Oberon Rising
folder
+S through Z › Shadow Hearts
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,240
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+S through Z › Shadow Hearts
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,240
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Shadow Hearts, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Oberon Rising
PLEASE READ FIRST: The fic takes place in 1924 and if you're familiar with your 20th century American lit, you'll have a good idea who the hero is. The plot bunny wouldn't shut-up until I jotted this down and shared it. Please tell me what you think and how you'd like to see it go. And I promise that the sex will come later on so enjoy some naked manchicken in the meantime.
James Gatz was dead the moment that bullet pierced his skull. So why was he now back to life, curled up like a fetus and just as naked as one? Immediately covering his shame with his legs, he sat-up and scanned his new dwellings. A grey, ratty old basement covered with an inch of dust and more broken nick-knacks than a third-rate junk store welcomed him. Even the hundreds of spiders littering ceilings and furniture took a break from their webs to admire his every move as if he was some beautiful god blessing them with his presence. He wasn't sure wether to blush from the nudity or their sincere flattery. Obviously Heaven or Hell (whichever one he landed in) was nothing like he expected, but once he noticed the meticulously detailed occult-ish chalk drawings on the ground turning red from the blood of six freshly killed chickens, it started to dawn on him.
"It worked..."
"Daisy?" James' mood perked for a second until he turned his head. The collapsed figure with him was far from the beautiful debutante goddess he put on a pedestal for most of his adult life. First of all, this girl was only seventeen, Black, and wrapped in a raggy ceremonial cape over a white sleeveless undershirt and a green bed sheet she was using as a makeshift skirt. Throwing all modesty out the window, he ran to her side.
"Oberon," Her voice was high enough to shave a year or two off her age. He gently pushed her long black cornrows from her pale and sweaty face. A weak smile struggled to form on her lips as she gazed into his eyes as if she just gave birth to him. "It worked."
"What worked?" Damn, she was already asleep. "Poor girl." He gave her a thankful smile even though he knew she couldn't see it and hoisted her up. There was nothing useful enough to use as a bed; let alone something that wouldn't collapse the moment he propped her on it. Hopefully there would be no one waiting for them upstairs.
He could just see the headlines: "The Great Gatsby and His Negro Sugar Baby Exposed." Daisy would never speak to him again while her oafish husband labeled him a traitor to his race. Not that he cared what that creep thought, but to see Daisy's perfect face smeared with hurt and rejection was more than he could bear. The upstairs rooms were as barren and dust-covered as the basement; so far, so good.
James Gatz was dead the moment that bullet pierced his skull. So why was he now back to life, curled up like a fetus and just as naked as one? Immediately covering his shame with his legs, he sat-up and scanned his new dwellings. A grey, ratty old basement covered with an inch of dust and more broken nick-knacks than a third-rate junk store welcomed him. Even the hundreds of spiders littering ceilings and furniture took a break from their webs to admire his every move as if he was some beautiful god blessing them with his presence. He wasn't sure wether to blush from the nudity or their sincere flattery. Obviously Heaven or Hell (whichever one he landed in) was nothing like he expected, but once he noticed the meticulously detailed occult-ish chalk drawings on the ground turning red from the blood of six freshly killed chickens, it started to dawn on him.
"It worked..."
"Daisy?" James' mood perked for a second until he turned his head. The collapsed figure with him was far from the beautiful debutante goddess he put on a pedestal for most of his adult life. First of all, this girl was only seventeen, Black, and wrapped in a raggy ceremonial cape over a white sleeveless undershirt and a green bed sheet she was using as a makeshift skirt. Throwing all modesty out the window, he ran to her side.
"Oberon," Her voice was high enough to shave a year or two off her age. He gently pushed her long black cornrows from her pale and sweaty face. A weak smile struggled to form on her lips as she gazed into his eyes as if she just gave birth to him. "It worked."
"What worked?" Damn, she was already asleep. "Poor girl." He gave her a thankful smile even though he knew she couldn't see it and hoisted her up. There was nothing useful enough to use as a bed; let alone something that wouldn't collapse the moment he propped her on it. Hopefully there would be no one waiting for them upstairs.
He could just see the headlines: "The Great Gatsby and His Negro Sugar Baby Exposed." Daisy would never speak to him again while her oafish husband labeled him a traitor to his race. Not that he cared what that creep thought, but to see Daisy's perfect face smeared with hurt and rejection was more than he could bear. The upstairs rooms were as barren and dust-covered as the basement; so far, so good.