All of my characters are currently in prison at a place called "Neostage". Neostage is luxurious. It doesn't seem like a prison. The prisoners are treated as celebrities but are forced to fight each other to the death each month like gladiators. The more popular and profitable are brought back to life and the least marketable/popular die permanently.
Neostage and the universe it belongs to were created by my amazing creative and talented girlfriend @kabie-whump
Detali Gamble 🐍
Detali is a girlboss. She is in prison for murder, but if you ask her it was vigilante justice. She murdered men who abused women, and she wasn't caught until her 8th kill.
Listen to her playlist here.
Makkel Dextri ☄️
Makkel was created by @kabie-whump and she did this portrait!
Makkel was arrested for smuggling. He is a big softie despite what you would usually see about him in media. He is undefeated in neostage. He is always the last man standing.
You can listen to his playlist here.
Cossim Vect 🧨
Cossim was created by @kabie-whump and she also made this portrait!!
Cossim was arrested for building and selling weapons (mostly bombs). He is a fuckboy (I say with love). He has a special arrangement with his only sponsor, Noroshi Industries, where he can work on developing tech and weapons while in neostage. He frequently loses fights :/
I’ve been lowkey ignoring him recently, but I worked really hard on this drawing (even though I don’t like it very much but that’s the devil!), so here it is! My favorite wet cat of a man! ( @whumperofworlds called him that like two years ago and I have not let it go)
A random scene that I can’t get out of my head - What if Valentino showed up to the hotel looking for redemption? (He’s probably just trying to fuck with Angel, but would Charlie be able to turn him away? How far will she take her belief that anyone can be redeemed?)
aka: I want to return from my tumblr exile so so so bad but i have to farm for attention first so here's a draft i've been sitting on for years teehee
~~~
"What the actual fuck is he doing here?"
Charlie whips around, her eyes going wide as she sees Angel. He stands frozen at the bottom of the stairs, his hand gripping the railing like it's the only thing keeping him from bolting.
Valentino is slinking across the floor to him in an instant, hands clasped harmlessly behind his back. "I'm here to redeem myself, Angelcakes. It seems to be working out so well for you I thought I'd try it for myself. You don't mind, do you?"
Charlie doesn't miss the way Angel flinches at Valentino's proximity. She remembers the time she visited the studio. The cries of pain she'd overheard from the dressing room and the way Angel had already been sporting an angry black eye when Valentino dragged him back.
"Valentino," she cuts in, putting herself between the two. She hears Angel retreating back upstairs as soon as Valentino's attention is on her. "Would you mind waiting down here for just one minute?"
"Of course, Princess," he purrs with a bow.
Charlie follows Angel up the stairs, taking them two at a time and catching up just in time to see him going in to his bedroom. She stops the door before it closes and peeks her head inside.
"Angel? Can we talk please?"
A suitcase lays open on his bed. Angel is in his closet, gathering an armful of clothes to fill it with.
Charlie's heart drops. "What are you doing?"
"Leaving," Angel barks.
"Wait! You can't just leave!"
Angel glares at her, hands on his hips. "Are you gonna let him stay here?"
Nuggets jumps out of the way so Charlie can sit on the bed. "I... I made a promise that I wouldn't turn any soul away. No matter how evil or how fucked up they are. I can't just go back on that."
Angel doesn't respond; he goes back to packing.
"Angel, please. Try to understand-"
"Oh I understand, doll-face. I get it. You don't want me here no more. That's fine. Whatever. You coulda found a nicer way to tell me, but I get it."
"That's not true!"
Husk pokes his head through the open doorway, his eyes wide with panic. "Valentino's in the lobby," he says. His gaze finds Charlie. "Why's Valentino in the lobby?"
"He's seeking redemption."
"Fuck no! You're turning him away, right?"
"She's not," Angel says, his voice bitter.
"You're fucking joking. Tell me you're fucking joking."
"All souls are welcome here," Charlie says again, her eyes filling with tears. "All of them. I... I know he's not the ideal resident, but I can't just pick and choose who deserves redemption and who doesn't. I'd be no better than Heaven."
A growl builds in Husk's throat. "What if he's just trying to get at Angel?"
Charlie had already thought of that, of course. It had been her first thought when Valentino came through the hotel doors with an oversized suitcase. But that doesn't change anything. It doesn't change the fact that the hotel as an institution is a thousand times more important than her own personal fears. If she turns someone away, then the entire project will be rendered meaningless.
"But what if he genuinely wants to be redeemed? Maybe if I can teach him to be good he'll treat his employees better. That'll be good for you, right Angel?"
Angel glares at his half packed suitcase. The fur under his eyes is damp, Charlie realizes. He's crying. She'd already felt like garbage about all this, but seeing Angel crying over something she's doing... It's a knife in her heart.
"I..." Angel shakes his head. "I really liked it here. You've been good to me. All of you. But I can't be here with him. I'm sorry."
He throws a few more items in, seemingly not caring if he actually has everything he needs, then zips it up and puts it wheels-down on the floor. Charlie rushes to stop him as he makes for the door and he glares down at her just like he had back in the studio.
"Please, Angel," Charlie begs. "Just give it one week. If it ends up as bad as you think it'll be I'll make him leave, I swear. I really want you to stay."
Angel bites his lip, looking unsure.
"I won't let him hurt you. I promise." She holds out her hand, pinky finger extended.
There's a moment of nothing that last forever. Then Angel's finger links with hers. "Alright," he says softly. "I think you're insane, but I trust you. Don't make me regret it."
~~~
I'm 100% willing to write more of this and probably will btw!
Hey, man, c'mere. Listen. Get in real close, this is important.
You're gonna make stuff again. You're gonna make stuff you're proud of. You're gonna make stuff you're excited to share. You're going to feel that overwhelming drive to create, not just the frantic I want to want to you're stuck in now. You're going to have awesome ideas, and you're going to make them into reality. You're going to create again. You're still an artist. You're still a writer. You're still home to the same passion you had before. You'll find it again. It's not gone. It's just resting. Let it rest. You're going to make stuff again. I promise.
Whumpee who holds out during torture. They're sassy, fight back, refuse to break.
They finally get saved. They smile at their rescuers through bloody teeth, joking with 'what took you so long huh?', but it's weak, their voice already trembling.
When their bonds are being cut loose, they start to show more cracks. "I- I'm sorry". They feel bad for even needing to be rescued.
Caretaker reassures them it's not their fault, and they'll always rescue them.
Whumpee has been holding out, but they were scared and in pain, and when the bonds are finally gone and Caretaker is here, they break. They're pulled up and they start crying, wiping at their face with shaky 'I'm sorry''s.
Caretaker just pulls them into a hug and lets Whumpee break.
Caretaker working late into the night to remove a delicate but buggy device off of Whumpee's neck. They're tired, but it's more than worth it.
A half-strangled scream tore from Whumpee's throat. They keeled over, first onto their side, then writhing back and forth, clawing at the collar. Whumper merely walked up to them. They pushed the Whumpee over with their boot.
"Please." Defiant Whumpee uttered through gritted teeth, glaring upwards at Whumper. Whumper smiled, "Make it sweet.", before pressing down on the button.
Whumpee's shock collar was initially for barking dogs. They've grown quiet to avoid the pain.
Shocks were always paired with a simple command, down to the point that Whumpee could no longer even remember the word if they tried, the brain doing its best to block it all out. It was just another casualty of the past. It was, until Caretaker said the command-word.
Burn scars affected the skin around Whumpee's neck.
I don’t care how disgusting or fucked up a fic is. NO writer should EVER be harassed for writing taboo fics, especially when the warnings are properly tagged and you choose to go ahead and read them on your own free will.
you’re not morally superior for harassing real people for the sake of fictional characters and fictional stories. you’re just a bully.
Blood drips from Solstice’s fingers. They can’t comprehend the sight of it. Their own blood? The blood of the other captives? They see that every day. But not once in 10 years has Solstice ever seen a cultist bleed.
At least, not until tonight.
Solstice doesn’t really understand what happened. They weren’t trying to escape. They didn’t even know that they were capable of killing. But the cultist is on the ground and they aren’t moving and their blood stains Solstice’s tattered clothing.
Their eyes focus in on the key ring attached to the cultist’s belt.
What if…?
Solstice knows how to get to the exit. They have the keys. They don’t know which key goes to which door but surely they can figure it out, right?
But what if someone sees them? They’ll be punished for sure. What if they make it outside and they don't know where they are and they get eaten by wolves? They’re too weak to fight. Too weak to cover much ground on foot.
But there’s a dead cultist on the floor of Solstice’s cell with their own knife sticking out of their chest. Solstice will be punished no matter what. They might as well make the most of it.
Solstice yanks the knife from the corpse’s chest. It’s full of holes. The whole thing is a blur, but they remember stabbing the cultist over and over until the body had long since stopped moving.
It’s a good thing screaming is a mundane sound down here.
Solstice takes the knife in one hand and the key ring in the other, and slips out of their cell door.
🥱 - Sleep deprivation (I lied, I'm sending 3 instead of twoXD♥️) Thanks again!
Thanks again for your asks! This was fun!
⋆⋄✧⋄⋆
Ventis, Onthyes, and Shayah have been holed up in this partially collapsed watchtower for three days now.
Wind howls through cracks in the stone, fluttering the torn edges of old banners. It's freezing, dark, and nowhere close to safe, but it's the only barrier between them and whatever the thing was that tore through their last camp like paper.
Shayah sleeps light, still in her armor, her axe within arm's reach. Onthyes squats in front of the fire, warming his hands. Onthyes glances over at Ventis-
"I'm fine," Ventis says before Onthyes can voice his question. "I've got it."
He's sitting against a wall, one leg outstretched and the other bent. His palms are cupped around a little ball of glowing blue magic. It flickers like a candle flame, casting an eerie light up onto his face. Right now, this ball of magic is the one thing keeping their enemy from sensing their location and coming for them again.
"You haven't slept in days."
"Well, I've still got it."
Ventis isn't sure that that's even true. He's still awake, sure. He's still fueling the wards around their hiding place. But Onthyes is right. It's been days. It's been days and he hasn't slept at all.
"Ventis..." Onthyes stands and goes over to him, lowering himself to lean against the wall just next to him.
Ventis leans into Onthyes's shoulder. He's toasty warm from being by the fire, and immediately Ventis feels his eyes closing, the urge to doze off here overwhelming.
He jolts upright, his head spinning from the motion. The sphere of light flickers dangerously, and he steadies it by sheer will alone. He can't afford to sleep now. His friends need him to keep this ward alive.
Ventis grits his teeth. "I'm fine," he says again, but his words come out slurred.
Onthyes doesn't say anything for a moment, doesn't move away either. He watches Ventis, scanning him with worry pinching his brow.
Ventis lets out a stuttering exhale through his nose. "Just... tired."
"Then sleep."
"I can't." Tears of frustration sting at Ventis's eyes against his will. "The ward-"
"I'll wake up Shayah. The two of us can keep watch the old fashioned way while you rest up."
Ventis shakes his head. Onthyes doesn't understand. He can't just sleep, knowing that his friends are waiting for some unknown force to tear them apart. He pulls the ball of magic closer to his chest, drawing both knees up.
"They'll find us."
"Ventis-"
"No. I can feel it, Onthyes. Something's looking for us. It's after us. If I let go, even for a second-"
His voice is trembling now, frayed at the edges. Onthyes reaches for his shoulder and Ventis flinches hard. The magic flares, then gutters like a lamp in the wind. His breath catches. His vision goes dark for less than a second and when it returns, he can't feel his hands.
No.
No, not now, damn it.
The magic flickers again. Ventis's limbs buzz.
"I can't," Ventis gasps, panic rising in his chest. "I can't feel my hands."
"Ventis," Onthyes's voice is suddenly stern as he grabs his wrist. "You're done."
"No no no-"
The magic flickers out.
"No!"
"Shayah, wake up," Onthyes barks.
Shayah is up instantly, axe in hand.
"I'm sorry-"
"It's okay, Ventis. We can handle it."
Ventis lets his head thump back on the wall, unable to hold it up anymore. Onthyes and Shayah stand back to back, weapons drawn.
And nothing comes. No sudden attack, nothing but a distant chirping of frogs and the crackle of the fire.
Ventis sags forward. Onthyes rushes to catch him before he can hit the ground. His skin is cold and clammy, his breathing quick and shallow.
"See?" Onthyes is panting, forced sunniness barely covering his unease. "Whatever it is, it lost interest. You did great, Ventis."
Ventis swallows back a sob. Now that he's not focusing on the spell, he can really feel just how tired he is. His vision fades in and out, a strange buzzing taking over his hearing.
This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance.
Title from 'Liquid Smooth' by Mitski
Series
First | Previous
Chapter Summary: Things get worse, and Onthyes learns a hard truth.
Chapter Content: drug addiction/withdrawal, some magic whump/loss of control, doomed to die, curses, mentions of pregnancy and death of a pregnant person, mentions of childhood drug use, victim blaming, Ventis is extremely depressed sorry, suicidal ideation
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Shayah's POV
Rain pattered against the windows, a soft, steady sound that filled the otherwise silent kitchen where Onthyes sat. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and herbs.
Shayah found Onthyes at the table, sitting motionless with his face buried in his hands. The mug of tea in front of him was untouched, no longer steaming. Onthyes stirred at her presence, lifting his head. His eyes were ringed with deep purples and reds, making the green of his irises seem to glow in the dim light.
“How’s he doing?” Shayah asked, lowering herself into the chair across from him.
He drew a slow, unsteady breath. “Worse,” he murmured. “It’s… it’s really bad.”
Shayah hummed softly. She’d expected as much.
Her own mother had used nightspill years ago, before she took too much and it snatched her away in the night. But before that, she’d tried to quit a handful of times, spurred by moments of clarity in which she realized that she had young sons to raise and a teenage daughter who was doing her damned best but crumbling under the pressure.
So Shayah knew better than most how brutal nightspill withdrawals could be.
“Onthyes…” She slid a little closer to the man, leaning over the table to place a hand on his arm. “Are you prepared for the possibility that he might not make it?”
His gaze snapped to meet hers. “What? No. He’ll be okay, Shy. He has to. He’s come too far-”
“I know. It’s not fair. But the gods don’t give a fuck about fairness, and nightspill withdrawal is nothing to be taken lightly.”
“He isn’t going to die. I won’t let him. We can’t just give up.” Onthyes’s voice was so firm.
Shayah wished she could share his certainty.
She’d come to like Ventis in the time since he’d arrived at her house, a too-thin bundle burned and bleeding and wrapped up in more diamonds than she’d seen in her entire life. He was odd, yes, and his bone-deep submissiveness was unsettling, but there was a quiet charm to him that she couldn’t ignore. Besides, he clearly mattered to Onthyes. To Theodore too, although he might never admit it out loud.
“I never said anything about giving up on him,” she said softly. “I just… I don’t want to see you hurt again, Onthyes. After Samantha-”
She stopped herself as soon as the name left her mouth.
Samantha was a subject that everyone in Onthyes’s life - including the man himself - avoided at all costs.
Shayah had been there in the guard barracks when Onthyes got the news of Samantha’s passing. Some complication with her pregnancy, apparently. Shayah and Onthyes hadn’t been very close yet, so she didn’t know the details. She just knew that he had lost both his betrothed and his future child that day, and he hadn’t been the same since.
“He’s going to live.” Onthyes stood abruptly, eyes hard. “I’m not losing another love. I can’t.”
Shayah just swallowed, unsure of what to say. She’d just wanted to prepare Onthyes for what could very well be inevitable, but he clearly couldn’t bear the thought. At least he still had hope. Shayah wasn’t sure if she could say the same for herself.
She followed him into Ventis’s bedroom.
With the curtains drawn, the room was lit only by a flickering lantern and a few candles. The air reeked of sickness, thinly masked by a warm coat of lavender. Even in the low light, Shayah could tell that the place had been destroyed - books and decorations flung across the floor, glass shattered and pages torn. A draft chilled her skin, although it had no discernable source. Shayah fetched the broom leaning against the wall and busied herself with sweeping glass shards into a pile.
Theodore stood near the foot of the bed, arms crossed. He’d insisted on watching Ventis for a few hours, just long enough for Onthyes to get some rest, although the man hadn’t taken proper advantage of the opportunity.
Ventis lay on the bed, no more than a shivering heap of blankets.
“This is the longest I’ve seen him sleep yet,” Onthyes muttered, carefully sitting down at the edge of the bed. “That’s a good sign, right?”
“Right,” Shayah whispered, but a louder part of herself feared that it was only a sign that he’d become too exhausted to fight anymore.
“He woke once,” Theodore said, his voice low and flat. “He didn’t know where he was. Who I was. Passed out again soon after.”
Onthyes carefully pulled down the blankets, washing the room in a purple light that shifted and pulsed like little veins of lightning under Ventis’s skin. Sparks jumped at the points where Onthyes touched him, and his body jerked.
“His magic is calmer when he’s asleep.” Onthyes glanced up at Shayah, watching her scoop the glass shards into a tray to dispose of. “Sorry about the mess. I’d stopped trying to keep up with it. When he wakes up his magic just…” Onthyes made an explosion gesture with his hands.
“Trust me, I’ve heard it,” Shayah said with a chuckle. She’d lost count of how many times she’d been woken by magical winds battering her spare bedroom to pieces.
The room fell quiet again, save for the occasional crackle of candle flame and the quick, strained breaths from the bed. Shayah dumped the last of the glass into a bin and straightened, wiping her palms on her tunic.
“He can’t go on like this,” she said.
Onthyes didn’t respond right away. He was watching Ventis with quiet desperation, his hand hovering over the boy’s arm, hesitant to touch as if even that small contact might be the final blow that makes him crumble.
“We’re doing what we can,” Theodore said, settling at the end of the bed. “We’ve kept him alive this long.”
“Barely,” Shayah muttered. She didn’t mean to be cruel, but it was the truth. Every inhale from Ventis felt as though it could be his last, and every silence between each breath felt final.
Onthyes finally spoke. “He needs help. Real help.”
“A healer. He needs magic. Medicine alone won’t fix this. I know someone.”
It finally dawned on Shayah. “You’d risk going to your mother with this?”
“She’ll help us.”
Theodore scoffed. “But your mother lives with your father. Who is, if you’ve forgotten, the captain of the guard.”
“I know. But she won’t betray us.”
Shayah believed him, despite the risk. She’d never met Onthyes’s mother personally, but if she could raise someone as stubbornly heroic as him she must be trustworthy.
“Alright. I’ll go first thing in the morning,” Shayah volunteered.
“She’s an elf. You won’t be waking her. Besides, at this point Ventis might not have until morning.”
“I’ll go now, then.”
~
Ventis’s POV
Ventis just wanted it all to stop. The fire. The itching under his skin. The voices.
He was floating, falling, his limbs weightless and head clouded by vertigo. He missed feeling heavy, feeling grounded. The nightspill had been a weight on him, sinking him to the earth, keeping his treacherous body from drifting into the sky, and now he missed it more than anything because he couldn’t stand to fall for another minute.
But it wouldn’t stop.
Before - hours or days ago, he couldn’t be sure - he’d been holding onto something. Something to make all this pain and confusion worth it. But now he couldn’t quite remember. Why was he even doing this if all it did was make him hurt?
A gentle touch pressed down on Ventis’s shoulder, too much and not enough at the same time. He longed to be held down again. To be under someone again. At least then he wouldn’t float away anymore. But the hands were too much. Always pushing too far, too hard. All of them but this one.
Swordsman’s calluses on the fingertips, brushing carefully along Ventis’s aching skin. Onthyes, right. He’d almost forgotten. He was doing this for Onthyes.
Ventis tried to lean into the touch, tried to say something, but all he could do was let out a pained whine.
“It’s okay,” Onthyes’s voice came from deep underwater, nearly incomprehensible. “Shayah’s getting help. Just hold on a little longer.”
“I can’t,” Ventis wanted to say, but his lips wouldn’t move.
“You’re so cute when you’re helpless, treasure.”
Gods, not again.
Even here, hiding away in Shayah’s home, Athos had yet to leave Ventis for a moment of rest. The man’s voice was always present, his shadow always slinking in dark corners.
“You really think you can escape me?” his voice mused, echoing from every direction, pressing in on Ventis.
Ventis whimpered, tried to curl into himself, but he just didnt have the energy and he knew the motion would be torture even if he did. “Stop,” he managed to gasp out, and Onthyes’s hand tightened slightly on his shoulder before disappearing.
“You can run away as far as you’d like. You can hide yourself away for the rest of your pathetic little life. But you’ll always be mine. You know that, don’t you?”
The voice slithered through him, curling behind his ribs. He could feel it, a thread wrapped like a collar around his throat, pulling too tight and dragging him backwards, back to cold marble floors and perfumes that made his head pound. The touch of silk gloves, brushing along his jaw, sliding down his hip.
Ventis wanted to scream. What came out instead was a rattling breath that scraped its way uselessly out of his throat. His skin prickled with cold sweat. When he tried to open his eyes the room swam sickeningly.
Then the fire in his blood flared to life again, burning poison in his veins, flooding his body. He didn’t want to be in it anymore. His body was a cage, a torture chamber more than anything else. He had forgotten what it felt like to be so present and to hurt so badly, and he didn’t want to live like this for any longer.
“He’s shaking.”
“Ventis? Come on, hold on a little longer. Please.”
“Onthyes, I don’t think-”
“You remember the price of disobedience, don’t you darling?”
Yes, of course he remembered. He remembered the whip, the branding iron, the times he’d been denied nightspill for just a few hours and it had felt like it would end him. Now he would give anything to feel like he had then. Anything would be better than this.
“You chose this. You chose to run away from me, knowing perfectly well that your knight won’t take care of you like I do. And now you’re paying for it, aren’t you?”
Ventis let out a choked sob. That was the worst part, wasn’t it? Knowing that all of these years of suffering were his own fault. His own choice.
The nightspill had just been for pain at first. He was called Jasper back then, sixteen and suffering from chronic pain due to a spine injury after taking a tumble off the palace roof. The royal physician had told him that the pain would never really go away, and she’d given him some pills to combat it. “Only take these when it’s unbearable,” she’d warned him.
Jasper hadn’t listened.
It just felt too good to be unburdened by pain, and he realized quickly that even the sting of his father’s and brother’s words was dulled by the drug. He became dependent quickly, and his physician seemed to have no problem getting him more when he ran out. Things were so much more peaceful around the palace without constant squabbling between brothers, after all.
It hadn’t taken long for him to want more. The nightspill took the pain away but it brought mind numbing apathy with it, and it drove Jasper to the docks, to the taverns, to that little shack on the beach where he’d drink until Peer dragged him home on wobbly legs. It went too far at one point. He couldn’t even remember what happened, just that he’d woken up in a cell with a black eye and his father standing on the other side of the bars, looking directly at him for the first time in a year with nothing but disdain.
“You are no longer part of this family,” he’d said. “Never come back.”
He wasn’t given time to pack. Just grabbed his jar of nightspill and a few loose coins and talked his way onto a merchant ship headed south to Nimbria.
He changed his name from Jasper to Ventis, telling himself it was just because ‘Ventis’ sounded more standard for an air genasi - if he ever ran into another of his kind, he didn’t want to stand out. But that wasn’t the truth, not really.
He just… wasn’t Jasper anymore. Hadn’t been in a long time.
Because Jasper would have turned and run the moment he saw the way Athos looked at him. Because he wasn’t as stupid and naive as some made him out to be and Athos had made his intentions clear from the moment they met. Jasper would have saved himself in an instant.
But Ventis wasn’t worth saving.
He let Athos take him. He signed the contract of his own free will. He craved punishment, desperate for someone to steal him away and make everything just stop, and Athos had been right there ready to do just that. Ventis had brought this on himself.
The next thing he knew, he was sobbing openly. Crying with what little energy he had left because he had never allowed it to surface - how deeply he hated himself. He’s always been the problem, even now, because he was forcing Onthyes and Theodore to stand there, helpless, while he selfishly succumbed to the consequences of his own actions after they gave everything to save him.
“Look at you,” Athos cooed. “I don’t think I’ve ever managed to get you this broken.”
Shut up shut up shut up shut up.
Ventis’s thoughts couldn’t find purchase in his own head. There was nothing left but agony. His muscles convulsed weakly, his jaw clenching so hard he was afraid something would snap. But the pain wasn't even the worst part anymore. It was how familiar the pain was, like some twisted part of him had always known this was how he would end: sick and hallucinating while the people who tried to love him stood helpless at his side.
He was so tired of hurting people just by existing.
But surely it would hurt someone if he died, too. Onthyes had tried so hard to save him.
But he just wasn’t worth it.
“I’m sorry,” Ventis managed to whimper. “Onthyes… I’m so sorry.”
A hand gripped his, shaking. “No no no no, you’re okay, Ventis. Just hold on. Help’s coming, I promise. Just stay with me.”
Ventis tried to squeeze the hand back. He couldn’t tell if he succeeded. He just knew that darkness was rushing in, and his limbs were freezing cold, and every breath was a monumental struggle.
He wasn’t afraid of dying.
He was afraid that if he didnt die, this would go on forever.
He was afraid that surviving this would mean facing the world all over again - the shame, the conditioning, the look on Onthyes’s face every time he wasn’t strong enough to overcome it all.
He couldn’t fight any longer.
Then a voice cut through Ventis’s haze, soft and unfamiliar.
“Faenya. Stay.”
The words hit him like a splash of cold water. Elvish.
He didn’t know that voice, and yet something ancient stirred in it. A hand touched his chest, over his heart. His magic flared to life, angry and scared, but the hand didn’t pull away. It held strong, pushing down just enough to steady him. And just like that, for just a moment, Ventis felt heavy again. Present.
“Revar.”
And everything slipped away.
~
Onthyes’s POV
“He’s asleep now.” Onthyes’s mother, Sylviavaris, lifted her hand from Ventis’s chest, the golden glow fading from her palm. “It’s a good thing that you sent for me when you did. He was fading.”
“Will he be okay now?” Onthyes asked, anxious for any good news at all.
She turned to him, a slight smile touching her lips, and reached out to cup her palm against Onthyes’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re alright, my son. Although, I’d hoped you had the sense to leave this place for good. It’s not safe here for you. Any of you.” She glanced over at Shayah and Theodore, who were lingering on the edges of the bedroom, wanting to give her space to work but also ready to help if need be.
“Trust me, as soon as Ventis can stand on his own we’re crossing the sea,” Onthyes assured her. “But right now I just need to know he can survive this.”
Sylviavaris glanced down at Ventis’s sleeping form. He was quiet now, his face wet with leftover tears, and relentless shaking had stopped. He still couldn’t quite be called peaceful, but he was something close to that.
“I gave him more time,” she said. “But I’m afraid I may have just delayed the inevitable.”
“What are you saying?” Theodore crossed his arms, tilting his chin up in a way that may have seemed tough to anyone else, but Onthyes could see the glint of fear in his eyes. “He’s just going to die no matter what? What good is healing magic if it won’t heal him?”
“Theo.” Shayah bumped him with her elbow. “Lay off.”
“No, it’s okay. He’s right to be concerned. If this were just any sickness I should be able to heal it easily. Withdrawal is tricky, but… Well, I don’t mean to be vain but I am quite powerful. I still should have at least eased his symptoms long enough for him to ride it out on his own. But I could feel a resistance. Something is keeping my light from reaching him.”
“Why?” Onthyes asked. He was painfully reminded of the time Ventis was poisoned, and just like now every doctor and healer said the same thing: that he was beyond help. He felt that same helplessness all over again. “There must be something, mom.” Tears stung at his eyes and he quickly scrubbed them away with his sleeve. “I’m not… I won’t lose him. I can’t.”
Sylviavaris considered him for a long moment, her green eyes widening slightly with realization.
“You love him.”
Onthyes nodded miserably.
A flash of grief crossed her face and she rushed forward, pulling her son into her arms. Onthyes has been taller than her since he was a teenager but her hugs made him feel small again, and he bent down to tuck his face into her shoulder.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered into his hair. “My son, I’m so sorry. I’m afraid… I can’t save him. If you truly love him, then there’s nothing I can do.”
Onthyes pulled away, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
She glanced at the others. “Maybe we should speak about this privately.”
“Tell me.”
Letting out a deep sign, Sylviavaris sat at the foot of the bed. “It was your father’s doing.”
As always.
“I was pregnant with you. And he… he’s always had high expectations for you. Even before you were born. He was willing to do anything to guarantee that you would live up to his standards. So he went to a hag.”
Theodore and Shayah both cursed at the same time. Onthyes was too stunned to do anything but stand there and listen as his mother pressed on.
“I told him it was a bad idea. I warned him that hags are not to be played around with. But to him, no price was too great. He bartered with the hag. She rewrote fate so that you would be destined to become the greatest swordsman in the realms. In return, she claimed the souls of everyone you fall in love with. If you love someone, they are fated to die a painful, premature death.”
She reached out, taking Onthyes’s hand. “I’m sorry, Onthyes, but he’s doomed.”
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
sorry for the wait on this one yall i have no excuse other than i had a minecraft phase <3
Danny is the victim again, because they think he’s the villain.
“I’ll never give up on you.”
⟢ Sketch of Danny being pinned down by the hand of a GiW agent. Pinterest inspiration doesn’t do me any good. This sat in my head for a while now and it needed to get out.
trying to do homework but i can’t stop thinking about supervillain whumpee + lab whump. like,,, a supervillain being captured and used as a lab rat brrrrrrrr
