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houseofhurricane · 3 years

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ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (22/28) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: Vassa is changed forever. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. Thank you for reading! ❤️ If you'd like to get an early preview on the next chapter, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane.

There are legends before legends, which whisper of beings who preceded the Mother, who knew her and walked with her when the world was young. Though the human realms ostensibly rid themselves of the ancient tales, in Scythia such stories were part of a queen’s education, and watching the Archeron sisters prepare for their spell, their gowns whispering on the marble floors of the Spring Court, Vassa feels as if she is watching the old goddesses step out of the realm of myth and into Prythian, into the great hall of the Spring Court.

Feyre would be the Mother, watching over her sisters as they review the sequence and the calls to their magic. The natural leader, drawing people together and believing the best in them, seeing that spark that nobody else can discern. All through their preparations, she has taken Vassa’s hands within her own and squeezed them, telling her that they will be with her, that they will not abandon her. Whatever frustrations Vassa has had within the High Lady of the Night Court, they vanish in the face of this earnest care.

Nesta is the Crone, though even Vassa would be afraid to speak the words aloud to her. The one who has seen all things and borne them, made beauty out of pain and knows that even the deepest hurt is possible to survive. The one who looks death in the eye and does not blink. Even so, she’s tied her sword and the Dread Trove tight to her body, in case her magic is not enough, though she’s seen Elain eye the crown with fear and then shake herself, as if trying to drive the thought from her presence completely. But Nesta admits no fear on her face, only a fierce certainty, and Vassa finds herself a little less afraid in her presence.

Which leaves Elain as the Maiden. Months ago, Vassa would have given the title with derision, but now she realizes why the Maiden was worshipped so long ago: she saw a new world, dreamed it into life. And this is what her friend has become. No more the hapless tool of men who did not recognize her worth, Elain believed that this world could be a better one, that Tamlin could be a hero, that Lucien could find his place, that Vassa could be free of her curse.

Still, when she looks at Vassa, Elain’s brown eyes are worried, just this side of terrified, and Vassa feels all the warmth leave her body. In the space of moments, Elain is going to take her hand and rip her apart.

Her friend takes a step towards her, but Lucien enters the room and Elain changes course, studying the dimensions of the room, the wards that Feyre has painted on the floor in silver and gold. They are supposed to guard against Koschei’s magic, according to Lucien, although nobody can say with total certainty that he will be kept at bay. A small battalion of volunteer guards, led by Tamlin, surround the estate.

“You don’t have to do this,” Lucien says. “If you are afraid -- I will find another way. Without pain or transformation. So you can return to your people, have the life you always wanted.” She knows how deeply he means the words, which come out of him in little bursts, his fingers clutched around each other in a tangle. He has promised to watch over her, to make sure that she is safe. If she is being honest, she is not sure what he can do. Still, she cannot imagine arriving at this moment, this pain and death and whatever might lay beyond, without him.

“A queen should be courageous,” she tells him, lifting her chin.

“You are not only a queen, Vassa.”

There are a thousand words under those words, the kind of phrases that the poets of Scythia would declaim at banquets in praise of love and beauty. And yet all Vassa needs is that quick phrase from Lucien to remind her of herself. Who she is. Who she could be, if she does not perish.

“I will come back to you, Lucien. Even if the spell goes wrong. Even if the magic tears me to pieces. I will find my way back to you.”

She reaches out, heedless of the pain, to hold his face in her hands. The feel of his skin under her palms, his hair at her fingertips. The quick mind that works inside, where nobody can see. All of it provokes in her a deep, nearly overwhelming tenderness.

She loves him.

She cannot tell him now, not when the words will haunt him.

“I will take you back to Scythia.” His gaze is fierce on hers. “No matter what. You deserve to be in your country. With the people who love you best.”

Her eyes hot and blurred with tears, she presses her lips to his, pushing the pain away to savor the spice on his lips, the sip of whisky they’d shared as they’d readied themselves for this moment. His mouth opens against hers with a little groan.

She pulls away just before the pain overwhelms her, before she can let herself realize what it would mean, to lose him.

“Tell me you will be here with me,” Vassa says, once she’s caught her breath.

“You won’t be able to get rid of me,” Lucien says, and winks his russet eye.

When Vassa looks around, she realizes that the Archeron sisters have been watching her discreetly, even as they’ve conferred amongst themselves.

“Are you ready?” Elain asks, and Vassa is grateful for her warm wide-eyed gaze, the certainty that if she said no, Elain would wait a century to put her hands on Vassa.

Instead, she meets those deep brown eyes. She says “yes” loud enough that the words echo in the hall. The decree of a queen. Perhaps the last word she will ever speak as Queen of Scythia.

The Acheron sisters walk toward her, forming a triangle, surrounded by the wards and runes which gild the floor. Steps away, Lucien watches, his body taut, poised to strike.

With an indrawn breath, Elain reaches for her, and Vassa surrenders.

The pain rips and tears at Vassa, holding her in its grip with fire and stinging bolts of power, elements that are beyond this earth, beyond anything that she has ever experienced. The sensation is so overwhelming that she cannot tell whether she is screaming or whether her eyes are open, whether she fights it or is frozen to the spot. All she can do is will herself to breathe, to continue on through this vortex that rips her apart, steadily and then all at once. She can only hope that she still clings to Elain’s hands, the gentle press of her fingers that invited this apocalypse.

Suddenly, everything around her is thick darkness, a starless sky. She tries to move her hands, her legs, but there is nothing to move.

The pain is gone, and so is every other part of herself.

She thought that she would be lonely or frightened, but the absence of pain is such a welcome gift that Vassa finds herself enjoying the darkness, reveling in the sensation of nothing. She had not realized how much the curse had taken from her, day after day, until, now, left with nothing, she feels abundant.

There is a softening of the darkness. A hint of white light, a flickering of a silver flame. The barest whiff of jasmine. Then, brightening the darkness is a thread of gold, dazzling to Vassa’s vision. She feels the warmth of it gather her awareness into a central point, a caress against her skin that smells of citrus and sandalwood and the ozone scent after a lightning strike, a scent she knows better than her own.

The sound of a chord being plucked on a harp, a shimmering golden light, and the three Archeron sisters stand before her. On one side of the triangle, Nesta wears the mask of the Dread Trove, holds the harp in her hands. On the other side, Feyre holds out her palms to reveal a concentrated beam of white light, from which a rainbow emerges, thick with raw magic. And around Elain, in the center, there is a pillar of light that encircles her sisters. A small bone cupped in her palm, around which the light spills.

Behind her, formed from that first cord of golden light, Lucien appears.

Vassa does not know if this magic will work, or if this is a hallucination in the realm of the dead, but she will never stop being grateful for this one last look at him, illuminated in the golden light which smooths the worry from his face, only shows the working of his mind as he beholds her.

Although Vassa can feel the boundaries of herself, demarcated by the golden cord, she cannot move, cannot feel the air of this place against her skin, or suck air into her lungs.

Still, there is such hope in Lucien’s face.

I will come back to you, she thinks.

The words echo in this realm, a peal of bells.

Elain turns her head toward Lucien, a smile on her face, and her magic flares brighter.

Feyre extends her hands, and the white light becomes a rainbow that enters Vassa with a surge of power. She is pure possibility, a thousand eyes and hands, every magic that has ever existed.

Then she feels the pull of the golden cords, and the roar of possibility becomes a song inside her, a melody that is beautiful and haunting, a firebird queen ripped from her country, trapped by a lake until she was rescued by creatures she’d never known before, who became her best and dearest friends. Who showed her that she could become something else entirely. That she did not have to be the Queen of Scythia or the cursed firebird, but only Vassa, this small form in a dark expanse.

A peace that is nurtured by beauty, she thinks, the words cascading through the darkness, and now Elain grins directly at her, her warm eyes illuminated by the light of her power.

Nesta raises her hands, twists her wrists as she forms two fists.

As if she is daring the darkness to claim Vassa.

Then she opens her fists with a sudden gesture, and light explodes in the darkness.

Two bolts of silver flame fly towards her, landing in the center of her being.

She can feel her heart begin to beat, warmth spread through her body.

Her gasp of breath does not echo but sounds in the expanse.

This body, the collection of her self, feels so like and unlike the way she felt in those days when she was first made Queen of Scythia. So sure and capable, bursting with energy and promise. And yet she has never felt this vital, this at peace. The heart that beats in her chest could mark this same rhythm for a thousand years. She does not need to see her reflection, the arched ears or some new faerie grace, to know that the transformation has taken place. She feels the change in her veins, rushing through her, making her into a Vassa wholly like and unlike the human queen who existed only moments before.

She extends her arm, and a wind rises in a great gust, and the world is an intermingling of light and darkness, nowhere and everywhere at once.

When Vassa opens her eyes, she sees the ceiling of the great hall of the Spring Court, and then Lucien’s eyes, one filled with tears, and the other, his golden eye, constantly moving, as if it cannot believe that she is here before him.

“Did it work?” she asks, and instantly knows the answer. Her voice sounds different to her ears, more musical, as if in speech she can find only the most pleasing tones.

“You sent us back with your own power,” he tells her, his fingers tracing her face, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I should have known you would only come out of this stronger.”

“You’ll have to train me,” she says, trying her imperious voice, gladdened when it sounds more forceful than ever, though its effect on Lucien is unchanged. He rolls his eyes, can’t manage to hide his smile.

“Anything you require, Your Majesty.”

She doubts it will be so simple, but she allows him to inspect her without complaint, cup her shoulders and study her toes, run his hands up her silken skirts to the knee, cup her ankles with his long fingers. Now she can hear the slight hitch in his breath, smell a musk from his skin that might signal desire.

There is no pain at his touch, only pleasure and comfort. A wanting that coils below her belly. Whatever magic has been kindled inside her today, nothing about her feelings for Lucien has changed. Still, the space in the circle of his arms feels more like home than any place she’s ever known.

Even Scythia.

She does not know what to do with this knowledge, which seems more overwhelming than this new version of myself. Instead, she casts her eyes around the room.

Around her, the world is more vibrant than she’s ever seen it with human eyes, as if she were given the vision of the firebird while being allowed to remain inside her own mind. She studies Lucien’s hair, the endless variations of gold and red, until he pulls it from her fingers, apologizing with a kiss.

When she turns her head to look at this new landscape, Elain’s gown catches her attention. The floral embroidery is a jewel box of color and texture.

“Of course Lucien does a tiny amount of work and gets all the credit,” Nesta grumbles to Feyre, low enough that Vassa’s human ears wouldn’t have heard the remark.

“I can give you a thank you kiss if you’d like, Nesta,” she retorts from the floor, her arms still around Lucien’s neck. “I won’t forget who started my heart.”

As if summoned, the three sisters gather around her, Feyre with soft inquiries about how she feels and promises to help with her training, Nesta’s stern features quickly giving way to a brilliant smile, glad and triumphant, and Elain’s eyes passing over her wonderingly. When she reaches to squeeze Vassa’s shoulder, she hesitates for a moment, and so Vassa takes her hand in her own fingers, holding so tight to Elain that she can feel the bones below the skin and muscle, the pulse of each of their hearts.

“You remembered,” Elain says, her eyes bright with tears. She’s remembering the phrase Vassa summoned in the darkness, intoned by a thousand bells.

“It’s the legacy of the person who saved me.” Vassa does not tell her, might never be able to express, the way that phrase had strengthened her during her second captivity, when even the thought of Lucien was too painful. “Do you know how strong you are?”

Elain leans forward and wraps her arms around Vassa, so tight that Vassa can feel her friend’s tears as they fall against her neck.

“You are going to be the most excellent queen, but before you go back to Scythia, I’m going to take you to every world,” Elain whispers. “Lucien is going to be so jealous.”

“Lucien can use his tethering spell,” the male in question says, his voice full of longsuffering.

“Only if he behaves himself,” Vassa says, and then, even though she said nothing particularly funny, she and Elain can’t stop laughing, and then her sisters join in, and finally even Lucien begins to laugh, and though by now the night has swallowed Prythian, around Vassa there is nothing but light.

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wyrd-weaver · 4 years

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"𝔏𝔢𝔱 𝔐𝔢 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔅𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫."

Trigger Warnings: Suicidal Ideation, Mention of Self-Harm, Mention of Rape (That Resulted in Pregnancy), Mention of Binge Eating, Mention of Weight (By a Disgusting Man), Depression, Anxiety.

⤷ Remember: Every body type is beautiful, and you're legally allowed to maim those who say otherwise! The brief few sentences in this story are not accurate of any decent, sane individual.

Word Count: 1887

～～～～～～～～～～

Depression had you caged, shackled to the memories...the all-consuming sensations of horror and disgust. The very same that were forced upon you, that iced all your muscles twelve hellish months ago. Twelve! And yet, the nightmares refused to cease. Every evening, you battled demons most powerful and foul, acquiring scar after scar after scar. If you stumbled, if you lay down your weapon or lost...could you really be faulted? If this was Heaven's retribution, a cleansing of your contaminated, sinful body, then...was it not misguided? Surely a void replaced the evidence against you?

Blame should never have befallen you! This child, despite his mask of innocence, attested to humanity's ugliest side. Your heart was unravelling - you needed him, as an extension of yourself, as someone to cherish, but...you didn't want him. He wasn't the product of consent. He was loathsome...and a burden. He was so young, so dependent.

Casting him to the mercy of the streets would be more than a mere violation of morality. You already felt criminal - convicted on thoughts and false claims, serving a life sentence in the bowels of Hell. There was an escape, of course. Although...it wasn't accompanied by a light, or the gentle touch of a loved one. No...this escape was advertised as selfish, shameful...weak. And maybe so. Maybe life's greatest demand was the forgoing of happiness. But...to such an extent seemed excessive, and deliberately cruel. You shouldn't have been so dirty, so broken...an embarrassing stain on your family's name.

A single mother. A victim. A failure.

Plagued with flashbacks that favoured spontaneity above calculation, you carved miserable little lines on to your arms. Nobody knew - not your son, nor the Avengers...nor even Loki. They all harboured some form of trauma, however deep-rooted, and so...they had no need for your sob story. Who would care for someone so violated? Someone so...afraid? Your mind, weakened by fatigue and chronic worry, was simply too weak to resist those thoughts, and all hope had been drained from your heart. Why should you be tethered to life, if only for your child? Should you instead seek liberation, peace...joy? Decency discouraged it, but pain stood its ground.

With your dignity in shambles, your disowning, your binging...nothing felt right anymore! Nothing felt...clean. Loki had noticed, observant as he was. Here, sequestered within the walls of the Avengers' Compound, he was the closest to a friend...maybe even more.

No, no, no! I can't think like that! He's a man! A man! I shouldn't even be going near him anymore! Why, oh god...why is he the only one I'm not afraid of? The only one who can comfort me when I break? I can't...! I haven't even told him about...about...Well, I haven't told anyone! They all just think I slept with someone recklessly! And now...now I'm tainted, unlovable! This is...it's all my fault...I should have defended myself. I should have done something! Anything! Why...why did I freeze...? Why? Why?! Why?!!

Loki understood mental anguish and the torture of dissimilarity, as his birth-rights. Perhaps that was reason enough for your breathing to even, in his embrace. It had taken moths to allow such a privilege, and Loki's persistence, how his voice quivered as he begged to help you in any form...

You, whom he held so very dear...

You might have assumed his affections romantic, once upon a time. Yet...no longer. An ailment had struck you - one that rendered both eyes and ears ignorant to his double meanings, his implications...his love. You couldn't process them over the fear and paranoia. Didn't all relationships entail force, and...activities of a sexual nature? You never wanted to experience that again. Never! So, while sleep washed over the Compound, you crept to the kitchen, intent on expanding your waistline evermore. That your size may, to some, be cause for revulsion, had never previously occurred. It was only when the words danced on the tongue of that godforsaken man...

Eat, eat more! Who cares if you're sick? Keep eating! He said...he said that excess was unattractive. So - so maybe he won't...maybe I won't be...again...?

It had been dominance play, a show of superiority.

Loki would never steal something so sacred, unless you willed it.

He was a gentle soul, manipulated into committing an atrocity, and scorned - by the Avengers, especially. He wouldn't find any resonance in your tale (and you hoped he never would), but as a companion, a patient listener...surely there would be no judgement in his heart? He wouldn't be so quick to abandon you...right? Still, a single utterance of that day, of that most fright-inducing event...required courage far surpassing your own. Maybe...just a word? A sign? Something...?

Lonely was the path you wandered, in spite of Loki's presence. Alone, he failed to drown your demons. He held them under the waves, but they always returned.

You appreciated the effort. Plasters may cover your scars, but they could never heal your heart. Could Loki?...In time? If distorted thoughts of him were enough to ground you in the midst of panic...could he aid your recovery?

He also wondered that. Your deception wasn't half as masterful as you had hoped. Or perhaps you were simply the target of Loki's observations, and therefore came under frequent scrutiny. He had, of course, picked up on the subtle changes in your demeanour - particularly post-pregnancy. He idled at your side, throwing neither intrusive question nor accusation. This was at the behest of his conscience, although he longed desperately to ignore it. He wanted to know...what exactly happened last year, when your transformation began?

Your lips were sealed, but his very essence ached - sorrow, curiosity, love, sympathy and compassion all melding together within him. They ran amuck, refusing any whisper of sleep. His concentration had flown alongside it, rendering him unable to enjoy the book that rested in his palm. It had maintained a decent level of interest until now, but duty called. He would pry open your chamber door, glimpse your ethereal, sleeping form...and finally feel content. If you were strolling through dreamland, then his concern could dissipate. At least for a while. If not...he would discover why.

Loki hesitated outside your door, for if you were truly non-the-wiser, asleep...vulnerable, then a mere survey of yourself and the room would leave, on his tongue, a terrible aftertaste.

But, lo and behold, only your young son slept soundly, in his crib.

Loki was grappled now with a sense of alarm - where in Odin's name were you? And, pray tell...why was your child on his lonesome, cleansing himself of the prior day, in such a frigid room? He was wrought with grief upon recalling your distaste for the babe, and again when he realised there was no option to remove him, bring him to a warmer space, rock him and sing soft melodies...

Loki's primary goal was to find you, and perhaps...coerce you into confessing everything. From a true account of the day that always replayed in your mind, to your innermost feelings and thoughts...he needed to know, and to understand.

He had scoured half the building before laying eyes upon you. However...relief proved elusive. There were an endless number of questions, but none dared to grace the air. Why was your beautiful face stained with tears? Why were you eating, despite looking so sickly? What had troubled you so? And...could he kill it? He was unsure of the proper manner in which to approach you. He had always tread lightly, but complete silence and delicacy were more fortes of his mother. He swallowed down the nerves.

"(Y/n), darling...why aren't you sleeping?"

You startled, eyes bloodshot and a biscuit lodged between your lips. "U-Uh..."

He walked forward. "Is there something weighing on your mind?"

"...No?" This was mumbled, as though credence escaped you.

"My dear, you aren't a skilled liar. Talk to me, please." The heartache nearly tore him apart.

You wouldn't meet his gaze. "I...I can't."

"Please?" Both of your voices cracked, in unison.

Oh god, alright. Okay. This if fine...right? It's fine. I'm fine...Am I? What if I'm not?! I can't tell him just yet! But he looks so upset...I did this! I caused this! Oh god...just stay - stay calm! Calm down...calm down...

A tear trickled down your cheek, then another. "I-I've never...I don't want to - to relive it."

He brought you into a protective embrace. "Then you won't. I swear, by all the beings in the Nine Realms, that I will keep you safe. Please, let me share your burden."

Three sentences. Who was so weak-willed, that a mere three sentences shattered all their defences? You cursed his silver tongue. "(S-S/n)...! He - he's...I didn't...I-I don't want him! J-Just because I didn't fight back...I didn't try to run, he...t-that man, he did...things. To me. And now...now I'm so dirty! I'm disgusting...unclean, weak. B-But...sometimes - sometimes I think it's all in my head. But it isn't! I-It happened, and (S/n)! He's...he's the proof! He reminds me...o-of that..."

Loki froze. "What...?"

"But I-I couldn't - I couldn't tell anyone! They wouldn't...believe me, o-or care! People like me, they don't - this...this doesn't happen! Why...why did this happen?? A-And now...there's (S/n). And every...every minute is Hell! I can't take it anymore...I don't w-want to be here. I don't want to be...to be alive anymore..."

Loki could almost see the threads of rationality thinning. Who would...defile you, hurt you? You were so important, so genuine and...lovely. "I will find this man, and personally deliver his comeuppance. He never deserved your voice, let alone your touch."

"No!" You stiffened in his arms. "Then he'll...he'll come back..."

"If he does, I shall slay him." Yet, Loki made no attempt to leave. Instead, he slipped into a mask of composure, enough to continue speaking without seething. "I apologise...if you thought I wouldn't care. I do - more than you could ever imagine. You are the most stunning creature I have had the honour of meeting, in all my lifetime. I was resolved to spend my days at your side, never professing my love, but after hearing that...I..."

You panicked. "Loki...don't. Please-"

"I know it would be impudent to assume that you could accept me right now, but consider that...I can protect you. I will never let him, or anyone, hurt you again." Loki wiped away your crystalline sadness. "But, please...when you can't see worth or joy in this life...please come to me. I will be here to remind you of your victory - you survived such torture, and delivered a child. You are far from weak, (Y/n)."

Loki's fingers darted along your wrist. He yearned to kiss every scar, every inch of your skin.

Though, he would do nothing without permission. "Now, my dear...let's put these treats away. I would suggest that, henceforth, you eat balanced meals and partake in some fun activities. Perhaps I could read to you, one day? And venturing out for a walk - we can do that together. I...um, hope I'm not overstepping any boundaries. I'm simply thinking of ways to occupy your mind...and your time. You can do these things alone, of course..."

You nodded. "But...you'd - you'd do them with me?"

"I would gladly do anything with you, my love." Loki's words were empty of duplicity.

You were angelic - the only one safe from his lies.

#loki x reader #loki x suicidal reader #loki x self-harm reader #loki laufeyson #mcu loki #loki odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #angst #loki x single mother reader #rape

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fiction-in-my-blood · 3 years

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Unexpected, To Say The Least (ObeyMe Fic)

Okaaayyyy so... this turned out differently than I wanted it to, but these types of things happen when you leave a wip in your drafts for months (╬▔皿▔)╯ but it’s still good. This is a part 1, so stay tuned.... depending on how long it takes me haha.. ha.

~~~~~~

Scribbling in a notebook, a red night light from the window right next her defining the flyaway strands of hair on the top of her head, Aviyah was blissfully unaware of the stares from her classmates. Resting her chin on her closed fist, one leg crossed over the other, black boots bobbing up and down to the tune she had stuck in her head. She was so calm, so much calmer than she had been in weeks.

Aviyah, a human in a world of demons and angels, had arrived in Devildom two months ago. At first, she was unnerved by the close attention she gained from all the demons, angels and the other human she met. Lord Diavolo, who had also taken a liking to her, ensured that it was just because she was a different species to them. She was weak, a helpless being compared to the Avatars of sin she was living with and angels of heaven she had some classes with. Demons fed off souls, and it was an angel’s job to protect those bright balls of light in each human, so it was only right that they kept a close eye on her. Especially when the future king himself had ordered the seven strongest brothers in all of Devildom to keep her safe for the duration of the exchange programme.

But it wasn’t that. Aviyah was sure of it. She had gained unworldly attention for her entire life. Boys seemed to bow at her feet, begging her to let them serve her each and every whim. Girls clung to her, wanting to be friends with such a kind-hearted, beautiful, smart person- and also wanting to meet her every demand. Aviyah, having been raised by good-willed parents, didn’t take advantage of this strange power she seemed to hold over everyone she met, although she did accept the odd gift from colleagues and classmates on that one special day a year, mainly because she didn’t want to be rude. She hardly asked for anything in public because it would cause quite a stir, everyone in the room darting around to take care of the task she had so graciously offered them. All she wanted was an item from the top shelf, but now she had twenty boxes of cereal that she really didn’t need.

She expected, being in a world of magic, spells, and potions that could kill or force someone to love you, that she would be safe from all the unneeded, and frankly unwanted, attention. Yet, lo and behold, the first day she arrived here, in a much colder climate than she was used to, both the Avatar of Greed and the Avatar of Envy threw their coats at her, only for her to get consumed by the jacket of the largest man she had ever seen, the Avatar of Gluttony. And she hadn’t even made a pact with them yet!

“I’m telling you, there’s something up with her.” A muttering came from the other side of the otherwise bustling classroom. It was just before their lesson would start, everyone was getting themselves ready to learn about different species of man, except for one group of, shockingly, demons and angels.

“Mammon, won’t you admit your true feelings?” The dark-toned angel smiled softly at the second-born brother. Truly, he felt an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of his stomach too, something he couldn’t even begin to describe, but would never admit it himself. He was sure it was something sinful, something against his very being, and would only confess when the time came.

“What feelings! I-I ain’t got no feelings.” A horrendously red blush appeared immediately on Mammon’s entire face, noticed by all those involved in this small huddle over a desk.

“You don’t even deserve her. You already get to spend so much time with her! It’s so unfair!” The purple-haired otaku tried to bite his lip, he really did, but the jealousy for his brother grew too high, bubbling over into the trait he most represented. Envy.

“That was only because Lucifer made me! I didn’t even wanna babysit that human!” Mammon barked back, not meaning the words but needing a distracted from the embarrassment he could still feel colouring his cheeks. The two butted heads often, but this time it was literal, immediately starting to throw punches to defend the one they held so dear. Several people tried to get between them, the male human even getting his own strike to the jaw, and all hell brought loose in- well- hell.

“Guys! Stop!” A higher-toned, feminine cry, although thick with command and low with anger, echoed over the room, every single one of the occupants freezing in an instance, even those that weren’t involved in this little scuffle- or under the young girl’s pact.

Crouching beside her male counterpart, who had been thrown to the ground by the force of being hit, was Aviyah, the one they had been fighting over. With one hand on Solomon’s back and the other holding his hand to keep him upright, she glared at the two that had been previously brawling in what was meant to be a safe place.

Aviyah rarely used her unknown power to command people. Or was it the pact? She couldn’t tell any more, but at least it worked.

“Are you alright, Solomon?” Disappointment turning to anxiousness etched in her expression, Aviyah let go of the sorcerer’s hand and back- once she could tell he could hold himself up-, only to move her’s close to his face, cocking her head to get a better look at the cut bleeding through his white-haired fringe. Being in such close proximity to the woman, and earning so much of her undivided attention, brought many hateful gazes to the man, but he didn’t care. He was thriving off it, in fact.

“What? Are you worried about me?” No better was the time to tease her, to see that eye roll she did so well and hear that exasperated sigh as she dropped her hands, all previous nurturing gone from her posture as she stood up.

“You just got punched in the face by a demon and still have the wherewithal to joke?” She muttered, wondering to herself if he was the one with supernatural abilities. Well, he did, he could use magic, but she wondered if he had his own special ability since birth. Could that have been the reason they were the two, out of the entire human race, to be chosen for this life-altering program?

Once she got to her feet, she turned to see Mammon and Leviathan, both with their heads lowered in shame. They had angered their... Goddess? Master? Friend? They didn’t know what to call her, having been the first two to make pacts with her, but there was this force, this unspoken voice that drew them to her and made them bow at her feet. Or want to, anyway.

Before Aviyah could even start to berate them for losing control like that, they had even transformed into the demon-forms, a stern voice cut through the entire scene. Students pinned themselves to the wall, trying to get as far from the fighting as possible, so they seemed to surround them like hawks, eagerly watching, waiting for the two to be punished by such a soft-spoken, angelic figure.

Now in the doorway, however, was a man. With black hair as dark as the most inner depths of Devildom, red eyes as angry as the fire that sprouted from them, and an expression that has killed in the past, the man glared at the two, not even wanting to look in the direction of the girl in case she too saw his wrath.

“You two. With me. Now.” The words were curt and entirely ineloquent, nothing like that eldest would usually speak, showing how deeply enraged he was. The two quickly scurried after him, for once keeping their mouths shut.

~~~~~~

Biting her lip, Aviyah couldn’t take her eyes off that door, now empty after Lucifer had guided his younger brothers away.

“It was me, wasn’t it?” She spoke loud enough for the people closest to her to hear, but a whisper full of regret did not go unnoticed.

“What do you mean, Avi?” Simeon stepped up to try and ease the look of worry that they all saw on her face, but she stepped away, afraid for anyone to even touch her. What if he, Simeon, the nicest, most modest person she had ever met, went into a jealous rage too?

“They were fighting over me, weren’t they?” Aviyah’s voice cracked as she clutched her fists at her sides, avoiding looking at anyone directly, scared it’ll put them under the curse she seemed to have. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to pull families apart. She just wanted to have no one know who she was.

“Avi,” Simeon uttered again, but it was too late. Aviyah had already made up her mind, collecting all her resolve in one solid sniff and running out of the room, hoping she could catch the brothers before something too bad happened.

~~~~~~

“What do you think you’re doing, having a fight like that in the middle of class? Do you think it will make you seem strong? Seem manly? Because it won’t! It only makes you seem needy.” Lucifer’s booming voice shook the paintings on the walls, giving Aviyah some clue as to where he had taken the two. She followed the shouts of pain and anger, running as more and more tears grew in her eyes. She didn’t want to do what she was about to do, but she needed to. She didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. To get jealous. Not when it was all the people she actually cared about.

Finally, in an empty classroom where the shouts seemed the loudest, Aviyah found the door still open ajar, standing just out of sight so she could listen in, waiting for the right moment before anything too serious happened. If that hadn’t happened already, that is.

“You made a fool out of me! The student council! Not only that, but you made Aviyah look so defeated! I won’t let you argue like this anymore!” Lucifer raged on with a temper that rivalled Satan’s. “I may just have to claim her myself.”

The comment, although almost a whisper, shot everyone in hearing distance into full-blown madness, both Levi and Mammon charging at him, demanding how he thought he had the right to even suggest the idea. Before they could make contact with each other, Aviyah cried out, desperately begging them to just wait.

All attention on her now, as usual, the men’s eyes went wide. She was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks at the sight of the brothers, who were always so comfortable with each other, usually so familiar, fighting like this? Over her? It broke her like it broke their relationship.

“I can’t do this anymore. I want to go home! I’m not happy and I never was! Please! Let me go home!” She lied, straight through her teeth. She had never been happier than living here, in Devildom, with all their brothers. She enjoyed her time listening to them bicker playfully, not like they were now. She enjoyed watching Levi play his games. She enjoyed eating with Beelzebub. She enjoyed reading books with Satan. Being dressed up by Asmo. Listening to Mammon’s wild get-rich-quick-schemes. Napping with Belphie. Even with Simeon and Solomon, who she didn’t get to see as often as the others. Luke was fun to cook with- even though he seemed a little apprehensive of her. She enjoyed all her time here but right now, in times like these, when it felt like everything was her fault.

“Avi, what’re you saying?” Mammon’s voice broke, between all the yelling and the way his heart broke at her tone and words, and his brows knitted together tightly. Levi froze up, not knowing what to say in response to her sudden outcry, and Lucifer felt like he could steal her away right here and now. Never before had he felt so out of control.

“I’m sorry, It’s all my fault. I need to leave, go home. I need to get out of your lives because- because I’ll ruin them.” She hiccupped, choking on the tears that clogged her throat, and she tried to hide how sad she was by holding her face in her hands. Her knees shook, her body- just as frail as they had always suspected. It took so much energy for her to say these words and not completely breakdown.

“N-No, it’s not your fault. W-We shouldn’t have be-been fighting.” Levi made a move to step closer, to wrap his arm around her, to help her feel better, but both Mammon and Lucifer shot him a glare so deadly it made the room cold.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Aviyah continued to stutter through her words, her tears interrupting her usually melodic, smooth voice, as she felt the indignation in their eyes.

“This always happens. It was a mistake to choose me. I... I’m going to go to Diavolo now and tell him this was wrong.” She tried to steel herself, to seem strong enough to walk through these halls alone and leave Devildom for good, but it was no use. They could all see how distraught she was.

“Always happens?” Lucifer muttered, confusion written all over his features.

“There’s something inside me, there always has been. It makes people so hateful for one another and I can’t do that to you all. You’re a family, I won’t tear it apart. I-I need to...” Aviyah led off, not knowing what else to say. Memories of her past, all the friendships she had unknowingly, unwittingly, torn apart because of what? Because she was desirable? Because she was pretty and smart and kind? No amount of adoration was worth this. None of it.

The room was silent, deathly so, no one knew what to say. Have Levi and Mammon just ruined their chances to know such a wonderful person? And not just a person, but a human. Someone they were never meant to befriend. Someone that should fear them and hate them for who they were, for what they represented. But no, she showed them care and love and compassion, what they believed only a human could give.

So, with no one left to tell her no, to not go and stay with them because they needed her so badly it hurt, she started to turn back to the door.

“Wait, Aviyah. Just... Just wait.” Shockingly at a lost for words, Lucifer turned to his desk, where his D.D.D laid, and picked it up. Aviyah started to refuse him, to say this was the right thing to do, this was the only way they could live calm, happy lives, but he continued to use the communication device, calling together a meeting that would change everything.

~~~~~~

“Tell them what you told me,” Lucifer instructed in Lord Diavolo’s conference room, having called a meeting of the student council together. Everyone looked at him with suspicious gazes, having no real information on why they were here, Levi and Mammon stressing out like they were about to take the most important, most difficult tests in their lives.

“Lucifer, this isn’t going to cha-.”

“Just say it.” The words were demanding, but the tone was soft, very shocking for Lucifer- until it was for Aviyah. He always seemed to have a soft spot for her. Like Mammon. Although for different reasons.

Aviyah lowered her head, eyes still damp from her earlier confession, thinking about what she was about to say. After a brief but deep sigh, she lifted her gaze again, but only as far as the edge of the table she sat at.

“Since before I can remember, everyone I’ve met has... wanted me.” She bit her lip, not knowing how else to say it. It always felt like someone was trying to win her over, to win her as a price to show everyone else that they were the one she chose.

“No matter who it is, they say they love me or they’d do anything for me. And no matter how much I tell them to stop, they just get more outrageous. They give me elaborate gifts or take me places I wouldn’t normally go. They shower me in a love that I never asked for until they can’t anymore.” Aviyah’s voice cracked again, tears rolling down her cheeks again as she remembered the people that bankrupted themselves to win her over and the others that have lost their health, their friends, the ones who loved them, all to impress her in one way or another.

“No matter how many times I say I don’t need it, they’ll keep doing it. It’s not until I say I don’t want them or the things they give me that they stop. I thought it’d be different when I came here, but when you guys started fighting...” Aviyah finally worked up the courage to look up, gesturing in the direction of Levi and Mammon, who blushed when she made eye contact with the both of them.

“This is why we’re here? Because those two were acting childishly again?” Satan sighed to himself, upset that his reading time had been cut short. He wouldn’t even address the panicked feeling that arose in him when he heard the solemness of Aviyah’s tone.

“You’re almost as seductive as me, Avi! Aren’t you lucky to have so much in common with me? Someday you too might be able to bring down a country with your looks.” Asmo leaned into her, ignoring how saddened she seemed by the statment. The next move she made shocked everyone.

“I don’t want to do that! I want it to stop! I hate it and I hate myself for it!” She yelled after pushing Asmodeus so strongly off her he fell right out of his seat. Every time she brushed him off she had never actually been physical. Who was she, a human, to push off a demon? Better yet, how did she have the strength?

“Hey, did you see that?” A whispering demon mentioned to his brother, noticing the flicker of light that sparked in her eyes in her yelling. Even though her words broke their hearts, it was hard not to bring it up.

The outcry caused the prince, stern-faced compared to his usual jovial smirk, to peer at her closer. “I see. Lucifer, do you think she’s..?”

“Yes, I do. It would explain everyone’s... erratic behaviours around her.” Lucifer, not wanting the entire picture drawn out for her and his brothers, interrupted the prince. The information would be hard to hear, for Aviyah most of all, and an off-handed comment was not how he wanted to break the news to her.

“But where are her features? She’s an open-book, we would have seen something by now.” Satan, catching on, eyed her as suspiciously as he had Lucifer in the past, watching the tears roll down her cheeks as she tries to calm herself down. She never yelled like that and felt awful for what she did, but was too scared to even speak to anyone else, let alone touch or apologise to Asmo for her supposed violence.

“Would someone tell us what’s going on? I-I mean, Levi might be confused, is all.” Not wanting to seem idiotic for asking, Mammon jumped up before shying away again, not being able to cope with the girl’s silent crying.

“Avi, it’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.” Asmo, along with Beel, tried to be some sort of caring figure in the room of inquisitive stares.

When Beel tried to put a hand on her shoulder, she jumped away. “P-Please! Do-Don’t. I... I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s possible she hasn’t been... awoken yet.” Diavolo couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea. It would be just like the innocent human, if that’s what she truly was, to not have the necessary experiences she needed in life to prove their theory correct. Lucifer couldn’t help but blush.

“Awoken?” Aviyah’s voice, now somewhat tamed but hoarse from her crying, looked up at the prince. Had he an idea? Could he cure her? Could he take away this curse, gift, whatever it was? Could he end all this?

“Well, depending on your immediate ancestry, it’s possible your power needs to be... unlocked, in a way. It’s clear you’re no mere human. You even seduced dear Barbatos, and he never even blushes at my comments.” Diavolo laughed again, gesturing with his gaze to the corner of the room where his butler was clearly fitting the urge to comfort the girl. She quickly looked right back at the prince the moment she noticed this.

“If I’m not human, then what am I?”

“Well, my best guess would be a succubus, but seeing as you have more human features, you could be a cambion, a hybrid. We’d have to ask your mother.” Diavolo, as usual, was much too nonchalant with the subject of Aviyah’s supposed species, a topic that would and will change her life forever.

Silence filled the air for one.

Two.

Three.

“WHAT?” Four. They made it to four seconds of silence before Mammon stood up again, shrieking, along with the female in question. Succubi and the topic of hybrids had yet to be discussed in her classes, ironically that was today’s class, but she had a clue what they were from just hearsay.

“You think I’m a demon? But I grew up in the human world! I have human par- well the people that raised me were human... But I never felt the urge to have anything in excess or trick anyone into stealing their money- sorry Mammon- but how could I be a demon?” The tears were gone, replaced with a look of pure confusion that turned to utter disbelief with a hint of ‘what if’. What if he was right?

“The people that raised you? Don’t tell me you were...”

“Adopted. I have two dads who found me on their doorstep. I have no clue who my biological parents are.” The uneasy feeling that meant Diavolo could be right started to rise as Aviyah admitted a part of her past she had never told anyone. It seemed like everything was out in the air now.

“Perfect.”

“This is a problem. Succubi and Incubi have a duty to bring all demons back to Devildom in case they go rogue in the human world. This parent of yours will have some answering to do.” Lucifer, recovered from his bashfulness in an effort to act like the vice-president he was, got furious about someone disrespecting the laws Diavolo had put in place to protect the humans he seemed to so dearly care for. “Dumping you on some couples doorstep will require some serious consequences.”

The whole room shuddered at the idea of what punishments Lucifer was thinking up at this moment, but luckily someone thought to turn the conversation away from that.

“You say she needs to be awoken? I know one way of doing that, but I don’t know… prepared for that she will be.” Satan smirked a side-eyed look Aviyah’s way as she tried to process all this information. She was a demon, or half of one anyway. To think, all those crazy white mom’s at her elementary school were right.

“I’d be more than happy to volunteer in any way I can.” Asmo started to cosy up to Aviyah once again, making it very clear what the one way of awakening a demon seemed to be.

“No! No, that’s fine, Asmo! B-Besides, I’m not a virgin, so we’ll have to find some other way to awaken this power if you think that’s what I have.” Beetred and edging off her chair to make some distance between the flirt and herself, she almost didn’t hear the snickering from some of the other demons in the room.

“Oh, deary me.” Asmo tittered to himself, Satan covering his mouth to try and suppress the chuckle that threatened to leave his lips. He didn’t want to make the girl more embarrassed. Mammon joined in, although much louder, just to not feel left out, and Levi blushed furiously, but he knew exactly what everyone else seemed so excited about. As usual, Beel was too distracted by the food laid out by Barbatos to care what was going on now that Aviyah was no longer crying.

“Aviyah, I’m afraid to say it’s not the act of sex that awakens a demon… It’s the, uh.” Lucifer tried to inform her, he really did, but the stutter that threatened his usually composed manner halted him from doing so.

“You didn’t cum, did you, Avi?” Diavolo’s brows frowned sincerely, but the wavering of his lips told her he too was trying not to laugh. Aviyah’s cheeks blossomed darker, the embarrassment from her first time flashing through her mind once again and her face screwed up in embarrassment. For her, this situation couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Your Highness, if you wouldn’t tease her so much, there is another way to awaken her demon form.” Barbatos, unexpectedly, intervened, shocking everyone in the room but Aviyah. He had always had a sweet spot for the huma- well, hybrid.

“Yes, yes, Barbatos, you are right. My most sincere apologies, Avi. Lucifer, we’ll come to the House of Lamentation tonight. Prepare the Grimoire.” And with that, Diavolo stood to leave.

“And why not now? Wouldn’t it be best to do this sooner than later so she can learn to control it better?” Satan scowled, earning his own from Lucifer for being so upfront. The prince only chuckled.

“I need to do some… investigating first. You, Satan, of all people, should know what is needed for the ritual.” Satan’s brows frowned suspiciously at the prince as he made his final departure.

“What does he mean, Satan?” Aviyah leaned into the demon’s side in order to get a clear answer for the first time today and Satan’s gaze finally left the door.

“He needs your progenitor. He’s going to find your mother or father.”

#obey me!#OBEY ME #Obey Me Levi #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #Obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me fluff #obey me fanfic

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faquarlofmycenae · 4 years

Text

Lo and behold, another original from the house of FOM! I haven’t even settled for a title, even though the work title initially was Death, three millenia in the making, but in hindsight it simply doesn’t fit and ideas shifted, etc etc etc, so here we are.

Either way, have this excerpt of the AU that’s floating around in my head like a Windows XP screensaver. There’s an old face, a new one and one already featured elsewhere but after a bit of a transformation... one might even call it an upgrade, depending on what you think of it.

It’s a lot that I wrote down in one day, and now that I got it out of my system I can move onto the next fic which I already plotted out a bit :^)

At last but not least, a big shout out to both Nunki @sine-luce-angor-minus for inspiring me with his phenomenal art and Posi @shadowy-dumbo-octopus for both brainstorming with me and sharing her great ideas!

Enjoy!

The impenetrable darkness had been there for so long that to call it an eternity was a vast understatement. It was a part of him by now and it replaced everything that had been there before. Be it the things that were very much his own; his voice, his substance, his feelings, his senses, even his personality and maybe as well as his most treasured memories, all of that was overshadowed by the void that ate at him ever since he was in here. He could scarcely remember how he got there, he knew someone had to do with it and if he ever managed to get a hold of that someone, provided he hadn’t been killed, his future would find its end right there and then.

And then — it was no more. The thick oppressive cocoon had surrounded him like dark honey and it took him a moment to realize it was all gone and the light blinded him. He cloaked himself in shadows and darkness as if he were a fetus that didn’t want to leave the comfort of the womb until he realized that his martyrdom on this wicked and cursed Earth was so close to being over. The light burned what remained of his essence to its core as if it were purest silver and he silently pleaded for the bonds that still tied him to this mortal realm to finally set him free.

The Other Place… it was still his home, where he belonged. Earth might have once felt like home to him but the connection that once firmly tied him here, a chain that was sweeter than a lover’s caress had been violently torn into pieces. The memory of it was foggy but it was there.

Through the darkness, something pushed through. That surprised him. The intruder didn’t cut or slash their way through the shadows shielding him, but calmly shoved them aside with gentle hands. It wore the face of a human and there was nothing but humanity in its face but still… something underneath the mask was familiar to him.

What have they done to you?

The voice was quiet, in a language he understood despite not remembering which one, and he hated it for being so soothing; he was no squabbling human child, he was a marid of immeasurable power, he could tear this peon apart like it was less than nothing.

But was it worth it? He was so exhausted and the accursed bonds wouldn’t break.

Soft fingers ran along his form in the dark, he didn’t have time to recoil from the touch but underneath them he felt the unmistakable energy of the Other Place.

O great spirit, in whose name shall your revenge be?

Ammet gazed into the eyes, into the fire within them, green and bright and otherworldly. One of the names he spoke was one that hasn't been heard in many years, forgotten to the world, and he had been the only being privy to know it besides its owner, an immense privilege.

Senusret, and Ammet.

It didn't matter to say it out loud, the human face with the energy of his home was not real, something like this couldn't exist and this was the end. He was going home

It had been seconds but it felt like so much more than that when the invisible chains broke. He didn’t let out a cry of joy, he never did, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t glad to leave this spinning ball of mud — may it burn down and all of humanity as well as the spirits remaining there with it.

…

The very second he was back, he began to regain his strength and with strength came clarity of mind. The darkness had transformed his consciousness into something twisted, strange and revolting but the energies of the Other Place were softly pushing away the fog had clouded everything the longer he stayed here. Time ran differently here than it did on Earth but something that had roughly been five terrestrial years, maybe even more, passed by and with each moment he grew stronger and stronger, but some of the wounds left behind on his essence but especially on his pride simply wouldn't close but instead festered and the pain they caused could only be lessened by retribution.

Oh, he wouldn't simply kill the djinni. He'd draw out his suffering to something no spirit or human had ever experienced — he'd make Bartimaeus of Uruk wish that he had simply been plunged into the Dismal Flame instead of what was waiting for him now. But… How much time has passed exactly while in the amphora? He still didn't know.

…

He felt a scratch on his essence — no, a gentle pull. The same way he'd seen these pathetic human children pull on their equally pathetic progenitors. If he had a form, he would've kicked at the sensation, or even better, sent a lightning bolt at the offender.

Another pull, this time much more insistent. Leave me be, vile wretch, unless you want a marid's wrath upon you, he wanted to scream but the next pull was so much more violent than the previous one that it knocked the metaphorical breath out of him.

Then he was pulled through the elemental walls, as if someone was pulling him through a narrow pipe and —

He was surrounded by light once again. Ammet hissed and brought down the room temperature in an instant. Ice crystals materialized within seconds but the light didn't subside. Someone let out a curse, a particularly vicious one — in a language that vaguely sounded like Greek, perhaps even a Barbarian language.

The form he had picked was a combination of two of his favourite guises — a creature made out of the human skeletons dyed in red, each corpse with its own autonomy (and in some cases rotting flesh hanging from their bones) and a head shaped like the skull of a crocodile, with more teeth than one could count and huge skeletal wings; it had been quite the hit in Ombos when Set had been around. The other was one he used to slip into without thinking about it; a shadow, a perfect replica made of darkness belonging to someone he had once loved.

The black beast, the heart-eater, was cloaked in absolute blackness with shadows hanging from it and while the eye sockets were empty, he could perfectly see his surroundings. First of all, the pentacle in which he stood was of an infuriating perfection that he wanted nothing more than to smash himself against its wards in the futile effort to destroy it. Secondly, the room… had a strange aura. It was a room, alright, these had existed ever since the fleshlings had learned how to construct buildings (not that they did the building, of course), but something in here or maybe it was the way Earth worked now that was so radically different from him as a spirit that he recoiled.

The walls were made of stark grey stone, on the ceiling a long vertical imp-light flickered in pale yellow and besides pots of incense and herbs, there were no actual objects in the room nor windows. They most likely were underground.

Oh, and there was the magician standing in a pentacle opposite of him.

It was a slender woman, not very tall of height but not exactly short either. Dark curls fell upon her shoulders and framed a round face that by human standards was most likely considered very beautiful, shallow and vapid as they were. The lips were full and gave the impression that she was perpetually pouting, her skin light brown with a glow that indicated she was out in the sun quite often. There was youth in her face, but the faint wrinkles on her forehead told a different story. One of her eyes was of a cold dark brown, the other not organic at all; an orb made of shining gold with painted iris and pupils for the sake of realism. The pupil was a deep black, the iris a vibrant blue similar to lapis lazuli but even brighter. The eye pulsated with magic on the higher planes as the piercing gaze burned through his form and he knew, for a fact, that this feeble creature, so insignificant compared to him, could see his true form — for what he really was.

„Ammet; Bezalel; Rahab.“ She spoke Greek, alright, even if it was a curious dialect. He still understood her every word; a side effect of the summons, as it was most useful for the slave to understand the master‘s commands. It sounded different than the Greek he had been used to previously but still not far enough to have evolved over so many years. Years in which his name had been unearthed.

Apophis curse this world; the face had not been a product of his imagination or confused state. Him saying names had been real —

He let out a furious roar, one that made the implight tremble, the room shake by a margin — but not the magician, oh no. She didn't even twitch but merely sneered in anger at the obvious disrespect, raised a hand, opened her mouth to speak a punishment — and caught herself. She took a deep breath, halted her respiration for one, two, three seconds and then exhaled once again.

„A powerful demon you might be but now you are my slave. Bow your head and do my bidding as I command, elsewhile I will rattle your essence with a pestilence that even you will carry the pain for the remainder of your days here and in the Nowhere.”

Ammet gritted his teeth but nevertheless bowed his head. He was regaining his composure once again but the fire of fury raged within him. But there was a time and place for this… not now. Not while in the damned pentacle.

“Your word is my command, mistress.”

He spoke, soft and gentle. That coupled with a gentle and discreet guise would occasionally — and if the magician was an amateur and/or took a greater bite than they could chew — do the trick and lure the human into a false sense of security. But Ammet was in the mood for anything but a gentle guise and this individual’s strength, as feeble as she might seem, judging by her aura hadn't faded in the least so as far as magicians went, she probably packed quite the punch. In addition to that, she had summoned him all on her own, which already was a tremendous task for the likes of her kind, so he probably was not going to be lucky with her. That strength, unapparent to the untrained eye but blatant to anyone who knew of real power, reminded him of someone he had once loved.

The magician jutted her chin upwards, a smug expression on her face.

“You are a smart slave then, smarter than many who have been in my service. Hear me out: needless to say as I included it in your bindings, you are prohibited from harming not only me but all those you interact with, be it by magical or physical attack. You shall answer every question that is asked of you, without hesitation and in earnest — as alien as honesty is to the likes of vile demons like yourself.” She wrinkled her nose before she spoke next. “Afterwards, you shall be dismissed; that is, if you decide to cooperate. Refuse to, and your fate shall be worse than what you went through in that jar of wine.”

The golden eye glinted and with a sharp snap of her fingers, something materialized in the air in front of the magician. She got a hold of it and held it out to him. It was a small box of black wood, polished to a gleam. A small net of silvery veins ran over it and a similar magical energy resided within it as the golden eye.

“The people who made this call it Pandora's Box. It doesn't come close to the real deal, obviously, but it has its surprises.” The magician smiled. “You will get cozy with them, should you choose to act unwisely.”

Ammet considered the box. It didn't seem like a lot but the thought of being imprisoned once again gave him the most unpleasant of sensations.

He fluttered his wings and continued his swaying, but didn't respond.

The magician nodded. “Now that we have that out of our way: fulfill your charge.” She clapped her hands and Ammet dissolved into shards of shadows and bone. A sensation pulled him elsewhere; one moment he was in the strange vault many meters beneath the ground — and the other he was gone.

The light that burned Ammet now — a bothersome habit, as he had apparently developed a sensibility for light during his captivity — came of no cold implight but was rather the light of the setting sun. It shone through a tall window, warming him even through the glass.

The revolting aura from the vault remained but wasn’t as amplified which meant that the effect was relatively widespread.

He didn't stand in a pentacle but on white tiles, making his dark form appear even blacker as he remained there. The walls were tiled wood, rich mahogany, and in the center of the room stood a long dinner table with a total of fourteen chairs around it. It had a costly air about it, and confirmed to Ammet that even though time might pass, humans were still exactly the same; utterly obsessed with material goods and hedonistic to the maximum.

He scoffed.

“Enjoying the view?”

It wasn't the fact that someone had entered the room behind him that made him spin around at neckbreak speed; it was because whoever had spoken was the owner to the voice belonging to the face.

The language itself was nothing close to any language Ammet consciously understood, its sounds being mumbled and so ugly compared to the refined beauty of Egyptian or even the cruder Arabic, and yet he knew exactly what she said. It also meant that he was either far from home or actually a lot of time had passed for language to evolve into… whatever this could be considered, regardless of the magician’s Greek.

Just like the golden-eyed magician, this one was also a woman — although judging by the stench of incense clinging on her skin if not directly her bizarre clothes (form-fitting lower garments that covered her ankles and a way too short tunic on her upper body) she most likely was either one as well or at least associated with them frequently — but quite different from her too which, well, was better than them looking alike, a nasty tendency humans had.

Taller and pale of skin, she had auburn hair mixed in with grey that was tied together with a few loose strands. Her face was angular, her nose straight and pointy which made her look like a songbird. Freckles grew on her face like pimples on a youth’s visage, crow’s feet and lines under her eyes indicated at least forty years of age. The fire of the Other Place wasn’t to be found in the eyes, instead they were of a dull light brown with green specks — green specks that did not have anything within them that reminded him of home. Her aura did burn a little brighter than that of your ordinary human though, but ultimately that didn’t need to mean anything.

“What you see out there,” she said and pointed outside of the window, “is a country named Spain; its most Southern part to be precise, we call it Andalusia.”

Ammet didn't respond nor did he look outside. Neither of those names meant anything to him.

“I hope it's a more pleasant view than the cellar in which you were summoned. I hate to say it under the circumstances which, let's face it, are always unpleasant but: welcome back to Earth, Lord Ammet.”

Soft food steps walked away and for a moment, Ammet considered sending a black bolt of lightning her way and into her back as she had it turned on him. Then he remembered the box.

“I apologize for any harshness my colleague showed you; she is still of the old school and old habits die hard.” She sighed. “Maybe even never. But we don’t want to get off on the wrong foot, do we?” Her voice was clear and strong and if it wasn’t just a product of his imagination, Ammet could swear that there was a current within her tone that wasn’t human at all.

She turned around to face Ammet and to the marid‘s surprise, the expression on her face was a welcoming smile. He immediately distrusted her.

“Please, sit down. I know it doesn't lessen the pain of being bound but for the sake of courtesy, I rarely like to have my guests standing around.”

Ammet didn't move, he merely looked at her.

“I was told to answer questions.”

The woman didn't look up as she poured herself a glass of white wine (the smell of the alcohol was sweet and pungent, so unlike red wine) and moved to sit at the head of the table.

“And that you will, and as soon as that is done, you are free to return to the Other Place.” She looked at him over the rim of her glass and took a sip. “To be a good host and as a show of good faith towards you, Lord Ammet, I will tell you something of this world, as well as about my own person.” She smiled as if she remembered something. “Well, not everything, obviously, but everything I deem deserving for you to. But first of all, let me apologize for the predicament I put you under — prying your name from you while you were in a confused state is a great betrayal to do upon a spirit, yet while I regret it, there was no other way around it.”

Ammet tilted his head slightly at those words. Well, here was someone who knew her way with words.

“So it was you who freed me. For many years I thought you weren't real.”

She smiled.

“Yes, but like I said… It is a rather double-edged sword. You had been imprisoned in a wine amphora for, ah, quite some time. Five years ago an archeological expedition looking to loot long-sunken treasures in the hopes of discovering powerful magical artifacts brought many things, among them the vessel that contained you, to the surface. I happened to be around and,”, her lips curved into a smile, “felt your aura, faint as it was, even from afar. Freeing you was the right thing to do, obviously, but I wanted to know the identity of the one I had saved - cue me asking. A bit melodramatic, yes, but it did the trick, did it not?”

She put down her glass and observed him.

“The search for you wasn't as easy as I thought it would be, even though I had your name. According to Herodotus, the last sighting of you was in Ombos 1000 BCE, give or take.”

“BCE?”

“... Ah. Yes.”

The number the woman said then would have knocked any and all breath out of Ammet's lungs if he had them. No, no no, it cannot be!

“I know, even for a spirit this is a lot to take him.”

The tone being calming did nothing for him. Ammet felt the edges of his form tremble and with a horrid piercing cry he released a great force of energy and made the planes shudder. Oh, how he wished to exact his wrath upon — well, everything under this accursed sun. The golden-eyed magician was lucky to have made the binding clause so tight, otherwise Ammet would have found or simply disregarded the finer lines and wreaked untold havok on whatever and whoever were to cross his path — man, spirit, it didn't matter to him. He was of such power that they could impossibly stand in his way.

When he calmed down, silence beat down upon them. The woman looked a bit disheveled but had mostly maintained her composure, as if she had assumed something like this to happen. She coughed and finished the remains in her glass in one go, then steeped her fingers.

“Time is nothing to the likes of us—”

“Us?” Ammet's voice was a roar and he moved at lightning speed to stand over the woman. His eyes were raging fires now, spewing contempt and hatred with such fury and even like this, it was nothing compared to the anger burning within him.

“What sort of wicked and foolish creature are you? How dare you compare yourself to an entity like me?”

If she was unnerved, she didn't bother with showing it.

“My name is Nimuë, and there are no creatures like me.”

Ammet hissed like an aggressive cobra and shook his head. His claws dug deep into the table, something not missed by Nimuë who raised an eyebrow.

“Don't make me laugh. You are human, but so unlike all of them.” Even as he said it, he knew at least the first part to be a lie.

She straightened her shoulders and stood from the chair with a fluid motion.

“Human a part of me is, yes, and unlike all of them I am too — including Senusret.”

Ammet was quicker than thought; he reached out to rip her in two, binding clauses be damned, but somehow she was even quicker. There was a crash and the marid spun around to the window where a human-shaped hole had appeared when it hadn't been there before and a flash of auburn winked in the waning sunlight. Ammet opened shadowy wings and followed her, making sure to break through the window with enough gusto.

The stench of incense and her alien aura led him down the hill on which the large house was seated upon. Among olive trees and scrubs he looked for her, but no more flashes of auburn or even a single sound.

“I'll tear your human flesh from your bones and throw what remains of you into the sea, as even the sacred beasts would heave at your vile nature.” He screamed and listened in closely to the ensuing silence. But then! A cracking, maybe of branches underneath a foot, he whirled around, ready to strike and tear her apart into her atoms! — and was struck square in the chest with not just one but two surprisingly potent purple lightning bolts.

His detonation missed its target by several meters as his aim was thrown off and he was flung backwards and into an olive tree which broke and splintered under his weight.

As he laid on his back like a scarab turned upside down, the woman named Nimuë came into his view. She was floating downwards to the ground, auburn but greying hair not bound anymore and flowing freely, but Ammet didn't care about the fact that she could fly — it was the eyes, which positively radiated energy from the Other Place. Green fires burned brightly and cast her human features into something incomprehensible and otherworldly.

“I don't think so.” Her feet touched the ground and she crossed her arms. The green fires died down to a glow and now he saw that her expression was less one of anger but rather extreme crossness, like an usually benevolent priestess whose acolytes had vexed her one time too many.

“So, tell me: could he do that? I know the answer, and now let me continue. Be lucky you haven't harmed me, or you'd be back in Circe's gentle care — you will find that she has no love whatsoever for spirits.”

The voice remained the same but if there had just been a gentle hint of the Other Place in it before, now it was the defining trait of it.

Ammet got back on his feet and as he did so shifted back into the shadowy silhouette.

Instantly, Nimuë's demeanor changed. Her eyes widened and her hands twitched and as if she wanted to reach out.

“That form.” She whispered.

“Only the clause is preventing me from causing you such pain that your screams would be heard on even the most desolate corners of this spinning ball of mud.” Ammet spat. The lightning had caused him hurt momentarily but nothing he couldn't shrug off after mere seconds. It had been of the force of something an afrit could've hurled at him, but on no plane, not the first seven nor anything above was Nimuë anything but human.

“Good.” She stated coldly and leaned against an olive tree. “Can we continue? I'd prefer it down here, in case you decide to lose your marbles again. As much as you are a guest to me I am a guest in that house.”

Ammet pressed his shadowy lips together tightly like he had seen it done before so many times but nodded. Nimuë let out a breath and ran a hand through her hair, tying it up once again.

“Either way, Ombos… Set's city back then. But it wasn't the name” She made a meaningful gesture with her hand. “You told me. Those who held it were prominent rulers of Egypt, alright, but not a single magician. So, evidently, it had to be someone either off the records or they were on the records but not as that. To this day, I don't know who it is but considering your reaction… well, you catch my drift.”

She grinned. Ammet's guise had no facial expressions but he most certainly wouldn't have smiled.

“You were considered dead for the last three millenia, so imagine my surprise when that is anything but the case. For a spirit to show up alive after the only reports I found of him were in some old tomes that haven't been touched in two centuries, that was quite something. And of course, no one just happens to stumble into an amphora, especially when that one is at the bottom of the ocean. So someone must've not just done you dirty but done so while fully intending to make it as horrible as possible. I figured you would both need rest as well as desire for retribution — but the former was more important than the latter.” She sneered. “You should be glad you couldn't see the sorry state of your essence when I destroyed the jar. And the way the world has changed in the last millennium and a half… well, if my essence crawls at the thought of it, and I have witnessed all of its development, then I don't want to know how it must've been for you.”

Ammet stared at her.

“To answer your question concerning me, I trust you as a spirit to keep this a secret, especially because I might be the greatest ally whose paths you crossed on Earth. But yes, I am of the Other Place, despite what appearances might say otherwise.”

The maid's essence shivered in disgust as he considered what she said. “But you are not visible as a spirit.”

Nimuë smiled, and even though she couldn't change her form it had a sharpness to it only spirits could manage.

“Yes, and as revolting it might be to you, I have my fair share of advantages in turn.”

“Such as?”

Nimuë curled her upper lip in a self-sufficient smile. She was too human to be a spirit, there was no doubt about it.

“No pain whatsoever, Lord Ammet.”

No pain? But…

“What about the human?”

Nimuë grinned. “Oh, she's here — but at the moment I hold the reins. It felt appropriate to speak from spirit to spirit so she took a backseat.”

The marid regarded the creature. Oh, there was not a doubt that she had lost her mind. Whoever willingly shared a body with a human… what a perverse thought. And yet, unbidden memories came to him, of a time when he had wished he could just do that… when he had done it, only momentarily though and it was never enough...

“You disgust me.”

The spirit in a human's body scoffed. “What a way to show gratitude. I won't let you be locked up by Circe, as she no doubt showed you her wicked little prison, but I'm nevertheless disappointed. And here I thought that a spirit who held such a curious and invaluable possession in obvious affection could see the future just as I do!” She sniffed. “Yes, I do share a body with a human being. It is a quite benevolent and mutually agreeable partnership and I am not bound by cruel words, bonds and contracts.”

Ammet wanted to respond to that but found out he couldn't. Nimuë seemed to notice too and took that unashamedly as a victory.

“Do you wish to know anything else about me? Or is enough of my oh so disgusting nature revealed to you?”

The marid gave her a sharp look but still was silent.

“Alright. Because I have a proposition for you. A cooperation, the summons are a necessary part of it at first, sadly, but we'll find a way around that.”

Ammet let out a dry laugh. “I'd like to see you try merging me with a human. I would rather eat myself.”

Nimuë cackled, it was an unpleasant sound coming from a spirit who thought themself more human than anything else. “Oh, I doubt you'd commit to that part. I consider myself as something of a visionary, thanks to having made use of some groundbreaking discoveries that were right in front of humanity's nose but as always, they either don't have the ability to see it or are too wrapped up in their hedonism and selfishness to think further than themselves.” The green fires lit up for a brief moment, mischief sparking within them. “Let me tell you a bit about that and then onto my questions — or rather, my question. Then regardless of your answer you are free to return to Circe's gentle hands for her to dismiss you for you to return home. She won't like it but she will have to live with it. She is the sort of magician who hates all spirits after having been wronged by a single one of them despite being tied to his charge.”

Nimuë shook her head.

“What about the box? Was that just an empty threat?”

Instead of an answer, Nimuë simply smiled. Then she pushed herself off the tree and approached Ammet. In front of him, she stretched out her hand for him to shake.

“A good magician never reveals his tricks. So, what do you say? Is there an angle for a deal here?”

#fomwrites #bartimaeus #bartimaeus sequence

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blooddrop-palace · 4 years

Text

Project Updates - What to Look Forward To

<3 Hello all! I've realized (humbly) that I have a small following of very nice people that seem quite interested in what I've written so far, and after seeing some mutuals post update-status posts, I thought I should share what's going on with my projects, also. (Thanks for the encouragement, @queenmuzz!)

Updated Dec-10-20

Sons of Fortune

Probably somehow my main focus now, though I am steadily working on other works. Currently working on the “In Between” special short before I start on Chapter 12.

I would also like to talk a little bit about my plans for this story: if anyone has paid attention to this story's tags, yes, I am touching up on the plots of most of the games. In fact, all of them, and the anime. (I already dealt with DMC4. No, I will not tear apart Fortuna lol.) Not all relevant tags are in, yet, because small spoilers. It looks like it's going to be a long while before I even get to the Temen-ni-gru, though. (There is a reason why that event is getting pushed back.) I want to have fun with the family fluff that is the twins each learning how to parent, first.

Hell Froze Over, and We Shall Reignite It

The drama of it all! Dante and Vergil are finally back from Hell, and Nero doesn’t even know his mother is now standing right in front of him. Meanwhile, even I’m anticipating seen how Snow and Dante is going to handle the obvious things currently unsaid... and I have a feeling a small measure of stupidity is still going to be involved.

Current chapter progress: Outline complete.

It's going to feel so interesting, shifting from "Fortune" back to Reignite. I get to write Sera and Vergil falling in love all over again, with a different set of circumstances. Whoa.

And, and... Nero meeting Sera... odd that I'm saying this as the writer, but I have a "I hope he likes his mom" feeling going on.

Also, no doubt Dante's brain is going to 404 when he sees Snow.

Nico prepares popcorn.

This is Not an Office Rom-Com

I have... about 8 new skits planned out. Nothing more written just yet.

That’s all I’m saying about this for now. =P

Hierarchy of Kings

Purely indulgent M/M romance of Vergil and an OC, existing all thanks to

@wordborne

Working on chapter 2.

I know I said 3 chapters only. I might have lied depending on how much I want to write. It's supposed to be just... awkward fluff of a listless part-devil who somewhat-recently lost his mate, got in a bit of a tiff with his brother, and now his children are trying to set him up with the prospective-king-of-hell, Vergil.

I think about this one a lot but I haven't written anything new for it yet, only because "Fortune" is taking over my life right now, haha.

Through the Lens of the Beholder

Okay, so...This story has no real plot. As a result, my drive for it is purely down to "if I think of a badass or cool photograph to describe." There is a TINY bit of plot. Only a little. And I don't know when I'll update. But this is why I'm trying not to START new projects. Four is a lot already! But because this one is supposed to be simpler than the other two, I will most likely finish this one before the others, so I can open a new project.

---------------

Speaking of new projects... Here are things ideas bouncing through my head:

- I still have a prompt from @maybeishouldwait sitting in my inbox. I WILL have it done one day, when I find the perfect way to write it.

A whole, entirely royally late set of Dadgil week fics. Yep. I want to write them. They just won’t be on time.

Written in Ink

A plot-less post-DMC5 story.

I say plot-less. There is a plot. The plot is:

Dante: Damn it, Verge, are you trying to turn my office into a zoo??

In which Vergil compulsively starts contracting strong demons he's defeated, left and right, because he's discovered "the joy of pets." The demons all take on a dark animistic form and things get wild.

A Persona and DMC fusion/AU

I have no title for this yet, and I absolutely cannot start this one until I have finished one of my other big projects. This one will take a lot of big planning, because I am making a new plot, using the mechanics of Persona, with DMC characters and setup.

What I want to write, is a teenage Nero as the protagonist, trying to solve a mystery... probably starting with the sudden disappearance of his mother. (Most likely Sera.) And he meets a lot of "new" people, and even finds new family... and yes, he will find his dad. (I'm thinking he'll know about Vergil, though. At least in name and a photo? Isn't that an interesting difference?)

For those of you not familiar with Persona, the major theme I really want to play with is that of the protagonist growing as a person (and in power) by befriending different people that helps them grow as a person. Each party member and important NPC is represented by a Tarot Card, signifying the type of journey the protagonist (The Fool) "embarks" with that character. There is growth in both the protagonist and that characters.

Again, this is ambitious to try and pull off... but it's in the back of my head. I'll focus on it once I've cleared some other stuff.

Sugar Sweet

A somewhat short-chapter series reader fic... of a surgeon/doctor!reader (barely 30 and good at what you do) who often saves the lives of shady people (e.g. mafia) because you care about saving lives, not the politics. But you do make good money out of it. (Hey, you gotta be at least a bit morally ambiguous if you're going to deal with devils.)

You meet one mess of a young mercenary named Dante, who is totally not human and deals with things like having bullets healed into his back, and he can't reach them to cut them out.

Dante doesn't care about bills for his office, or a lot of the debts in his life. You don't know where his money is going, or if he even makes much money at all (for the kind of specialty work he does? Money's going somewhere, but that's none of your business.)

You won't pay Dante's bills, or his debts, but he will accept pizza and ice cream. And new parts for his jukebox. And maybe a motorcycle. Or a new coat. Or a new car...

And you might complain to him about your dumb patients. Or just listen to him talk about his job. Or you two watch a movie together.

And this just continues. For years.

Tokusatsu DMC fusion/AU

So. First thing's first: I'm a big fan of Sentai/Tokusatsu. What is that, you might ask? It's a Japanese genre, and if you're familiar with Power Rangers, that's derived from Sentai.

Basically: Masked heroes with transformation gadgets, sometimes with motorcycles, fighting against evil. ("Magical girls" but strictly the opposite, a lot more physical combat involved, may involve upgrade gadgets, and not strictly limited to male heroes though mostly a male cast. Also not strictly for male-only audience. Girls like the eye-candy, too. :eyes-emoji:)

Why am I thinking about this?

Because I have found out that: Vergil's VA, Dan Southworth, was the Quantum Ranger (WHICH WAS RED). Nero's VA, Johnny Yong Bosch, was a Black Ranger and a Green Ranger.

...And Dante's VA, Reuben Langdon, had a role in a Japanese Toku show as "B-Fighter Yanma" forever ago???? (HE WAS BLUE!!)

What am I going to do with this info? I'll let you know later. But my Sentai/Toku-loving little heart is about to burst with hyperfixation overlap.

If I ever write this out, expect it to be just as cheesy as an actual Kamen Rider show. Or, at the very least, expect some art. I love Kamen Rider stuff!

Family Fantasy MMO

Snow introduces Dante, Vergil, Nero, and Kyrie to Final Fantasy 14 (because that’s the MMO I play) for family bonding. Yep. Mainly for silly indulgence.

Stardew Valley Visit

Post DMC5, Vergil and Dante accidentally end up going on a vacation when they try to leave Hell. No pairing with the farmer, but instead just a relaxing and somewhat introspective moment of the boys being stuck with most of their power temporarily sealed, learning how to take care of a farm, and maybe do a bit of healing by interacting with the townsfolk while they try to find out where their swords went and how to get home.

Re-Colourize

Otherwise what I would call the “re-colour of Nero and Snow” AU.

What if Vergil was found by Kassy’s family and raised among them? What if Dante ended up briefly in Fortuna and then convinced Sera to run away from the island?

What if we have a Nero who, though brash, is outwardly more soft and open-hearted, and has red-orange and gold colours instead? What if we have a Snow who is named Chiyuki, who wields her katana more like Vergil does, and has a more ice-queen aura about her, and has a teal and blue colouring about her?

This is my excuse to switch up the pairings, but also write Vergil being taught to fight more like an assassin.

Raised by the Blade

Imagine: Yamato, cracked, broken, and separated from her Master... desperately searching for a way to get back to him, and ended up washed up on the shores of Fortuna. Humanoid, but clearly not if anyone saw the cracked, broken, and no-normal look of “shattered” in her torso, that she would have to keep covered.

Made from the power of Sparda, she is pale with white hair... and she finds herself drawn to the orphanage...

Where she finds the toddler that is Nero.

Devil Hunters’ Podcast

Nico “accidentally” finds entertainment in recording the Sparda Family arguments as they talk about hunting; after all, they all share one braincell.

Ascended Monochrome

A white angel remains by the side of Nelo Angelo. Mundus was not pleased by the behavior of his second creation, from the human woman that he had picked up with the treacherous Son of Sparda. But he later discovered that by using her, he could keep Nelo Angelo complacent. Eventually, underestimating love will be his downfall.

Fall to Royalty

A story of where Vergil wins against Mundus the first time, and takes the throne of Hell. But what is he to do next? Eventually, ruling Hell seemed meaningless when there was no one by his side, so he goes to seek out the Lady Knight that he had vowed to never think of or go back to unless he had obtained the power he sought.

Doppelganger Woes

So, I heard Capcom retconned Gilver to be some sort of imitation created by Mundus. I’m all for this! And I’m going to DO something with this.

Side-Project: DMC Tarot List

I started on this maybe months ago; and I have a tentative list oh what characters go with what card and a few detailed descriptions. I think I should confer with

@harlot-of-oblivion

at some point about this, and anyone else interested in, well, Tarot stuff.

#devil may cry #fanfiction #Project Update

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serpentmythos · 4 years

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Scars - Baron Draxum/OC One Shot

3.8k words, SWF (Mentions of gore, blood, and mild nudity)

A monstrous snarl echoed through the maze of tunnels that was New York's Underground City, followed by the slamming of something heavy on metal. A clawed hand lashed out, ripping paper from corkboard and sending pages fluttering through the air, only to settle haphazardly across the concrete beneath. Baron Draxum grit his teeth, eyeing the discarded notes with the purest of malice and malcontent. "Now now, My Lord, that can't be good for your blood pressure..." A mythic-sounding female voice sounded from behind him, one that the warring warrior scientist had grown accustomed to hearing as time passed. He let out another snarl, looking over his shoulder to glare at the immortal Queen of Egypt. "Your Majesty..." He growled, tone filled with warning, one that the woman clearly didn't heed.

Nafretiri chuckled and shook her head, folding her arms under her chest and giving him a knowing grin. "Errors in your stoichiometry again?" She questioned, and Draxum groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead and dragging it down his face. "No matter what I try, I can't seem to get the same results as the first!" He griped, turning around and slamming his hands on the metal lab table, making laboratory glassware shudder and shake in protest. A few empty test tubes rolled off the table and threatened the shatter on the ground, but with a snap of her fingers, a golden aura surrounded them. The tubes floated lazily through the air before righting themselves back into their proper racks. "Well, you certainly aren't going to get the same results by throwing a tantrum."

“You’d be wise to hold your tongue, woman.” Draxum warned, which made the enchantress roll her one remaining eye and scowl. “And a Baron would be wise to not order a Queen’s silence.” She snapped back without missing a beat. Draxum sighed, not having an appetite for Nafretiri’s sass at the moment. He needed to figure out what was going wrong in his formula notes, but now that a distraction was here in the form of The Oracle, his mind had little energy left to devote to focusing on his work… Watching the way his shoulders relaxed, and hearing the breath that left his lips, Nafretiri smirked.

“Come away from the table, Draxum. Allow me to help you with relieving a little stress.” She spoke, waving her hand and materializing a golden staff, a striking cobra coiled around the upper quarter of it. The Baron let out a low chuckle, knowing precisely what the enchantress was referring to. “With pleasure, Your Majesty.” He muttered, producing a pair of purple seed pods in his palm. A wicked grin spread across Nafretiri’s wine red lips, gold snake bite piercings glinting in the dim green light of the underground laboratory. Draxum turned, an insane grin of his own plastered on his face. The two relocated to a more spacious and open area of the lab, standing on opposing sides of the great room. Crushing a seed pod in each hand, a toxic purple slime encrusted up the length of Draxum’s arms, spikes erupting from various places upon his limbs. With the subtlest of nods, Nafretiri raised her arms, one clutching her staff, the other facing her open palm towards the male in front of her. Her palm brushed against the back of the golden cobra’s hood, its ruby eyes beginning to glow a brilliant red. The same golden miasma that surrounded the test tubes earlier began to envelope the cobra and her empty hand, a golden aura flickering from her eye as well. “O Geb, Mighty Lord of Land and Earth, lend me your Might!” She called, voice echoing with a bizarre power that had since been lost to times long ago. “Rise ye, soldiers, my Sentinels of the Desert Sands! Strike down this enemy of The Pharaoh, so your Queen commands it!”

As she recited her incantation, she moved her other arm out towards him, her open palm now facing the ground beneath her. Sand began cascading down from her palm, and pouring out of the golden cobra’s gaping mouth, the grit flowing freely around its bared fangs. Slowly the mounting piles of sand began to take shape, morphing themselves into pairs of tall and imposing looking golems, broad-shouldered and solidly built. Draxum’s grin only grew as he witnessed The Oracle channeling her magic. It was other-worldly, graceful, powerful to behold. No matter how many times he had borne witness to it, it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and his skin prickle with excitement. The woman before him truly was a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps if he could convince her to join his cause…? He didn’t have the luxury of time to finish his internal musings, as one of her Sentinels rushed him, stone spear poised to impale itself through his abdominal cavity. He raised his arms into a quick guard, the stone spear point shattering upon impact with his armored limbs. A swipe of his hand summoned a massive vine, the wood-y plant’s flesh colored the same toxic purple as his arms. The vine twirled and whipped about, thrusting itself through the Sentinel’s chest. With one swift flicking motion, the sand golem was sent flying through the air, crashing into another and both collapsing into dust. The sheer giddiness the Baron felt was clear in his expression. Golems could not feel the same pain that he and The Oracle could. Draxum could be as ruthless and destructive as he wanted to be with them, with no fear of repercussions. He could rip them apart and fling them about like ragdolls without a care. And sometimes that was the purest form of joy in the world.

And thanks to Nafretiri’s magic, there were endless waves of the sand brutes to work through, further honing his skill, perfecting his fighting style, testing the limits of his stamina. This was a challenge, and oh, how Draxum loved a good challenge. Despite the seemingly infinite supply of golems, he made it his silent goal to push Nafretiri’s defenses back, to corner her, to exercise his superiority over the Queen. He would tear down her walls of Sentinels one by one until there was nothing left! Force that haughty woman to bow before him! Another Sentinel fell, and another. Vines whipped and flailed, writhed and stabbed, cutting down the golems one by one as they rushed mindlessly towards the warrior scientist. Ones that managed to slip though his botanical defenses, Draxum finished off himself with nothing more than a few well-placed strikes. The more golems she created, the more Draxum found himself falling into a frenzy, relishing in the delight that the sandy carnage surrounding him brought. But, he might have been the only one enjoying it…

Across from the Baron, behind the much taller forms of the Sentinels, Nafretiri’s arms quaked. Sweat beaded along her brow, and her teeth gritted together from the strain. Usually Draxum was satisfied with just a few dozen golems slaughtered, but he was pushing well into the hundreds, now. This was far more than she could handle without more advanced preparations! As each Sentinel fell to Draxum’s might, Nafretiri felt her consciousness fading. She was only barely aware of the toxic purple vines creeping closer to her, and Draxum pressing further into her defenses. A vine swept a wave of Sentinels out of the way, and it coiled itself snugly around her waist. However, it had only just begun to bring her closer to Draxum, when everything went dark. Her body slumped and her grip on her staff slackened, before the golden artifact slipped out of her fingers entirely, falling to the floor with a metallic clatter. Without her staff to channel her magic, the Sentinels froze in place and soon collapsed into piles of sand once again, before slowly beginning to fade from existence entirely. Draxum let out a laugh of triumph, and as the last Sentinels began to freeze and fall at his cloven feet, he prepared to gloat over his apparent victory. Except, instead of the Queen standing there with a displeased scowl like he expected, her slack form in his vine caught him off guard. “Nafretiri…?” Her name had barely left his lips before her body went completely limp, head falling forward and her golden mantle falling, the crown rolling away from her and coming to rest at his feet.

His eyes went wide in shock, and slowly he began to approach the unconscious body of the Queen. “Your… Majesty?” Draxum questioned, reaching out to lift her chin. However, when his clawed fingers were just a few inches away from her, a great golden spark leapt from her body to his, electrifying him and making him snarl in pain and surprise. He grit his teeth and withdrew his hand, as a warmth cascading from his hand up and through his body. He looked up when the pulses of magic began radiating from his form, and the same pulses came from the slumped form of the enchantress in his vines. A few more pulses, this time slower, before the magical energy froze in the air. Draxum looked about in confusion, letting out a small shout when the energy suddenly imploded in on the two, and promptly exploded back out, only this time it was different.

The explosion of magical energy seemed to transform the empty room they were in. Great stone pillars erupted from the ground, stone walls came alive with colorful murals depicting hunts, coronation ceremonies, images of war. Gold, ghostly silhouettes of hundreds of people began to fill the room, their faint and echoing voices chattering in a tongue he couldn’t understand. A pair of great wooden doors swung open, and music swelled. A procession began to file in, and figures that he could only assume were religious ones entered first, swinging metal pots of burning incense and filling the air with smoke. He tried to dodge out of the way but froze instead, when he realized that the ghostly priestesses simply… Walked right through him. As if HE were the apparition here... The musicians came next, plucking their harps and lutes, shaking strange loops of metal that made sounds like tambourines, banging their animal skin drums, clapping their hands to a beat he was unfamiliar with. His eyes widened further as the next group came in, taking him aback completely. He stumbled back and tripped over Nafretiri’s crown, falling to the ground as the dancers moved in. The chiming of bells reached him, flowing skeins of dyed, sheer muslin graced every woman, with thick gilded necklaces being the only thing obscuring their breasts from prying eyes. His eyes fell on one dancer in particular, and familiarity tugged hard at his mind. Why did he feel as if he knew her...?

Her hair was woven into dozens upon dozens of braids, multitudes of fine gold and glass beads adorning each one. Her makeup accentuated her beautiful face, but what sparked his memory wasn’t her face, but instead it was her eyes… That same piercing gaze that always seemed to look into his very soul… “Nafre…tiri?” He asked, slowly coming to a stand as the apparition of the now-mortal enchantress made her way towards him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her graceful form, her dance was absolutely hypnotizing! The way her body moved and flexed, each motion flowing into the next so smoothly… It took his breath away. He tried to reach out to her, but the door slammed shut behind the end of the procession, and the celebration scene suddenly flashed out of existence. He started as they were suddenly in a courtyard, two young men vying for the affections of a now more modestly (well, modest by ancient standards) dressed Nafretiri. One tried to woo her with gifts of tigers’ pelts and exotic perfumes, while the other recited poems of his own writing. The next scene flashed, and she was kneeling with one of the young men in some kind of religious temple, in front of rectangular pool, floating flowers on the water and praying to a massive stone statue of a falcon-headed man. Movement out of the corner of his eye made Draxum turn his head, and the first young man from before was hiding behind a pillar, scowling and his eyes filled with heartbreak and bitter envy.

The hazy apparitions continued to show the progression of Nafretiri’s life. The passing of the previous Pharaoh from illness, the younger of his twin sons ascending to the throne with Nafretiri as his Queen, the older twin becoming his advisor. The couple in the Pharaoh’s bed chambers, bodies obscured by a veil, but silhouettes depicting a passionate embrace and a kiss that only two lovers could ever hope to share. A religious ceremony with the Pharaoh and his Queen sitting on raised thrones carried by soldiers, Nafretiri’s belly swollen and round with child. The pained screaming of the new mother as she lay in an ornately decorated pool of water, squeezing her King’s hand as midwives attended to the birthing of the young prince. The crying baby boy being lifted from the water, his umbilical cord cut with a knife, and both cord and afterbirth placed in a dish for sacrifice to the goddesses in exchange for the child’s protection. Nafretiri whimpered as the midwife handed her the little prince, and through her tears of pain she was smiling the dreamiest of smiles. She whispered something that sounded like a blessing (Draxum couldn’t be sure, this birthing process as a whole was something he had never seen before), kissing the crying baby’s forehead and nuzzling him close to her breast. The child grew before his eyes, from a crying newborn, to a babbling baby, and finally a rambunctious toddler that the slaves and nursemaids would chase endlessly throughout the palace. The Pharaoh scooped the boy into his arms, laughing heartily and carrying the prince outside to his mother, where she was dressed for a journey and seated in a barge for a trip down river. She bid a tearful farewell to her son, and kissed her husband, before a blessing was said over the barge by priests, and sailed off down the river, fading away.

It was only now that Draxum realized that the Pharaoh’s advisor had been present through every apparition, always nearby, but never truly getting involved. Always eyeing his brother and nephew with malice. But this time, he noticed the absence of the older twin. Draxum caught a glimpse of the man behind another pillar, holding a perforated earthen ware pot, with a muslin lid secured over the top with a red cord, and a manic grin on his face. The half-mutant snarled a bit, not liking the look of that pot in the slightest. Something was amiss. Some more timed passed, and the Pharaoh and little prince were napping peacefully in the Pharaoh’s bed chamber. Silent as a mouse, the advisor crept in, carefully setting down the pot and undoing the red cord. Tipping the pot over with his foot, ashen gray and tan scales of an Egyptian cobra could be seen. Slowly, the serpent slithered its way out of the ceramic vessel. It lifted a portion of its body off of the floor, raising its head before slithering towards the bed, silently moving its body under the linen covers, where the ruler and young heir were sleeping. The advisor picked up the pot and closed the wooden door to the bed chamber. Not long after, as the advisor was walking down the hall, the high-pitched and pained shrieking of the toddler prince, and the panicked shouts of the Pharaoh sent the palace staff sprinting towards the bed chamber.

The scene that flashed next, was a gut wrenching one. Nafretiri walking up from the tomb of her now-mummified husband and son, eyes puffy, and red from crying. The older twin feigned sympathy, hugging the woman, comforting her. It made Draxum’s blood boil. The funerary procession marched somberly back through the desert to the capital city. The apparitions progressed further, showing the older twin rising to rule, and exercising his newfound power in such a ruthless fashion that it shocked even Draxum. Monuments of the old Pharaoh were toppled, his burial tomb destroyed, scrolls burned, murals torn down, and repainted. Those who mentioned the old king or young prince were publically executed. This new Pharaoh took every step he could to erase his brother and nephew from the annals of history. Nafretiri simply sat back and… Watched it all happen. She spent a majority of her time in the palace locked in her bed chamber. The Queen grew thin, her eyes sunken, her once-beautiful face having turned gaunt from grief. To see the apparition before him, and comparing it to the immortal enchantress he knew now, it was like comparing night and day. To see the strong and powerful woman he knew so weak… Draxum felt a tightness in his chest. His heart ached for her. He wanted to reach out to the apparition, to pull it close to him, and comfort her. But those feelings were brief. They were soon replaced with the deepest rage, and bottomless hate, for the man who did this to her. He let out a roar and lunged for the form of the new Pharaoh, but the scene changed again.

Nafretiri and the Pharaoh were arguing. Nafretiri yelling through tears and the Pharaoh drawing ever closer to her, clearly demanding that she hand something over. When the woman continued to refuse, Draxum’s anger only mounted higher as the Pharaoh seized his wife, and plunged his hand into her right eye, ripping the beautiful green orb from its socket and throwing it to the floor. The sound of the blood pounding in his ears and his vision going red obscured the sight of Nafretiri crumpling to the floor and clutching her face, and droned out the poor Queen’s shrieks of unimaginable pain. Draxum lunged once more for the Pharaoh’s apparition, but obviously phased right through him. He was about to try again when there was a gasp from behind him, and the Baron whirled around as the scene surrounding him faded. They were back in his lab, Nafretiri had regained consciousness! In his anger the vine that restrained her had rotted away, leaving the immortal Enchantress in a crumpled heap on the floor. She was panting, her eye wide, and hands shaking. Slowly, Draxum approached her, picking up her fallen crown and holding it out to her.

It took Nafretiri a moment to register what was happening, but she looked up at Draxum holding her crown out to her. Nodding in silent thanks, she took the crown and placed it back on to her head. “I fail to understand…” Draxum spoke, making Nafretiri glare up at him in disdain. “You know damn well that if I overexert myself, I lose control of my-“

“I’m not talking about that!” Draxum interrupted, startling the woman. Growling, he was clenching his fists as his face went dark. “I fail to understand how you don’t hold the same hatred for humanity that I do! That wretched waste of organic material… That, false king… What he did was unforgivable, scarred you for life!” He shouted.

Nafretiri looked down at her hands, as she slowly came back to a stand, piecing together what happened when she passed out. She remembered… Bits and pieces of her past life floating through in a dream like state. She must’ve projected her dream into the real world when she fainted and lost control of her power. Draxum… Draxum witnessed everything. The treachery that lead to her death. The disgraceful acts that left her permanently disfigured, even now, thousands of years later. She was, as he said, scarred for life… “That was nearly three thousand years ago, Draxum…” She muttered, refusing to look up, her hair obscuring most of her face from him. “As the Mighty Ra’s solar barque sails ever forward, bringing with it one new day after another, scars begin to fade away…”

Draxum came forward, grabbing her chin and forcefully lifting her face to look at him as he leaned in, staring at the muslin bandages that obscured her hollow right eye socket from the rest of world. Her remaining eye was wet with tears, something he wasn’t expecting. His mind briefly flitted back to the crying, grieving Queen in the apparition of her dream. “Scars may fade, but they never truly heal, do they?” He snarled, but it wasn’t as threatening as before. She jerked her head out of his grip, turning and kneeling down to pick up her golden staff. “Touché…” She responded, looking over her staff and keeping her back turned to him.

Pursing his lips, Draxum stood there for a while, before coming closer to her. The armor on his arms cracked and flaked, decaying away from his skin and returning his limbs to normal. Just as she turned back to face him, she felt a tightness wrap itself around her body. She came face to face (or rather, face to chest) with the warring warrior scientist, the half mutant pulling her into a hug. It was a strange thing for Draxum to do. She expected such action from Huginn and Muninn, but from Draxum… Her vision went blurry as more tears formed, and she failed in choking back a sob, wrapping her arms around the Baron and burying her face into his chest. The Queen leaned into him, crying her heart out as all the painful memories came flooding back. He squeezed her a bit tighter, placing a hand on her head. “I’m sorry, Nafretiri…” He muttered, not expecting a reply. After what seemed like ages, the tears began to slow, and her sobs were replaced by whimpering hiccups. “I need to get back to work now…” Was all Draxum said before letting go of her and turning to walk back into the main part of his lab, leaving her there to dry her tears and regain her composure.

Huginn and Muninn flew down from their perch in the rafters, draping a small blanket around her shoulders. “C’mon, gorgeous, we’ll escort you back to your hotel…” Muninn spoke softly, Huginn nodding in agreement and gently pushing the Queen in the direction of the lab's exit. Draxum watched his gargoyle minions tend to the grieving Queen from the darkened hallway, gritting his teeth as his mind recalled all that he saw. Snarling, he shoved himself off the wall and strode off back into the lab, picking up his discarded notes and working on them with renewed spite, vigor, and determination. His eyes drifted up to the test tubes that Nafretiri saved from breaking earlier, reaching over to pick one up. Growling, he shattered the glass in his hand and dropped the shards to the floor. Humanity will pay for their transgressions… Not just towards yokai and mutant-kind, but towards Nafretiri as well. Humanity and their ancestors will suffer. They will all… Suffer.

(A/N: Please leave comments and criticisms, I wanna know how I can improve my writing ; u ; Reblogs > Likes.)

#rottmnt #rottmnt baron draxum #baron draxum #rottmnt oc #one shot #hurt/comfort

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nozomijoestar · 4 years

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Pt. 1 of my LL! x TMA crossover is finally here. Crossposted on my FF.net!

TWs: Gore, warfare, being buried alive, body horror

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With the world plunged into the apocalypse of never-ending fear thanks to The Eye and The Archivist, two stories intertwine. Statements of Nozomi Tojo later the entity called The One Alone- pre and post mortem of humanity. Recorded direct from subject.

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“The Lonely is the most insidious of the powers. It doesn’t need to tell you lies. It waits for the lies you tell yourself.”

There is a wind that rides amidst the expanse bare of clouds that dares to call itself a sky still. It rolls ever onwards like a wave beneath the ever shifting Eyes; the Eyes with presence to match the same that crowns a panopticon. The tower it calls home stands higher than anything conceivable by Man. Though she has tried escape she knows there is nowhere on this barren land it cannot be seen. The gaze of the Beholder sees those who suffer in sacrifice below; it too sees the servants, the avatars, of its fellow Entities revel in a Hell once thought promised to one devotee or another now open for all. She is reminded of the amusement parks she yearned to step foot in as a child until it made her sick.

She is reminded it sees always through her disembodied form. It knows where none other should know; ever thirsty for the forbidden and beyond boundaries The Eye (The Beholder, The Ceaseless Watcher, It Knows You, names are irrelevant in its pursuits. They are attempts to describe an aspect of what people called impossible.) sips her essence with precision a mosquito could envy. The fog that is and is not her whenever she molds it to a human shape whips about in fury. It is tainting her loneliness. It wants to dip its finger in her blissful isolation just as it has every other monstrosity made manifest.

Her Entity is a kind being, an understanding one that divides the Who from They into an intimacy; one so singular and gentle to allow those within it to banish all others. She can still remember the first time grasping it brought her to tears. Both it and she cannot escape what it is to be known. Not now in the presence of that damned thing which exists to play voyeur. She looks down.

The trench that scars the earth and stretches beyond the horizon marks the domain The Slaughter calls a feeding ground. Even as high as she is the stench of cordite, gunpowder, gore, and all that tears apart wafts into her. Within the trench figures once store clerks, families, businessmen, teachers, students, children, fire enough bullets and shells to massacre what was once Tokyo. Each cracks sharper than thunder while the rat-a-tat-tat from infinite machine guns never stops. In between the gun nests slump people lost within war that is not satisfied with surface destruction and swallows the mind. They are worse than those casualties who scream, in their silence.

On the fetid breeze bagpipes in a mockery of ‘Scotland the Brave’ wail enough to vibrate No Man’s Land. She can spy the tanks advancing ever forwards peppered by shrapnel; flayed bodies can vaguely be made out strapped to their armor. The edges of her fog wiggle in place of a shudder. Neither now nor in her meaningless days as feed, as human, had butchery in any form brought anything from her but nausea. From that barren hell a bulky creature towered over its victims; it made way for her as their eyes locked.

She knows this monster well no matter how tiny the ribs spiked out its chest appear at this distance. It stamped its clawed bloody foot and snarled. Its teeth glistened red in a multitude of fangs arranged row after row like a shark mouth. The pointed shoulder blades protruding out its back drip viscera; she knows it has fed. Feeding is all it can do now; she knows it laments the conveniences a human form had after all. That like her it loathes having the terror it creates tainted under The Eye’s ruling gaze. Its face comprised of exposed wounds for flesh and two smaller faces twisted in pain on its neck, glares at her unflinching. Its black and orange pupiled eyes are beady as if carved from revulsion, from hate. Around them no soldiers aim and the tools of war bend paths to avoid harm. The monster shouts in a growl that booms over the din of murder.

“Forsaken! Have you come to strut and brag again you little shit? Making fun of me showing up like that are you?-“

The Slaughter avatar’s insults fell on empty air; she glided onward without a destination. Suddenly several stones passed through her leaving holes that reformed instantly. Not a glance did she spare back; U’ral-whatever-her-name-was could shout her distain till her throat bled. The One Alone would not stoop as weak as her to hold reservations about their paradise.

On this ride no one would get off.

She stopped above a circle of candy colored lights that formed the outline of a carousel. A few meters around its dim shine run shadowed shapes. Shape is the best word she has to describe those frantic wretches who pile atop each other; their fingers peel faces reused again and again among their number. They long to no more ask themselves Who Am I? but know beneath the ache they will never be whole.

They could have counted her among them, once. Almost.

Though reason reminded her it’d been months those days, the idea there’d been a time before, was impossible. Had she always been what she’d embraced or had her human shell been her true home? Some days before the opening of the Door she was ashamed to still ponder it. Not in this world however; here she at last knew her peace. The edges of her form swirled outward. She continued to watch. The Stranger’s victims continued their frenzy as another face was for the taking. Cries of triumph clashed with envious screams not unlike the battle-shouts of one brought under Slaughter.

If she squinted she made out the current victor. The teenage girl bolts across the fairgrounds in a random direction; her red-orange hair waved in its ragged bob cut like a dancing flame. Where once she had pale skin and…had they been yellow eyes? The One Alone saw her now a shambling thing that slapped its prize atop a carmine skull. Something in her puzzled to think she remembered the girl’s face, and yet nothing of her name. Nothing of what their connection had been in another life.

Not a fiber of her cared to linger longer; yet as she made to leave one final sight stopped her. This time the name and everything with it returned. Kotori busied herself on a cross-stitch of skin and sinew when she saw The One Alone above. Did she too remember? Did she know who they both once were? Even if she did The One Alone couldn’t bring herself to care. It would be unnecessary and in a way always had been. She had never existed. Kotori’s eyes gave her a look filled with the briefest solidarity, before the indifference reclaimed her. The blessings of The Stranger have created fissures along her skin; it ceased to be skin so much as it resembled a potato weak enough to tug, in its fragility.

Not for the last time she feels the deep, deep truth twist her at the chance that in another world, she joined in the stitching. Disgust shook her fog at the idea of companionship looming before her. A semblance of sympathy even if in the imagination; avatars do not trust. Not each other. The smartest ones, her, saw trust for the waiting betrayal it was. For the lie it had been since the moment she was born.

She flies beyond the circus of the damned toward a thundering in the distance. At the passing over a spot of darkness that stretches miles, she swallows the urge to stare. It is a black void so absolute it cannot cast shadows; nor can any bottom to its depth be found as though you’ve entered the essence of nothingness. Eli was there. She felt the knowledge wash over her like rain. Eli was there, transformed into something that drowned her victims into obscurity. This was a comforting thought; their domains weren’t too unalike.

It’s enough to almost make her wish Eli had joined The Lonely. She smothers it before it can bloom further. The Dark chooses its chosen and there is nothing she can do. She is alone, as she was meant to be. Ahead the thundering slams into her ears snapping her from ruminating. Niko appeared no bigger than a dot from this high. The shovel she pointed above her head reflected the Eyes that’d replaced the sun on its blade. Above her a pink man with shriveled skin stuffed into his suit smiled. It was knowing and unbothered; he stared down as calm as if he were choosing a sandwich. Simon Fairchild.

Of course The Vast would entertain a challenge from The Buried. The space around him appeared more than air; his very presence distorts that not bound to earth. His true distance away is impossible to gauge, he is both forever distant yet under only sky, a neighbor. She watches his wisplike white hair flap in the breeze. His calm slides into amusement. Niko’s curses and yells have grown louder now. She stops at what serves best for not too close; she observes.

None of it is productive. Niko, poor desperate, witless Niko still clung to a blanket stitched from emotions. If she was an annoyance in the old world, now she was insufferable. She remained a prisoner as she’d always been. She’d been a prisoner of her desires, slave to her circumstance, yet another decimal point on a statistic. Yes The One Alone remembers those days before they’d embraced their natures; however faint the memories Niko had been a worm inching for the sky, for escape. Anything was better than bills and so many mouths to feed with so few helping hands. She notices the pockmark of holes littering the ground around Niko’s feet.

There are at least a hundred here. A hundred other worms that’d cherished denial at the crushing that finally bound them physically. They would never know the suffocation of an illusion of control as Niko does. They will smell rancid air and gargle on sod in those depths; they will wonder why them. There will be no answer; no release for their attempts at freedom. It is not the freeing isolation she has accepted. You weren’t even allowed to enjoy it; you couldn’t if you didn’t embrace it. She hears the curses grow louder followed by an earth splitting crack.

Indeed the ground dents under Niko’s tap against it. A chorus of screams ring as one at another tear in the soil. The worms that’d never lived neither as humans nor now were rattled within their prisons. Simon answered the challenge and so their game at which Fear dominated the other began another wasteful chapter. Though it wasn’t her domain she felt a faint pulse spinning in the bottomless emptiness of the Falling Titan. If Simon knew she saw into his world he didn’t show it.

Honoka was there among his captives, falling, and falling. Falling with a soundless scream against the whipping winds; she was begging like the rest for a splat, for some grounded, definite end. Silly fool, nothing in this world had an end anymore. Once Honoka had been marked by The Vast; had she accepted it Simon might’ve welcomed another for his kind. The One Alone laughed in a sound near breathless and let her fog curl. Avatars serving the same master; they’d have torn each other apart.

One remained the superior number; alone the greatest of words.

Niko’s voice calls after her as she fades from view.

“…Nozomi! Always watching like a creep huh?”

The name reaches her faster than an arrow and pierces the impenetrable within her. It nests in what remains to be called her soul. It was a poison, a gate however small to expose the person long dead within her. To call out to what had been defined by failure, naivety, and longing.

The One Alone shudders as fog might. She makes her own way until silence embraces her tight.

#the magnus archives #love live!#my writing #after 10k years lol #lonely!nozomi

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ravnica-rpg-resource · 6 years

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The Owlbear in Ravnica

Man is there a monster more classic than the owlbear?......... well Beholder, don't worry we'll get to them eventually.......but the owlbear! there is just something iconic about it that feels right, equal parts menacing and ridiculous! Let's talk about how you can put this adorably ferocious monstrosity into your Ravnica game!

The monster?

You can find the owlbear on page 249 of the fifth edition monster manual, but there first appearance in Dungeons & Dragons was in the greyhawk supplement for first edition D&D by Gary gygax himself!

Owlbears are described the as a massive bear standing at least 8 feet tall if not taller, in addition to the fur that coats there body they also have patches of feathers especially on their arms and Paws. Instead of the head of a bear they have the distinct face of an owl with piercing frontward facing eyes and a razor sharp beak!

These creatures are known to be aggressive, attacking anything that could be considered large enough to be a meal! Their preferred method of attack is to get their opponent into a bear hug and then tear them apart with their beak while in the embrace. Family units usually contain a mated pair, they raise their offspring until they are old enough to take care of themselves. Habitats are usually caves or other locations for a den such as dungeons or abandoned man-made structures.

The fun part about owlbears is that no one knows where they come from..... but everyone has their own story. Some will claim that owlbears are the result of a Mad Wizards experimentation, some claim that they are The Offspring of some strange forgotten Forest God, the dwarves tell scary stories of how a ancient group of dwarves got lost in the forest and were transformed into owlbears, but if you ask the elves they will tell you that they were brought over from the feywild of course. With so many conflicting answers and almost no proof any of these could be true......or all of them.

What colors would an Owlbear be?

I firmly believe that if they were to ever print an owl their card in Magic the Gathering it would be a green creature with trample!

they thrive in Woodland environments and seem to fit into nature quite well. as far as secondary colors? The red seems to fit the most, but depending on the backstory you want to go with any color works. If they are faithful guardians of nature perhaps give them a little white, scavengers and cruel opportunist hunters sounds black to me, adaptive experiments that got loose? make them simic! The owl bear can fit in any green aligned Guild!

How to fit an Owlbear into the lore?

I think the most important thing to keep when moving owlbears to Ravnica is the mystery of their origin. Make it fun! A mistake of polymorph magic that only got half of the transformation correct, a result of what happens when an two creatures enter one of the Cities more active leylines, or maybe a joke gone horribly wrong. Perhaps people claim that owlbears have always been around since before the signing of the guildpact!

I suggest having both wild and domesticated owlbears. Wild owlbear tend to stay on gruul turf and other abandoned parts of the city including the undercity and Wildlife Reserves. They make their home in abandoned buildings and hunt anything that wanders into their territory being one of the alpha predators of their food chains. Wild owl bears would be known for their ferocity and feared by those who find themselves all these outskirts of civilization in the city.

On the other hand due to their adorable nature I imagine “trained” owlbears would be a popular pet option. I imagine most people buy them for their children when the creatures are small and especially adorable not expecting them to grow into large lumbering beasts, this has resulted in many abandoned owlbears in highly residential areas. Abandoned owlbears turn to Scavenging through rubbish bins until large enough to cause issues usually resulting violent incidents and the Boros Legion being called. Those who properly train their owlbears find out that the creatures make excellent Guardians and beasts of Burden.

The Owlbear and the guilds?

In this part of the post I'm going to focus on the green Guilds of Ravnica since that's their main color, but just because the Guild does not have green and its color alignment does not mean that they can't have owlbears! Imagine a very successful azorius judge with a pet owlbear, or a member of the boros legion with a trained guard owlbear, if you want a ring of rakdos to do Pit fighting perhaps one of the Monsters they're holding to attack combatants is a hunger owlbear! But let's get on with the Green Guilds!

Gruul Clans

The gruul are the premier beastmasters of ravnica! they don't tame their Animal Companions they let them Thrive as they were meant to as primal and Savage as nature would allow. The Gruul would look at the owlbear as a representation of two of Nature's greatest Hunters the bear and the owl. The gruul would tell stories of how the owlbear is a relic from the old world a sister Spirit to the Raze-boar’s offspring that should be respected.

The subgroup of the Gruul the Zhur-Taa clan would train these savage beast as hunting companions, having ones skull on your outfit would be a sign that you were a great warrior. Perhaps a coming of age ritual of the Gruul could be going off to find a lair of a owlbear and bringing something back the bigger the trophy the more respect it brings. The trophy can be anything such as the bones from the owlbear’s last meal, the head of the Beast itself which you fought and killed or the owlbear accompanying you as a companion whom you would gain the respect of!

Selesnya Conclave

The selesnya tell a story about the origins of the owlbear, in their story the creator of these beasts was Mat'Selesnya herself. Back just after the signing of the guildpact when the world tree was still just a sapling Mat'Selesnya created them for her domain. noble sage like beasts to protect The Guild these were the first owlbears, These stories say that these owlbears were sentient druids who knew the old ways of nature magic. Their offspring unfortunately we're not intelligent, all owl bears are descended from these progenitors it is said.

No matter if the story is true the selesnya hold the owlbear in high regard, it is not uncommon for one to be allowed to inhabit a selesnya gardens or sanctuaries if one does it is treated as a member of the conclave. It is not a uncommon sight to see a selesnya trained battle owlbear covered in armor, they fight beside a bonded selesnya Warrior for the honor of the conclave.

Simic Combine

Many trace the origin of the owlbear back to an experiment before the dissension that shatter the guildpact by the original Simic. The experiment in question case file 0-l7w, its original purpose was to create a more sturdy, strong, but intelligent Beast of Burden for the merchant District. There seems to have been an accident and when simic guards were able to reach the laboratory it had already been torn apart, scientists have been viciously attacked and the experiment was nowhere to be found.

Some people point to a rare deformity that occasionally appears on owlbear hide when trying to connect the owlbear to the simic, this deformity looks like a patch of scales like that of fish and lizards. many members of the combine claim that this is a result of the current experiments that they do on owlbear and cite the lack of evidence that they are responsible for the creatures creation. Responsible or not the simic view the owlbear as an interesting creature and research it in hopes of using it to help create better krasis.

Golgari Swarm

On The Fringe of civilization where the city meets the undercity many owlbears have adapted to life as scavengers eating both meat and fungus. The Golgari view these creatures as nothing more than a part of the circle of life and while the creatures are living pay them little heed other than as another scavenger that lurks The Rot Farms. Occasionally a particularly aggressive owlbear has to be dealt with by the swarm, but it is not until an owl joins the Rot that the Golgari truly welcomes them to the Swarm.

Undead owlbear make for excellent guards for the rot Farms, they're large foreboding frame keeps away those who would want to steal from the Swarm. Even though dead their Brute Force remains making them excellent Beast of Burden in their reanimated state. As the Swarm does not actively raise owlbears the reanimated ones are either those who passed away of natural causes or those killed in conflict with the Swarm.

The way I plan on using them!

Let's review what we just talked about and put it together in a coherent little text blurb. Owlbear away!

“The owl bear is an aggressive predator that lurks on the outskirts of the city and the undercity places where civilization has a hard time taking a foothold. They are massive creatures standing 8 feet tall, but record show that can get much more larger. Owlbears have large Bear like bodies with the heads and talons of owls. this creatures preferred manner of attack is holding down its opponents in a form of bear hug and then using their sharp beaks to rip away at their prey. Owlbear territories are usually defended by a mated pair and will consume anything larger than a mouse.

The origin of the owl there perhaps just as odd as the creature itself as no one quite agree where they came from. Stories of a failed simic experiment are sometimes told, while others claim them to be manifestations of the ancient spirits of Ravnica long forgotten when the city was built. Some popular explanations are as follows, an izzet teleportation experiment gone horribly horribly wrong, creations of some powerful entity(some say the Nephilim others Mat’Selesnya and still others spawn of Utmungr the raze boar) as Protectors of nature and others claim that they existed long before the city was built. It is a common game for young children to try to tell the best story about the origin of owlbears whoever can tell the best most Outlandish story wins!

It's a recent trend that owlbear cubs have become highly sought-after pets. The adorable Cubs are usually bought when they're still small and manageable by owners that do not expect them grow as quickly or as large as they eventually do. An owlbear when trained properly make for excellent guards and loyal family pets, but due to their size food and upkeep can be rather expensive for these creatures. Unfortunately many owlbears are abandoned by their owners when they become to unwieldy to keep as house pets, many of these owners simply kick these creatures to the streets where they have to fend for themselves as scavengers eating the garbage of highly populated areas. it is unfortunate truth that I released owlbears are more likely to attack humans than a wild owlbears due to desperation for food. The Boros have teamed up with the selesnya in hopes of catching strays before it becomes too late, under the care of the selesnya they are taken care of and trained to be guard animals or simply released back into the wild where these majestic creatures belong.”

Thanks for reading this was a fun one! On Saturday I'm going to post a review of the week and quick links to all of my articles. As always if there is a creature from the monster manual that you want to see fit into Ravnica or a card from the magic the Gathering game from a ravnica set find a stat black message me and I'll see what I can do.

#mtg #ravnica #guildmaster's guide to ravnica #magic the gathering #Dungeons and Dragons #d&d 5e #The ... In Ravnica #in Ravnica #owlbear #Simic Combine #Selesnya Conclave #gruul clans #Golgari Swarm

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kyecupio · 5 years

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* ABYSS : the painting of damnation by wayne.barlowe and the.tyger by william.blake both give me more vague ideas that xeha.nort was in the abyss before he even began his time travels. by that i will also point out that my canon-divergence is still in place, and it stays that way. he explicitly stated that you need to leave your body behind in order to transcend through the structures of time, and with the power of waking, you help traversing hearts to reach worlds ( and by expansion, places and points in time too, i would assume ? ) to be frank, i do find the explanation of nom.ura, that he had simply ‘borrowed’ this immense power from his other self, very dissatisfying. such a thing doesn’t seem to be so easily gained or wielded, if at all, especially if you just bend the requirements at your own whim. so the question is, how did he manage to keep his form instead, whilst traveling into the future, when the rules are so strict and dangerous at best ? we also have to keep in mind that he hints more cryptic knowledge about the power of waking, the lich, and the abyss itself, than he truly lets on.

if you take the drop directly into the abyss in consideration as a punishment for disregarding “the rules”, then xe.hanort first needed to reconstruct his body there, as he previously unwillingly fragmented his physical form with the attempt to jump to another point in space-time, then he must undergo the utter corruption of the process of putting himself together again. ( as it would also project yet another type of flip-opposite to sor.a, as he was in the bright heaven-like dimension of the final world, xeha.nort, after he lost his form, was thrown in the somber depths of hell, very possibly. ) and on further thought, he didn’t switch his eye color from grey-ish to golden until he reached the very primordial bottom of such. if the abyss is some type of purgatory or similar to the nine-circles-of-hell, wherein you have all forms of sinner’s atonement, and at the bottom you find the treachery of cain and his slaughter of abel, or judas betraying jesus or lucifer betraying god, to name some examples. then i am almost completely certain the iris-change happened via absorbing of the absolute sin-of-knowledge, mayhap also represented by golden fire, kept hidden by the most brightest of the fallen angels himself, the bearer / bringer of light, lucifer or satan ( remember, biting the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil has damned and exiled adam and eve out of paradise. coming to realization with identity, with truth, with being capable of simply being is a no-go, because it grows out of the grasp of control. it plagues, it’s bliss that becomes a tumor. ) in absolute assumption of what exactly the abyss is, whilst i have kind of created word-waterfalls already to several people, i personally go by the thought of it being a layer or rift or stage of reality in which every type of dimension comes together : time, life, death, dream in between, it doesn’t matter, it’s all there, every version of it, every past, present and future, that would also include the alternative one’s, should fate ever consider multiple decisions and makes schrödinger’s cat happen ( in one timeline the cat is dead, in another it is not. these types of alternative-creations. in one timeline the prophecy became true and darkness swallowed the world whole because the guardians did not live long enough ; in another, sora came back to the point before he died and continued the battle. ) at once they occur in an unending cluster of knots, come into place flowing and intermingling and forming a deep spiral where all truth of existence lies, the further you fall the more ‘enlightened’ about specific knowledge you become, the more you / see /. the entirety of these overlapping dimensions interacting with one another but from which you cannot escape must be unfathomable for the mind, a true torture to even dwell in and a fitting punishment for the damned, suffering the overwhelming pressure of literally everything, turning your mind into a shipwreck. and who would be a better host for it than the devil himself, and xeha.nort meeting a fallen angel just as him , who rewards him for the ‘deep dive’ with ‘a personal light’ that’s seen in the eyes it is very ironic how gold symbolizes wisdom, symbolizes the radiance of halos and divinity, unification ( “ here i and my other selves can become one “ ), symbolizes the old of age and last but not least, light itself. the gold gleam being reflected in the iris of his is almost too bright, a light in the dark, aggressively shining forth and pushing aside the suppression of righteousness and hollow virtue. in alchemy it is considered a means of self-purification. turning all metal into gold, a type of bright metal that can survive ages, representing the transformation of the soul. “ eyes are the window to the soul. “

his silver eyes see everything and behold more hideous facts to make him loathe and loathe and loathe the world more to get motivated enough to consider its ultimate erasure. slowly he comes to terms with the impossibility of a strict separation of light and dark , good and evil, and protecting either, is a useless task, because everything will be dying out sooner or later overthrown by each other where peace has never been an option because heaven itself has always been in war with itself. golden eyes = / = you’re slave to darkness, but they mean you have reached the bottom of the utter obscurity of it, that you have started to shine with all that wisdom and experience you gained, you have become holy down there. ( holy =/= good , angelic =/= good , demonized =/= bad, nothing is good or bad, you’ve just transformed from one end of the spectrum to the other ) but to know the world, does also mean your innocence withers, your inner child gets burned alive by that golden fire and out of the ashes comes the phoenix, and celestial re-birth is always brutal and fearsome. it hurts, it tears you apart and puts you back together if you keep breathing long enough.

this is his ascension and demonization at the same time, before he even lives out his life, before he even takes his fate in his hands. this is his gathering and (un)becoming, an existential evolution which lets him transcend time in his own body that he has reclaimed after shedding it- and not only time but it also pushes the boundaries of materialization and composition of matter, he slips through atoms via teleportation as he pleases. he’s another life-form now, and he’ll come to make it all worth it.

#reports.#we all know i dont give a fuck anymore i just let my brain melt at this point #yes i also have read that one post that points out the lich may be #a necromancer-heartless #that sweet death-magic keeping you on that thin line #of being neither dead nor alive #OK NOW PLS jfUST KICK Me IN THE fACE My #FUCKINg HEAD HURt S

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ladyaralia · 6 years

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Cantankerous

Requested by @deepestfirefun :) I apologize for the long wait!

Ship: Thorin x reader

Summary: Thorin is turned into a dragon by accident.

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Ori was currently fighting a headache as he sat cross-legged on the chair at the royal library, spurting quiet mumbles to himself. You and Thorin had fallen in love throughout the adventures to the Lonely Mountain, and you were to be officially named Queen of Erebor within three hours and he was to make a speech at your coronation.

He scratched out yet another sentence on his parchment, searching through the ancient book of Khuzdul to find the right words to add to his speech. He knew this speech had to be meaningful to you, as you both grew close to each other throughout the perilous journey, resembling a tight-knit relationship of a brother and sister. He loved you dearly and was truly honored that Thorin had allowed him to speak, knowing rarely anyone besides the king himself could speak at a Queens coronation celebration.

He tested out the words he wrote down from the book, hoping that they would sound better than what he imagined them to sound like. Little did poor Ori know what he had just said aloud in ancient Khuzgul.

"Ezam aya mênu, satf ni al urus u al ubraz urkhas. Laì! Ugrùd ni atama u ni darfùn.

Translation: Hatred upon you, step in the fire of the gold demon. Behold! Fear the breath of the killer."

The words flowed from his mouth and into the air of the library, sending a chill to run down his spine and the hairs on his arm to stand up underneath his tunic. He dismissed the sudden chill of the cold air and continued on with making his speech, unaware of the transparent cold mist that traveled from the library to the nearest living host that walked down the corridors: Thorin.

The king didn't feel the mist enter his nose, nor did he feel it travel down his throat and into his lungs. He was clearly too preoccupied carrying the fragile wood carved box in his hands as he made his down to your shared chambers, a wide smile taking up residence on his bearded cheeks.

Inside your room, you let out a nervous breath as the maids made sure the Durin royal blue dress you were wearing was as perfect as possible in preparation for your coronation.

As the dwarrowdam's fixed the loose hair that draped onto your forehead the door to your bedroom was opened, revealing a smiling Thorin standing in the doorway. "Thank you ladies, you are excused." Thorin said, the maids bowed in respect and left the room with their sewing kits and brushes.

You walked up to him and put your arms around his broad shoulders- relaxing your mind as you breathed in the familiar scent of pipeweed and pine. As you tried to close the distance between the two of you to lock lips, you noticed that something he was holding was blocking your advances towards your lover.

"Thorin, what's that box for?" You asked, eyeing the wooden carved box, looking over the runes and jewels that decorated the lid. "This is yours to keep, a sign that you are mine and that you will be at my side for as long as we both live." He whispered out, the gentleness in his deep velvety voice made your heart skip a beat.

His calloused hands opened the top of the lid, revealing a delicate crown inlaid with the Arkenstone itself. You gasped as your hands came to cover your mouth in astonishment, unshed tears welling in the back of your eyes. He smiled approvingly at your reaction, taking out the golden crown and setting it upon your head.

"Your not only the queen of this kingdom but also the heart of it as well. You are now the heart of Erebor and the beat my heart drums to. I love you so much it hurts, amrâlimê." He watched as your (e/c) eyes glistened with happiness and tears, taking your lips softly as the fireplace crackled.

His beard tickled your rosy cheeks as you smiled into the kiss, throwing your arms around him and letting yourself melt. 'I could stay this way for eternity,' you thought to yourself as he shamelessly expressed his love towards you. He was holding you up by your hips and back, knowing that your knees had gone weak with the flow of his love.

Just as things were getting good, a knock was echoed throughout the door to the room; the familiar voice of Dwalin ringing through the silence. "Thorin, (y/n), its time for the coronation of the Queen of Erebor."

Thorin sighed as he broke apart from the kiss, his fingers removing the smudge of lipstick he had gotten next to your lips. You smiled and grabbed his hand to hold, your brain still a little giddy from the heat of the moment. You both went to the door and walked out with Dwalin and the royal guard as they escorted you both to the large ballroom that was filled to the brim with dwarves.

You let out a shaky breath as you and Thorin walked down the silky blue walkway, passing the enormous crowd to the altar. Balin, who was to announce you as queen stood smiling at the front, while Fili, Kili, and Ori stood on Balin's right. You held your head high as both you and Thorin climbed the stone stairs up to the altar, gazing onto the piece of parchment that was laid before you.

"Brothers, sisters, citizens of the kingdom Erebor! Today is a special day in our history. For the first time in over a hundred years, we will have a queen again and the change shall be well received in our home!" He said, earning an eruption of a round of applause before he continued on.

"King Thorin has found his One, and as such, she will be crowned queen. (Y/n), do you swear upon your life to protect, honor and guide the people of Erebor for as long as you live?" He asked, looking in your (e/c) with excitement. "Yes, I promise on my life to protect and serve my kingdom."

He nodded as he recited the last few lines. "Thorin Oakenshield, do you take this woman not only as your Queen but as the woman you will spend the rest of your days with until Mahal calls you home?" Thorin puffed out his chest in pride as he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. "I do, I promise upon my honor as King of Erebor."

Balin smiled as he had Thorin sign his signature on the mandatory paper before he shouted to the room, "Dwarrow's and dwarrowdam's, I give you King Thorin and Queen (y/n), rulers of Erebor!" The crowd burst into hollers and clapping, while other cheered with ales in their hands.

Thorin led you down the aisle and through the crowds to the secluded backstage balcony for some fresh air, shrugging off his royal furs as he saw you shiver from the chilly breeze that swirled through the night.

You warmly smiled at the gesture, snuggling under his arm as you both listened to the sound of the party while you gazed up towards the stars. "Aren't you could Thorin? Tonight is rather chilly, even for a handsome strong dwarf such as yourself." You looked up towards him as his brow had slightly furrowed.

"Actually I'm feeling pretty hot. Do I feel feverish to you?" You hummed in response as you raised your hand to his forehead, which was warm and had slightly begin to have a cold sweat. As you felt for any other symptoms you noticed that your hand had run over something hard on his forehead that hid underneath his black hair.

When you lifted it up, you found something that you'd never thought you'd have to see ever again. There on his temple rested a large, black dragon scale that had started to multiply down his cheeks and face. You let out a gasp as he looked at you strangely, his hand reaching out to you.

It was then that he noticed on his hand were dragon scales, shocking him into silence. He tried to take it off, but it only got worse. The scales started to enlarge on his arms and his face, the heat inside of him rising to an unbearable temperature. He fell to his knees as he weakly heard you shout his name, barely hearing you close the door and shouting for someone.

He couldn't hear anything but a high pitched ringing in his ears, and his eyesight was going in and out. He could feel the scales growing on his legs and back as well as on his chest, and even though you and Balin had rushed over to him, his eyesight was going pitch black.

It was painful, yet a soft warmth drenched his heart and his body; as if his body was going numb. He couldn't feel the transformation as you and Balin looked on in utter horror as your fiance was shifting into an adult dragon before your very eyes.

The heat had dulled and the black dots that surrounded his eyes had faded away. When he blinked his eyes, he noticed his vision was clarified tenfold, he could see the stitches on your dress, and single black hair that was in Balin's beard. Yet, he was taller off the ground than the both you- much taller in fact.

Down on the ground, you stood there shocked with your eyes wide and a silent Balin by your side. "T-Thorin?..." You gently whispered, his large scaly head turning to meet your eyes. Balin had gently grabbed your arm and pulled you back slowly. "(Y/n) we don't know if his true self is still conscious... for all we know, he could have the mindset of a real dragon like Smaug. Until we know what is happening it's best you leave for your safety." As soon as Thorin noticed that Balin was about to take you away, he bellowed out in anger and as natural as breathing out of his lungs, a blue fire sprung from his mouth and throat.

"SHE'S MINE! GET AWAY FROM MY WOMAN!" His voice was demanding and powerful, and even had you a bit frightened. As you slowly walked towards Thorin, it clicked in your mind. Indeed he was still himself, but the only thing that had changed besides his body was... his temper. Balin stepped back and exited from the doorway to see what he could find out about Thorin's untimely predicament.

"You may have turned into a dragon my dear, but your temper sure hasn't changed a bit." You smirked as smoke blew from his nose as he nuzzled you affectionately. He rolled his lizard-like eyes in reply as he gently picked you up with his mouth and set you on his back. "This isn't exactly how I planned the night for your coronation to go, but I think this will do just fine." You were about to ask him what he meant, but you got the wind knocked out of you; literally.

He went soaring above the balcony and circled the mountain, his color blending perfectly into the night sky. While you were worried about people seeing the both of you and panicking, you were more drawn to the stars. The wind was chilly but it felt magical flowing through your (h/l) (h/c) hair, and it felt as if you could simply reach up and pluck a star from the silky night sky.

"Do you like it?" He was going slow realizing that you were still cold and didn't have scales like him, but he enjoyed watching your amazement of the view from his back. "Like it? It's... it's amazing Thorin! I suppose being a dragon has its perks." He chuckled and started to descend downwards towards the balcony, where Balin had returned and was watching the both of you in awe.

"In all my years, I never thought I'd see someone riding on the back of a dragon." You laughed as you slipped off Thorin's scales and off his wing to the stone floor, careful not to drop Thorin's coat that still hung around your shoulders. Thorin sat down and wrapped his bat like wing around you, expectantly looking at Balin. "Well? Did you find anything?" Balin nodded as he unfurled a rolled up sheet of parchment, reciting a few words out loud.

You were mesmerized by his transformation back and so was Balin. Thorin was enveloped by a cold blue mist that swirled around his body, droplets of fire slowly slipping from his mouth and his body returning to its' natural state. His eyes were alight with a neon blue and his black hair floated about him as if he was a sorcerer.

As you both rejoiced at him returning back to normal, you recalled the sentence he had said not but a few minutes past. "I like how you called me 'your woman', it was sexy." He let out a hearty laugh that shook his shoulders, wrapping his arms around your waist as he picked you up bridal style, swaddling you in his fur coat as he plastered a cheeky grin on his face as he carried you back throughout the hallways of Erebor. "Oh, you haven't seen the meaning of sexy, amrâlimê."

#the hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #thorin x reader #thorin imagine #thorin #tolkien #dwarf #dragon #romance #temper #KING #Queen #request #erebor #cursed #curse

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petri808 · 6 years

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It Was Always You

Happy Valentine’s Day! 🌹 @cosmicdragonwizard @fairytailvalentinesexchange I was really excited to be your valentine :)

A heart has two sides, so I wanted to give you a couple different stories to enjoy based on your feedback. Here’s Part 1 of your gift: Hope you like it!

It was like a pulse under the skin, an unnerving sensation constantly reminding the fire slayer there was something beneath his boyish and often jester-like façade. A much more precarious side biding its time, just waiting for another opportunity to present itself to the world.

Still, he paid it no mind, it was just a weird feeling that he chalked up to an increase in his powers. Nothing to worry about since it wasn’t causing him any issues, and besides, he had no idea what it was… although he had an inkling…

The Stella mission was the first time E.N.D. had fully appeared but when it happened there were only two people and an Exceed to witness it. A remarkable spectacle it was for Lucy to watch as her best friend began to transform into… well, a dragon.

Not that the celestial mage cared either way, to her it didn’t matter what form he took on, because he would always be the same person who brought her into a world of excitement, family, and maybe… one day… an adventure of a different kind…

Until the Alvarez incident occurred, and all hell broke loose. With the seed of E.N.D. having sprouted once, all it took was another spark for it grow, to escalate, and when DiMaria made the mistake of torturing Lucy, it was enough to send Natsu into a full-blown rage with all the trimmings.

But, thankfully for everyone around, she was able to soothe the beast back into remission and give Natsu a chance to recover his control long enough to continue the battle still raging in Fiore; and it wasn’t over by far.

This rollercoaster ride was pushing the pair to the breaking point, him dying, her bringing him back, only for him to disappear, battling an enemy on two fronts. From Hell to Heaven, they’d find a way to reach each other again.

And when it was all said and done, Lucy had her Natsu, and Natsu had his Lucy. Everything could go back to normal, right?

By the time the slayer arrived home after that exhausting battle, it had become perfectly clear to him that his demon side was no longer just a dormant bystander. Twice it had reared its head and both times triggered by one common denominator, Lucy.

But why? It wasn’t the first, second, or even third time this kind of dire situation had occurred in their years together, so what changed things so suddenly? As he laid in his bed pondering such questions, the answer had become painstakingly simple,

Because he loved her.

And not as a friend, teammate, or any other platonic relationship, no, as in settle down, let’s get married and start a family, till death-do-us-part and even then, I’ll follow you to the great beyond kind of love.

‘Baka! How had I not figured this out sooner?!’ Sneaking into her apartment all the time. He was always thinking about her, always wanting to be near her, to be stronger for her. Just her scent was enough to soothe him and damn the consequences, it made him smile to see her happy; remember the Rainbow tree? If someone made her sad his first thoughts were only to kick their ass!

Not to mention he didn’t like it when other guys flirted with her and that dated way back to the Galuna Island mission. Apparently, no one thought twice about his miffed response to Gray and her interaction, including him at the time. Or how about his scrutinizing reaction of Loke for giving Lucy tickets to Akane Resort?

Someone once told him only a soulmate could break the spell Bora had put on her, but he hadn’t believed them. Virgo always dressed them in matching celestial outfits because of what she read in their hearts, even Lisanna could clearly see they meant more to each other than they even realized.

How many other signs had just gone by unnoticed? Because, it was all there if he read between the lines. Whose smiling face brought him back from the brink in Stella, it was hers. His eyes pop open, ‘it was always Lucy…’

A twinge in his heart.

Natsu clutches to his chest as light explodes around him, ‘crap!’ He scrambles to a sitting position just to see his body morphing again into the creature. Scales all along his extremities, his hands, his feet transforming, claws! Sharp, menacing appendages… Reaching up to his face, oh Mavis, he can feel the roughened features…

‘No, No, No! I need to stop thinking about her like that, I-I don’t wanna be E.N.D.!’

But why now? There was no battle, she wasn’t in harm? All he was doing was thinking about her and… ‘That’s it,’ too many emotions are flooding his system and if she is the catalyst of his change…

So, he did the only thing he could think of at the time, bury his feelings for the blonde, lock it deep within his heart thinking if he didn’t give in to the urges, it would keep the beast at bay.

And for the most part, it worked for a couple more years…

Granted there were a few times when the demon came out in various stages, but they were always during a mission when he needed to protect his beloved Starisha. Easy enough to explain away, she was his best friend and all so of course he would do anything to protect her like he always had.

Unfortunately, with each transformation, it would take a little longer, and a little longer to revert to normal. Remember that pulse? Like a caged animal, the creature seemed desperate for freedom and desired the one thing he was working so hard to suppress.

But over time, Natsu started ignoring the warning signs.

Hiding his feelings was one thing, but there was no way he’d let it stop him from being around his best friend! And just once, the drunken Lucy at her book release almost did him in, but luckily, she passed out before discovering the few tell-tale signs that had begun to manifest…

Within a few months into their first 100-year mission it was obvious to the team that it was a complete waste of time, just some rogue wizards telling wild stories and convincing the locals it would be the third coming of Zeref.

Talk about a serious disappointment, especially for a boy brimming with excitement at his first SS-Class mission.

So, to take Natsu’s mind off being home so soon, Lucy proposes to drag her friend out for the night, figuring that filling his belly with some good food from one of his favorite restaurants, would make the slayer happy.

And once he agreed to go, she planned out everything, right down to the color of the dress she would wear; everything had to be perfect, so he’d forget all about the mission…

“What’s taking you so long Luce, just throw some clothes on and let’s go, I’m starving.” He parks himself on the couch to rest. “You’ll look fine in whatever.”

They had just got back yesterday from a quick mission, stupid easy, just one he had taken simply to get out the energy he didn’t get to release on the failed one. He was still tired and going out to dinner at some restaurant was the last thing he wanted to do, but of course, when she flashed those vixen eyes and batted her lashes, how could the slayer say no?

She calls out from behind the bathroom door, “I’m almost done Natsu, and no peeking, I wanna look special for tonight.”

‘Special?’ “Fine, I won’t…” he mumbles and starts pacing in front of the couch, ‘what’s so special about tonight?’ Now the young man is nervous, if she was dolling up just for him, something was up.

His pulse quickens as every scenario runs through his mind and he’s using every bit of willpower to keep the creature in check. The longer she was in that bathroom, the worse they became, especially the more, suggestive ones and why?

Because Lucy’s never just ‘dressed up’ for anyone…

As Natsu turns to the click of the handle, his fears became reality as the world stops and what his eyes behold just makes him wanna burst into flames right there.

“Do I look okay?” the divine goddess speaks with a wisp to her voice, but all the fallen demon wants to do is buckle. His mouth opens, but his throat has gone dry and constricted while the moisture on his palms double, sweat beads forming along his forehead; oh boy, the slayer was in trouble.

“L-Luce…” The blonde’s bangs are framed around her face and curls pinned up in the back, damn if the pulse in her neck wasn’t just calling out to him! … Soft voluptuous bosoms peeking out from the sweetheart neck line… and her long, creamy stems perfectly shown off when contrasted against the darker color of her dress…

But his emerald hues focus on the one feature making his blood drain south, a flirty blood orange dress barely covering her thighs. ‘Oh Shit!’ Special was an understatement when that color hit below the belt. “Wh-why…” he cringes.

“Excuse me? What do you mean why! I just wanted to do something to cheer you up,” she frowns from his reaction, “You don’t like it? And I even picked your favorite color.”

“N-no, I like it…” he clutches to his chest as that familiar pang hits, “…t-too much…” voice starting to strain.

“Natsu?” She’s seen him transform several times but not without physical provocation. “Natsu why are you changing now?!”

He starts to back-peddle towards the window, “I g-gotta go…”

“No way mister, you are not leaving,” she blocks his escape out the window, “until you tell me what is happening to you!”

“Lucy, move, I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“What are you talking about?” the blonde is both confused and irritated, “I’ve seen you plenty of times….”

“In fights, but…”

“Exactly,” she crosses her arms, “are you upset with me or something? I-I didn’t think this,” she motions to her outfit, “could make you so angry…”

“Luce please let me leave… I’m not mad at you, it’s just that, y-you…”

She tries to reach out to him, but he takes a step back out of her reach, Exhale, with tears threatening to spill, the sorrow in her voice is like a dagger aimed straight at his heart. “Natsu, please, I’m your best friend, you can tell me if something is bothering you…”

Sigh, It’s, too draining to keep up this charade, and seeing her upset… He slumps his head and shoulders, “it was never the fighting that,” exhale, “that caused me to change… it was always you.”

“M-me?” she blinks, “I don’t understand.”

“Think about all the times I’ve morphed into E.N.D. Luce, who was I protecting?” Her eyes growing wider as he reflects, “Stella, you and Happy. DiMaria, you…”

“During the missions…” she whispers…

“Yes,” he quietly responds, “it was always, for you.”

“B-But why just me? You’ve known me the shortest amount of time, I mean t-there’s Gray, and Erza, and all the others too, all your friends…” the moisture is starting to cloud her eyes again. “Why am I so special?”

Natsu finally looks back up at the blonde, blinking in total astonishment, “Do I really have to answer?” he reaches out to console her but when he remembers his hands are clawed now, he retracts them, sighing again, “how do you not know you are the most precious thing in my life?”

“I am?” the tears have breached their dam and trickle down her cheeks.

With a slight nod, he closes his eyes, exhale, “Every time I change my desire for you becomes so intense, E.N.D. covets you and I don’t know what’ll happen if he gets what he wants… I can’t risk…”

Feeling soft, warm hands cupping around his cheeks, Natsu opens his eyes to find Lucy face to face with him. “Do you…” with chocolate eyes probing emerald hues, begging for a specific answer. “…love me Natsu?”

Sigh, “Yes.” He rests his forehead against hers, “I just want us to always be together.”

Lucy giggles, “But we will, Natsu, because I love you too!” and tilts her head molding her soft lips to his, humming with sheer delight that their first kiss was no longer just a fanciful dream. Such adorable vibrations emanating from the blonde, soothe the pulse drumming in the slayers ears and melts away any lingering doubts he once held.

The world around them slows its cadence as Natsu embraces her tiny frame, mindful of his sharp claws against such delicate skin. He smiles against her lips, as her fingers thread behind and through his locks, even caressing the new horns that grace its crown, “finally, my dragon…” purring, “I really am Lucky Lucy…” through their kisses.

“I’m the lucky one…” he breaths back, “that such an angel would want this demon…”

As abruptly as his change had taken them earlier, the glowing around him returns. Slowly, while the pair are carried away by their newly amended synergy, Natsu’s body begins to transform back to its old self once more.

And as the last of his fears dwindle away along with the scales, he grins at the notion that their future will surely be the greatest 100-year mission they could ever take…

Pulling back to soak in the vision of his love in all her blushing glow. “I guess I worried for nothing,” he chuckles, smoothing over the skin of her cheek with his thumb and wiping away the last of her tears, “all he wanted was for me to confess.”

She smiles back, “He wasn’t the only one waiting…”

“Really?!”

“Duh!” Punching his chest with cheeks flushing, “Didn’t drunken Lucy make that clear to you?”

Exhale,” I’m still happy to be normal again.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I kinda like my dragon,” running her hands along his chest, “it’s sexy.”

The slayer blushes from her compliment, “Did you still, um wanna go out to dinner?”

“Not really, but if you’re hungry we can…”

“Yeah…” he runs his hand through his hair, “sorry but I missed lunch.”

“Mmm,” the blonde’s loins are not thrilled but what can she do? She sighs and caresses his cheek, “Well I can’t have a grumpy demon on my hands…”

All through dinner, Natsu’s insatiable appetite is only being superseded by a new one developing below the waist. Because, if she had to suffer a little longer, apparently, so did he.

Precocious hints the blonde is dropping only fuel the literal buildup, licking her fingers slowly instead of using a napkin, accidentally rubbing her feet against his thigh under the table.

How is he supposed to concentrate on his plate with her teasing him! But she just grins and plays coy, “finish your meal…” she whispers while stroking the stem of a wine glass between her fingers.

“Keep that up,” he whispers back, “You just wait till we get home and see what this dragon does to you.”

Lucy leans in closer and batts her lashes, “Is that a promise?”

His mouth drops, ‘Whoa?!’ “Waiter, check please!”

*Any idea what song may have inspired the closing scene? It’s MAGIC! Happy Valentine’s Day! <3

#fairytailvalentinesficexchange2018 #nalu #nalu fanfiction #valentines gift #love confession

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 6 years

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Dragons are awesome! And Jack loves em too so I have an idea. A Jack x reader (maybe s/o) where the reader can both fully and partially shapeshift into a dragon thanks to a magic necklace she has. Jack doesn't know the necklace is responsible and one day when she's not wearing it he tries it on cause it's cool looking and ends up accidentally changing either fully or partially into a dragon. The reader ends up having to show him the ropes since the getting the ability to shapeshift is permanent.

Oh wOWZA okay so I may have gone a bit overboard with this. I managed to write this in a DAY cause bless Monster Energy.

But I hope ya’ll enjoy the story~!! I really did have fun writing this one ^^

“Shit, shit, shit. Where the hell did I put that damn thing?!”After nearly tearing apart your entire room, you let out a huff of annoyance and fell back onto your messy bed, gazing up at the ceiling. “Okay, okay..just relax [y/n],” you put a hand to your slightly sweating forehead. “It’ll probably turn up eventually…you can’t lose sight of a glowing piece of jewelry that easy.”The “glowing piece of jewelry” in question was a necklace with a dragon claw gripping a colorful crystal ball that swirled with magic. However, that was not the only thing it did:It granted you the power to shapeshift either fully or partially into an actual dragon. It was something that had been passed down by your family, from generation-to-generation. After wearing it enough times the ability to shapeshift became permanent and you would no longer have to keep it on you all the time.So in a sense you didn’t really need it anymore. But because you had no one to give it to, you were responsible for guarding it and ensuring that something so sacred didn’t fall into the wrong hands.And here you were, thinking about how you were officially and utterly screwed for losing it.Now your mind began to race with thoughts, such as the possibility of Anti having it. Oh Heaven forbid. Who knows what sort of destruction he could cause with that kind of power at his disposal?No matter what, you had to get that necklace back..even if it killed you.You sat up with a sigh, deciding to go interrogate each and every one of the egos.But as you stood up from your bed, however, you suddenly heard loud, running footsteps outside your room. Confused, you quickly went over to your door and opened it, glancing down the hallway and blinking in surprise as you saw the door to Jack’s recording room slam shut.‘Hmm..I think I just might have found the culprit.’ And so you went to investigate.……“Jack?” You gently opened the door, stepping inside and shutting it.The moment you did that was the moment you heard the sound of quiet, muffled crying.Looking over you could see Jack curled up in the furthest corner of the room, facing the wall with his hood drawn over his head. There couldn’t be any reason he’d be in that sort of position unless he was hiding something.And you knew for sure what it was.However before you could yell at him for taking your necklace, you first had to calm him down. The poor guy looked like he was scared out of his mind, which would make sense as he did not know of its magical properties whatsoever.“Jack? It’s me.”The Irishman fell completely silent for a moment, before he trembled slightly and curled up, trying to make himself seem small. “N-Nope..Jack isn’t h-here,” he mumbled. “Jack’s visiting Shametown for a little while…”Normally you’d chuckle at that joke, but this was a serious matter. “What happened?” You pressed, walking closer and sitting down behind him. “You can tell me.” Setting a hand on his back, you could feel several sharp spines underneath his clothing.“I-I..think…Marvin did somethin’ to me. I don’t know what b-but…I don’t want you to-”“It’s fine, dude,” you reassured him, moving your hand to his shoulder and trying to get a glimpse at his face, but he ducked his head between his arms quickly.You sighed softly, returning to your original position. “Jack, listen..I’m not gonna laugh or scream at you. Just take off the hood and look at me…please?”“….y-you promise?”“Yes. I promise.”“Alright..here goes nothin’..” With a shaky sigh, Jack finally turned around to face you, pulling down his hood and raising his head up. Your eyes widened in surprise as you took in his half-dragon appearance:On the side of his face, trailing all the way down his neck, were shiny, light green scales. They weren’t exactly plates, as the skin only appeared to look like them. His eyes glowed slightly blue as well. In addition, a pair of sleek, black horns pointing backwards had grown on his head. His hands and feet had turned into green dragon claws with sharp nails. And finally, you could see his tail that was wrapped around his waist, tipped with a diamond shape.You were always interested in what people looked like in their half-dragon forms, because not all of them looked the same. They’d often have different-colored scales, different places where said scales would be, and various types of horns and tails. Very rarely, though, would they have wings. Nobody you knew has acquired them after their first transformation.Then you noticed that, lo and behold, he was wearing your sacred necklace, which was now swirling with blue, green, and brown colors. Another thing was that the ball would change colors that reflect the wearer’s favorites.As you gazed at him, Jack shifted uncomfortably, craning his neck and raising a claw with the intention to scratch it. But you gently grabbed both of his hands before he could do so, causing him to blink with surprise and confusion. “Don’t scratch. It only irritates the scales,” you told him, setting his hands down in your lap.“Wh-What?” He muttered. “How..did you know-?”“Because this isn’t Marvin’s doing. It’s my necklace you have right there that turned you into this.”Gawking slightly, he stared down at the pendant, before glancing back up at you, his mouth agape. “Holy shit…really?!!”“It sounds crazy, but it’s true,” you chuckled. “It holds a sacred power that allows my family and I to shapeshift into either a half-dragon, as you are now, or a fully-fledged dragon.”“W-Wow…I…had no idea. I just thought this was a badass necklace.”“And so you took it from me.” A slight frown appeared on your face as you let go of his hands. “Where did you find-?”“I-I found it lying around,” Jack explained, holding the pendant carefully and watching the swirling colors. “I had no idea this was yours…and I definitely didn’t know it could turn me into…this…..I’m really sorry [y/n].” He looked back up at you with a guilty expression. “I should’ve known better than to-”“I’ll forgive you, Jack.” You sighed, giving him a reassuring smile. “I should’ve probably told you about it beforehand. But I’m just glad that Anti didn’t get a hold of it.”“Better me than him, right?” He chuckled lightly, before he traced a claw along his spiny tail. “So..is this, like, a permanent thing?”“Since you donned the necklace…yes.”His breath hitched as he snapped his head up, panic and fear evident in his eyes.“But,” you said calmly. “You won’t stay this way forever. You’ll have the ability to shapeshift between a human, a half-dragon, and a dragon permanently. Now it’s just a matter of learning how to do that until you don’t need to wear the necklace anymore…which I can easily help you with.”After hearing your words, he relaxed and sighed in relief, leaning back against the wall. “Oh..alright. But..I gotta say that’s pretty fuckin’ awesome.” He grinned, staring at his claws with childish joy now. “I can become a goddamn dragon!! This is like somethin’ out of a fantasy novel!”You smiled a bit, glad to see the light return to his eyes.“But..I..don’t know if I’m a fan of this..hybrid-thing,” Jack muttered, looking up at you as his smile faltered. “You know I kinda..freaked out when I first saw my face and-”“That’s why you ran and hid in here?”He simply nodded in response.“Ah, that’s understandable,” you reassured him. “Don’t worry. I’m not a fan of it either. Nobody in my family really was. I’m more than happy to show you how to become a fully-fledged dragon if you’d like.”Once more, he nodded, although the look on his face told you that he seemed uncertain about something.“If you’re worried about your mind going “feral” as they say..it won’t. Your humanity won’t go anywhere. The only thing is you won’t be able to communicate in words, depending on which type you turn into. But should that happen you’ll eventually gain the ability to speak telepathically to compensate….does that make sense?““Yeeaah..” Jack muttered, still sounding unsure, but he sighed in defeat. Seeing as you knew more about this than he did, he was willing to trust every word you spoke. “So could you teach me how to turn into a dragon now?”You blinked in surprise, glancing around the room with uncertainty. “In here?”“Why not?”“Because, like I said before, we don’t know what type you’ll turn into.” Standing up, you rolled up your sleeves and looked at his equipment. “How about we move some stuff around?”“Sure thing!” He sprang to his feet with eagerness.And with that, the two of you got to work.……………“Okay so…you’ll have to think about what form you wanna become. And when you do just touch the little crystal ball.”“…and that’s all?”“Pretty much. How about we start small and you can try turning human?”“Alrighty.” Jack did some stretches and craned his neck, as though he was getting ready to do a workout video. “I’ll try to think of nothin’ but that.”You stood back and watched carefully.After a few, long moments, he took a deep breath and tapped the ball on the necklace, closing his eyes. Instantly, the entire necklace glowed a bright green, the energy soon spreading throughout his entire body, which made him growl and fall to his knees.Of course, you may have forgotten to mention he’d feel a small pinch when shapeshifting for the first time.Then a bright flash was emitted, causing you to shield your eyes so you didn’t go blind.Once the light receded, however, your jaw dropped in shock as Jack had turned not into a human…but a green Wyvern with brown splotches.“O-Oh wow..” You breathed, stepping forward and gazing up in awe at the creature.Miraculously he wasn’t big enough to hit the ceiling, instead being at medium-size, which made you glad that nothing was broken while he transformed.Jack looked at both of his wings, before glancing down at you, flapping them happily as his tail swayed. “I’m impressed, Jack,” you chuckled, although you frowned slightly. “But..I told you to focus on becoming a human.”His lips curled down into a frown as well and he crouched down in front of you, placing the tiny claws that were fused to his wings on the ground to steady himself. You simply sighed and shook your head. “I guess you were too excited about being a dragon, huh?”He nodded in response, chirping happily.Walking up to him, you grinned and gently rubbed his snout. “Well, this is the first time I’ve ever seen someone successfully transform after only wearing the necklace for a day…so I’ll let you off the hook. Can you open your mouth for me please?”Jack complied with your request and opened his jaw, allowing you to see his sharp teeth. The fangs were tipped with yellow-green. “Ah. So you’re a poisonous-type and a Wyvern. That’s an extremely rare combination,” you mused, taking a step back. “Alright. You can turn back if you want to.”Nodding once again, he closed his eyes and tapped the crystal ball again.And just like that he was back to his normal, human form.Before you could say anything, he ran over and hugged you tightly. It caught you off-guard for a moment, but then you smiled and hugged him back. “You did amazing, Jack. You seem to really love your dragon form”“I do so much!” He pulled away, grinning like a dork as he bounced with joy. “This is probably the coolest fuckin’ thing that ever happened to me!”But then he abruptly stopped and looked at you, chuckling nervously. “..w-well..I mean this wasn’t suppose to happen in the first place really..s-since I stole this necklace..but-”“Ah, don’t worry about it,” you patted his shoulder. “Just consider your wish to be a badass dragon granted, my friend~”

#clanask #anonymous #jacksepticeye x reader #dragon reader

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bibleteachingbyolga · 3 years

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For we do now behold thee gay and glad, As at doomsday: When souls shall wear their new array, And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad. —George Herbert, “Death” (17–20)

Do you ever wonder if our faith can really be true? We outlandishly claim, “I believe in the resurrection of the body.” But we never see that happen to anyone. This last week, we celebrated our Easter hope. Jesus said, “Because I live, you also will live” (John 14:19). But the very air we breathe in our culture fills us with dread that this life is all there is.

The message we absorb is to live for now, because when our bodies stop, we stop; there is nothing more. This can seem like brave realism while our faith in life to come seems but a fantasy. How can we answer such reasonable doubts that plague even ardent believers in the midnight hours? I’ve been helped by imagining a literary duel between skepticism and faith. I speculate that this battle occurred between two of the greatest English poets, who wrote just a generation apart.

William Shakespeare (1564–1616) threw down a gauntlet through the graveyard scene in Hamlet. With rapier clarity, Shakespeare evoked our secret fear that in the end the most glorious person ends up as but a clod of dirt plugging a hole. A few years ago, I witnessed the power of Benedict Cumberbatch enacting this scene. I felt my faith reeling. Who could ever write an adequate answer? But not long after, I reread the short poem “Death” by George Herbert (1593–1633). What if Herbert’s poem deliberately took the blow of Hamlet’s realism and then, against the ropes of existential despair, deftly countered with a more triumphant hope?

Follow the Body

Decades earlier, even as a bored teenager enduring an interminable play, I snapped back to attention when Hamlet leapt into the grave and picked up the skull of Yorick, once the king’s jester. We’re fascinated and terrorized to see what lies under our skin. The skull is, of course, necessarily a dead person, and so it has ever symbolized the power of death. It is the emblem of the wisdom tradition of memento mori: remember that you die. As far back as Genesis 3:19, we are reminded, “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” The bones in a grave grimly demand that we recall how quickly beauty fades and life flees away.

Hamlet remembers the full face of Yorick as he examines the ghoulish, unintended grin of a skinless skull. Once Yorick set the boy Hamlet laughing as they played and joked. But now, “My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed. . . . Where be your gibes now? . . . Your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table at roar?” (5.1.194–98). The merry crowd-pleaser has only dirt for company.

This sight and smell and feel of bones in a grave cause Hamlet to consider the fate of man:

To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole [a plug in a cask]? (5.1.209–11)

The great conqueror Alexander has decomposed into dust, which may now be but corking a keg. Such is the humiliation of our mortal decay. Hamlet continues, picking up a biblical cadence before slamming into the mediocrity of our common fate:

Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel? (5.1.216–19)

We hear an echo of Paul’s great summary of the gospel: “Christ died . . . he was buried” (1 Corinthians 15:3–4 KJV). But Hamlet does not follow Paul to resurrection. Rather, he views our fate as the Genesis return to dust. Further transformation through the centuries means only that the clay that was once us may be used for the most menial purposes. The hard-packed dirt of the plug in the cask of ale at the pub could contain the same molecules as once comprised the body of a mighty king.

Shakespeare’s scene has leveled a serious challenge to faith in the resurrection. It’s as if he says, “Follow the body!” Those who made thousands quake with their power may now be a clump of earth keeping the wind out of a peasant’s wall. Follow the body and see that we do not rise. We merely decompose.

Who has the literary power to answer this scene? What writer can outmaneuver Shakespeare in exposing this primal fear that there’s nothing more than this life?

Beyond These Bones

Not long after attending Hamlet, I happened to reread George Herbert’s “Death.” I jolted with the realization that this could indeed be a direct literary answer to Hamlet’s despair. (In the academic and court circles in which Herbert moved as a young man, awareness of Hamlet would have been as high as what we have of Hamilton today. I think it’s likely that Herbert saw the play, and almost certain he had at least read it.)

With Hamlet in the Grave

Death once again is personified as a skull. The poem opens with words that Hamlet could have spoken:

Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing, Nothing but bones, The sad effect of sadder groans, Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing. (1–4)

For readers in the early seventeenth century, “Death” easily evoked Hamlet in the graveyard. The merry tunes of Yorick were silent in the mouth of a skull. In fact, Herbert’s poem gets more graphic than Shakespeare’s scene. He takes us beyond Yorick’s jesting at a feast to his dying with the moans of terminal suffering, surrounded by the grieving sighs of those who stood by. The juxtaposition between the boisterous laughter at table and the groans upon the bed of death makes this skull become hideous in our hands. To hold the remains of a living person as we imagine his pangs of death seems uncouth: totally inappropriate. In this duel, Herbert will not let Shakespeare best him in horrific realism.

Even in this first stanza, Herbert is already building the foundation of his counter-hope to death. The “sadder groans” remind us of Romans 8: “We know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now” (Romans 8:22 KJV). After the fall of humanity, death entered creation and everything “was made subject to vanity” and placed in “the bondage of corruption” (Romans 8:20–21 KJV). We groan under the futility that everything living in this world must die.

But the glorious twist in Romans 8 is that this subjection to mortality occurred as an act of hope on God’s part. Rather than let our sin be eternalized, God introduced a natural end until the time comes for the full liberation of all creation into new life (Romans 8:21 KJV). So the groans of death are also birth pangs, evoked by our longing for “the redemption of our body” (Romans 8:23 KJV). We groan not just in hopeless sorrow, but precisely because we intuit that there is more to come.

Herbert’s next stanza continues in a way that recalls Hamlet’s gruesome question to the gravedigger: “How long will a man lie i’ the earth ere he rot?” (5.1.168). The sexton’s reply of eight or nine years fits within the poem’s expectation of decay:

For we considered thee as at some six, Or ten years hence, After the loss of life and sense, Flesh being turned to dust, and bones to sticks. (5–8)

Herbert has taken his readers right into the grave with Hamlet, observing what happens to people we know in the decade after they die. We feel the loss of “life and sense.” Hamlet’s reflections looked back farther in time, pondering the results of decomposition through the scattering centuries. That’s why he makes us feel that all human history is encompassed in decay. But Herbert’s next stanza reveals that Hamlet actually had a narrow view:

We looked on this side of thee, shooting short; Where we did find The shells of fledge souls left behind, Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort. (9–12)

Normally, we look on this side of death, the side of material life returning to the earth. That view, declares Herbert’s poem, is shallow. We shoot short. We come up with only a partial answer to what happens to us. The poem wants us to absolutely, realistically follow the body from flesh to dust, from crown to beer barrel. But not to stop there.

Souls Reclothed

Something has happened to give a longer — much longer — and higher view of death:

But since our Savior’s death did put some blood Into thy face; Thou art grown fair and full of grace, Much in request, much sought for, as a good. (13–16)

This is the turning point in the contest. This is the suplex move in a wrestling match, when one combatant uses the full weight of his opponent against him. It is a move that risks defeat and dire injury as the wrestler lifts his opponent, leans fully back, and then flips the other over his head. In theological terms, God created humanity, and humanity sinned, inviting ubiquitous death into creation. But once upon a glorious time, God entered the death-filled world as a man. That God-man died. And paradoxically defeated death. Jesus took the full force of all our dying into himself. He alone among men did not merit death. But on the cross he freely embraced it. He gathered death to himself until it killed him. That appeared to be Jesus’s defeat. Instead it was his suplex. He flipped death in resurrection.

Christ died by exsanguination. It appeared that precious blood was spilled in waste upon the stone and dirt of Golgotha. But Herbert makes us imagine that Christ’s blood was poured into death’s skull, bringing death to life. Paul wrote, “The last enemy to be destroyed is death” (1 Corinthians 15:26). Jesus declared, “Love your enemies” (Matthew 5:44). But who could imagine that Jesus included death itself as an enemy to be loved back to life? Here is the genius and novelty of Herbert. Jesus by dying made a friend of death for us! Now death is someone on everyone’s guest list as the life of the party — or, more correctly, as the one who ushers us into the life of the party.

Herbert describes why:

For we do now behold thee gay and glad, As at doomsday: When souls shall wear their new array, And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad. (17–20)

He echoes Paul: “Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump . . . and the dead shall be raised incorruptible” (1 Corinthians 15:51–52 KJV). Grim death, personified as a skull, now becomes personified in glad souls reclothed in everlasting bodies. Death’s bones will be transformed from bunghole stopper to resurrected beauty.

So Herbert concludes with a peacefulness in direct contrast to Hamlet’s agitated melancholy:

Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust Half, that we have, Unto an honest faithful grave: Making our pillows either down, or dust. (21–24)

Pillows of Dust

Herbert met the challenge from Hamlet’s holding Yorick’s skull. He owned the graphic realism, embraced it, and then exposed how mere skepticism is ultimately a failure of imagination, a narrow response to the reality opened up by Christ. The riches and depth of Jesus’s answer make the realism of Hamlet seem shallow. Our Savior came as a man to the place where all die. He came in such a way that, paradoxically, God could die. His suplex move on the cross not only defeated but transformed death. He put some blood back into death’s face. In a sense, he reconciled with his last enemy. He turned the other cheek and made, on our behalf, a friend of death for those in Christ.

I confess that Hamlet’s challenge has sometimes unnerved me. But I give thanks that I have a literary champion. Herbert took up the skull and embraced death as an agent of transformation from lowliness to glory. Death’s “bones with beauty shall be clad.” And we can lie down in peace, whether on a pillow of down in our beds or of dust in our graves.

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labourpress · 7 years

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Jeremy Corbyn speech to Labour Party Conference

Jeremy Corbyn MP, Leader of the Labour Party, speaking at the Labour Party Conference in Brighton today, said:

***CHECK AGAINST DELIVERY***

Conference, thank you for that. We meet here this week as a united Party, advancing in every part of Britain, winning the confidence of millions of our fellow citizens, setting out our ideas and plans for our country’s future, that have already inspired people of all ages and backgrounds.

And it’s a privilege to be speaking in Brighton. A city that not only has a long history of hosting Labour conferences, but also of inspirational Labour activists.

It was over a century ago, here in Brighton, that a teenage shop worker had had enough of the terrible conditions facing her and her workmates. She risked the sack to join the Shop Workers’ Union, after learning about it in a newspaper used to wrap up fish and chips, and was so effective at standing up for women shop workers, she became assistant general secretary before the age of 30.

In that role she seconded the historic resolution at the Trades Union Congress of 1899 to set up the Labour Representation Committee so that working people would finally have representation in Parliament.

That became the Labour Party and it was this woman, Margaret Bondfield who later become a Labour MP. And in 1929, the first ever woman to join the British cabinet’

From a Brighton drapery to Downing Street. Margaret Bondfield’s story is a reminder of the decisive role women have played in the Labour Party from its foundation, and that Labour has always been about making change by working together and standing up for others.

Conference, against all predictions in June we won the largest increase in the Labour vote since 1945 and achieved Labour’s best vote for a generation. It’s a result which has put the Tories on notice and Labour on the threshold of power.

Yes, we didn’t do quite well enough and we remain in opposition for now, but we have become a Government-in-waiting. Our outstanding shadow cabinet team here today. And our message to the country could not be clearer - Labour is ready.

Ready to tackle inequality , ready to rebuild our NHS, ready to give opportunity to young people, dignity and security to older people, ready to invest in our economy and meet the challenges of climate change and automation, ready to put peace and justice at the heart of foreign policy. And ready to build a new and progressive relationship with Europe.

We are ready and the Tories are clearly not. They’re certainly not strong and they’re definitely not stable. They’re not remotely united. And they’re hanging on by their fingertips.

But this Tory Government does have one thing that we lack. They have tracked down the Magic Money Tree when it was needed to keep Theresa May in Downing Street. It was given a good old shake - and lo and behold – now we know the price of power – it’s about £100m for each Democratic Unionist MP.

During the election campaign, Theresa May told voters they faced the threat of a “coalition of chaos . Remember that? Well, now they’re showing us exactly how that works. And I don’t just mean the Prime Minister’s desperate deal with the DUP. She’s got a “coalition of chaos” around her own cabinet table - Phillip Hammond and Liam Fox, Boris Johnson and David Davis.

At each other’s throats, squabbling and plotting, manoeuvring to bundle the Prime Minister out of Number Ten and take her place at the first opportunity Instead of getting to grips with the momentous issues facing our country.

But this coalition of chaos is no joke. Just look at their record since the Conservatives have been in office;

The longest fall in people’s pay since record began

Homelessness doubled

NHS waiting lists lengthening

School class sizes growing and teachers leaving

Over 4 million children now in poverty

20,000 police officers … and 11,000 firefighters cut

More people in work and in poverty … than ever before

Condemned by the United Nations for violating the rights of disabled people.

That’s not strong and stable. It’s callous and calculating. Because the Tories calculated that making life worse for millions in the name of austerity would pay for hefty tax handouts to the rich and powerful.

Conference, your efforts in the election campaign stopped the Tories in their tracks. The election result has already delivered one Tory U-turn after another over some of their most damaging policies. The cruel dementia tax was scrapped within three days of being announced. Plans to bring back grammar schools have been ditched . The threat to the pensions’ triple lock abandoned. Withdrawal of Winter Fuel payments dumped. The pledge to bring back fox hunting dropped. And their plan to end free school meals in primary schools has been binned.

The reality is that barely three months since the election this coalition of Conservative chaos is tearing up its Manifesto and tearing itself apart. They are bereft of ideas and energy. Indeed, they seem to be cherry-picking Labour policies instead, including on Brexit.

I say to the Prime Minister: “You’re welcome . But go the whole hog end austerity, abolish tuition fees, scrap the public sector pay cap. I think we can find a Commons majority for all of that. This is a weak and divided Government with no purpose beyond clinging to power.

It is Labour that is now setting the agenda and winning the arguments for a new common sense about the direction our country should take.

Conference, there were two stars of our election campaign. The first was our Manifesto that drew on the ideas of our members and trade unionists and the hopes and aspirations of their communities and workplaces. And we were clear about how we would pay for it by asking the richest and the largest corporations to start paying their fair share.

Not simply to redistribute within a system that isn’t delivering for most people but to transform that system. So we set out not only how we would protect public services but how we would rebuild and invest in our economy, with a publicly-owned engine of sustainable growth, driven by national and regional investment banks, to generate good jobs and prosperity in every region and nation.

Our Manifesto is the programme of a modern, progressive socialist party that has rediscovered its roots and its purpose, bucking the trend across Europe.

And Conference, the other star of that campaign was YOU. Our members, our supporters in the trade unions, our doorstep and social media campaigners. Young people sharing messages and stories on social media, hundreds of thousands organising online and on the ground to outplay the Tories’ big money machine.

Is it any wonder that here today in Brighton you represent the largest political party in western Europe, with nearly 600,000 members, alongside three million affiliated trade unionists, brimming with enthusiasm and confidence in the potential of our people. You are the future. And let me say straight away. I’m awed and humbled by everything you have done, along with hundreds of thousands of others across the country, to take us to where we are today.

I have never been more proud to be your elected leader. Our election campaign gave people strength. It brought millions on to the electoral register and inspired millions to go to vote for the first time.

And Labour was the Party of unity, bringing generations and communities together, rather than pitting young and old against each other, as the Tories did. We will never seek to squeeze one generation to support another. Under Labour, people will win together.

The result of our campaign confounded every expert and sceptic. I see John McDonnell said the ‘grey beards’ had got it all wrong. I’m not sure that’s entirely fair, John? We wiped out the Tory majority, winning support in every social and age group and gaining seats in every region and nation of the country.

So please, Theresa May take another walking holiday and make another impetuous decision. The Labour campaign machine is primed and ready to roll.

Of course, there were some who didn’t come out of the election too well. I’m thinking of some of our more traditional media friends. They ran the campaign they always do under orders from their tax exile owners to trash Labour at every turn. The day before the election one paper devoted fourteen pages to attacking the Labour Party. And our vote went up nearly 10%.

Never have so many trees died in vain. The British people saw right through it. So this is a message to the Daily Mail’s editor- next time, please could you make it 28 pages?

But there’s a serious message too, the campaign by the Tories and their loyal media was nasty and personal. It fuelled abuse online and no one was the target of that more than Diane Abbott. She has a decades-long record of campaigning for social justice and has suffered intolerable misogynistic and racist abuse. Faced with such an overwhelmingly hostile press and an army of social media trolls,it’s even more important that we stand.

Yes we will disagree, but there can never be any excuse for any abuse of anybody. We settle our differences with democratic votes and unite around those decision.

That is the Labour Party, here this week, and out in the communities EVERY week -diverse, welcoming, democratic and ready to serve our country.

There is no bigger test in politics right now than Brexit, an incredibly important and complex process, that cannot be reduced to repeating fairy stories from the side of a bus or waiting 15 months to state the obvious. As democratic socialists, we accept and respect the referendum result, but respect for a democratic decision does not mean giving a green light to a recklesss Tory Brexit agenda that would plunge Britain into a Trump-style race-to-the-bottom in rights and corporate taxes.

We are not going to be passive spectators to a hopelessly inept negotiating team putting at risk people’s jobs, rights and living standards. A team more interested in posturing for personal advantage than in getting the best deal for our country. To be fair, Theresa May’s speech in Florence last week did unite the cabinet. for a few hours at least. Her plane had barely touched down at Heathrow before the divisions broke out again.

Never has the national interest been so ill-served on such a vital issue, If there were no other reason for the Tories to go their self-interested Brexit bungling would be reason enough. So I have a simple message to the cabinet for Britain’s sake pull yourself together or make way.

One thing needs to be made clear straight away. The three million EU citizens currently living and working in Britain are welcome here. They have been left under a cloud of insecurity by this government when their future could have been settled months ago. So Theresa May, give them the full guarantees they deserve today. If you don’t, we will.

Since the referendum result our Brexit team has focused above all on our economic future. That future is now under real threat. A powerful faction in the Conservative leadership sees Brexit as their chance to create a tax haven on the shores of Europe a low-wage, low tax deregulated playground for the hedge funds and speculators. A few at the top would do very nicely, no question. But manufacturing industries would go to the wall taking skilled jobs with them our tax base would crumble our public services would be slashed still further.

We are now less than 18 months away from leaving the European Union. And so far, the Tory trio leading the talks have got nowhere and agreed next to nothing. This rag-tag Cabinet spends more time negotiating with each other than they do with the EU. A cliff-edge Brexit is at risk of becoming a reality. That is why Labour has made clear that Britain should stay within the basic terms of the single market and a customs union for a limited transition period. It is welcome at least that Theresa May has belatedly accepted that.

But beyond that transition, our task is a different one. It is to unite everyone in our country around a progressive vision of what Britain could be, but with a government that stands for the many not the few.

Labour is the only party that can bring together those who voted leave and those who backed remain and unite the country for a future beyond Brexi. What matters in the Brexit negotiations is to achieve a settlement that delivers jobs, rights and decent living standards.

Conference, the real divide over Brexit could not be . A shambolic Tory Brexit driving down standards .Or a Labour Brexit that puts jobs first a Brexit for the many, one that guarantees unimpeded access to the single market and establishes a new co-operative relationship with the EU.

A Brexit that uses powers returned from Brussels to support a new industrial strategy to upgrade our economy in every region and nation. One that puts our economy first not fake immigration targets that fan the flames of fear. We will never follow the Tories into the gutter of blaming migrants for the ills of society. It isn’t migrants who drive down wages and conditions but the worst bosses in collusion with a Conservative government that never misses a chance to attack trade unions and weaken people’s rights at work.

Labour will take action to stop employers driving down pay and conditions not pander to scapegoating or racism. How Britain leaves the European Union is too important to be left to the Conservatives and their internal battles and identity crises.

Labour will hold Theresa May’s squabbling ministers to account every step of the way in these talks. And, with our Brexit team of Keir Starmer, Emily Thornberry and Barry Gardiner we stand ready to take over whenever this government fails. to negotiate a new relationship with Europe that works for us all reaching outto help create a Europe for the many for the future.

The truth is …. That under the Tories Britain’s future is at risk whatever the outcome of the Brexit process. Our economy no longer delivers secure housing secure well-paid jobs or rising living standards. There is a new common sense emerging about how the country should be run. That’s what we fought for in the election and that’s what’s needed to replace the broken model forged by Margaret Thatcher many years ago.

And Ten years after the global financial crash the Tories still believe in the same dogmatic mantra – Deregulate, privatise ,cut taxes for the wealthy, weaken rights at work, delivering profits for a few, and debt for the many. Nothing has changed. It’s as if we’re stuck in a political and economic time-warp.

As the Financial Times put it last month our “financial system still looks a lot like the pre-crisis one” and the capitalist system still faces a “crisis of legitimacy”, stemming from the crash.

Now is the time that government took a more active role in restructuring our economy. Now is the time that corporate boardrooms were held accountable for their actions, And now is the time that we developed a new model of economic management to replace the failed dogmas of neo-liberalism … That is why Labour is looking not just to repair the damage done by austerity but to transform our economy with a new and dynamic role for the public sector particularly where the private sector has evidently failed.

Take the water industry. Of the nine water companies in England six are now owned by private equity or foreign sovereign wealth funds. Their profits are handed out in dividends to shareholders while the infrastructure crumbles the companies pay little or nothing in tax and executive pay has soared as the service deteriorates.

That is why we are committed to take back our utilities into public ownership to put them at the service of our people and our economy and stop the public being ripped off.

Of course there is much more that needs to be done. Our National Investment Bank… and the Transformation Fund will be harnessed to mobilise public investment to create wealth and good jobs. When I’ve met business groups I’ve been frank we will invest in the education and skills of the workforce and we will invest in better infrastructure from energy to digital but we are going to ask big business to pay a bit more tax.

The Tory approach to the economy isn’t entrepreneurial It’s extractive. They’re not focused on long-term investment and wealth creation. When you look at what they do rather than what they say it’s all about driving down wages, services and standards … to make as much money as quickly as possible with government not as the servant of the people but of global corporations. And their disregard for rampant inequality the hollowing out of our public services, the disdain for the powerless and the poorhave made our society more brutal and less caring.

Now that degraded regime has a tragic monument the chilling wreckage of Grenfell Tower. A horrifying fire in which dozens perished an entirely avoidable human disaster. One which is an indictment not just of decades of failed housing policies and privatisation and the yawning inequality in one of the wealthiest boroughs and cities in the world, it is also a damning indictment of a whole outlook which values council tax refunds for the wealthy above decent provision for all and which has contempt for working class communities.

Before the fire, a tenants’ group of Grenfell residents had warned … and I quote words that should haunt all politicians “the Grenfell Action Group firmly believesthat only a catastrophic event will expose the ineptitude and incompetence of our landlord”. Grenfell is not just the result of bad political decisions It stands for a failed and broken system which Labour must and will replace.

The poet Ben Okri recently wrote in his poem “Grenfell Tower”:

Those who were living now are dead

Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled

If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower.

See the tower, and let a world changing dream flower.

We have a duty as a country to learn the lessons from this calamity and ensure that a changed world flowers . I hope that the public inquiry will assist. But a decent home is a right for everyone whatever their income or background. And houses should be homes for the many not speculative investments for a few. Look at the Conservative housing record and you understand why Grenfell residents are sceptical about their Conservative council and this Conservative government.

Since 2010: homelessness has doubled, 120,000 children don’t have a home to call their own, home ownership has fallen, thousands are living in homes unfit for human habitation. This is why alongside our Shadow Housing minister John Healey we’re launching a review of social housing policy - its building, planning, regulation and management.

We will listen to tenants across the country and propose a radical programme of action to next year’s conference. But some things are already clear tenants are not being listened to.

We will insist that every home is fit for human habitation, a proposal this Tory government voted down. And we will control rents - when the younger generation’s housing costs are three times more than those of their grandparents, that is not sustainable.

Rent controls exist in many cities across the world and I want our cities to have those powers too and tenants to have those protections. We also need to tax undeveloped land held by developers and have the power to compulsorily purchase. As Ed Miliband said, "Use it or lose it". Families need homes.

After Grenfell we must think again about what are called regeneration schemes.

Regeneration is a much abused word.

Too often what it really means is forced gentrification and social cleansing, as private developers move in and tenants and leaseholders are moved out. We are very clear: we will stop the cuts to social security.

But we need to go further, as conference decided yesterday.

So when councils come forward with proposals for regeneration, we will put down two markers based on one simple principle:

Regeneration under a Labour government will be for the benefit of the local people, not private developers, not property speculators. First, people who live on an estate that’s redeveloped must get a home on the same site and the same terms as before.

No social cleansing, no jacking up rents, no exorbitant ground rents. And second councils will have to win a ballot of existing tenants and leaseholders before any redevelopment scheme can take place.

Real regeneration, yes, but for the many not the few.

That’s not all that has to change.

All parties unite in paying tribute to our public sector workers:

The firefighters who ran into Grenfell Tower to save lives; the health service workers caring for the maimed in the Manchester terrorist outrage; the brave police officers who confronted the attackers at London Bridge; and PC Keith Palmer who gave his life when terrorists attack our democracy.

Our public servants make the difference every day, between a decent and a threadbare society.

Everyone praises them. But it is Labour that values them and is prepared to give them the pay rise they deserve and protect the services they provide.

Year after year the Tories have cut budgets and squeezed public sector pay, while cutting taxes for the highest earners and the big corporations.

You can’t care for the nation’s health when doctors and nurses are being asked to accept falling living standards year after year.

You can’t educate our children properly in ever larger class sizes with more teachers than ever leaving the profession.

You can’t protect the public on the cheap.

The police and security services must get the resources they need, not 20,000 police cuts.

Scrapping the public sector pay squeeze isn’t an act of charity - it is a necessity to keep our public services fully staffed and strong.

Not everything worthwhile costs money though.

Like many people, I have been moved by the Daily Mirror's campaign to change the organ donation law.

There are more than 5,000 people on organ transplant waiting lists, but a shortage of donors means that in recent years only 3,500 of them get the life-saving treatments they need.

So that everybody whose life could be saved by an organ transplant can have the gift of life - from one human being to another.

The law has already been changed in Wales under Carwyn Jones’s leadership, and today I make the commitment a Labour government will do the same for England.

In the last couple of days John McDonnell and Rebecca Long-Bailey have set out how we are going to develop the economic plans in our manifesto to ensure that sustainable growth and good jobs reach ALL parts of the country.

So that no community or region is held back.

To establish regional development banks,. to invest in an industrial strategy for every region.

But the challenges of the future go beyond the need to turn our backs on an economic model that has failed to invest and upgrade our economy.

We need urgently to face the challenge of automation - robotics that could make so much of contemporary work redundant.

That is a threat in the hands of the greedy, but it’s a huge opportunity if it’s managed in the interests of society as a whole.

We won’t reap the full rewards of these great technological advances if they’re monopolised to pile up profits for a few.

But if they’re publicly managed - to share the benefits - they can be the gateway for a new settlement between work and leisure. A springboard for expanded creativity and culture.

The tide of automation and technological change means re-training and management of the workforce must be centre-stage in the coming years.

So Labour will build an education and training system from the cradle to the grave that empowers people.

Not one that shackles them with debt.

That’s why we will establish a National Education Service which will include at its core free tuition for all college courses, technical and vocational training so that no one is held back by costs and everyone has the chance to learn.

That will give millions a fair chance.

Lifelong learning for all is essential in the economy of the future.

The huge shift of employment that will take place under the impact of automation must be planned and managed.

It demands the reskilling of millions of people. Only Labour will deliver that.

As Angela Rayner said yesterday, our National Education Service will be run on clear principles: universal, free and empowering.

This is central to our socialism for the 21st century, for the many not the few.

During the election I visited Derwentside College in the constituency of our new MP Laura Pidcock - one of dozens of great new MPs breathing life and energy into Parliament.

They offer adult courses in everything from IT to beauty therapy, from engineering to childcare.

I met apprentice construction workers. They stand to benefit from Labour’s £250 billion National Transformation Fund, building the homes people need and the new transport, energy and digital infrastructure our country needs.

But changing our economy to make it work for the whole country can’t take place in isolation from changing how our country is run.

For people to take control of their own lives, our democracy needs to break out of Westminster into all parts of our society and economy where power is unaccountable.

All around the world democracy is facing twin threats:

One is the emergence of an authoritarian nationalism that is intolerant and belligerent.

The second is apparently more benign, but equally insidious.

It is that the big decisions should be left to the elite.

That political choices can only be marginal and that people are consumers first, and only citizens a distant second.

Democracy has to mean much more than that.

It must mean listening to people outside of election time. Not just the rich and powerful who are used to calling the shots, but to those at the sharp end who really know what’s going on.

Like the Greater Manchester police officer who warned Theresa May two years ago that cuts to neighbourhood policing were risking people’s lives and security.

His concerns were dismissed as “crying wolf”.

Like the care workers sacked when they blow the whistle on abuse of the elderly..

Or the teachers intimidated when they speak out about the lack of funding for our children’s schools.

Or the doctors who are ignored when they warn that the NHS crumbling before our eyes, or blow the whistle on patient safety.

Labour is fighting for a society not only where rewards are more fairly spread, but where people are listened to more as well by government, their local council, their employer.

Some of the most shocking cases of people not being listened to must surely be the recent revelations of widespread child sex abuse.

Young people - and most often young working class women - have been subjected to the most repugnant abuse.

The response lies in making sure that everybody’s voice must be heard no matter who they are or what their background.

The kind of democracy that we should be aiming for is one where people have a continuing say in how society is run, how their workplace is run, how their local schools or hospitals are run.

That means increasing the public accountability and democratization of local services that Andrew Gwynne was talking about on Monday.

It means democratically accountable public ownership for the natural monopolies, with new participatory forms of management, as Rebecca Long-Bailey has been setting out.

It means employees given their voice at work, with unions able to represent them properly, freed of undemocratic fetters on their right to organize.

I promised you two years ago that we would do politics differently.

It’s not always been easy.

There’s quite a few who prefer politics the old way.

But let me say it again. We will do politics differently.

And the vital word there is “we”.

Not just leaders saying things are different, but everyone having the chance to shape our democracy.

Our rights as citizens are as important as our rights as consumers.

Power devolved to the community, not monopolised in Westminster and Whitehall.

Now let’s take it a stage further - make public services accountable to communities.

Business accountable to the public, and politicians truly accountable to those we serve.

Let the next Labour government will transform Britain by genuinely putting power in the hands of the people, the creative, compassionate and committed people of our country.

Both at home and abroad, what underpins our politics is our compassion and our solidarity with people.

Including those now recovering from hurricane damage in the Caribbean, floods in South Asia and Texas. and earthquakes in Mexico.

Our interdependence as a planet could not be more obvious.

The environmental crisis in particular demands a common global response.

That is why President Trump’s threats to withdraw from the Paris Climate Change Treaty are so alarming.

There is no contradiction between meeting our climate change commitments and investing to build a strong economy based on high skill industries.

In fact the opposite is the case.

Action on climate change is a powerful spur to investment in the green industries and jobs of the future. So long as it is managed as part of a sustainable transition.

We know, tragically, that terrorism also recognises no boundaries.

We have had five shocking examples in Britain this year alone.

Two during the course of the General Election campaign and one in my own constituency.

Both Andy Burnham and Sadiq Khan - the mayors of Manchester and London - played a crucial role in bringing people together in the aftermath of those brutal attacks.

The targeting of our democracy, of teenage girls at a pop concert, of people enjoying a night out, worshippers outside a mosque, commuters going to work - all of these are horrific crimes.

And we all unite in both condemning the perpetrators and in our support for the emergency and security services, working to keep us safe.

But we also know that terrorism is thriving in a world our governments have helped to shape, with its failed states, military interventions and occupations where millions are forced to flee conflict or hunger.

We have to do better and swap the knee-jerk response of another bombing campaign for long-term help to solve conflicts rather than fuel them.

And we must put our values at the heart of our foreign policy.

Democracy and human rights are not an optional extra to be deployed selectively.

So we cannot be silent at the cruel Saudi war in Yemen, while continuing to supply arms to Saudi Arabia, or the crushing of democracy in Egypt or Bahrain, or the tragic loss of life in Congo.

And I say this today to Aung San Suu Kyi - a champion of democracy and human rights - : end the violence now against the Rohingya in Myanmar and allow the UN and international aid agencies in to Rakhine state.

The Rohingya have suffered for too long!

We should stand firm for peaceful solutions to international crises.

Let’s tone down the rhetoric, and back dialogue and negotiations to wind down the deeply dangerous confrontation over the Korean Peninsula.

And I appeal to the UN secretary general, Antonio Guterres to use the authority of his office and go to Washington and Pyongyang to kick start that essential process of dialogue.

And let’s give real support to end the oppression of the Palestinian people, the 50-year occupation and illegal settlement expansion and move to a genuine two-state solution of the Israel-Palestine conflict.

Britain’s voice needs to be heard independently in the world.

We must be a candid friend to the United States, now more than ever.

The values we share are not served by building walls, banning immigrants on the basis of religion, polluting the planet, or pandering to racism.

And let me say frankly - the speech made by the US President to the United Nations last week was deeply disturbing.

It threatened war and talked of tearing up international agreements.

Devoid of concern for human rights or universal values, it was not the speech of a world leader.

Our government has a responsibility. It cannot meekly go along with this dangerous course.

If the special relationship means anything, it must mean that we can say to Washington: that way is the wrong way.

That’s clearly what’s needed in the case of Bombardier where thousands of jobs are now at stake.

A Prime Minister betting our economic future on a deregulated trade deal with the US might want to explain how 220% tariffs are going to boost our exports.

So let Britain’s voice be heard loud and clear for peace, justice and cooperation.

Conference, it is often said that elections can only be won from the centre ground.

And in a way that’s not wrong - so long as it’s clear that the political centre of gravity isn’t fixed or unmovable, nor is it where the establishment pundits like to think it is.

It shifts as people’s expectations and experiences change and political space is opened up.

Today’s centre ground is certainly not where it was twenty or thirty years ago.

A new consensus is emerging from the great economic crash and the years of austerity, when people started to find political voice for their hopes for something different and better.

2017 may be the year when politics finally caught up with the crash of 2008 - because we offered people a clear choice.

We need to build a still broader consensus around the priorities we set in the election, making the case for both compassion and collective aspiration.

This is the real centre of gravity of British politics.

We are now the political mainstream.

Our manifesto and our policies are popular because that is what most people in our country actually want, not what they’re told they should want.

And that is why Labour is on the way back in Scotland becoming once again the champion of social justice.

Thank you Kezia. And whoever next leads Scottish Labour - our unifying socialist message will continue to inspire both south and north of the border.

That is why our party now has around twice the membership of all the other parties put together.

Conference, we have left the status quo behind, but we must make the change we seek credible and effective.

We have left our own divisions behind. But we must make our unity practical. We know we are campaign-ready.

We must be government-ready too. Our aspirations matched by our competence.

During the election campaign I met and listened to people in every part of the country.

Struggling single parents, young people held back by lack of opportunity.

Pensioners anxious about health and social care, public servants trying to keep services together.

Low and middle earners, self-employed and employed, facing insecurity and squeezed living standards.

But hopeful that things could change, and that Labour could make a difference.

Many hadn’t voted before, or not for years past.

But they put their faith in our party.

We offered an antidote to apathy and despair.

Let everyone understand - We will not let you down.

Because we listen to you, because we believe in you.

Labour can and will deliver a Britain for the many not just the few.

Thank you.

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