#no beta reader

[gaglama]

The first part of my Gravity Falls fan comic, in which Stanford Pines goes through a very long day, Stan enjoys life, and Fiddleford builds robots.

The comic is in three posts

second post

third

[sillybillsie]

FAMILIAL APPEARANCES

˖⁺‧₊˚✦ PAIRING — agnes tachyon (uma musume) x fem! trainer (she/her) ↳ platonic daiwa scarlet + trainer

˖⁺‧₊˚✦ GENRE — comedic fluff short oneshot, comfort, yuri/girls' love (girl x girl), found family

˖⁺‧₊˚✦ SUMMARY — daiwa scarlet, the adorable junior to agnes tachyon and one of your trainees, has called both you and tachyon by parental terms one too many times. you brushed it aside every time, however, thinking it was just her being cute and airheaded, but now seeing her actual parents... yeah, no wonder why she kept mistakenly calling you her parents.

BEFORE YOU READ: reader will be referred to as "trainer" and "(name)"—poc friendly. scarlet's parents are fan interpreted with the little information we do know. tachyon is implied to be 20~ years old. scarlet uses formalities and calls tachyon "tachyon-san". tachyon has unspoken maternal instincts and affection thanks to scarlet. part 2 to this oneshot.

Word count: 5,8k.

< note: author is aware of how naming works in uma musume, but figured it'd be nice to imagine scarlet really did get her name from her father. >

A woman sat at a public restaurant table, her laptop open in front of her as she clicked at the keys. Her animal ears on top of her head flicked with each sound created, the chatter of those around her was silent, tail curled behind out of passerbyers’ way. Her red gaze pierced the screen with many long and difficult words and mathematical equations filling the document. The Umamusume flicked back and forth between tabs, her attention solely on her work.

That was until someone audibly awed in astonishment from behind her; “wow, that seems…really difficult.” She turned her head around, almost as if she was an owl. Her long hair brushed against her shoulders. Behind her was a man in a button down and apron, as well as a tray of what she immediately knew was her lunch—a bowl of salad with a cup of sweetened carrot juice. “Oh, I’m sorry—, I…” He placed the tray down. “Here’s your meal, ma’am.” The man bowed apologetically.

The woman’s lips curled, amused by his pathetic behaviour. “It’s fine, it’s just a simple mathematical theorem that I have to review. If it’s not correct, it’s not a theorem, it would be a conjecture. If it’s a conjecture, then it would have to be reviewed and redone until it’s a theorem. All sorts of disasters can happen if a conjecture is published as a theorem.” The man stood in silence, his brows furrowed in both amazement and confusion. He did not understand a single word coming from this woman’s mouth.

He snapped out his daze, shaking the static thoughts from his head. “So you’re a mathematician then, I take it?”

“What gave you that idea, Einstein?” The Uma sarcastically asked him, causing him to laugh.

“Dumb question, I know…” The man bowed yet again, apologizing for his behaviour, walking off back to do his work. The horse lady’s smile only grew larger, curling her lips as she attempted to hide it, eventually choosing to sip her drink. Flicking her brown tied-back hair behind her, she hunched over into the palm of her hand, reading the document for a fourth time.

She was there for another hour. The waiter walked past her table several times taking orders. Every time, he’d look down at her work, seeing her notes and tabs pile up, and yet she didn’t look the slightest bit stressed. On the other hand, with the Umamusume, she’d glance up at him. Her round cheeks would go from their pale tone—matching the rest of her skin—to a light red whenever the two locked eyed. Him as well.

At the end of her lunch, she packed her laptop and books away, right as he was approaching the table. She gave him a nod as he took her dishes back inside, leaving the two to have finally crossed paths and their stories intertwined.

She visited the next day. Same time, same meal, same laptop before her.

He had work again. Same time, same job, same Umamusume sitting at the same table.

It didn’t take long for his coworkers to catch on to his interest in her. He wasn’t sure if she liked the restaurant or if she was there with a specific purpose, if it was close to somewhere she was going next. Everything about her was a mystery to him, but knew one thing, and that was that she sure loved math…

Through passing comments, the two got to learn about each other some more. They exchanged names, discovering bits and pieces of their personal life, until the man finally broke out the real question…

“Uhm…” The math fanatic looked up from her laptop, seeing the man’s flustered face. “Do you think we could…” He trailed off, placing her usual meal on the table. Her salad was given to her along with a biscuit he claimed was “on the house,” but she was aware he had paid for it himself; aware it was his way of flirting.

The brunette horse lady’s ears flicked in anticipation, awaiting his question. “Yes?”

“Do you think we could exchange numbers…?”

The woman’s lips shifted again, an all too familiar smile on her face—one he had long since gotten used to seeing. He had seen her in papers in regards to her past achievements from her younger days, but never with a smile like that. A booming, gruff voice suddenly yelled his name from the kitchen, “get back to work!”

“Ah! Sorry!!” The man called back. He bowed to the Umamusume, shuffling backwards to retreat to the kitchen, bumping into another chair on the way. The lady chuckled, going back to her important work in silence. The waiter went back to his own thing, avoiding her gaze out of embarrassment. Only when he looked back over at her table an hour later, when he finally had a moment without running all over the place, did he realize that she was gone.

His coworker noticed his sadness. “Cheer up. She’s been here almost every day at this point. She’ll be back.”

“I know… I just asked something stupid again, that’s all…”

“When do you not ask something stupid?”

With a heavy sigh, the waiter trotted over to the table where the woman once sat. He had to admit, she was beautiful. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a thing for her. He picked up her dishes before taking notice of a note underneath the salad bowl she had eaten from. It was only a small thing, easily overlooked, but what caught his attention was the scribbles of numbers written on it. Judging from the specific series of numbers they were, they were far from a math equation—they were her phone number.

The waiter’s heart rate increased, his eyes practically glowing at the chance, only to be brought back to reality at the sound of his name from his boss’ voice again, “Daiwa!!!”

“Sorry sir!! Coming right away!!” He tucked the number into his pocket, practically running back to the kitchen with a skip in his step.

✦✧✦✧ 

Several years later…

A teen girl, her hair tied back into two long twintails. Her face was confident—brows furrowed, back straight, and steps even.

“Our final racer has finally stepped on to the turf, Oka Sho’s winner and second favourite Umamusume—Daiwa Scarlet!!” Cheers erupted from the stands as the girl walked across the turf to the other racers. Her blue racing costume was ironed out, and her breathing was steady. Her silk stood out with piercing red eyes and moved to look at her rivals before turning to the stands of people

Looking through the crowd, she saw her parents waving at her. With a smile, Scarlet waved back (considering her mother’s appearance was a rare sight), continuing her walk towards the other racers… “Scarlet!” That was until someone called out to her. Looking back, standing at the front, was her as two school peers and her trainer. Her trainer motioned for her to get closer, having something to say to her, so Scarlet did just that. “Do you remember the strategy?”

Her warm orange-red hair bobbed as she nodded with a hum. “Don’t take first straight away. Wait in the second group then start moving forward. Once in first,—.”

“—push forward with all you have, yes, correct.” Her trainer sighed, guilt deep within her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make you a Triple Tiara Umamusume…”

“It’s okay, Trainer.” Scarlet softly smiled to ease her trainer’s remorse. “The most we can do now is get the second tiara. Besides, I learnt breathing techniques from Tachyon-san, so I should be fine.”

Hearing her name mentioned, the brunette horse girl next to the trainer hummed in confirmation. Reaching her arm out—or more like her sleeve, Tachyon pet Scarlet’s head. “You’re a monster of a horse girl, Scarlet. You’ll do more than fine.” Retracting her hand back, folding her arms so that she could lean on the fence designed to keep the crowd off the track. Tachyon’s tail was tucked between her legs, her sensitivity at a peak thanks to the number of people around her. “Are you sure you don’t want my latest concoction to help you? It should help with your spatial awareness and improve the hamstring’s performance.”

Scarlet shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I won’t mind testing it after I take first place though.”

The trainer turned to look at the science-obsessed Umamusume, a scowl watches on her face as she looked at her in disappointment. “Yes, I don’t want Scarlet collapsing from a failed liver let alone disqualified for having cheated.”

Tachyon laughed aloud, “oh, (Name), you worry too much!”

“Daiwa Scarlet.” A deep, feminine voice spoke to her from next to Tachyon. Another Umamusume, her hair the perfect shade of wine, and an eyepatch decorating her face. Like Tachyon, she stood with her arms folded. Unlike Tachyon, she stood with pride and a smirk forever on her lips. “Just because you didn’t win the Japanese Oaks doesn’t mean you lost either; you just simply couldn’t run the race, the flu having attempted to take another victim. It was truly unfortunate. Prove to the audience that you are still deserving of the Triple Tiara title!”

Rare words of encouragement from her rival’s mentor, Scarlet’s eyes gleamed in pride, feeling confidence surge through her body. “Right!” She looked back at her trainer and her own mentor. “Gimlet’s right. I’ll have to prove to everyone that I’m still a Triple Tiara at heart!” She clutched a hand to her chest. “Vodka won the Derby… So I’ll do my best and become a Double Tiara, at the very least!” With her heart pounding against her chest, Scarlet turned to walk to the gates. “Well, wish me luck, papa, mama!!”

The three blinked in confusion for a moment at her final words.

Scarlet, realizing what she had said, stopped in her tracks, turning around awkwardly. She bowed with an apologetic tone in her voice—something she inherited from her father. “Sorry, I mean... Trainer, Tachyon-san.” She fixed her words, running off to the gates with a deeply red face, blushing from embarrassment of her mistake.

Vodka stood a very small distance away, hearing Scarlet’s mistaken words. “Papa? Mama? What was that about?”

“Mind your own beeswax!! I’m gonna kick your butt and make you cry for forgiveness!!” Scarlet stomped off towards the other races, leaving the dark-haired horse girl baffled. Vodka’s face screamed that she was offended, newfound determination for the race in her heart.

Meanwhile, Gimlet had the same question. She looked over at the trainer and Tachyon, her eye(s) clearly just as confused as Vodka. “Did she call you both mama and papa…?”

“Yes, it’s a cute thing she’s been doing since she met us.” Tachyon chuckled.

“Okay, but why?”

“No clue,” Tachyon responded before turning to look at the “God of Destruction”. “Why? Are you upset that your little Vodka doesn’t call you mama, too?”

“Hah! I would never be upset!” The two glared at each other, their mentee’s rivalry relationship having passed on to the two of them. Before Scarlet and Vodka, Tachyon and Gimlet were acquaintances. They’d see each other in the halls, give one another a nod in acknowledgement, but they never exchanged more than that. When Vodka and Scarlet’s rivalry got more intense, the two started boasting about their student’s achievements—finding reasons to talk about their girls.

(Name) gasped. “They’re starting!” The two looked over at the gates, all of the racers in their starting positions.

The stadium went quiet, before the gates suddenly swung open, all of the horse girls running past at extreme speeds.

The brunette Umamusume mumbled in prayer, her red gaze fixed on her student’s position on the turf. “Three months…” Gimlet looked over at Tachyon from the corner of her eye, thankful the researcher was standing to her left. “She’s been training to run this exact track for three months… She said she refuses to lose the final tiara.”

“What, just like how you lost the final two crowns?”

“And yet I still get called a Triple Crown.” Gimlet squinted, trying to piece together Tachyon’s words. “I didn’t need to win the Derby like you did, and yet I still get called a Triple Crown. I must ask, Gimlet…” She turned, her red eyes wide as she stared directly into Gimlet’s, piercing her soul and shattering what remaining composure she had. “Do they call you a Triple Crown or just a Derby horse?”

Gimlet’s breath shuddered.

Tachyon looked back at the track as they reached halfway, all of the mares still running and Scarlet keeping a good position in fourth place. “She’ll be a Triple Tiara in everyone’s hearts if she can win this—consider it a hunch.”

✦✧✦✧ 

“Daiwa Scarlet wins!! She makes a perfect comeback, winning the Shuka Sho Tiara by a head!!”

The crowd erupted into cheer, celebrating Scarlet’s Double Tiara, while Tachyon looked over at Gimlet with a smirk on her face.

Meanwhile, Scarlet’s father had jumped out of his seat, yelling about how happy he was at the top of his lungs, causing Scarlet to look over at him in an instant. Her gaze shifted to her mother, seeing her own soft applauds as her head was pinned to her skull—Scarlet aware this was due to the noise and not because she was actually upset. While she never became a Triple Tiara, Scarlet knew for a brief moment that she had solidified herself in horse girl racing history, just like her mother and teacher.

“Daiwa Scarlet has yet to get a placing lower than second! She truly has become a one-of-a-kind Umamusume!!”

She’s made her mama proud.

Eventually, all of those that watched the race filed out of the stadium. Given the race was mid-afternoon, the audience had left to get their own meals—whether it be afternoon snacks or early dinner meals. The girls who ran the race, still wearing their racing costumes, waved off everyone, hearing their promises to return. That night, Daiwa Scarlet would stand in front of everyone on the centre stage. The girl’s heart practically started beating faster in excitement.

“Scarlet!!” The teen girl looked up, hearing a masculine voice to her side. The moment she looked up, she was enveloped in a large hug.

“Ouwah!! Papa, don’t choke me!!” 

“Sorry…” That usual pathetically apologetic voice escaped his lips. A soft laugh was heard from behind him, prompting him to turn around and Scarlet’s mother to come into view.

She walked up to Scarlet slowly before wrapping her own arms around her—gently, unlike her father—as she whispered in her ear, “I’m so proud of you…” Tears filled Scarlet’s sharp red eyes, hearing words she so desperately wanted to earn. The woman’s pale hand brushed at her twintails, affectionate words falling from her mouth as she continued praising her daughter. The honor student couldn’t help but flap her tail.

Heeled steps approached the family of three, that annoying voice of Scarlet’s nightmares (given they actually room together) interrupting the sweet moment, “oi, Scarlet, Tachyon, have you seen—...” Vodka cut herself off at the sight of Scarlet’s parents, her brows furrowed as she processed the two figures before her. She apologized quickly, letting out a dry laugh. “You look…very similar to someone else that Scarlet and I know. Again, apologies…” She grabbed Daiwa Scarlet’s shoulder, spinning her around and whispering in her ear. “There is no way that is your mother…”

“I know…”

Daiwa Scarlet’s mother was somehow a splitting image of Agnes Tachyon.

Everything about them was identical; the lazy red eyes, the brown hair with darker tipped ears, and somehow their fashion sense and mannerisms, too. It was as if Vodka had travelled to the future and she was looking at what Tachyon would become—a domesticated slightly more sane mother. Or maybe she’s living in the woman’s past… “I’m so sorry for my rude behaviour, Mrs. Daiwa…”

The older Umamusume placed her hands on her hips, laughing at her daughter’s rival’s behaviour. “Oh, please, Mrs. Daiwa makes me sound elderly. Calling me Bouquet surely sounds a lot better.”

“R…right…”

Bouquet hummed in thought, her eyes looking around the crowds. “Say, Scarlet dear, where is your trainer? I wish to see the woman I’ve entrusted my dearest daughter to, given we haven’t met yet.” Vodka and Scarlet looked at each other, genuine dread in their expressions. If Bouquet were to meet (Name), she’d surely meet Agnes Tachyon, and if those two crossed paths… It would be some trippy “the day after tomorrow’s yesterday” type of moment.

“Scarlet!!” Speak of the devil and thou shall appear. An all too familiar voice called out from behind Daiwa Scarlet, the girl hesitating to turn around. Slender arms wrapped and oversized fabric were suddenly hooked around her neck as Tachyon hugged her from behind. “You did absolutely wonderful out there! You actually had me awestruck—you really didn’t need my latest mixture!”

The brunette Umamusume went quiet, looking up from Scarlet’s shoulder as she came face-to-face with another horse girl. The two stared at each other in silence, allowing the trainer to catch up, Tanino Gimlet trailing behind. “Oya? Pray tell, who is this, Scarlet?” Bouquet held genuine curiosity in her voice, as if blind to the young lady before her. Those around them stared at the two women, their eyes shifting back and forth between them.

Scarlet’s father and her trainer, seeing the resemblance, looked on at their respective romantic partners in pure horror. Both had the same thought process as they stared at the two geniuses:

‘There’s a second Bouquet…’ ‘There’s a second Tachyon…’

However, Tanino Gimlet and Vodka stared at Mr. Daiwa and (Name). Like mentor and mentee, they too had the same thought process; only it was not about Bouquet and Tachyon. Vodka turned to look at Gimlet, never having been this confused in her life. “It’s like she’s looking into a freaky mirror that reflects an alternate world of her…”

“A world where she’s a man…”

Vodka looked over at her rival, seeing Scarlet’s orange-red ears tilted in shame. “Did you manifest Tachyon and your trainer? No wonder you call them your parents—they quite literally are just your parents.”

Tachyon stared deeply into Bouquet’s eyes before finally realizing who she was. She threw her hands (sleeves) into the air, excitement gleaming in her eyes. “I know who you are!” ‘You do…?’ The same two words, same question echoed in the other five’s minds. “I use your mathematical theorems when building my electrical equipment! I’ve even seen your pictures in Tracen’s Hall of Fame—you are one crazy runner. Your stories are printed on the school’s walls.”

Bouquet laughed, having been recognized after all of these years. “And you’re that Phantom Triple Crown girl! Despite running one classic race, they call you as such because the two girls who did win the Derby and Kikuka Sho didn’t stand a chance against you. What are the chances of running into you?”

“Well, factoring in the fact I don’t really watch races in person, even then, it’s for specific girls, and I hear from Scarlet you’re normally too busy to make it to her races personally, I’d guess about a 5.7% chance, give or take.”

“Hm, you must not get out much if the number is that low.”

“It would have been lower, but I also factored in the reasoning behind that Scarlet and I share the same trainer at the end of the day. So—.”

“—we would have met at some point, but it was only a small chance we met today.”

“Precisely!”

Bouquet hummed, understanding the logical explanation for the probability number. The two really were identical in every way… If it weren’t for the fact Bouquet is the slightest bit taller and her hair much longer, ending just at her waist while Tachyon’s was cut quite short, the two could have been easily mistaken for identical twins—or worse, clones.

Tachyon covered her mouth, a mischievous grin curling her lips. “I was wondering who raised a unit of an Umamusume. Your Daiwa Scarlet is truly an incredible young girl.”

“Tachyon-san!!” Scarlet huffed, embarrassed by her tutor’s words.

The Tachyon replica (or is Tachyon a Bouquet replica…) laughed at the newfound information on her daughter. “And I was wondering how she managed to stay on top of her classes. You turned her into a wonderful student yourself.”

“Mama!!”

Trainer and Scarlet’s father turned to look at each other, nodding in acknowledgement at their presence. Their partners continued their weird riddle-speaking conversation, the two humans standing to the side, unsure what to do. (Name) broke the silence with a cough. “This is…very awkward.”

“Tell me about it… It’s like looking at a younger version of my wife…”

“Really? To me, it’s like looking at my girlfriend’s future…”

An odd silence enveloped the air around them. Scarlet’s father looked at her trainer, “so I assume that you’re the one training her.”

“Oh, yes! I’m (Name), sir—Mr. Daiwa.” Motioning over to her own brown-haired horse girl, letting out a heavy sigh. “As your wife has already realized, this is Agnes Tachyon. She assists in training Daiwa Scarlet as she’s currently on a racing hiatus.”

While the two pairs conversed with their respective “alternate selves,” Vodka looked over at Scarlet yet again. Her dark brows were furrowed, still feeling as if she had managed to find herself on a completely different planet. “Is this why you call Tachyon and (Name) “mama and papa”? ‘Cause they quite literally—,” she flicked a hand over at their seniors and married couple, repeating her words from before, “—look like your parents.”

Scarlet looked down at the ground in shame. Slowly nodding in confirmation, she responded, “it doesn’t help that Tachyon-san and Trainer are dating, too…” She breathed in sharply. “The amount of times I’ve walked in on Trainer smothering Tachyon-san with affection… It genuinely feels like walking in on your parents, and this doesn’t help.”

Looking over at her daughter’s friends (or more like rival-friend and her other senior), Bouquet sighed, relief filling her tone. “I’m so glad Scarlet has found herself a good group to be around… She’s always struggled with making friends her age and not one of the teachers…” By now, Daiwa Scarlet’s face was flushed in a deep red, her mother continuously spouting about her childhood. “She’s always been more attached to the adults, and I just get so worried that she went and did it again with only making friends with her teachers.”

“Well, it’s more like she’s mainly friends with the senior students…” Vodka grumbled, her sight shifting to her flustered rival in the corner of her eyes.

“A step in the right direction, nonetheless.”

Mr. Daiwa nodded in agreement at his wife’s words about their daughter. “We know we can’t attend all of her races, but we can only hope our support from afar is enough.”

“You’re like a doormat, dear.”

“Oh…”

Bouquet looked over at her husband, a grin on her face. “Well, I suppose we should head off now. Don’t worry, Scarlet sweetie, we’ll be back for your winning live performance tonight.” The uma giggled, grabbing on to the man’s arm as he blushed in embarrassment. Bouquet looked up at her daughter’s trainer, smiling softly. “It was also a pleasure to meet you too, and thank you for looking after our dear Scarlet. She can be a bit of a temperamental girl when she wants to.”

“Mama!!!”

Trainer waved her hand, showing a crooked smile of her own. “It’s fine, Mrs. Bouquet, your daughter has been no trouble at all.”

Scarlet’s mother sighed in relief again, “that’s good. She gets her personality from her grandparents… Well now, it was nice to see you all!” The woman leaned over, kissing her daughter on her forehead as a farewell before turning around. Pulling her husband along with her extreme strength (something she had developed during her time as an athlete), Scarlet’s parents left the scene. They watched and heard as the man’s complaints over her sheer strength fade into the distance, the two walking away together with their arms locked.

Everyone waved them off, albeit some more awkwardly than others. Gimlet stood oddly still and quiet the entire time before finally breaking her own silence, “I’m not crazy, right?” Tachyon turned to look at the wine-red horse girl. “She looked like you. That’s not even one of my exaggerations; she looked identical to you.”

Tachyon blinked. Her red gaze was firmly on the supposed “God” Umamusume. “Well of course she did, I’m not that blind. I found that out years ago.”

Gimlet looked over at the trainer. “And he looked like a male version of you!”

(Name)’s eyes widened at the accusation. “He did?!”

“Yes, it was quite amusing, but I thought you had realized.” The brunette senior Umamusume looked over at girlfriend, pursing her lips in thought. “Although, that now explains why Scarlet mistakenly calls us her parents.” Wrapping her arms around her student’s shoulders, Tachyon engulfed the junior into a large hug. Her messy tail wagged around, a positive feeling coursing through her veins. “Ah, Scarlet! You can continue calling me “mama” all you want!”

“No way!!”

Vodka pointed at Tachyon in complete disbelief. “Why do you seem so casual about this!?”

Tachyon let go of Scarlet, humming in though. She had her arms folded, tapping her feet on the ground. “One in 135 people.” The group looked over at her, every one of them having their brows furrowed at whatever nonsense she started going on about now. “Every one in 135 or so have a “doppelganger,” or something of the like. Even if someone looks identical to you, there’s bound to be one or two attributes in their physiological features that allows you to determine the difference, but they tend to be something small—unnoticeable to the naked eye.”

Nothing was said.

“While Scarlet’s mother and I look identical, she has several features that I do not, such as her physiological DNA allowing her to grow taller, as well as her curvier physique and rhytides—otherwise known wrinkles caused by aging. Although, her thicker body is most likely due to her pregnancy with Scarlet…” Tachyon rambled on about Bouquet before shaking her head. “It appears I have also found myself quite peckish.” Grabbing on to (Name)’s arm, she pulled her girlfriend along with the human trainer being unable to fight back. “Come, Guinea Pig! I must consume my nutrients!”

Tanino Gimlet, Daiwa Scarlet and Vodka watched as the two faded into the crowd, their figures and behaviour being exactly like what Scarlet’s parents did. A super-genius athlete Umamusume with brown hair and red eyes as well as her extremely supportive yet extremely pathetic romantic partner… What were the chances…

✦✧✦✧ 

Several days had gone by since meeting Scarlet’s parents for the first time, leaving to the scene now where Trainer, Tachyon, and said Double Tiara Uma (or as many still refer to her as a Triple Tiara) in Tachyon’s personal laboratory.

One of the few times where Tachyon wasn’t doing any odd experiments. She was seated on the couch—Café’s couch—tutoring Scarlet for an upcoming exam she had. The two were deep in discussion about one of the questions while (Name) sat at the desk where the brunette senior would normally be sitting, typing away at her laptop. She chimed in occasionally, having majored in biology herself when she was back in school when she was studying to become a trainer, but kept to her trainer duties mainly.

Scarlet tapped her pen on her notebook’s page, thoughts deep in her head as she attempted to figure out the answer. “What is the most important muscle for running…” She hummed, her ears twitching and falling the more she thought. Tachyon was sitting with her legs crossed, sipping her tea as a small slice of cake let off a delicious, sweet aroma. “Uhm… It’s a…trick question?” Scarlet answered despite how unsure she was.

Tachyon nodded in confirmation. “Your body requires five muscles for running, not one, and those muscles are?”

“Hamstring, calf muscles, core muscles, glutes, and…quadriceps…?” Scarlet dragged out the final word, still unsure of her answer.

Tachyon nodded again in confirmation. “Even if one of them had their performance off, your running will change entirely and your form will feel wrongly different. Your body requires those five muscles to run at its best.” Scarlet wrote down Tachyon’s words with eagerness, making sure it was simplified to understand in future.

Tachyon looked over at a glass case, the shelves filled with trophies from the few trainees (Name) looked after, with the new addition of Daiwa Scarlet’s Shuka Sho win. Her gaze moved to another trophy that sat on its lonesome—her own Satsuki Sho win. Unlike Scarlet, Tachyon never got to make that comeback, her hiatus having lasted well over a year now. Trainees only ever have one chance to run the Derby, and she missed hers, that stupid Jungle Pocket rival of hers running and taking home the trophy instead.

Scarlet slammed her pen down, interrupting Tachyon’s less than positive thoughts, an exhausted sigh falling from her lips. “I’m so tired… But, it will all be worth it. I’ll top the exam board yet again!” Scarlet sat up, taking the handle of her own cup of tea between her fingers. She took a sip, tasting the sweet liquid fall into her mouth. “I’ll be running the Queen Elizabeth II Cup next, right, Trainer?”

The woman spun on the chair abruptly, as if shocked by the sudden question. “Ah! Yes. I already have the next month’s regiment planned—, unless, of course, you just wish to relax. You did just have a race…”

The copper-haired Umamusume sat in silence, pondering over the decision, before coming to a conclusion. “I think…I might spend some time with my family.”

“Oh?” Tachyon looked over at her student. “Pray tell, why do you wish to spend time with them?”

“Well… Mama is always busy at work, so she’s rarely home. She already said she will be going overseas again in two weeks, so I think I’ll spend those two weeks with her as much as I can.”

The trainer felt her heart melt at the sincerity of Scarlet’s words. She’s heard her go on rambles—very similar to Tachyon’s—when it came to all her mother achieved. She was a genius Umamusume who had several large titles slip between her fingers. Despite never winning the triple crown, a triple tiara, or even the Derby, she was still known for her high speeds. Stories now all too familiar as it came full circle… “You’re a sweet girl, Scarlet.” It was no wonder she looked up to Tachyon.

The sound of the school bell echoed throughout the school, causing Scarlet to panic. She chugged the last of her tea before quickly packing her things. “Thank you again for tutoring me! I’ll be back after school, okay, mama—!” Scarlet was half way out the door before she stopped in her steps. “Ah, sorry… Tachyon-san, Trainer…” Scarlet walked out of the room in a more stiff manner, embarrassed by her words as she mumbled to herself “that’s not mama, that’s Tachyon-san” continuously down the hall.

Once she was out of earshot, (Name) turned to look at said brunette Umamusume. “Skipping class again?” All Tachyon did was hum, taking a bite out of the cake set in front of her. With a playful singing tone, (Name) replied to the confirmation, “okay, I just don’t want your grades dropping.” Normally a joke that Tachyon would bite back with her own snide remark was now met with silence. The trainer didn’t think too much, telling herself that perhaps the phantom horse girl wanted some quiet.

It would have been understandable given Scarlet’s eccentric personality, and while Tachyon’s thoughts were on her junior, they were for different reasons. She thought long and hard about her. Tachyon wasn’t all familiar with supposedly “loving” parents given hers chose to do a hands-off approach of raising her—supporting her from afar, never getting too close. Like Scarlet’s mother, they were legends in the racing world, but unlike Scarlet’s, they were oddly distant.

Despite her clearly introverted demeanor, Bouquet did seem to love Daiwa Scarlet with her entire heart. It made her feel…weird, in a way.

The imagery in her head suddenly changed, going from thoughts about Scarlet and her mother to Tachyon’s own future. She wasn’t one to care for what would happen, mainly caring for the now. What good is there to worry about what could happen when she could just go through with it. Yet seeing those flashes of possibilities; imagery of a could be; a future that might happen…

Tachyon groaned, stretching her neck after having been hunched for so long, the thoughts coming to an end before it paused on one in particular.

Tachyon had thought she was imagining Bouquet, given their similar appearances, but something inside of her told her that she wasn’t. A silhouette of a brown-haired Umamusume holding a clothed bundle in her arms, a small hand grasping onto the woman’s finger… Something inside Tachyon suddenly felt lighter yet her breath was caught at the back of her throat. It was as if this thought was both right and wrong, something she wanted despite its impracticality—perhaps the opposite, being something that made sense despite it being unwanted.

It caused Agnes Tachyon to start mumbling nonsense to herself, her thoughts running wild with equations and chemical theories. “If I take a sample of my guinea pig’s DNA and alter it just a bit, keeping her overall physiological features yet allowing it to behave as if it was of XY chromosome DNA, then maybe…” She hummed, her eyes occasionally looking at (Name). “No, there’s no guarantee it’d be like Scarlet… But there is the possibility…”

Tachyon’s gaze shifted to her ankle. Despite having long since healed, the bandage remained tight, a constant reminder of the Satsuki Sho outcome.

The silence had become uncomfortable to Tachyon’s girlfriend by now, prompting her to turn the chair around. “Tachyon, are you okay?” She followed her line of sight, eventually falling to look at her ankle as well. “Is it hurting again?

“No, I’m just thinking.”

Excusing the thoughts, Tachyon took another bite out of the cake on the plate, only to look up at her trainer yet again. Despite her hiatus, (Name) never left her side, continuing to support whatever nonsense she had in store. Like a doormat, the trainer allowed the researcher to go wild on her body, taking various samples from saliva to blood, testing various liquified abominations she had created in that very lab.

What an odd trainer she was.

She really was an awful lot like Scarlet’s father—judging from the few stories Scarlet shared about him, someone easily pushed around. Suddenly, the thoughts were back, only more intense this time.

“Guinea Pig, it appears I desire a child similar to little Scarlet now.”

“WHAT?!”

© this story belongs to sillybillsie—otherwise known as sylvia on tumblr and ao3. reuploads and ai training are not permitted. if read anywhere else, it is a stolen reupload. ©

[jazeswhbhaven]

I couldn't help myself I wanted to write something about this....(credit to @bakdbfi for the screenshot)

(soft, vanilla, passionate sex, serious!Asmodeus, GN!Reader)

When you arrived at the designated cabin in the dense forest and mountains on Earth, the snow quietly falling, the chill air nipping at your nose...you had no idea what Asmodeus was thinking inviting you so suddenly.

Stepping into the cabin, it's warm, the scent of smoky wood and cinnamon greeting you like a blanket of comfort. Your mind was set at ease, despite the location being in the middle of nowhere and the usual antics of the devil you met in Hell. What could he really be planning?

As you take off your boots you see a trail of rose petals on the floor, leading you to the back of the cabin where you're certain the bedroom is located. This seems...out of character for him, right? You're normally met with the usual in your face, cock out, flirty intensity where you swear he was in heat by the way he drooled at the sight of you.

Not tonight. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. You weren't sure if you should be worried, but you walk the path set before you. When you reach the bedroom it's even more cozy than the living room. Warm lights, a thick and fluffy bed with plenty of pillows and blankets, a small fireplace with the sounds of crackling and pops of burning wood. The window though covered with sheer curtains, giving you a romantic view of the snow covered pines. It was perfect in every sense of the word and your comfort levels were more than relaxed.

"I can tell by your body language, that you love it."

Large, soft hands reach over your shoulders and down your collarbones as Asmodeus whispers tenderly in your ear.

"I said I'd make this a wonderful memory, though I'm sorry I couldn't give the full experience of putting the little ones to bed."

Your first reaction is soft laughter, realizing that his text to you on Christmas was serious now that the two of you were here. This was the only time he could get you alone and away from the other Kings, but you assumed it was just another quick dick appointment.

However, right now he wasn't laughing with you, or saying his usual overly sexual comments that made you cringe. In fact, he was peppering kisses on your neck, gently massaging your chest and tugging at your sweater.

"Get in the bed, please?"

It shouldn't have made you shiver, but it did. While it was a request, the hint of controlled restraint in his voice had you realize he was struggling to be patient in your presence. If he could do that, then it must meant this was serious. You couldn't help but oblige. Though, you didn't have to be told to remove your clothing because you knew what was going to happen in this room. He made that abundantly clear.

You crawl into the thick blankets, soft to the touch and luxurious in quality. Everything is off your body, well aside from your underwear. Asmodeus smiles, crawling after you and picking up your leg to kiss your ankle up to your calf. As he holds your foot against his cheek he looks at you lovingly, taking in the sight of you before he speaks again.

"I said I was going to make love to you, and I mean it..."

Your breath hitches as he pulls you forward, one leg propped up as he easily slides off the only garment left. He groans softly when he sees how ready you are, your sensitive parts swollen, glistening with arousal that had been building since he started kissing your neck.

He taps your hips, giving you the signal to flip over on your stomach. The moment you do, he bends down, his tongue sliding over your hole as he eats you out from the back. You arch your hips, the sudden sensation driving you wild. Between the flicks and kisses of his lips and tongue you're already a mess of pleasure and he keeps at it for a few moments, until he changes your position again.

You're on your back again, legs spread as he goes back down to continue running his tongue against your parts like he was starving. You could feel just how wet and slick his lips were, how his tongue dipped in and out of you as you try not to clench so early or it would send you past your peak. But he doesn't care, repeatedly hitting the same spot over and over until you come, the first of many the night would bring.

He changes your position once again, not done with you just yet. having your back rest against his chest, your head titled up to meet his gaze as he leans down to capture your mouth in a deep and passionate kiss. In the meanwhile, his long and slender fingers plunge into your quivering hole, pumping and curved against that sweet spot deep inside that he knew so well. He was slow, intentional and considerate, speeding up when you whimpered, slowing down when you were more focused on intertwining your tongue with his. He didn't stop until you gasped, moaning into his mouth to indicate another orgasm.

"I think you're ready for me, my love..."

With a soft smile and kiss on your forehead, he pushes you down face forward on the comforter, the part that wasn't covered in your fluids. He carefully brings up your hips, pressing the tip of his cock at your entrance as you wiggle against him to wordlessly beg for it. He gives you a playfully smack on the thigh, sliding into you, making sure every inch is felt.

His thrusts aren't like how they usual are, each stroke deep, with care his hips rolling and grinding like a sensual dance. There was even a point where he leaned over to kiss your back as he pressed further and stayed there just for a moment. You wish he'd stayed there forever as you cockwarmed him but he moves again which has you whimpering and moaning back to back.

"I want to see your face..."

The position changes again, both of your legs pressed back and your hips spread. All the time you'd hear about the "mating press" position and Asmodeus took this to heart. As he locked eyes with you, you swore he was thrusting into you so deeply that your insides were being rearranged. He'd lean down to take your lips again, the same deep-seated strokes that brought you to climax more times you could count.

It was like this all night, each position he'd switch you to was close, your body never leaving the comfort of his own if he could help it. There was a point when you were on your stomach again, but both of your arms were pinned against your back as he went wild, losing himself in the moment. The amount of times he had came were irrelevant to you because you were too drunk in your own ecstasy to notice.

It was only until the sun was shining through the window, your face against his chest as the two of you slept did you realize the night was over. You don't move, but your eyes look up at your lover surprised to see that he was asleep and not awake. He was mumbling in his sleep pulling you closer to him with no intent of letting go. And you had no intention of getting up either, your body and your energy spent with the lingering soreness of making love for hours. You didn't know how long he'd keep this up, but the change of pace made your heart full. Maybe, just maybe, you could do this forever.

[noprophet]

something holy 2

AKA: other words for worship AKA: the deification of dana evans 

AO3 (both parts in one here)

Summary: Late at night, the chapel is closed to the public - but open to anyone who can find (or borrow) a key. AKA whoops it got horny.

Rating: Explicit, MDNI

Pairing: McEvans

Words: 1333

Partly written for @abbdabbpittgal who had a VERY long shift.

“You have to be quiet,” Cassie mumbles against Dana’s throat. Dana groans lightly in response, trapping her own bottom lip between her teeth. 

It’s late - their shift went very long. They’re both the kind of out of their minds tired that makes their judgement poor, but they need this. Whatever this is. They can’t go home together tonight, so they claw for what they can.  

The chapel isn’t open this late, so Dana borrows a key from Esme - Dana’s always been her favourite - and lets them inside, locking the door behind them, leaving the overhead lights off. Dana sits in the front pew, her eyes avoiding the crucifix on the wall for the more visceral sight in front of her: Cassie straddling her hips and kissing her sloppily like they’re under duress. Groping her like she might run out of hands. 

This is a bad idea… Dana thinks. But it only adds a thrilling little curl in her stomach, which - combined with Cassie’s tongue at her neck, thighs in her palms, hands everywhere, hips rocking desperately against Dana’s legs - makes it not matter any more what kind of idea it is. Ideas are gone. Her brain is on layaway. All that’s left are sensations and her body is lit up like an old telephone switchboard, redirecting nerves and stimulation like its operator is on fire. 

For a moment Cassie slows - her hips stop and her hands come up to hold Dana’s face firmly, looking her in the eyes. Cassie’s hair is down, it’s a mess around her head, it’s always a mess after a long day and - Dana thinks - maybe just in general. It’s usually sort of adorable. 

But the mess of it right now isn’t “adorable.” This mess, in the darkness of the chapel illuminated only by streetlight and moonlight dipping in through the stained-glass windows, makes Dana stop breathing. It reminds her of stories from when she was in Sunday school (a hundred years ago) of penitents wild with worship. Sinners seeking forgiveness for their wrongs, so deep in prayer that they were almost outside of their bodies. Possessed with the need for absolution. The other children used to whisper: they speak in tongues. 

That thought any other time would make her laugh, but not now. Not while Cassie is looking at her like she’s about to devour her. Body and blood. Not when they're about to commit sacrilege. 

Cassie trails her hands down Dana’s body over her clothes, palms skimming her arms, her breasts, her ribs, her legs, as she lowers herself onto her knees in front of Dana, never once losing eye contact, her blue eyes boring into Dana’s like drills. Cassie’s fingers trail back up Dana’s thighs and hook the waistbands of scrubs and underwear together, pulling them down gently, Dana’s bare ass meeting the cool wood of the pew. 

Dana thinks distantly of being hit over the ass with a wooden spoon by her grandmother, the WHACK of it against her skin. Instead of the pain, in this moment she remembers only the sensation of wood, the shock of it. The confusion to her senses as she wondered what she did wrong. This time, Dana knows what she’s doing wrong. And she can’t bring herself to care, only to anticipate. 

Cassie dips her mouth down and lifts the shirt to uncover the softness of Dana’s stomach to her lips, pressing them firmly against her belly, swirling her tongue in a path of wet all over her skin. Dana’s hand drifts to Cassie’s head; she slips her fingers through the wild hair and then gently grips it, pulling against her scalp until Cassie growls against her stomach like an animal. 

Cassie’s hands grip her thighs like she’s afraid Dana will disappear if she doesn’t hold on to her, her fingers making marks in Dana’s skin.

Meanwhile, Cassie’s mouth drifts down Dana’s torso, placing kisses into the skin and curls that welcome her there, until the flat of her tongue presses firmly between Dana’s legs. She flicks her eyes up to Dana’s, looking a little possessed again in a way that makes Dana’s nails scratch against her scalp. “Christ, Cass…” Dana moans. The wide tongue against her doesn’t move - Cassie waits for Dana to jerk up into her mouth, to impatiently thrust. The movement makes Cassie grin against her - Dana can feel it. And that’s when Dana knows she is a goner. 

Cassie’s hands slide up Dana’s sides underneath her shirt and cup her breasts through the thin bra. Dana breathes harder - she can feel Cassie like a current running through every point in her body, but the tongue still doesn’t move. Dana tries to thrust again but Cassie presses her elbows down to stop Dana’s hips. 

Then the tongue withdraws and Dana whines in protest. Cassie leans up to Dana’s mouth to let her taste herself, tongue diving past her lips and Dana feels her eyes rolling back at the languid way Cassie pours her mouth inside. 

When Cassie pulls back her eyes are dark, as if the blue has retreated for safety. “Let me take care of you.” Cassie says softly. 

And suddenly, on top of every other fiery, bodily sensation in Dana’s system, she feels a deep well in her chest overflow at those words, at the notion that she can be taken care of for once, instead of just offering care to everyone else around who needs it. Cassie does this: she makes her feel held and tended and visible, whether it’s sex or friendship or just knowing to call on a bad day. The overwhelming feeling looses a tear from her eye and Cassie’s thumb wipes it from her cheek. 

Then she brings her thumb to her mouth and swallows the tear, their gaze still locked, and Dana has to remember to breathe. 

Cassie sinks again and lowers her mouth to Dana’s cunt. She buries her face there, her tongue winding and thrusting inside and around every inch of her as Dana tries not to squirm in delight. “Oh god,” Dana groans and accidentally looks at the crucifix as she does. It’s sinful what they’re doing, where they’re doing it, but it doesn’t feel that way. As she looks into Cassie’s eyes, watches her suck her clit into her mouth, she only feels worshipped. 

Cassie’s head bobs in her lap, gorging on her like she’s a feast, sucking her up and swirling her around in her mouth like a divine meal, and Dana feels the creeping tendrils of her own orgasm swirl inside her body. It’s hard to get a breath without shuddering with anticipatory shakes. “Cassie, please,” she whimpers and doesn’t care how desperate she sounds. She is desperate. A woman unfound being rediscovered, unearthed from a tomb she didn’t know she’d been inside of. 

Cassie hums against her then, like she’s tasting the best meal she’s ever had and Dana’s neck muscles tighten, she grabs Cassie’s head in both hands and can’t help herself - she thrusts against her mouth, riding out every wave of pleasure. When she finally reaches the end, she reaches down and pulls Cassie up by the back of her shirt to lay against her, both of them panting in the dark. 

Dana realizes there are more tears leaking out of her only when Cassie reaches up and wipes them from her face, once again kissing her deeply, allowing the mess of her mouth to cover both of them. Dana loves the feeling and wishes only that they had all night to wind around one another like braids of hair, to combine into one thing and never stop touching. 

Cassie whispers, “I love you” against her lips like a benediction and Dana holds her face in her hands and kisses her forehead as if bestowing a blessing. This is all they have for tonight. But soon, they’ll have more and more and Dana reveres this offering for now for what it is: a short but holy communion all their own. 

[mlpgr0undzer0]

MLP: Ground Zero -- Chapter 02: It Begins

"It Came From The Sky. Welcome To The End." | A MLP cosmic horror infection AU | 2,307 Words

Please note going in: AU designs + no beta reader

(note: editing chapter names on here to match with Ao3)

Over the course of two days, Phantasia’s condition worsened. 

Her eyes were bloodshot and her whole body ached with a dull, but constant pain. It started in her leg, but had spread to the rest of her body by now. Zecora and Twilight had come to visit her and were shocked by her appearance, especially as the doctor explained that the antibiotics, or really any medications, weren’t making a difference in her condition. The three stood outside her room, discussing the next move.

“Do you think we should amputate her leg? It seems like it’s pretty bad…” Twilight asked the doctor, who looked equally concerned.

“I suppose? I’ve never seen an infection move this fast before. I’m not sure if amputation would help at this point”

Zecora tapped her hoof anxiously, worrying about her apprentice.

“Perhaps the particular bramble is what left her in shambles?”

Doctor Horse tapped his chin. “I’m not sure what kind of plant would be able to do this–”

“Well, she was in the Everfree Forest, that place has a lot of unknown species of plants” Twilight interjected.

The doctor agreed that perhaps they should investigate and see if they could find the plant. Perhaps send out Zecora and Fluttershy, since the two knew the area better than anypony else. The trio trotted down the hall and into the doctors main office to discuss the plan of action.

Meanwhile, Phantasia was in her room groaning and rubbing her eyes. She felt like she was in agony and was so tired. She laid down with her eyes closed and tried to take a nap.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Her ear twitched. Drip. Drip. Drip.

She growled in frustration and sat up, looking around the room for the offensive sound. Her eyes settled on the sink, but it wasn’t dripping. That's strange… then where was the sound coming from? She checked the ceiling, the walls, even double checked the sink by turning it on and off with her magic. Nothing changed. She rubbed her ears and listened, but the sound was gone.

“Sorry, that was loud wasn’t it”

Phantasia whipped her head around to the door, but no one was there. She could’ve sworn she heard Nurse Redheart.

“Um… hello?” She spoke up, but was met with silence. “I’m dreaming again, huh?” She chuckled to herself.

“Phantasia” a voice whispered right in her ear.

She leaped up off the table and backed up towards the door on shaky legs.

“W-whos there!?”

No one was in sight.

She felt her forehead with her own hoof; she was burning up. Maybe she’s imagining things. It felt so real…

“Who are you talking to?”

She yelped and ran to hide under the bed.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” Fiddlestick apologized, kneeling to see her under the bed. Phantasia let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, it’s just you– thank Celestia”

She struggled to crawl out from under the bed, waving off Fiddlestick as he offered to help. The two sat with their backs against the bed frame and made small talk. Anything from the bland hospital food to the books they were sharing. Phantasia told him about her worries and that she missed Zecora since she hadn’t visited much.

“I’m sure your mom will come back when you’re better” He comforted

“She’s not my mom” She squinted at him and the colt wilted.

“Oh, my bad I just thought…” he tapped the ground “Where… is your mom?”

She didn’t respond. Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t really awkward. He just waited; maybe she was thinking about it. Or maybe she didn’t want to talk about it. 

“My real mom left me in the woods as a baby and Zecora found me”

Her ears laid back and she picked at a chip in the floor tile with her hoof.

“Well… then that's not a mom. She might’ve been your mother, but she's not your mom”

Phantasia rolled her eyes.

“That’s the same thing!”

“No it isn’t!” He insisted “Anyone can be a mother, but it takes a lot to be a mom. Mom’s take care of you, love you and keep you safe… and to me it sounds like Zecora does that”

She stayed silent. He had a good point. One that seemed like it came from someone else.

“Who told you that?”

He chuckled nervously.

“Ah… my step-mom. She’s nice, a lot better than my original mother”

The unicorn didn’t ask what he meant by that, instead she stretched and moved to sitting back up on the bed. He went to join her, but she shook her head and moved him to the door with her magic.

“I’m tired and have a headache, we can hang out tomorrow”

He didn’t argue. He simply wished her a goodnight– despite it being noon– and let her sleep.

Two more days went by and the search for whatever plant she stepped on turned up nothing. They had no idea what part of the forest she went to, but they searched as far as they could safely. Fluttershy flew over the thicker parts where the bushes were too dense to walk through, but still found nothing. The only brambles they could find were normal, everyday plants.

“Do you think she’s just allergic?” Fluttershy asked.

“I don’t know what allergy would do that” Twilight responded quickly as she looked between several books and papers. She was researching in her private library to try and find a possible answer.

Perhaps a foreign plant that was introduced with a bad side effect? Maybe even a poisonous plant? She couldn’t find anything that had a description similar to what was going on with the young filly. She groaned and put the books away before pulling out a scroll.

The door to the library swung open with a sweating and panting Zecora entering.

“Twilight! Something is wrong with Phantasia!”

The princess immediately dropped everything. Zecora led Fluttershy and Twilight to the hospital where a very confused Phantasia was trying to buck the nurses.

“What in Equestria is going on with her?!” Twilight shouted.

“W-we don’t know! She just started talking to herself and freaked out when the doctor walked in the room!” Nurse Redheart quickly explained “Zecora tried to calm her down but it made her freak out more”

“I want to go home! Leave me alone!” Phantasia shouted, stumbling and struggling to stand as she kept kicking.

Twilight used her magic to hold the filly down, allowing the nurses to inject a sedative. It quickly took effect and she calmed down, slowly slipping down to the floor and laying down. The nurses quickly moved her to a secure room to contain and quarantine her until they could figure out what was causing her to freak out.

“Could it be rabies?” Fluttershy suggested to Doctor Horse, who was holding ice over his freshly bruised eye.

“We aren’t sure… it's possible, but she can swallow just fine and isn’t having negative reactions to water” The princess turned to look at Zecora; she looked devastated and worried. “What is happening to my child?” she whispered to her friend.

“I don’t know, but we’ll find out”

🌟🌟🌟

Things were not looking good.

By day seven, Phantasia had lost her magic and her hair had begun falling out. Her colours were dull and her irises had turned white. The skin on her back leg where the bramble had poked her was completely gone; Dull flesh, muscle and bone exposed.

Her chest had a large lump of flesh hanging on, exposing the surface of her sternum and ribs through a gnarly gash created by her own hooves. She had thrown herself against the wall so many times in a futile attempt to kill herself that a deep gash formed on her head, exposing her skull. Her ear was torn and mangled, several spots on her front and back legs exposed more muscle and bone. Despite her emaciated state, she was still somehow strong enough to dent the door trying to escape.

She screamed and begged for them to kill her, but no one wanted to get close enough to check her since she had become so violent in her confused state. At this point, she’d given up asking for help and just laid down on the floor, crying.

The door creaked open, but she didn’t notice, and Fiddlestick hesitantly stepped in. “Phantasia?”

“Leave me alone…” He slowly stepped towards her with his head lowered.

“You’ve been yelling for a while… I thought maybe you’d like it if I visited?”

She got up, stumbling and struggling to stand as she glared at him through eyes he wasn’t sure could even see anymore.

“I said get out of here Fiddlestick! Before you get hurt too!” She yelled at him.

“I’m not leaving you alone! The doctors might be scared but I’m not!” He stomped his hoof and stood his ground, flapping his singular wing in defiance.

She whimpered and attempted to step towards him, but tripped over her own foot and fell against him.

He caught her, holding her up and helping her sit before he felt a sharp sting in his hoof. He pulled out quickly and looked at it. A small, purple quill was stuck in his hoof and as he looked back at Phantasia, he quickly noticed she was covered in them. They seemed to be sprouting from her exposed flesh. His stomach dropped and he backed away from her in fear. She cried and begged him not to go, pleading for him to stay. The colt shook his head and ran out of the room, slamming the door and making sure it was locked before he ran to the bathroom.

In a panic, he plucked the quill and tossed it in the trash, washing his hoof in the sink over and over until his skin was raw and swollen. Panting, he pulled a first-aid kit from the cabinet. He wrapped his leg a bit haphazardly before letting out a sigh.

Deciding it was properly clean, he returned to his room. He couldn’t let anypony else know he snuck into the quarantine room or else he’d be in big trouble. It wasn’t that bad an issue anyway, at least not in his eyes.

Before he could fully shut the door, multiple ponies walked by in a rush, including Princess Twilight. He decided it was better not to snoop for once, and laid down in his bed. Meanwhile, the group of ponies gathered outside of Phantasia’s room.

“What do we think the diagnosis could be?” Twilight asked.

“Well… we aren’t sure. We’ve never seen this before!” Doctor Horse wiped sweat from his brow and cleared his throat. “She’s gotten worse so much faster than expected”

The group looked through the dense glass window on the door and Twilight gasped at the sight of all the needle-like quills protruding from the bloody filly. Zecora tried to look, but the princess pushed her away.

“You shouldn’t see this–”

“I must!” She stomped her hoof, cutting the alicorn off.

Twilight relented and allowed the zebra to look. She stared for a moment, watching what was the closest thing to family she had in Equestria, crying on the floor in pain.

Sinking to the floor, Zecora let out a shaky breath.

“What can be done for her?”

The doctor and nurses all looked at each other with somber expressions.

“The truth is Miss Zecora… we don’t know. There isn’t anything we can do safely since we have no idea what caused this–”

“Then what do we do?! Would you want to suffer if that happened to you?” Zecora pleaded.

She couldn’t just let her little girl go through so much pain. She wouldn’t allow it. There had to be something they could do.

“Look, it could be dangerous for someone to go in there. We don’t know if it’s contagious, but even if it isn’t, she’s too volatile to approach”

Twilight stepped closer to the doctor.

“What if we sedate her– from a distance. Keep her asleep with magic; Maybe then we can take samples of blood and those… quills” She shuddered at the mention of those things. Something about it made Twilight feel uneasy. The look of them was off in a way she couldn’t quite place. “I suppose that could work, but we’d have to get a hazmat crew in so we don’t risk it spreading to anypony else”

The princess nodded in agreement with the doctor. He turned to speak to the nurse, urging her to call for the crew. Twilight looked to Zecora, who was still looking at Phantasia through the glass.

“I know it’s hard Zecora, but we’ll figure something out. We can save her”

The zebra shook her head.

“The damage is too severe. She will not be able to leave here”

Twilight lowered her head, knowing it was most likely true. The injuries she sustained already would likely kill her if they did manage to cure her, but someone had to hold onto hope. The Hazmat crew came quickly. They brushed past the mares and the unicorn of the group produced a gas can before pulling the tab and throwing it in the room with the infected filly. Quickly, the gas knocked her unconscious and the crew entered with several heavy-duty, steel containers and tools. They extracted multiple blood samples and plucked a few quills from her skin, placing all of it in the various containers. Zecora couldn’t watch anymore; She turned and galloped down the hall, running into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. Looking at herself in the mirror, she tried to calm down– but it wasn’t working.

She began to sob. Her beautiful filly… what was nearly her daughter, was dying. The small family she’d created here in Equestria.

Soon to be gone.

[meliae-cinis]

1ST CHAPTER OF "EVENING STAR MEETS MORNINGSTAR"!!!!

Aka my RadioApple x Princess and The Frog au

((Link for anyone who'd rather read on ao3-locked fic))

[This fic won't be following the movie ENTIRELY, just key plot points. So don't be confused if something happens very different here than in the OG source material.

Heads up that the characterization may not be the best. I JUST joined the Hellaverse fandom like 2-ish weeks ago. So don't raise any hopes!!!

And ALWAYS make sure to check my tags before reading!!!!]

(Edit 1/19/26: I am taking my time on this but either way a 2nd chapter will take a while to come out. Please stay tuned for future updates)

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If the Evening Star in the sky wasn't so bright then maybe all the woes of his drab world wouldn't be so prominent in this moment.

Alastor fixes his gaze on the little glimmer of light, unperturbed by the wind breezing through his fresh set of clothes. A rich, red suit of all things, the outlandishly long coat tails flaring distastefully around the bend of his knees. He'll need to inform dear Mimzy later that this garb isn't to his particular liking, no matter how kind the gesture.

With the balcony rails directly sat in front of him Alastor is nearly tempted to rest on it like a lazy vagrant but shoos the thought away as soon as it arrives. It would do no good to slouch about on the home of his dear acquaintance, oh no. Maman raised him, first and foremost, to be a greatful gentleman for any host.

It would also be quite a shame if he thoughtlessly ruined the suit sleeves during a moment of innatention. Why, he'd never forgive himself for such an embrassing feat!

Thus he remains standing, arms folded behind his back primly whilst staring up at that accursed star.

Maman always used to praise the Lord and his light, clasping her hands reverently to give thanks. She never made him do such things, as he put his foot down quite young against any religious nonsence. The older woman did, however, encourage Alastor to look upon the sky and dare to dream. To dare ask for a guiding hand, one to keep him on the right road in life.

Alastor feels the stretch of his grin. It's not a joyous look, he knows.

He simply cannot recall the last time he foolishly adhered to his dear mother's teachings and sought out this night light.

How amusing he does so now after such a disastrous evening.

“Hm…”

The star—no clouds in sight to block it—twinkles down at him. Alastor conjures up a fond memory in familiarity of the moment.

A young lad, swaddled in cheap rags and a filthy layer of dirt. Sitting upon his mother's bony lap as they both gaze towards the sky, sun falling in the distance to give rise for the moon. The Morning Star is already prominent on the horizon.

“Shall we make a wish, boy?” The mother speaks in her soft, trembling tone. She holds her child close, cheek pressed to his dark curls.

“I'd love to, ma'am,” the young boy responds. He does so curtly, speaking as he's been taught. His mother pecks against the skin of his forehead proudly.

“‘Lright then, let's get right on to it. You go first, Alastor”

The boy nods, giving real thought to his wish even as he's aware it is inevitable to fall on the universe's deaf ears. He is set to pleasing his mother after all. There can be no disappointing her.

A moment passes serenly by and the lad finally puts the palms of his hands together. “I suppose, ma'am, that I wish this evening star, with it's light so grand shining down on the both of us, to-”

“Quack!”

Alastor blinks.

The memory slips from the forefront of his mind and he allows it, turning his head to face the squacking sound. And…well. There is, indeed, a cause.

Perched on the railing to his right lies a white duck. Upon close inspection Alastor can't seduce if the creature is a mere fledgling as it's size would suggest, or instead a grown fowel of genetic disposition.

Quite the unexpected sight!

“My, hello there,” he calls out to it, even waving some fingers as if the duck is some fellow guest privy to his company. “And what are you doing up here this fine evening, hm?” Alastor glances back up towards the star, pausing just long enough to be considering as he trails his gaze back down to the new arrival. “A lovely sight up here, I'm sure. But I do suppose the romanticism isn't lost on either of us.”

The poor bird blinks at him thoughtlessly. No brain behind it's skull of plumage. The silly sight stretches the corners of Alastor's mouth even further.

Ah, how privy he is for some good entertainment.

“Yes, yes, a tasteless question on my part, forgive my rudeness,” he chimes out leaning over to speak more coquettishly. A little flare of charm never hurts the soul. “Would you liken to accompany me for the rest of tonight? Surely not for long, as I can assure you're a busy thing.”

The duck puts foward a webbed foot, bobbing its disproportionate head to and fro. The sight draws an amused sound of him, just as it's beak began to open.

“Oh I do hope you're not some wayward soul that had been imprudently cursed upon.” He tuts for show, teeth bared. “That would surely spoil any fun.”

“Jee, push me off the edge while you're at it. That's the first thing you spout to an animal?”

…

“…Pardon?”

Surely he's mishearing things. Imaging mindless chatter. A duck can not possibly have just-

“Crazy guy, aren't ya?” The duck says in perfectly human speech, not a quack to be heard. The critical judgment it passes over Alastor doesn't go unnoticed.

He spares the rude comment any backlash to more smartly back the hell away from the talking creature.

“Pardon?” Alastor repeats. He's simply lost. Uncomprehending.

The duck rolls its beedy red eyes, flaring its wings in such a way to mimic crossed arms. “Great, don't tell me I broke you? Kinda need some helping hands at the moment.”

Oh. Oh, this bird is genuinely speaking at him. Communicating.

“Ha…” He laughs out shortly, expression feeling stiff. “Well fuck.”

“Exactly, bucko.”

Alastor takes in a deep breath through his nose, very close it would seem to doing something outlandish. Especially one deserved for such a slur. But he reigns in whatever tad of unbecoming behavior his body holds. That settled, he then meets the eyes of the talking poultry.

“Beg you pardon but I'm afraid you'll have to indulge me for a moment,” he begins slowly. The visage of his smile feels tight on his face but that's hardly a problem. “I've conjured up some rather exhilarating questions that would be lovely to have answered.”

The duck appears rather unnerved by it however.

“Uh…” it gapes, rubbing a wing against its yellow bill awkwardly. “Aren't you gonna, say, panic?”

Alastor tilts his head. “Is there any reason to?”

“Well yeah, speaking bird here! Who wouldn't go a bit stir crazy right now?”

“Me it would seem.”

“Uh huh…Well great! That makes this part soooo much easier,” it quacks out in sudden glee, waddling its way closer to him. Any suspicions it holds visibly slip away.

Alastor remains stationary out of pure curiosity.

“My questions, if you please.”

The duck has the audacity to blink as if Alastor's words from just a mere moment ago were already forgotten. “Oh right. Eh, might as well I guess. Have at it, Red Guy! Ask away and I shall diiiiiiligently answer!” It sing-songs rather poorly.

‘Red Guy'? How insolent, Alastor sneers. It doesn't push off his ever-present smile but the action does garner a questioning look from the duck.

With a push to his glasses Alastor bends down, face to face from the creature. “My, my, an obnoxious one you are. Please, call me Alastor. My first ask would have to be why your presence of all places is located here, at the Hanigan family's extravagant masquerade-”

“Huh?”

“-New Orleans is quite big, enough space for a tiny thing such as yourself.” As he speaks Alastor motions towards the city view far off from the estate property. The rich, the poor, the blue-collar class, and the lovely bayou: all equally large portions that make up this grand patch of Earth.

His current companion squacks, bill flubbing about as it fails to work around human words while in shock. “You- wait- but hold on- that's not- why are you so weird?”

He narrows his eyes. “Hm?”

“Er-” the duck shrinks back, choking out a strained chortle, “it's just that you're asking a crazy question when there's definitely better ones. You know, like the classic ‘What are you?’ ‘Where did you come from?’ ‘How are you able to talk?’ ‘Can you do magic?’ All that jazz!”

“Yet none of those are what I've said,” Alastor quips.

“I'm aware.” Grumble after pitched grumble, any heated contention the small fowl wishes to share goes away in favor of answering Alastor's question. Finally. “Well, I figured I could find my wife or daughter here, high-class extravaganza an’ all. Buuuut today's not my cup of tea.”

Alastor takes in the information and stores it away. Be it now or later in the future, all knowledge lends a hand to those who wield it properly.

He taps his chin. “So you are indeed a transformed man.” He unbends the dip of his spine to pace leisurely along the balcony as he ruminates. The duck's eyes follow after in the same unintelligent fashion as it’s holder's choppy manner of speech. What an utter clodpate. “Who is, ah, wealthy?”

The duck puffs up, nodding. “You are correct my good pal! Crazy yet clever fella, Ol’-bud, good chap-”

“Alastor, sir.”

“Right, right.”

If this thing so happened to die right this moment there would be no one the wiser. Alastor dwells for a sweet second on this thought. He had paused by the balcony entrance, so lavish in carved images and little lights that it blends the door panels near seamlessly into the large frame.

But, he'd prefer his questions answered in full first.

“So, your wife and daughter,” he continues, “They're not present like you had hoped, am I correct?” The duck gives an affirming nod. “Be that as it may, I find myself unable to then understand why you would travel all the way up here.”

“Hey it's my first day in a new body, cut me some slack, guy.” Hopping about until it unceremoniously tumbles from the railing, the duck lands with a hard thuck! before standing once again to pad over. Alastor is reluctantly fascinated by it's jovial defiance of obstacles. “I saw you, alone, and it's better scary some random person than a whole party. I know from experience!”

He raises an eyebrow, assessing the other. Now whatever could THAT possibly be referring to? “I suspect that's not something to brag about, good fellow.”

The duck slaps a foot upon the marble below in a haughty manner. “Definitely not!” It speaks so loud and firm happy tones in great contrast to the meaning behind its own words.

Oh dear, it's no wonder this fool became an animal. He's far exceeded the requirements of holding the title ignoramus, and they're barely spoken! Alastor doesn’t know if he should he feel thrilled or pestered by such a painfully obvious characteristic as the conversation stretches on. He's never been privy to enjoying the company of clear-skinned buffoons, no matter their station.

“Got any more questions or may I say my piece now?” The duck questions by his feet.

“Hm…”

Alastor doesn't answer right away, preoccupied with opening the balcony doors, as well as considering the benefits of engaging with this cursed being. Said creature follows after him into the grand suite.

“I suppose you may,” he eventually says. While he's certainly resided inside these walls longer than his childhood home and current abode this room itself was never one he went within. It would have been improper should he have ever done so. Dear Mimzy won't mind—as she all but shoved him past the doors herself just an hour before—but rumors can start through anything. And many a maid is known to gossip.

Either way: the opportunity has presented itself, so Alastor takes a chance to better look around. The furnishing stood out to him earlier when arriving, but now what catches his fancy is the lining of books and vinyls against the wall opposite of the suite closet. He strides over to the shelves.

“Good, good, alrighty then,” the duck begins, “I, King Lucifer Magne Morningstar, would like to request your aid in returning me to myself!”

Alastor whips his head around, neck straining just to stare down wide-eyed at the small bird. There's no hint of a lie in its frame of figure; no waver to its words.

“I must not have heard you right, sir, do repeat yourself for me?”

The duck quacks in mocking. “Of course you're beside yourself now knowing the truth! Haha, yes, I am-”

“No my dear, I simply mean to correct the term you used.” Alastor makes his shoulders slump, smile easing, as he finally touches the lovely shelf properties. His nimble fingers trail over worn covers, as well as new, until they swiftly collect a particular one. “You referred to yourself as “King”, however the latest news I've been made up-to-date on clearly states that you're an heir presently.”

He's graciously rewarded with the sight of a royal moron fluffing up with a sputtering mouth.

Ah, to test the limits of my own ire, Alastor thinks faintly, I truly should do it more often.

“Hold on that's not- Lilith do save me, why are you so rude?!” The duck hops around until it's—or rather he's—struggled onto the closest chair. “I'm basically a king, mind you, the title is just a bit estranged!”

“Are you using that word properly, sire?”

“Haha, fuck you.”

“So pleasant.”

The “King” snaps his beak, folding his wings. “On second thought I should find someone else to help me. Your face already grates on my nerves.”

Alastor flips through the book he's taken, pushing his glasses about until the dim lighting of the suite works properly with his eyesight. Responding as he reads the pale pages, he chuckles. “I'm unsure that would work in your favor. As it stands, I am only entertaining this madness because I have nothing else to occupy me. The guests below us however, I know will stir up chaos should you expose yourself to them.”

“Well I'm not sure I don't want to risk it.” The “King” fans his wing feathers over a near desk, stretching on his thin legs to reach a small ornament that's caught his fancy. “You sound like you want to hear me out one second then dismiss me the next! Ha, maybe when I'm human again I can get retribution! Haha!”

Alastor hums. “I suppose.”

“…You're kind of a dick, Red Guy.”

The book snaps shut. He sneers down at the cursed duck. “Alastor. And you've yet to give me any reason for lending my assistance, your majesty. I cannot even confirm if your words are true, much less something I should spend my time on.”

At his words the “King” wilts.

“Oh, yeeeeah, I guess that's true…Lilith wouldn't believe this hooey if she was in your shoes. I would probably laugh it off too.”

Somehow Alastor does not agree with the last sentence but refrains from engaging with the other fellow so intimately.

“Glad you see it as I do,” he says instead.

The “King” nods, downtrodden. He leaves the desk ornaments alone, looking up towards him. Alastor notices the other perk up significantly when he spots the book in his hands.

“That's it! The cure!”

Alastor gives the duck a disbelieving smile. “It is not.”

“It is!” The “King” beats his wings, hopping on the chair edge just to see the book cover. “The Frog Prince, I nearly forgot about this fairytale!”

Indeed, the literature pieces he can spot first glance are all fairytales and children's stories of some kind. And it would seem Mr. Morningstar here holds a similar train of thought as him. Which…is mildly upsetting.

This is a disaster in the making, Alastor notes. The clear shine in those red eyes is not something he trusts.

“Are you perchance considering to find a random lady and beg for a kiss?” He dares question in distaste. Unfortunately his company does not ease his troubles.

“Of course!” The cursed man manages to peck the book once before tumbling to the floor. He pops back up, unfettered. “Once it's done and over with I can compensate her and explain everything to my wife.”

“I'm sure that will go over quite well, sire.”

“Keep your disbelief to yourself, ol’ chap, I'll prove you wrong,” the “King” says in full confidence. “I'm living a fairytale that already has a ending written, so of course everything will be-”

“If I may so be allowed to share my thoughts, The Frog Prince doesn't suit your circumstances.” Alastor puts the book back in its place on the shelf. Perhaps his friend will lend him some vinyls if he prods just right.

“Huh?” The other speaks moronically.

He leans over the fowl even bending low so he settles to sit at the chair no longer being occupied. “As a King you must of studied up on foreign tales such as The White Duck? A Russian fable I find to be far more enjoyable than the current trending ones.”

The “King” squawks though it sounds less offended and instead rather amused. “That's what you would think but I know more than you!”

“Because you're living the curse currently?”

“Exactly!”

Alastor turns away, gaze catching on the oh-so bright star still glimmering out in the night. There's an inkling rising within him that suggests his unorthodox “wishes” turned out to be a curse. “Well no matter! I will not be helping you, sire.”

He hears the duck stop his hyper movements. “Pard- what? Ah, no, I don't need you anyway. I just need to find a princess…Wait.”

“Precisely.”

Alastor stretches his arms above his head with a wicked grin, listening to the new quacks of horror and despair.

After all, there's no princess around New Orleans to cure his majesty. There is only a missing wife and daughter, of which the “King” has yet to find.

And if this imbecile can see past his shortcomings and view things as I do then he'll realize going back to curse giver is his only option, Alastor thinks.

“-Nononononono ahoho this is not good, not at ALL! Should I keep looking? Try to- no, that won't help for shit. Horsefeathers, they were all right weren't they? Lilith is going to- oh but Charlie, my poor baby girl-”

The ramblings go on and on, flowing through Alastor's ears like a loving symphony. He's can afford to hone his sadistic tendencies for times such as this. It keeps him level-headed.

But it is annoying to some degree, and at that he doesn't withhold a scoff. More babbling ensues.

“-yet even this guy doesn't want to aid me- not that he seems like a generous person but- Ugh, shiiiiiit shit shit shit shitty shitty shit shit!-”

“Pardon me, but it's extremely difficult to think with your noise.”

The duck's head snaps up, eyes wide and—oh come off it, watery as he registers his words. Then he's back to inhuman catterwalling.

“Swuch a- such a mean piece of- of shit! I jwust- jwust- Ha! I jwust want'a get home and yer’ so apathetic-”

Oh dear, he's being quite noisy…

“My good sir-” he tries to say, only for a sock to hit his nose. The “King” glares up at him.

“I don't want to hear nothin’ from you, just some bluenose who's useless in helping people.”

Alastor's teeth click together sharply. He inhales, matching the cursed man's scathing look with one of his own. “That was not necessary. I merely gave you my opinion and you chose to throw away crocodile tears as if you're a child.”

The “King” flaps his wings and suddenly he's in Alastor's face, flabbing his bill close enough to be a threat.

“Calling me a child when you're a prick with the scheming face of a loony?”

Alastor fires back head on, quickly adjusting to the level field of vision. “I was minding my own business, then a duck claiming to once be a royal fellow pestered me. Aren't you the petty one for not receiving what you want?”

“A cry for help to much for you?”

“A cry indeed with all of that unsightly blubbering.”

“It's a healthy outlet and I don't think you can say anything about being ‘unsightly’.”

This little bitch.

Alastor—forehead having at some point during their little spat pressed firmly against the other's—reaches a hand to his side out of habit. It's only by chance that his hand catches the rod of a fancy cane, sniveling up in a second to bonk the duck.

Only-

The action does not drive the “King” away as intended.

No, it's only some seconds later, body low to the floor with fabric draping inelegantly over it, twinges of unfamiliar soreness fired through racing nerves, that Alastor understands his attack pushed the duck closer.

Too close.

He stares at his hands—his hooves. The speck of ashy-brown skin visible. Certainly not with all of the fur trailing from the hooves into the depths of his clothes.

Across from Alastor the duck is laughing in hysterics, sounding on the verge of a meltdown.

When the cane…had hit the King…it had- they had-

“AT LEAST I KNOW KISSING A STRANGED DOESN'T WORK!”

A deer. He had really been cursed into a small, thin buck all from an accident brush of lips against bill.

Alastor feels the corners of his mouth sting. Blood likely dots at the corners from how stretched his deeply pissed grin turned. He watches the other cursed occupant go through his third tirade of the hour before glaring towards the balcony windows.

Officially, he now truly does loathe the Morning Star and its deceptive allure.

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Hello readers!!! Hope you enjoyed 😁

Here's some word definitions:

“Buck”- In past terms it used to be an insult/slur towards dark-skinned individuals

Clodpate - Informal term for a stupid, foolish person or blockhead

Bluenose - An excessively puritanical person, a prude

PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS!!! THEY KEEP ME MOTIVATED!!! And I will need as much as possible for this fic since Im working on many other fics at the same time. Plus its just nice to know how I've done so far in the fandom.

[noxshark]

They both bleed

Fanfiction I wrote on Ao3 😛 You can read it here or follow the link below which one you prefer!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The fanfiction contains depiction of violence against animals, Aviscott, Pearl x Cleo too, and mentions of Pyro (stay aware of those), uhmm yeah!

Biting cold crawled underneath the dirt, sinking its terrible fangs into the very soil Earth was composed of. Ruins of what used to be a sort of stone pathway that led through the ground, today now crumbled on itself heavy and oh so cold. Every breath the world took, a freezing cloud followed. The trees had long lost their emerald leaves, now golden or reduced to browny bits, returned to ashes. No animals dared roam during this night, as the moon that shone bright in the sky, tainted the bluish horizon with its bloody color, for tonight was the rising of the blood moon. A full moon stained with the sacrifices and sorrow that arose from the graves. As freezing and heartless as one could ever be. As a reminder of all the souls that were trapped in this realm, a reminder of all of those who died unjustly, cruelly. Of all of those who shouldn’t have died.

Surely, tonight must have been the coldest night in the whole world.

And the ground that claimed, that took, the death that lingered and held and clawed like a hungry beast, screaming with its rasping voice property over those who once lived, who once died. Death that stole without asking, that imposed itself with pride, with hatred, with anger and hate, so much hate. Death that stabbed and killed and devoured, and who cares if others suffer, who cares for the little boy who cried vamp ? Death that knows better, Death that does what it has to do to..

Death that obliges for love. Yet is it truly still love, if it only hurts ? And Death wondered, for Death wasn’t only pain, Death was once love, passion, enamored. Death knows, it’s not truly death, he can’t claim himself to be death. What would Louis think of the man he became ? Of the monster that claimed, that took, the monster that lingered and held and clawed like a hungry beast. The monster that stole without asking, that imposed himself with pride, with hatred, and anger, and hate and hate and..

And who cares for the doctor who promised to do no harm? The monster knows his lies. The monster is not so different. And he hates it. For the man, the human, so different yet so similar, carrying the guilt, the pain, the hate. He loathed him, he wanted him to suffer, he wanted him broken, he wanted him crying and begging and bleeding out forgotten, never forgiven, and while he claws the earth with his body running out of its last resources, unable to give himself what mercy he never even deserved: death. While he pleads and sobs, while his sins nibble at his limbs, and there’s nothing else he can do but succumb just like his predecessor to the pain and sorrow and fear and guilt. And.. Hate.

But that never comes. He is certain to have left the doctor with nothing but agony, yet he will never know what he’d truly done.

For once, Owen must admit, he was wrong.

All he’s done was for nothing, he killed, and took, and slaughtered and stole and.. For what ? For vengeance ? For love ? And now, as he walks up the tower, as he takes one last glance at the rising sun, he understands. His life, his guilt, his sorrow, his power, his cruelty. It had all been for nothing. He didn’t even believe himself deserving of finally leaving, and for so long he’s been denied this mercy.

And as he closed his eyes, as his body returned to the earth, claimed back by the very soil that he’d buried himself in, begging to be granted the same fate as all of those who he once knew. As his soul leaves this world for another one, hope makes a nest in his heart.

And there he is, the man he once loved. His form, that he can barely make out, yet that he could never mistake with anyone else’s. His long, curly hair, his soft features, his eyes.. And that’s when Owen sees it. The sheer desperation, the way his beautiful face contorts in disgust. Shelby’s words echo deep within his soul.

Louis was devastated. And yet not an ounce of hatred bled from his eyes. The very same hate that had consumed Owen was nowhere to be found on his lover’s face. That, Owen knew, was the most painful feeling he could ever have felt. Like being staked again, and again, like seeing him burn for the first all over again. It was nauseating. His soul decayed and crumbled, dried of any blood.

Soon before he could do anything else, his sins’ claws dragged him back, impaled in his scarred skin, pulling him back to where he deserved to be. Where a soul who had done all these atrocities could only ever be allowed in.

Louis had only come to say goodbye.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ ♰𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔳𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔞𝔡. 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡.⊹ ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

Years went by fast like seconds, or maybe slow like millenniums ? Who was he to tell? His consciousness slipped away from him every instant he tried to grasp onto reality. Well, that was until his body decided to finally give into his silent plea. Suddenly, as the ground above crushed his forgotten body, cold as the coldest night Earth had ever made, his mouth spread in a desperate attempt to breathe in whatever air he could steal underneath the soil. His crushed limbs stronger than ever before swam against the rough rocks and dirt, claws digging through hysterically, his undead heart beating faster yet faster, as he was forbidden freedom in his prison of dust and muddy muck. He didn’t have time to comprehend how awfully terrifying his situation was, buried where death had claimed him for oh so long. He barely felt the wooden stake by his side as he crawled and dug towards what he hoped to be freedom.

He gasped and coughed for the freezing oxygen he could finally reach, and soon followed his head and arms ducking free. Dirt stained his clothes, the very same clothes he remembered dying in. He had no time to look at himself as he desperately tried to calm his beating, very much alive heart. He wasn’t out yet, for even if the crypt had somewhat crumbled, and even if he’d managed to dig out of the hole where he’d been backstabbed and staked - he wasn’t out yet. His legs felt wobbly, his body heavy. But he couldn’t stay under the ground any longer, his elbows and knees scraping the stone stairs as he creeped and squirmed to the surface.

The blood moon hit his face, and for the first time since he awoke, he felt genuine happiness. So, overwhelmingly happy to be alive, dry tears rolling down his dirty face, staining the cold soil with pathetic salty drops, his body empty of any liquid he could allow himself to waste. But who cares? He was alive! Once more, he’d been given a second chance. Or perhaps a third ? Who cared! He was alive! He was alive! He was..

Dear Lord- ah.. Was he still allowed to speak to Him? His fingers felt numb, his nails long and sharp, were they still vampire claws ? Was he still a vampire ? Heavy with the weight of years prickling on his back, and his legs felt still as weak, incapable of carrying his body. The dryness in his throat sharply made him aware of how thirsty he was, goodness! He’d forgotten how that felt.. He’s never been more thankful to endure that discomfort right now. His feeble limbs pushed with whatever strength he could find, only to find himself back on the floor in a huff. The cold dirt felt nice underneath his body, the freezing grip on his skin a proof of his awareness, something he would never allow himself to lose again.

Mercy fell upon him, it seemed. Slowly, the first droplets of rain poured onto his filthy face. Like a dehydrated flower, his head raised towards the source, his mouth falling agape, catching whatever stray beads he could manage to steal. Oh, he was certain to look absolutely miserable. His arms shakily pushed forward, allowing more to fall down his throat. It was blissful, heavenly. And as the rain’s force only got stronger, so did Avid. Although he was now not just dirty but also wet, he could not find it in himself to care. And then, it came. The agonizing hunger digging its starved fangs in his stomach, a call so strong that even feeble Avid could not deny.

This time, as he forced forward, ordering his limbs to obey, he found himself able to stand up. Sure, wobbly and uncertain, but upright nonetheless. On his two feet. He was so hungry, the very instinct to hunt seeping in his blood, forcing his tired legs to walk on their own. The scent of food lingered, calling, begging to be eaten. And how could he deny his body from what it needed ? His dirtied claws ready to sink into the firm and sweet body of any animal he’d encounter, the very thought of soft, warm fur giving in to him. The blood, pouring out into his throat, the flesh splitting without any fight between his fangs. The very idea of feeling fulfilled. He staggered, making his way towards the sweet scent of food. A food that was rightfully his. A food he would take and make his.

There it was. A small, white feathered chicken roamed carelessly around, its beak going down a few times to feed itself whatever it could find on the ground. Thoughtless. An animal, nothing more, nothing less. It seemed well fed, almost like a farmer’s. If he weren’t so starved, he might have pondered further about the small creature. However, in such a state, Avid could not have cared less, an electric like strength suddenly coursing through his veins, adrenaline and instinct overcoming any thought. He launched his trembling body over the small beast, unable to hold back a gut-wrenched cry of utter need. His cruel claws ripped the flesh apart, leaving the poor creature clucking in agony. It struggled and squirmed, its now torn wings flickering with fear and desperation.. However it had been useless from the start. The brutal fangs tore through its soft torso, mangling the chicken to bits. The scenery was disgusting, feathers and blood splattering on the filthy floor, the starved beast swallowing every cry, until the light of life finally left the chicken’s eyes.

Not even bones were left intact, broken and nibbled, and Avid couldn’t have stopped himself, pure need had controlled his limbs, the desire to take, to devour, to feed. It was as though he weren’t himself, his body nothing more but a puppet in the hands of a starved monster. When his dear consciousness took a hold of his form once more, his eyes blinked in confusion, as nothing but feathers, blood and bones were left discarded. He was horrified of himself. Surely he’d killed animals before, surely he’d drained creatures long ago, but this ? This didn’t feel like feeding, this felt.. Nauseating. He held himself back, clenching his stomach as he gagged, his breathing heaving. He felt completely averse to blood, to the idea of eating raw flesh. Which.. Was strange.

He remembered how sweet blood had tasted the first time he’d drank as a vampire. A desire for more had since then settled in his stomach, forever haunting him, no matter how much he ate. He could still remember Shelby’s face when she turned him. He could still smell Scott’s soft perfume as he held him after his first death. He could still feel the stake piercing through his bones and flesh, tearing his dead heart apart. How scared he felt in this moment, how he begged and pleaded and the only thing that had been on his mind was how he’d been tricked, how he should have listened to Scott, obeyed a bit better, but he’s never been really good at it, has he ?

He shouldn’t have been so impulsive. He should have treated Owen and Pyro better. He should have done better. What if they went back after him now that he was alive? What will Scott say ? Suddenly, he realized he had no idea of how long he’d been asleep for. Was Scott still around ?

He brushed that idea aside. Of course Scott was still around! It’s Scott! And he’d protect him from Owen and Pyro, surely. And from the humans. And from anyone who would ever try to kill him again. He hoped. What about Elle ? Her corpse must still be laying around, he thought with a chill. Then, he had to ask himself how he was still alive. His mind had been in limbo, however he hadn’t been conscious at all. Trying to grasp any sense of what was happening to him had been too hard.. And at some point, he’d given up. If he was still alive, it was all thanks to his scratch. His hand unconsciously patted his old scar, the rough skin stinging under his touch. It did still feel the same after it had somewhat healed, but.. It stung just like before he was turned. Perhaps his scratch had been stronger than his vampirism ? Did that mean he was cured of it ? Or were the both of them fighting over what he was now ?

Feeling somewhat reinvigorated from his meal, Avid’s shaky legs stretched his body up, and he slowly made his way through the forest. The trees seemed.. Fine. He was hardly recognizing anything, which wasn’t a good thing at all. The forest had outgrown its burning, and Avid feared what that meant. He wasn’t even sure where he wanted to head. The castle was the right choice, as he remembered how Apo’s stake barely missed, and he feared the humans reaction if he came around.. But then again, he would lie if he said he weren’t curious. He wondered, would anyone even be there ?

Staggering somewhat less now that he’d fed, and as the blood on his face was washed off by the rain still pouring down, he couldn’t deny how frozen he was starting to feel. His clawed hands reached to hold onto his form, trying to keep warm as best as he could. He didn’t find it in himself to use his vampiric power - and again, he wasn’t even sure to still have them. Turning into a bat felt harder than anything he’d ever done, impossible even. And so he walked, head low, his heart beating, beating hard and fast, alive, he was alive. Was he even going the right way ? Surely the castle must be this way. Surely he couldn’t have forgotten that much. It felt so recent yet so distant the last time he’d been inside.

To his joy, his fluttering eyes - trying to keep the tears of clouds out of his vision - finally spotted the oh so beautiful towers of the castle. His legs sped up on themselves, carrying his body to the door eagerly. His body was cold, wet, his legs were trembling and he felt out of breath, but finally, oh finally he was home. Or.. Well.. Somewhere he was trying to learn to call home. For some reason, he felt it would be more appropriate to knock, as.. He didn’t know for how long he’d been dead, and who knew whether Scott was still here ? And the others.. Yes.. Well he did hope Pyro and Owen weren’t here anymore. He shivered, oh how he hoped to never see them again.

His fist raised, he knocked once, then twice, then.. Then a third time, just to be sure. And then a fourth.. A fifth.. After that he stopped counting. Was no one there ? Was he really alone ? Perhaps they’d already left.. Perhaps they all died. He had no way of knowing. And that ate him inside! Very well, if no one was there anyway, it would bother no one if he entered! Right ??

He opened the door, his wet clothes staining the dry floor. He did not care one bit. He walked in, shivering once more. It felt warm, somewhat, at least warmer than outside. The rain was so loud, and so heavy. He’s never been happier to be inside, even if he felt like nothing more than a wet dog, dreaming of the bathtub he had at home. He sighed, dreamingly, remembering Drift, his best friend. Oh how he missed everyone, he realized. To his surprise, a few candles were lit in the castle.. Which they never used to do, as vampires could see in the dark. Huh.

Avid walked through the corridors, his nose picking up on the scent of.. Food ? Some people still lived here. Maybe he’d been wrong! Maybe nobody came to open the door to him because they hadn’t heard.. Right ? He took a deep breath, it just had to be Scott, or.. Or Shelby, or Drift! It just.. He really hoped it wasn’t Pyro and Owen. If it were he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He took a step forward, finally making his way to the dining hall.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ ♰𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔳𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔞𝔡. 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡.⊹ ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

Today marked the day of Avid’s death. As usual, Shelby, Drift and Scott made their way to Oakhust in memory of their lost friend. There, they’d mourn like every year. They’d come back to the castle, see Cleo and Pearl, go to the tombs and then spend the rest of the day together. Scott was still debating what he wanted to bring.

The year was 2006, and in all these years of living in New York, the vampire had gotten quite the amount of clothes! He had mixed opinions on the fashion of today, after all he couldn’t deny being old schooled. He’s always enjoyed dramatic outfits, he had to simply look stunning or else who was he ? And he couldn’t lie, not being able to see himself in the mirror was a pain. He was thankful to have his fledgling to help him out. Shelby was an absolute sweetheart, and he was so grateful that him, her and Drift were still alive. It had been 200 years since they escaped, since… Everything. And sometimes, he swears he can still see Pyro. Between crowds, underneath voices, behind smiles. And it stings, to know how he’d failed him. Sure, he had been more than happy when the vampire died. By Shelby herself nonetheless! He’d been proud of her! But..

He couldn’t help feeling as though perhaps he’d turned better if he’d paid more attention, if he’d done more. Pyro had been his responsibility, and he’d failed him as a sire.

Ah, getting lost in thoughts again. That tended to happen a lot more when Avid’s deathday came around. Right.. He was debating whether he should take the wine colored shirt or the jam one. The wine was such a good fit with his black blazer, but maybe he should try the jam one for once ? It would make the gold of his clothes pop out more as well.. Oh but the wine was such a nice color-

“- Scott! Are you done already ?” Shelby’s voice halted his thoughts, putting a stop in his movement as well. Oh, he knew better than to ask her which shirt she liked more, but.. He still enjoyed hearing her speak.

“- Shelby, dear, which one do you think would be more appropriate ? I’ve been debating for hours!” He emphasized, as dramatic as ever. He wasn’t anybody after all!

Her face twisted in slight confusion, her eyebrow raising and her head tilting slightly to the side. Like a confused little thing.

“- Aren’t those the same?” How silly, he thought. But it was true that the more fashionable one had only been the Goldsmith. Although she wasn’t as bad as Drift, he supposed..

“- I’ll just take both.” He huffed, shoving the shirts in his already overpacked suitcase. “I am officially done” He announced, forcing the overfed bag to close before putting it on its wheels and turning to Shelby. The woman sneered, letting a few giggles escape her toothy grin and rolling her eyes disrespectfully.

“- Alright then, Drift said she’s waiting for us to leave”

The suitcase was, as he expected, heavy. The vampires of New York didn’t travel like everybody else. As one knew, a vampire had the ability to transform into a bat and roam the sky. However, you might wonder, how does such a small thing carry a suitcase ? And wouldn’t it be strange if some people saw bats carrying heavy suitcases ? You’d be right, of course. The three of them made their way through the town by foot, taking the public transport until they simply couldn’t anymore. And their flight was only deployed once they were sure not to be seen. As for the weight of the suitcase ? Well, a vampire’s strength stayed, even in their bat form, ensuring them a safe travel until they reached Oakhurst. Although, Scott couldn’t deny, it was such a long and tiring journey! First of all, he hated public transport. A man like him deserved at least a personal chauffeur! However Shelby feared they might raise suspicion for the place they headed to was known for nothing but massacres, plagues, deaths, etc..

Scott found it silly, humans weren’t that witted! Okay, yes, he was not supposed to think that. Humans were quite smart when they wanted to. And he’d been taught that, hadn’t he ? Anywho, he still enjoyed flying with them. It reminded him of how free being a vampire felt like. In New York, he learnt, turning into a bat before people wasn’t a normal thing to do. Such a shame! He supposed it made those moments more precious. Those 200 years together taught him more than he’d like to admit.

He couldn’t imagine not having emotions again. To live in a world where he’s never loved ? While he still struggles from time to time, he felt he’d made great progress. And.. If he was honest with himself, he swore he could still feel that black and white haired vampire hunter watching over them. Well, over him, especially. What was his name again ? Ahh, it didn’t matter.

Soon he could spot the dead trees of autumn, the horizon of the familiar town called Oakhurst. His tiny bat nose breathed in the cold hair, even if he didn’t need to breathe, per say. He could already feel the oppression settling in his chest, with a fragrance of home. He supposed it didn’t make sense.. But wasn’t that what feelings were ? A bunch of nonsensical instincts. Him, Scott Goldsmith, allowing such silly things.. He supposed his human side hadn’t died, after all. His beady bat eyes glanced towards Shelby. Their bat form was called, without surprise, the vampire bat. Not all vampire bats were actually vampires, but all vampires were vampire bats.

Scott didn’t waste his time thinking about the whys and hows, landing on the grassy floor of Oakhurst with grace, swiftly turning in his vampire form as his feet touched the ground. His fledglings did the same, and he felt a wave of pride bloom in his chest. He knew he wasn’t technically Shelby’s sire, however it just felt like he was. She was his. Just like Drift was his.

Cleo made her way to greet them, having spotted their landing near the castle. Her hair was a soft white, and her face still as young as the day they met. To think she’d be dead if it weren’t for vampirism. She welcomed them inside, allowing them to settle in. Scott always felt at home in this castle. He’d built it for the most part, after all. His eyes darted around, where each and every vampire that had once roamed Oakhurst had left a trace of their presence. He was silently grateful Cleo and Pearl hadn’t changed the decorations too much.

Talking about Pearl, the werewolf made her way inside, waving the vampires and leaning forward to steal a kiss from her partner. It was chaste, swift, ended as soon as it happened. Was he still supposed to be grieving even after all these centuries ?

Pearl’s hands were full, after all they were supposed to feast this very night, as they usually did. They had come to agree it felt rightful that they enjoyed their dinner before mourning.

“- I promise you, you’re going to love this game!” Shelby claimed, hovering close to Pearl. “It’s kind of like how our lives were, you know, back when we met, but it has werewolves instead of vampires! But it’s also a game, so it’s, you know, less dramatic”

They settle at the table. Five on a game reserved for minimum eight people was a bit of a struggle, but they managed by twisting the rules around. Scott enjoyed games, and he found it particularly fun every time he had the werewolf card. After all, Scott knew he had a velvet tongue and a way with words that others could only envy. It felt relaxing, lying for fun, watching Shelby and Drift accuse each other.

“- You made noise this night! I’m sure of it!” Accused Shelby “We all have super hearing here, I can’t be the only one who heard it!” She exasperated. Much to Scott’ entertainment.

And with no surprise, the Elder vampire found himself faced with hunter Cleo and villager Shelby as the last three. It was Cleo’s turn, finding herself dead by the fangs of the werewolf, she had to aim right. Would she shoot the right one?

“- I don’t trust neither of you! Scott’s a liar, but you’ve been accusing everyone Shelby!” She hesitated, holding her hands out like a gun, because this was a game. Because it had no real consequences, Scott was having a blast.

“- Cleo, I’m clearly not a werewolf! I’ve done nothing but be accused by our self proclaimed werewolf hunter over here, and there’s simply no way you’d believe the craze of a person who cried wolf, right ?” Scott hummed, his shoulders giving in to a quick shrug “Shoot me if you wish to, but we’ll lose!”

“- Don’t listen to him Cleo!” Claimed Shelby, and gave a harsh glance to the oldest of the table “Last time you were accused, it turned out to be true, right?” She sneered, with her silly toothy grin. He’d be mad if she weren’t so witty with her manners. Truly the perfect fledgling.

Cleo had eventually aimed at Scott, and the villagers won. He’d be mad if he didn’t find it funny to see them all enjoying their victory.

“- Alright, alright, let’s eat” Pearl announced, stepping it, bringing food she’d hunted. He hadn’t noticed her leaving.

The table was neatly set, the fourteen seats all around the table, but only five actually occupied. A silent reminder of those they’d lost. No time for such thoughts though. Tonight was to be enjoyed, savoured. He shouldn’t dwell on the past while everyone else was having fun. The scent of blood overwhelming, his plate full of mutton slices and his goblet full of tasty blood. Truly what only vampires and werewolves could ever call a feast. Yet Scott couldn’t brush that feeling of unease that weighed on his dead heart ever since they arrived. He’d shoved it on the back of.. Well, Oakhurst being Oakhurst, but.. Something was wrong.

Suddenly, he heard the door being flung open, his head much like anyone else’s turning around towards the sound.

A man completely wet and covered in dirt had barged in. His clothes dripped over the floor, and he didn’t seem to care at all. His hands were blackened, sharp claws at the tip of his fingers, dirt stuck underneath. A long, black tail followed behind him, a tuft of wet black fur at the tip. His hair was grayish.. As if it was supposed to be white, but was overpowered by black. A single black horn sprouted to the side of his head, goat like, curling around. Following it, the man’s face was struck with a black large spot, covering half of it.

And his eyes were a deep purple, a mix between violet and red. Changed but recognizable.

This man was Avid.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ ♰𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔳𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔞𝔡. 𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡.⊹ ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

His breath was caught. His heart came to a halt. His prayers had been heard. Before him were seated his friends, people he could trust, people who could protect him and who didn’t want him dead! Well.. Maybe Pearl. He didn’t know. She had no reason to, she’d never tried and she seemed to be on the same side as the vampires now, but still..

“- Avid ?” He heard his name being called. Both Shelby and Scott were utterly stunned, and Drift had been the only one to manage a word out. He held back the tears he’d managed to produce all thanks to the rain - perhaps he could blame his wet face and teary eyes on it as well.

“-.. Hey” He croaked, his voice hoarse from centuries of slumber. So this must be how Scott had felt. He wondered how long he’d been out for. In fact, even after having slept for so long, he felt completely exhausted.

His wobbly legs finally gave in, the chicken no longer fueling his body. Scott abruptly stood up to catch him, and his head struggled to loll towards the other vampire. Even after all this time, he still couldn’t read what Scott thought of him, he could only muse at how perfect his face was.

His eyes fluttered open, again. This time in a proper room, and not a terrifying.. He wasn’t sure what he could call it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to ever think of it again. The sun was rising in the distance, he could see it through the light seeping in through the window. He must have slept through the night. His body felt.. Weird. He felt as if his head had grown heavier, and an uncomfortable bump right where his tailbone ended. He sat up, slowly as he felt he might pass out if he went too fast. Stretching out his limbs, he felt his old wound sting. His hand reached, petting, only to be met with bandages.. Huh.

“- Slept well?”

He flinched, his head whipping towards the sound of the noise. Scott was sitting in a corner, the only spot away from the sun it seemed.. The vampire stood up, raising his hands towards the window, closing the binds, forbidding the sun to seep in any longer.

Avid was speechless. He had so many questions, he was just so overjoyed to see him again. He felt the uncomfortable bump slip from under him, and felt some kind of wind build up behind him..? He glanced around, noticing what appeared to be a tail ?? Attached to him ?? Wagging. Fast. Was that his ??

“- Someone’s happy to see me” He heard the vampire chuckle, and his face turned a bright, shameful red. His hands trapped the tail, forcing it to calm down.

“- S.. Sooo..” He started, gulping. He didn’t seem to be able to find the words. In truth, he had no explanation for what had happened to him. To explain why he was even alive. He shouldn’t be, he’d been staked and buried. This should have been his end. He suddenly knew what to ask

“- Are.. Are Pyro and Owen still mad at me ?” He let an awkward giggle follow, his hands twisting around his tail, the pain keeping his mind occupied. He noticed how Scott stilled, His gaze felt piercing, like he could read Avid like an open book.

“- Even if they are, I don’t think they’ll be able to hurt again” Scott promised, and Avid could only imagine what demise had awaited them after his death. Perhaps Scott had cared more about him than he thought. Or perhaps the humans had gotten them. He didn’t really care about them, as long as they couldn’t hurt him any longer.

A silence settled in, in which Scott scooted closer, taking a seat on Avid’s bed, his eyes on the other, his hand reaching out, his sharp claws delicate and careful on his face. Although Avid would never mind Scott’s claws on him.

“- I’ve missed you” He hummed, musing. Lost in thoughts Avid could never decipher. Butterflies sprouted in his stomach, flying and fluttering around as blood rushed to his face. He’d never felt better than when Scott complimented him. Well, if you considered that a compliment, he supposed. But nonetheless.

“- Y-Yeah ?” He called awkwardly, gulping on his saliva as the vampire smiled and even chuckled softly, how soft his laugh was. Avid had missed him too.

Shelby suddenly bursted in, Scott distancing himself slightly in respect as Shelby practically jumped on Avid. If one could attack with words, she was doing critical damage to the poor boy. Drift wasn’t far behind, having her fair share of confused, babbling questions that would never leave Avid alone.

“- How come you’re- You’re alive! Why do you look like that ? I swore I felt you die! I saw you die! I- does that mean I killed Pyro for nothing ??” Shelby rambled, her hands on Avid’s face, her hold a bit too tight as she examined him.

Out of words, overwhelmed, poor Avid wasn't sure what to answer! Wait, she killed Pyro ? He’d never believed her to actually kill someone! And what was all the fuss about his appearance ? Did he look so strange ?

“- Pearl must have a mirror around somewhere!” He’d asked. Since everyone here were vampires except her, he’d supposed she could still see her reflection and therefore would own one. It took them an embarrassingly long time before finding an old, forgotten mirror Avid could use to look at himself through. His face was.. Abnormal. Was it still all due to his scratch ? Could he hide those ? Maybe when he’d feel better..?

He’d come to realize that his scar only seemed to flare up when he found himself in stressful situations. So.. Now that he felt safe, maybe he could..

All of that only mattered for one thing: He needed to find Elle.. Or, her tomb. He needed to pay her one last visit, that was the right thing to do.

Scott seemed mesmerized the most. He’d never seen the man so.. Lively! For lack of a better word. It was as though he wasn’t a wall of stone, cold as the night, but an actual person. Avid liked that. Avid loved that.

Avid had been given a third chance at life, even if it was 200 years later, he wanted to do better. And the first thing on his list was to understand himself better. With the help of those he thought he’d lost long ago.

The happy ending he thought to never deserved.