hadn’t even buttoned his trousers.

This was what he’d mentioned in the garden, she supposed. “A punching post until I can behave properly,” was what Azriel had said, but he’d assumed Rhys. Had Cassian’s unexpected appearance made it worse?

Tugging at the sleeves and bodice and skirt of her rumpled frock, Elain strode across the bedroom for the balcony, curious - she heard a shout, and a laugh (Cassian’s) and then a crash of something. She had to lean over the edge to see, but they were there, a bundle of black and golden skin and red light as they tumbled on the manicured lawn. The crash had been a marble statue, which now lay in several parts. She flinched as Azriel landed a spectacularly brutal blow against Cassian’s middle, but the general just wheezed, still grinning - he glanced towards her and waved his fingers, but that was a mistake on his part. Azriel turned to face her, snarled at his brother’s irreverence towards his mate, and tackled him back to the grass.

We have all day, Azriel had said, and Elain pressed her lips together to keep from giggling.

No time for a bath quite yet, but she did kneel beside the trunk in the hallway to find more suitable (and clean) clothes. A little fussing and a quick comb of her hair, letting the curls fall down her back threaded through with curious shadows was enough to feel enough of herself to face her sister.

The grunts and shouts and Cassian’s bellowing laughter from the lawn followed her all the way down the stairs.

Nesta, in her usual steel-grey with her hair braided atop her head, was reading a book in one of the front rooms. Elain hadn’t taken the time to explore all that Rosehall had to offer yet, but she squashed that blushing thought as her sister caught sight of her, and stood.

“Well?” Nesta asked with an arch look, gazing at Elain up and down. Another crash from the lawn.

“Well, what?” Elain tried to recall self-control and poise, dragging it up from deep in her chest where she’d lost it sometime several days ago. She would not flush - she had nothing to be ashamed of -

“How are you?”

“Perfectly well. And you?”

Nesta’s eyes flickered to the window. But the males weren’t visible from this side of the house. “He’d better be able to fly us back to Velaris after this,” she said, in an almost grumpy voice, and Elain smiled.

“Are you hungry?” Elain asked. “I think we could find something in the kitchens if you are.”

“I had breakfast not long ago,” Nesta said, and again her attention turned to Elain. Grey eyes narrowed. “Have you eaten at all this week?”

“Here and there.” Practically a lie. And as if to punish her for it, the hollow ache in her belly shuddered inside of her, begging for something - anything. Elain bit her lip to keep from wincing.

“I’ll go find something,” Nesta said in a voice that allowed no argument. “You sit here.”

Weakly Elain sat on a settee to the thump of Nesta’s book being closed and tossed onto a sofa. Her sister strode from the room as if she were mistress of the house, rather than Elain, but she was unable to form a complaint. Not with the strands of herself still scattered around, though she tried half-heartedly to scoop them up to put herself back together...but she didn’t want to be put together. She wanted to be unravelled with her mate, to return to the quiet stillness of solitude; when it had been just them.

But the plate of cakes and fruit that Nestra returned with was wildly welcome. Elain ate a still-warm vanilla cake in two bites and was halfway through a sliced pear topped with a hard, salty cheese before she realized her sister was still watching her, and with an amused smile on her face. It was rare enough that Nesta be amused, let alone at her, and so Elain swallowed her mouthful and her nerves, clearing her throat.

“You came with Cassian,” she said to make conversation.

“Someone needed to check in on you,” Nesta said. Nodded her head towards the window. “He can report on Azriel, but I knew he wouldn’t see much of you.”

“I’m perfectly well,” Elain repeated.

“Good.”

Slowly, with more decorum now, she layered together pear and cheese atop a cracker dotted with seeds. Took a nibble, though her stomach ached for more, now. Nesta leaned forward, and lifted the iced pitcher she’d brought as well to fill the two cups. Oh, lemonade - how lovely. The staff must be working hard in the kitchens; she’d have to stop by later.

“And how is...everything?” Elain asked carefully, to which Nestra shrugged.

“Everything is as it always is,” she said. “You and Azriel are missed. Some - ” and Nesta rolled her eyes, as if unwilling to name names, “ - have missed your presence as the only two with any sense.”

“I see.”

“Do you know when you’ll return?”

“I don’t know,” Elain said. I don’t want to return, she thought mulishly to herself, but she couldn’t allow herself to be so selfish. Swiping fluffed cream from the top of another cake with the tip of her finger, and sucking it off between her lips. Delicious. She was still starved.

“Has it worn off?” Nesta asked next. Elain felt her cheeks heat at that, but a comforting bit of coolness curl around her throat, as if to stave off her own embarrassment at her sister’s frankness. Or to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

“Azriel says it has,” she said. “But I - I don’t know.”

Nesta nodded, and then her face was split by a sly smile. “The circle has taken wagers on what you gave him to eat,” she said. “Mor suggested it would be a full course meal. And I believe it was Amren that bet on a handful of scallions torn out of a garden.”

“I haven’t had time to prepare a full course meal,” Elain told her, mimicking Nesta’s arch tone perfectly. “Not that it matters, but I gave him a lemon cake.”

Of the food that had been left behind by staff before their timely exit, they’d burned through in less than a day during that initial frenzy. But not so quickly that she hadn’t chosen the plumpest, tenderest cake to slip through Azriel’s lips - he’d been on his knees, then, but she couldn’t recall quite why...Elain nearly choked on a bit of pear as the memory returned from the delicious haze the entire week had become. Ah. That was why.

“We’ll be collecting our winnings, then,” Nesta said, still smiling. “Are you sure you’re well, Elain?”

“I am very well, though if you continue to pester me I might be less well,” Elain said in a testy voice.

“No...questions about...anything?”

“No,” she said, firm and bland, and she was saved from further questioning: a blur of black and angry snarling hurled past the window they sat in front of, drawing their attention as a pot of mums was nearly knocked over on the veranda. The males had come to a stop outside, and Nesta made it to the window before Elain: but it was Azriel that popped up first, his eyes flickering towards her as her belly twisted for something other than food. His hair stuck up on its ends, his cheeks flushed with exertion and a bruise blossoming beneath his chin. His shirt was torn in several places, as if severed by claws.

But it was Cassian, hauling himself up to his feet by clutching a wrought-iron bench, that had clearly come off worse. Nose leaking blood, his arm hanging stiffly as he tried to roll his shoulder. Didn’t stop him from winking at Nesta, though, who harrumphed right back.

Elain’s nose was pressed to the glass as she stared at her mate.

“Thank you for visiting,” she whispered to Nesta. “We’ll - we’ll return soon.”

“Take your time,” Nesta replied. Her book was tucked under her arm again, and lifting her skirts in one hand she made for the door. “I’m glad you’re happy, El.”

But Elain’s eyes were still fixed on Azriel, and his on her. Cassian limped away behind him, to meet Nesta at the door, but Azriel jerked his head in the opposite direction. The back entrance.

It was there that they met in a flurry - his arms open for her, shirt in complete tatters as she pressed herself to him. Not close enough, never close enough...Elain lifted herself onto her toes to kiss him, breathing in the scents of soil and grass that now clung to his skin. He groaned into her mouth, fingers digging into her skirts and the flesh of her buttocks.

“I’ve never seen you like that before,” she breathed. Traced over the planes of his face with her fingertips as he stared hungrily at her. The shadows around him made some effort to fix up his shirt; lifting the shreds as if to cover him. And then gave up to slink away to the corners. “Fight - yes. But...not like that.”

"I'm sorry,” Azriel said at once. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you - "

"You didn't.” Elain held his golden gaze as he went still. Then, a whisper, “I love you."

Immediately she was hauled into his arms, his wings tucking in to make it through the doorway and into the cooler relief of the stone hallway. From here she could hear the clattering activity in the kitchens, and she knew Azriel must be as starving as she’d been, but convincing him to eat would likely be a futile effort.

Sparring Cassian clearly hadn’t depleted him too much, Elain learned. And she learned it on her back, frock rucked up to her waist and her ankles over his shoulders as he stood above her, gripping her hips to thrust into her until she was completely unravelled once more. Just the way she wanted - spilling over the edge with him and uncaring what anyone else thought.

“Again,” Azriel grit through his teeth. Her knuckles were throbbing with pain from clutching the bedsheets, her throat hoarse and dry from the first two climaxes he’d wrung from her. She was limp and soaked, barely even aware of the vulgar, slapping noises they were making. “Again, El. For me. One more time.”

The dominance in his voice brought her back, rekindling the embers that tried to sleep in her veins. Elain whimpered, but couldn’t resist: this release was slower than the others, but sultry and sweet as she met her mate’s gaze - his tousled hair framed by the sunlight coming in through the open balcony doors, the muscles in his chest and arms taut and flexing as he rode her.

“With me,” she whispered, and he dipped his head in a nod before she spun out of control.

Elain was slack head-to-toe when Azriel gently extracted himself - he swore under his breath, but she couldn’t even open her eyes to see what it was: and then she felt her skirts gathered in his hand, wiping down between her legs as she nearly shrieked aloud at how sensitive she was.

He collapsed on the bed beside her, panting, and she turned to face him with a smile. Curling up and around him like his shadows liked to do - and could she blame them? Azriel grinned at her, smoldering gold once more rather than an inferno, and pulled her close. Around their forms his wing rested.

It meant that this was their space, she was coming to learn. And woe to anyone who interrupted them: Cassian had the bruises to prove it. Elain frowned, then, and reached up to touch the purple splotch beneath Azriel’s chin with her fingers. He didn’t flinch, but merely stared at her.

“Will you be alright?” she whispered.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “And...I can face the world again, I suppose.”

“But do you want to?” Elain asked, a smile lifting her tired lips.

“No,” Azriel said at once. “Do you?”

“No, but we’ll have to.”

“But not today.”

“No. Not today.” She smiled, then, and his responding grin was the kind that warmed her from the inside out. “Can we have a bath now?”

“Yes, of course.” Hauling her against his chest, Azriel sat them up with a groan of his own, settling her in his lap at the edge of the bed. “Though it may be worth noting,” he added, some mischief forming in that curl of his mouth. “That no amount of soap is going to wash the scent of me from your skin.”

Elain hummed, smoothing back some of that tangled hair from his forehead. “That’s a relief to hear.”

His eyes blinked, the gold in them nothing short of yearning. An ache in his expression that thrummed painfully through her. Through what lay between them. “You mean it?” Azriel whispered.

“Yes.” Teeth clamped onto her bottom lip, but still she smiled, leaning her forehead against his damp one as he huffed. Laughter, perhaps - or something else.

The squeaking sound of a faucet drew her attention towards the bathing room, the door that led to it wreathed in shadows. “They like baths,” Azriel said by way of explanation. “Bubbles especially.”

“I don’t know why people are afraid of your shadows,” Elain told him. “They’re sweet.”

“To you. They’re fond of you.” He grinned, teeth flashing. “Lady Shadowsinger.”

She laughed at that, and he stood with her still in his arms. Around them his wings fluttered and flared as he carried them to their bath, and Elain rested her head against his tattooed chest.

Lady Shadowsinger.

She liked it.

#elriel #azriel x elain #acotar #elrielmonth #elain archeron

174 notes · View notes

neozoid · 3 years

Text

Peril comes out

Peril's wingtips touched Clay's as they silently soared through the soft gray rain.

Half an hour ago, she had asked him if he would take just one moment to fly with her. After everything that had happened, with Jade Mountain Academy under threat and those little rapscallions - Moon, Turtle, Kinkajou, Anemone, Qibli, and Winter - had all managed to save it. The past week... no, weeks? She had lost track of time. But they had been a blur - a blur of emotions, of frustration, of painful, deep searing guilt, Darkstalker's scroll looming in her mind, and of longing. She hadn't gotten to talk to Clay in so long, and she wasn't sure that at the end of it he'd still feel the same way about her that he did when she saved his life on the brightest night.

She turned to look at his face in the grayness. His expression was focused, concentrated, effortful.

He must still be in a lot of pain from that burn I gave him, Peril thought guiltily.

No! She shook her head. I kept him alive! If it wasn't for me he'd be dead! But that didn't make her feel any better.

She turned her gaze back down to the valleys below, vast and dotted in slate blue pine trees obscured by the falling droplets. They rolled harmlessly off Clay, but they sizzled when they hit her and dissolved into steam, making her look like a ghost in flight. The rocky outcroppings below resembled a sleeping dragon - as if the landscape itself, was, once again, put to rest after Darkstalker's second sleep.

"Peril," Clay spoke.

She whipped her head around to him. "Clay?"

"I'm... I'm starting to get a bit tired. Do you think we could stop somewhere down below? Maybe in a cave."

She quickly scanned the landscape below her, and saw an opening just a half mile away. "Yeah, I see something down there." She turned herself in the direction of the cave, and Clay followed her.

As they came in for a landing, Peril opened her wings wide, scattering a million fallen petals that intermingled with the rain. She softly touched down and carefully wrapped her wings around herself, and looked back at Clay, beckoning.

They both sat in the mouth of the cave, tails twined, watching the rain fall.

After what seemed like just a moment (but Peril knew full well was the better part of an hour,) Clay looked at her and asked "So... do you want to talk about Scarlet? Or Ruby? Or the stuff that happened while you were helping Moon and her friends save Jade Mountain?"

Peril stared at him, startled. "No! I mean, yes! I mean, just..." She sighed and looked at the roof of the cave. "I do, but like... hrmmmnnm." She closed her mouth shut and hummed.

"I get it. It can be hard to talk about stuff like this. It took us five forever to find the time to reflect and talk about our feelings after everything happened." He looked at the ceiling too and laughed. "Tsunami..." he muttered happily, and shortly his smile faded, his face a sad, wistful stare. "And Glory."

"I... hm." She fidgeted with her talons nervously. "I mean, I DO want to talk about Queen Scarlet and Ruby and-" she shook her head, "not-queen-Scarlet and- arghh, but it's so! CONFUSING! And it makes me mad to think about her manipulating like that. I trusted her, I really did and..."

Clay looked into the rain. "Like we trusted Morrowseer."

"I... I guess... yeah..." She looked into a corner awkwardly, but then curled her fist. "She shouldn't have betrayed us like that!" she roared.

"What about... Turtle?" Clay offered.

Peril's heart jumped in her stomach. She thought about Turtle, the only other dragon who had understood and trusted her, at least for a while. How protective she felt of him, how she wanted to follow him (and then not...) when they were trying to find Queen Scarlet. She thought about how he went underwater that night, making her rage about how she couldn't get to him, and how regretful she felt when she left him behind. He made her feel new things, just like Clay, new weird things.

"He was nice, I guess."

"How did he feel about being an animus? That must've been why he was able to sympathize with you. He knew if he revealed his animus secret he'd be thrust into the talons of others and the plans they wanted for him, and the only way to avoid that was deep, resolute isolation. He knows how that feels, Peril."

She fumed with fury for a second. Why could he hide! He got to choose that lousy isolation, but she didn't have a choice! Then she thought about his pain-stricken face when she found his healing rock, or his vengeful look as he bashed Chameleon upside the-

Chameleon.

She stared through the wall of water passing outside.

"Peril," Clay whispered.

"Oh. Right." She looked back at him.

"I know it's a lot of stuff to think about, but I can't keep carrying this conversation by myself." He softly chuckled with a warm, patient smile.

She blushed and fluttered her wings. "Right. Sorry, sorry. I was just- argh. Arghhh." She squirmed, as if caterpillars were crawling out of her skin.

Do I tell him?

"Turtle," she said resolutely, "taught me new things about myself. He reminded me of you, actually, Clay. You were my first exposure to life outside the Skywing Palace, and if I'm being honest I was kind of disappointed with the other dragonets at Jade Academy, how they treated me. I thought they'd be like you - I thought everyone in the outside world would be like that."

Clay winced.

"But Turtle! Turtle has his friends, and, surely, he's taught them! I keep getting letters from them. Which is like, weird, but the fact that someone's thinking about me!? While I'm not in front of them!?! Threatening to blaze their FACE or melt their SKIN off!?!?!" She yelled with a smile. "It's CRAAAAZY!"

Clay let out a hearty laugh, smiling as well.

"And Queen Ruby - she hated me, she hated me so bad Clay, she hated me just as much as the other Skywings did, if not more. If Scarlet's twisted love is what makes me ache, Ruby's absolute hatred of me tore me to the core. She looked at me and didn't want anybody, nobody in the whole world to do anything with me. Didn't want anyone to touch me, look at me, love me. She saw me as an irredeemable monster because of things I couldn't control." Peril's face contorted in despair.

"But Tourmaline... Someone who hadn't been fed Scarlet's lies... She saw right through that and she knew deep in my heart I COULD love." She scratched her snout awkwardly. "Well, at least I think I can. I'm not sure."

Clay lovingly jabbed her with her shoulder, and she giggled.

"But that pure strong spirit.... It's so." Her stomach dropped. "It's so scary what Chameleon did to her. Ripped her title, her memories, her life away just for some gold, some jewels." She spat on the ground.

"And Chameleon..."

Her stomach felt like a howling void, ready to collapse her from the inside out.

Do I tell him?

What if he hates me?

He should hate me.

I'm just as bad as him.

I'm just like my dad.

She turned to Clay terrified.

"I-" she sputtered. "I want to tell you something."

Clay looked at her face, concerned, but he motioned around. "Just you and me."

"I-" Peril's muscles clenched, her veins wrapped all around inside her, her bones stabbed inside her, shame made her heat blaze ever hotter, shame and guilt and pain and fear. She wanted to fall into the ground and have it swallow her up, but she knew she didn't have a choice.

"I'm not - I'm not actually a girl. I was hatched as a boy. I- I- Queen Scarlet, she said, she- she wanted me to be like her and- " Words started running over one another. "When you got here- I- I- I just felt like protecting you- and- but- I didn't want you to give up on me- Having a relationship- I-" She wanted to die. She wanted to disappear. "I'm a liar. I'm- I'm just like Chameleon," she howled. "I'm faking it. I- I wanted you but I- I just-" She let go, and wailed.

She looked back at him. "P-please don't-don't hate me," Peril choked through tears.

Clay softly gazed at her, leaned in closer, his wings wrapping around her, and kissed her on her snout.

Peril tears turned to confusion as she leaped with delight and her scales roared a bright blazing blue, the searing heat singing any leftover moss in the cavern. Clay reflexively pulled away, and patted his singed scales, laughing.

"Ow, geez, haha! Not like that!"

"I- I- Huh??"

Peril stepped back, but looked up and peered at his expression.

He really doesn't hate me, she thought wondrously.

As Clay turned looking over himself, his scales settled, and as the smoke rose, he looked at Peril.

"You know, someone else actually said something similar to me a little while ago." He sat back down.

Peril crooned. "R-Really?"

"Yeah. It was - it was Sunny."

Peril's jaw dropped open.

"She'd mentioned to me how she'd - during our time fulfilling the dragonet prophecy, she'd... we'd kind of ignore her most of the time. Not take her seriously. When we first planned on escaping the cavern, we didn't tell her.... she was so upset, afterwards. And in all of our discussions and planning afterwards, we'd step on her feelings. Actually, you remember the Nightwing invasion? Or, well, whatever came of the invasion before they all came crashing into Glory's rainforest under fealty."

"Yeah?" Peril looked at him.

"She was the one who came up with the idea of using the sleeping darts! But Glory was planning, and the others were shouting, so she had to ask me to use my voice and SHOUT it at everyone. The point is, she felt small. And overly protected - we didn't respect her whole, y'know, feelings as part of the team."

Peril flicked her tail, anxious.

"So... A couple nights ago, she talked to me in private, and she told me how she'd been feeling, and... she said she didn't really feel like it was right to be a Queen anymore. Given Thorn had safely secured the position, and was doing a good job... And with everything about the Eye of Onyx." Clay shifted on his talons. "She could trust it to pick a new leader. And the thing is, you know how... you've seen Deathbringer. You've seen Riptide. You've seen Starflight and maybe even Winter and Qibli. And maybe even Darkstalker, and Clearsight."

He sighed.

"Male dragons have a strong feeling to protect one person, the one person who brings them all the light in the world. Sunny said she didn't really feel like that - like one person had captured her whole heart in their hands. But she certainly didn't want to be the object of that kind of affection either. And Sunny didn't feel like Queen Coral or Thorn or Scarlet either, where she wanted to protect her own kin, her own future. She wants to protect everybody. And more than that, she doesn't want to be Sunny the small and weak and lovable, or Sunny the fierce and possessive and loyal. She just wants to be... Sunny, helping out wherever she can."

Peril stared at him intently, blue eyes locked in brown. "And?"

"Well, at first we tried just referring to Sunny by name to sort of, you know, respect her decision, but Starflight looked through the library and found in some old scrolls people using 'they' to refer to - did you even know there were dragons who decided to live past being a boy or a girl in the past, just like Sunny? I was surprised."

Peril's mind was racing. "They must be so happy," she said, eyes sparkling.

Outside, the rain had cleared, and Peril noticed out beyond the cave was a huge field of sunflowers, waving and dancing in the cool wind.

Suddenly her thoughts returned to her.

"But that thing you said earlier about protecting..." Peril looked down at her talons uncomfortably.

"Oh yeah - sorry, I... I didn't mean to. I just..." Clay caught himself. "I... I'm sorry Peril. I know your feelings about this must be really, really complicated. I..." Clay looked away again with a twinge of guilt on his face.

Peril stared at him, trembling.

"But Sunny taught me something I hadn't even thought about before." He chuckled. "I did think about it too, but after a long night of restless staring at the sky and thinking I figured I was perfectly happy being a guy. But that look on Sunny's face... they must have struggled as much with telling us as you did."

"I love you, Peril. I don't think you're anything like Chameleon at all. He only used his identities to trick and manipulate others, to get what he wanted for himself. But you've only ever been trying to find yourself - with Scarlet twisting your thoughts from birth, with how everyone's avoided you and you've been excluded from all the Skywings and, man, even the other dragon's games on Jade Mountain. It must hurt so much to be that isolated."

Peril stared into the field, unable to meet his gaze, tears running down her face.

"I just want you to know, Peril, I love you for who you chose to be. For all of your heroism, and your kindness. Your self-restraint. Chameleon had none of those qualities. But you do."

He stared her straight in the eye.

"What you chose is noble, and so so hard. Being true to yourself - more than Chameleon ever was, he couldn't handle being boring old him - is so, so hard. I know."

Peril thought about the Chameleon's enchanted necklace that removed her firescales. She shuddered deeply."

But you did it. And you shouldn't have to live with the shame, or the guilt anymore. You can have a new beginning just like us." His eyes creased as he looked into hers so warmly, making her melt. "You might protect my scales, but I want to protect your smile. I hope you can let me do that."

"I-"

She rushed forward and hugged him, squeezing him tight. Tears streamed down her face, and she choked down a sob, but she hugged him as tight as she could, not letting go.

"Thank you, Clay," she said when she finally let him out of her little death trap.

"Woof!" He stumbled backwards, breathlessly. "I know I said be true to yourself, but maybe we can work a little on the intensity." He looked at her with a silly expression on his face. "Just kidding. You're perfect the way you are."

"Ha ha," she guffawed. "Tell that to anyone else at Jade Academy." She joked, but she knew deep in her heart that the others were starting to see her for what she could be, too. Not just a monster, or a weapon - but a friend.

"So my queen, shall we return to the mountain?" He curtseyed awkwardly, then looked up with one eye. "Actually, wait, that sounds kind of weird? Girlfriend? Babe?" He started scratching his head. "Names were never really my strong suit."

She howled with laughter and smacked him on the back, taking flight. "Just call me Peril," she triumphantly roared. As Clay lept into flight behind her, grinning, Peril thought... Not gonna lie - I like babe too.

#wings of fire #wof #wings of fire spoilers #wof spoilers #wof clay #wof peril #i did it #i wrote my first fanfic

82 notes · View notes