#both of which seemed as though they had merely risen out of the crimson | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nighttimepixels · 5 years

Text

_(┐「ε:)_♡

Well, if you insist... It’s time to learn more about Dusk... and about her sister, Dawn.

Below a cut, because it sure did get long~

===

2 months later... and they still hadn’t found Dusk’s sister.

Your leg was healed by now, to your and the other's relief. There's not even a scar, to your pleasant surprise; between Blade's magic cooking and Twist's healing and care, not to mention the rest of the girl's insistence in their own ways of ensuring you take it easy, you've been very thoroughly nursed back to health.

Dusk, on the other hand... was a work in progress. She couldn’t move well thanks to her lost lower left leg, and Crimson, Cinnamon, and Alpha were still working on prototype prosthetics that could interface with her magic.

You spent the better half of your first week in healing at her side; at first, you could barely get away from her, if you were honest. It wasn’t until between yourself and an exasperated Crimson, you managed to communicate your genuine need to go to the bathroom - and Dusk, larger than even Blade though not quite as tall as Twist, couldn’t make it there in her condition... not that you would have wanted her to. You were embarrassed enough as it was, once she reluctantly let you go, her eyelight shrunk to the size of a dime in her massive sockets, when Crimson had to carry you there with your leg not ready to have weight on it.

After taking care of that, you ended up lingering and taking a bath, Crimson running it for you, lightening your heavy spirits and guilt for needing so much help by flirting and cracking her usual jokes. She left you a little reluctantly herself, warning you she’d bust the door down if she heard you struggling too much without calling for help. With the promise of a fresh change of clothes coming from the main house, you relaxed into the bubbles and soothing magical solution poured in, made by Twist herself.

... That is, until you heard a massive thump a few minutes later as you nearly nodded off in the massive bathtub, shaking the very floorboards. It was followed by a sound you could only liken to an anchor dragging along the ground, punctuated by several thumps.

The front door of the huge cottage thudded open then, followed by muffled swearing in Spanish, a grunted sound- you tried to sit up, splashing and letting out a grunt and then a squeak as you slipped, your propped up leg splashing into the hot water and causing you to swear as a stab of pain lit up your nerves.

“-dammit, stone for skull, she’s fine- i’ll check, just-”

By the time you were pulling your head back from the wave of pain and mild nausea, the door splintered and crashed inwards.

You yelped, jumping again and earning yourself another bolt of pain. Thankfully the enormous tub - hand built for both Blade and Twist’s size - had you up to your shoulders in water, especially as you curled in on yourself, your hands submerged over your injured leg-

-but your gaze locked onto Dusk, who was propped up on one elbow, her other hand splayed on the ground, no attention paid to the thick splinters beneath her massive hand. She was staring at you, singular eyelight a pinprick, vibrating, flashing around-

Crawling, because she had lost half her leg.

“ay coño-”

Crimson was right behind her, hand caught up in the patched up, fur-lined jacket Dusk wore, as if she’d been stuck between trying to help her up and also drag her back.

Magic was spreading across her cheekbones as she glanced up to you, frozen in shock. She glanced away again, grimacing.

“disculpa- ah, shit, i just stepped out for a sec t’ call Scar, she musta heard somethin’- c’mon Dusk, y’can’t just-”

Crimson attempted to scoop under Dusk’s raised arm, to pull her up or loop it over her shoulders to get her to her feet, you weren’t sure. But Dusk wasn’t moving. Rather, after a moment, she growled, before slipping into some roughly spoken words in her language you still didn’t understand - like listening to an old-timey radio, if that radio was in another country known for some sort of romance language.

Not once did her eyelight leave you.

Crimson’s face shifted, looking frustrated but...

You weren’t sure.

Her hand remained on Dusk’s arm, but she tried, haltingly, to say something in the same language- before huffing, grumbling as she looked away, a shadow passing over her face.

Her words were almost too soft for your human ears to catch, but...

“... i know, but people here don’t understand that kinda... protection.”

You swore you could feel your soul tighten in your chest.

“She...” you began, before having to swallow around the lump in your throat. Your face felt hot, and you glanced down at the water, tenderly adjusting your leg. “Um. If... if she needs to, she can stay. Just uh. Don’t... look, so intently?” You huffed an embarrassed sound, ducking lower, “I-I dunno, um, her back to the tub, maybe. You can... stay, like that, too, if it... helps, Crim...”

In the end, you had two red-eyed skeleton woman with their backs propped to the sculpted tub. Your face was nearly as red as Crimson’s, but she was playing it off well, at least, joking and telling you some stories about her countless hijinks. You were grateful for the mercy in her choice there - even as Dusk, not blushing in the slightest, sat sentinel near the head of the top where you sat. Just a little tense, as if she didn’t like not seeing you... but she eased whenever you responded.

It was the start of a trend.

Halfway through the week, while Dusk seemed reluctantly willing to let you go take care of normal human body things, if it lasted much longer than that she wouldn’t sit still. Several of your skeletal friends were less than pleased about this. Scarlet seemed ready to fight, but Crimson managed to talk her down, apparently. Amber seemed particularly concerned, but hid it pretty well, with a joking boop of your nose in reassurance that they’re all just a little wary of the unknown but things would calm down as she hung out with you nearly the entire second day. Pepper and Cinnamon seemed to strongly dislike the entire situation, but there was also a strange... and deep level of understanding there that wasn’t said but you could feel - propped as you were, facing your friends and housemates, with Dusk like an enormous shadow of a throne behind you, her femurs on either side of you. It was the only position where she seemed she’d feel willing to not be actively holding you.

Blade didn’t leave on her usual haunts of the forest nearly as much as she usually did.

Crimson was the only one who could really communicate with Dusk, though it seemed Dusk caught on to most of the conversation around her as the days passed, more and more - the glimmer of understanding clearer in her one remaining eyelight. Speaking English seemed to be another matter, but it was reassuring to at least be able to know she mostly understood you - even as you struggled to try to understand her.

The others were less happy when at one week you were cleared by Twist to be able to sleep in your own bed back in the main house - and you slowly, hesitantly asked and offered to continue staying in the cottage... where Dusk was staying for now, too.

In the end, you won out; the others, at the least, couldn’t argue that when Dusk caught onto the full context, she was not going to let you out of her sight easily, and your room was the smallest in the house - not that it wasn’t still huge by your standards - she simply wouldn’t be able to easily fit... or keep out of your privacy, as the other girls put it. So with the understanding that they’d be looping in to the cottage constantly, they acquiesced to your decision and just asked you let them know if anything changed or you needed something.

And so, another week passed.

You’d gotten to the point that Dusk would nod or shake her head to some of your questions - basic likes and dislikes, and so on, mostly. Yes or no questions could only go so far - and as Crimson admitted, she was a damn private person... not unlike herself and Blade, well, put together.

Still, it was a form of conversation, and you felt your heart skipping whenever there was a flicker of enjoyment, or pleasant surprise in her eyelight. Something you cooked for breakfast, a cup of strong coffee, the texture of a soft blanket, the sound of the ocean when you showed her nature videos, the sight of the clear sunny sky when with Twist’s help you got her outside, even more so the sight of the stars...

Before you knew it, two whole months had passed. You were getting close to moving back to your room, but Blade and Twist, despite their new roommate, seemed to actually resist your offers and worry about doing so and giving them more of their space back, Dusk’s own seemingly trauma-linked dislike of distance from you aside; you’d spent more time with them because of this, and they were very much so pleased with that side of things in their own way. And you’d effectively cemented yourself as determined to nurse and look after Dusk while her prosthetic was finished up, as the other girls were still busy and trying to handle the whole machine being turned on against the agreement thing, which was another story entirely.

And it felt like your heart would break when, for the first time, two months after she’d appeared, you finally caught her dozing off when you were still awake...

Only for her to wake up mere minutes later, her briefly lax, shadowed face suddenly tensing with what you could only describe as overwhelming fear.

She didn’t scream, she hardly moved - like she’d trained to hide any expression of weakness - but her sockets snapped open, singular eyelight missing, and the pillow beneath one hand nearly shredding under her grip.

You’d been in a comfortable palette bed next to the pillow and blanket pit in the living area she’d passed out in - close enough to relax her constant tension, but not quite touching, something that seemed to relieve the girls when the setup had been established. But when you saw her tense you’d risen a little, propping yourself up on your elbow, bandaged leg no longer jolting with pain when you moved -

And when she’d woken up in a way that would have been screaming in anyone else, you’d sat up, hands lifted towards her.

You murmured her name, touch slowly lowering to her arm. Her jacket had been washed just the once since coming here, a few days ago - the first time she apparently trusted the intentions of Sapphire and Vellum as they attempted for the umpteenth time to gently convince her to let them at least wash her things. It was softer now for it, the obvious hand-stitched nature of it more apparent for the removed grit and mud and stars knew what else. Her pants were... you didn’t know a word for it, actually, besides vaguely harem-style, only... not sheer. They had a dropped crotch, effectively, roomy but soft and warm, and came to a fur-lined cuff below the knee... well, on the one leg, anyways. The other was tied off below her femur, now.

Her head turned towards you, both too-quick and too-slow. Her sockets remained empty, though you murmured her name again.

She was a still as stone itself. Not even her ribcage moved.

... Slowly, so slowly, you shifted forward. It was clear that she was watching you, even with her single eyelight missing. Gently your touch moved to her hand... and slipped into her grasp, managing to coax her to loosen its death grip on the pillow.

It was almost comical, the size difference. Your hand wasn’t even the size of her palm.

Still, the intention was clear, and you gripped her hand as best you could, a sad smile on your face.

You knew night terrors. And you knew at least a little about the night terrors your other skeleton friends had.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “It’s okay. You’re here. I’m here. It’s safe, here. You’re safe.”

Her phalanges twitched around yours.

... And slowly, slowly, she looked away, up to the ceiling- and her hand closed around yours.

Time ticked by, like that.

You only moved to shift a little closer, your legs curling up on your little palette, her nest’s pillows spilling and leveling against it. Your other hand rested over hers, slowly stroking it.

And finally, for the first time since that first day...

“... n.ot... me.”

You blinked, staring up at her. She wasn’t looking at you still. Her fingers twitched a little around yours, gentle, and you realized - she was attempting, hesitantly, precisely what you were doing. To... stroke your hand back.

It was suddenly very hard to swallow.

She was quiet for several minutes. You had so many guesses- one, above all, the very question that had her completely stonewalling, whether from you or the others, even Crimson, since she got here.

At last, her head rolled a little, back to you. Her eyelight was back, now, small and faint, but there. You had the distinct impression that she was searching for something in your face.

Finally... she sighed, and slowly, almost painfully, rolled, propping herself up on one elbow, but not letting go of your hand. With her other, she made two gestures-

She pointed at herself, and then with a flat palm, pressed down on the air, just a little.

Smaller me-

“Crimson?” you murmured, surprised. Dusk had never... asked for her, before, but - she hadn’t avoided her, either. Admittedly, she seemed the most willing to talk to her, even if only in small amounts.

Dusk nodded.

----

Crimson had answered her phone on the second ring, sleep husking her voice, but more sharp and alert than you’d expected.

She was there in less than sixty seconds after you made your tentative request and explained what little you could. As usual, she was wearing just a pair of boxers - these ones a galaxy print - and she had a black band hoodie dragged on over it, a last second addition, you had no doubt.

Her hand came down on your shoulder, searching your face as you looked up at her, thanking her for coming so fast. With a shrug, she then smiled, looking tired but curiously focused. Her hand lifted and ruffled your hair, and despite your half-hearted protest and quiet laugh, she just chuckled.

“anytime, cielita. so... what’s up, Dusk?”

Crimson unceremoniously fell onto the nest of pillows as she addressed her, kicking up a leg over her knee and curiously searching the face of your motley crew’s latest addition. Dusk seemed to do the same.

Her hand still held yours. Crimson had obviously noted that, but to your surprise... didn’t say anything.

Dusk began speaking.

Your eyes widened. She’d never spoken this much before; part of you wondered if she could, if maybe her nigh-feral fangs and sharp teeth caused her too much pain to do so... but if it did, she didn’t show it. You couldn’t understand a word, but it wasn’t long before you were watching her expressions more than anything... and, when she inhaled sharply not thirty seconds in, Crimson’s face.

You... you didn’t like what you saw.

But Dusk wasn’t giving her time to translate- not yet, and it seemed like she needed to get this out, whatever this was.

For nearly five minutes, she spoke.

If you weren’t certain that whatever was being said was dark and dangerous and quite probably heart-breaking, you would have likened it to some kind of exercise in listening to the most pleasant cadence of language and inflection. You didn’t know what made her voice sound like a rich old radio’s quality, but you’d become accustomed to it, and enjoyed it as much as you could around your frustration at being unable to properly understand her...

It nearly jolted you when she suddenly ceased speaking.

Your head turned to Crimson. Her eyelights were gone, and despite the fact that she’d largely held the same seemingly laid-back posture the whole time... her hands were balled into fists. Slowly, she sat up, her feet dragging in the pillows.

“Crim..?” you gently pressed. You felt anxious, desperate to be let in, but you didn’t want to be demanding when-

“it’s... joder, i can’t...” Crimson shook her head, her sockets clenching shut as she slowly rested her elbows on her knees. “that’s...”

She took a breath. Above you, you could tell Dusk was looking down once more, but you weren’t sure you had the courage to glance up and see who she was looking at... or how.

“... she’d already explained a bit about her world,” Crimson managed, gaze still down, gazing into some dark middle distance. “like i’d explained to you all... all i could really get was that her world had a famine thanks t’the kid abandonin’ them ‘n killin’ queenie, but it was more vicious ‘n deadly than B ‘n Twist went through - more like me ‘n Scar’s...”

She took a slow breath, and finally, finally looked up with a heavy exhale.

It had been a long time since you’d seen her with that kind of weight and darkness to her expression, and it chilled you.

“... ‘pparently... rather than their Dyne simply goin’ mad with sorrow ‘n power ‘n rage, he... ended up tryin’ to absorb the souls.”

You inhaled sharply. You’d heard, eventually, from Blade and Twist what they’d gone through. But... “But, wouldn’t taking a soul, I mean- it’s not good, but one of them leaving, he could get more and come back to break everyone free, right-?”

Crimson grimaced, and shook her head, her eyelights dimming.

“that’s the kicker. it... wasn’t one. he... he tried to absorb ‘em all. ‘n... they had five at that point.”

You couldn’t help but gasp, and your hand tightened in Dusk’s.

... after a beat, she squeezed yours back.

“they’d lost ‘em all, but i guess Dusk ‘n her sis had been kinda doin’ some treason ‘n squirrelled away new ones after Dyne lost it and murdered the next human, destroyed ‘em to the point of their soul bein’ shattered ‘n lost. they weren’t gonna let it happen again... everyone was starvin’, too, so-” she glanced away. You understood - not unlike Blade and Twist, they had to do what they had to do. You simply nodded, and Crimson continued, “Dyne figured it out, though. ‘course the bastard did. snitch or spy, dunno, but he kept tryin’ t’find the proof, th’ souls, and...”

“He finally did...”

Crimson nodded, and now, her eyelights were burning brighter, angry.

“fucker raided the place, what shambles were left of the royal guard now his, and clingin’ to the power ‘n his bullshit promises of revenge and the surface bein’ their’s - but... but Dusk’s sis was there... preppin’ the fifth soul. Dusk was out distributin’ the, uh, food, and...”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You didn’t notice the single eyelight, transfixed on your every minute reaction.

Crimson dragged a clawed hand down her face.

“i didn’t understand all of it, ancient’s a tricky magical language ‘n i’m so damn rusty, but... they fought. everyone else was dead by the time Dusk got there, no longer able to teleport, already had her head injury from their last clash with Dyne... and Dyne had gotten hold of three of the souls. he’d fuckin’... he was some horrifyin’ thing. no longer a monster, no longer him - fuckin’ forty or fifty feet tall, and-” Crimson gestured, something unfamiliar but you understood the horror and disgust and wrongness of whatever it was conveying. “-Dusk’s sis had the last two souls, and- shit, that thing saw Dusk and before she could do a damn fuckin’ thing... her sis was reactin’. Dusk woulda been dust with a single swipe, but... her sister...”

You didn’t know when your hand had clapped over your mouth, agape - but the prick of heat in your eyes was undeniable.

“She... she absorbed the souls-?”

Without thinking, you looked up at Dusk.

She was staring down at you, cracked, battered face unreadable.

“... yeah. next thing Dusk knew, her sister was screamin’, writhin’- and the moment after, she was knocked on her back by something huge before Dyne could get to her - clean out the cave, into the forest.”

Your gaze was locked on Dusk’s, and you felt the wetness finally hit your cheeks.

“she came to and Dyne was no where to be seen, but half the forest was overgrown ‘n mowed down. ambient magic was overflowin’ in ways she’d never known, clearly affectin’ the environment. and over her was somethin’... someone 20, 30 feet tall.”

“Your sister,” you whispered, eyes stinging, your view of her face blurring a little. Your voice was almost too tight.

Dusk, ever so slightly, inclined her head.

“... she wasn’t... her. not exactly. not anymore. but for some reason she hadn’t completely de-stabilized either - she didn’t say much about that, but...” Crimson made a sound like a growl in her throat, and you heard the quiet sound of her phalanges sliding together and tightening. “for years now, guess her sister’s... been some sort of... sentinel, in the snowdin caverns. she can’t talk, doesn’t seem as... there. like she’s got just the one mission... and she does. Dyne’s still out there, i guess - completely mad, somethin’ that ain’t quite sentient, more beast than monster or... amalgamate. fucked up the rest of the underground, sent everyone scramblin’. guess they both put off insane levels of ambient magic, and the whole underground’s different for it, monsters more feral ‘n magical, ‘n the surroundings too. there’re two factions now, those that worship Dyne as some sorta god now that’ll deliver them from the underground if they can just sacrifice a few more souls to him. the others rallied in snowdin, dusk got ‘em to the ruins, only place that’s close t’safe. she’s hunted, and she hunts... ‘n tracks her sister, i guess. makin’ sure none of the huge number of fanatics bands t’gether enough to take down her sis, who is the only one who can fend off Dyne when crawls outta whatever hellhole he’s been digging lately. guess she was in the middle was disarmin’ one of the traps the fanatics laid out for her sis when she got dragged here, but uh, yeah, that went about as well as it obviously did.”

You were crying.

There was no hiding it. Your heart, your soul hurt, and you didn’t even know what to say.

No wonder she almost never slept. No wonder she didn’t want you out of her sight. Was she inclined to protect any human, if only to keep them out of her Dyne’s hands? Or had she been about to kill you at that first glance, pain-ridden mind only registering there was a human in the forest with her, a human that could be used to make Dyne more powerful, and wanting to extinguish that chance?

Had... she given up on ever seeing the sky...? With her people so altered, with some horrifying haunting threat and faux-god threatening their lives...

You were moving forward suddenly, hand leaving hers only to wrap your arms around as much of her as you could. She jolted, slightly - but you didn’t pause, didn’t pull back, your face burying into her chest and your hands balling into her jacket.

“Fuck,” was all you could manage for a moment, your voice choked. You squeezed tighter, a tiny sound breaking free of your throat as you fought the tears. “Dusk, I’m- I’m so sorry, oh my god, I d-don’t... I can’t even i-imagine-”

You only felt a fresh wave of tears when, so, so slowly... her arms shifted, and folded around you.

She held you, squeezing, eventually, but carefully, and you held her back. You didn’t see Crimson set a hand on her elbow, looking away, out the window, silent, her other hand clenched in a fist.

You didn’t know what lead Dusk to want to reveal this now. You didn’t know what exactly her night terror had been about - countless things in that tale were enough for a lifetime. It glossed entirely over so many things you could only hazard a terrible guess were equally horrifying and soul-breaking.

So, you simply hugged her, form shaking lightly, and she hugged you back.

...

Eventually, you pulled back, wiping at your face and apologizing, but she simply shook her head, and didn’t entirely let you go. You ended up sandwiched between Dusk and Crimson, a few final questions answered in that language you didn’t understand, but was apparently referred to as simply ‘Ancient’.

It turns out, the reason Dusk had seemed so unsurprised when your friends explained that usually both siblings were transported, yet they couldn’t find her sister, was because after the gist of the mechanics were explained to her she figured her sister’s soul was... too warped to register, or perhaps too powerful to be dragged against her will out of the timeline.

There wasn’t much you could say to that.

However, quietly, you asked Dusk if... even if her sister wasn’t here, if she wanted to give her a nickname too, to make things... easier?

You weren’t sure if that was the right word, but she, surprisingly, agreed.

Dawn, it was decided.

And, in one of the last phrases she offered that night before going quiet once more, she explained in Ancient to Crimson, while looking down at you and making a gesture, hands folded and fisted, then splaying outwards...

“... her sister’s magic’s overpowered now t’keep her together, threaded through her joints, glowing red visibly at all times, and filling cracks and scars in her bones, and spilling out of her eyesockets. the forest’s overgrown and taller now so even at full height she’s not usually visible... but when she’s near, it’s... it’s like dawn’s risin’, peerin’ through the mist ‘n snow ‘n trees.”

Even Crimson had to take a moment after that, her voice failing her.

Together, the three of you watched through the broad living room windows as the wee hours of the night gave way to the wee hours of the morning, and the morning sun began to paint the horizon in warm, brilliant colors.

#lilytale #imagine the lilytale crew #lilytale dusk #aka lilytale fem hf sans #lilytale dawn #aka lilytale fem hf pap #OOPS ALL FEELINGS #°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°#I'm just...#gonna leave this 4400 word ficlet here.......#don't mind meeee #((but night why is she so attached to Reads already?? you ask))#((ohoho i laugh))#((bc reasons and gdi i just minific'd okay i'll get to it eventually there's Reasons))#hope you guys liked thiiiis lemme know ;v;

145 notes · View notes

durgas · 4 years

Text

bella rosa

summary: contessina has loved three times in her life and each time the love grows deeper than before.

A rose in the first flush of love blooms with such vitality that it cannot be tempered.

Nothing can compare to its heady scent, its vibrant colour and its perfect form.

“Ezio, Ezio.” Contessina whispered from her hiding place amongst the fields of his father’s land.

The darkness of the night had settled upon the land, the only light from the twinkling stars above so Ezio found himself with a puzzled look upon his face as he searched for Contessina with nothing to guide him. She had hidden herself well this time, he noted, unlike previously when he had found her moments. The prickle of the wheat itched his leg and he attempted to resist the urge to scratch. He stepped into another row.

He felt something grab him by the ankle as his heart pounded out of his chest. He looked down at the culprit and breathed a sigh of relief. “Contessina.” The corners of his lips turned up at the sight of her, hidden amongst the grapes with a smirk upon her face.

“Ezio.” She accepted his hand to help her stand up, brushing the dust from her apple green skirt. “I was beginning to think that you were, perhaps, lost.” Her words held a hint of challenge though she was smiling.

He kissed her hand delicately, noting how perfectly well formed and soft it was despite Contessina’s constant state of busying herself with one thing or another. “Sweet Contessina, my lady, how could I be lost when I have a jewel such as you to find?

“You are too well versed in the arts of flattery, my dear lord Ezio.” She let out a laugh, strong and pleasant. “I fear your artist friends are corrupting you.”

Brushing away a stray tendril of her dark hair, he stifled a chuckle. “I do not believe it is them who are corrupting me, bella donna. ”

“Are you trying to imply something, my lord?” Her eyes widened with feigned shock. “Surely, you cannot mean me?” She took a step closer to him.

The scent of lavender wafted towards him as he took her hand again. “I know of no other noble lady who hides in the fields of her lover with not even the slightest of doubt or fear.” He pressed another kiss to her hand although this time his lips slept a little longer upon her ivory hand. “No other noble lady who leaves her own home in the dead of night to exchange conversation with a poor man and an even poorer poet.”

“You do yourself too much wrong, my Ezio, for you are a poet they will speak of for centuries when we are naught but dust.” A tingle spread across her body as Ezio placed a kiss upon her cheek, his lips so lightly grazing the top of her cheekbone.

Ezio pulled her closer, their lips mere moments away from touching. “And, you shall be this poet’s muse.”

A rose in the middle flush, twice bloomed now, has a strength that cannot be denied.

No longer is it fragile, instead it is redder in colour and more fragrant than before.

“Will you be dining with me tonight, Cosimo?” Contessina asked as he entered their bedchamber.

Dressed all in black, she could see the dark circles that rimmed his eyes from the moment he had stepped through the door. It was no surprise, he had been working long hours these past days with very little reprieve. As a newlywed, she had been confused and hurt by his regular absences yet she knew him a little better now. He was a man devoted to his work. Pleasure was not a phrase with which he seemed familiar and she did not mean the carnal sort for they had discovered many things at night in bed. Yet, in the cold light of day he was a sombre sort of man with a hard to find humour.

He glanced over at her, his mind full of a thousand things, and was momentarily taken aback. “Yes, once I’ve finished today’s accounts.” The words left his mouth in a hurry as he stared at his wife in a crimson dress he had never seen before.

“Then, what time should I expect you for?” She felt the heat of his gaze upon her. The dress had worked, she noted, as he was still looking at her in a way he had never looked at her before. “The last time, I waited two hours for you.” Her voice took on a teasing tone.

“Give me ten minutes.” He suddenly found his appetite was roaring its way through his body though he was not sure it was for food. She looked like a goddess today, although not the angelic sort. He could not tear his eyes away from her brown eyes and the creamy white skin exposed by her dress. “Contessina, that dress…” His voice tailed off as she moved closer.

“Yes, Cosimo?” She was enjoying this sudden lack of composure from her husband. It was a reminder that he was a man at heart despite his serious and practical behaviour.

“You won’t wear it anywhere else, will you?” He had decided that it was far too sinful for public sight and that he would very much enjoy removing it tonight. “It’s not seemly.” He added on to explain his request.

“That does depend.” Her mouth curved into a smile and her eyes were glinting with mischief.

“On what?” His voice was gruff as he pulled her into an embrace. She had been a good wife thus far but they had not properly been lovers. He intended to remedy that after dinner.

She paused for a moment. “Will you be having dinner with me now?”

“Strangely, I do feel an appetite.” The accounts could wait, he wanted to spend this time with his Contessina.

A rose in the final flush, thrice bloomed, does not wither and instead has a serenity that cannot be disturbed.

No more will it be sweet, it is strong with spicy notes and deepened with time.

“Contessina.” Cosimo whispered her name as they lay in bed, her beautiful hair spilling over both their pillows.

She was still half asleep with glazed eyes yet she turned to face him. “Cosimo.” She could have slept for longer but Cosimo’s voice held a touch of nerves and she did not want him to bottle his worries once more.

The sun had just risen, a bright ball of orange amongst the blue and purple streaked skies. There was birdsong mixed with the chatter of kitchen staff and the babble of the babe that slept in a cot at the foot of their bed. She sat up against the backboard of their bed and stretched, her arms still heavy with tiredness.

“How could you forgive me with such ease, Contessina?” The words burst out of his mouth. He had gone to sleep with the thoughts upon his mind and found himself tormented with dreams of Maddalena threatening to come between him and Contessina. “How could you accept the child?”

She took his hand and felt the calluses cut into his palms. “Our marriage has not always been a happy one, Cosimo, but that does not mean it was not worth saving.” She met his anguished blue eyes. “We have shared so much in our life together, it is not worth throwing away all of the good for a single mistake.”

“I have not always treated you fairly, Contessina, and I have mistrusted you time and time again.” His voice was low and hoarse, not its proud commanding self that had the possibility to terrify.

“But, you love me, do you not?” She did not wait for him to answer because she knew the truth even if he did not speak it. “And, I love you now more than I think I have ever loved you before because we have grown together and we have forgiven each other for our faults.”

“I do love you and I am grateful you have always been my support, Contessina, but I cannot shake the thought that this is merely a pleasant dream.” Cosimo had not wanted to admit his feelings but they came tumbling out anyway.

She allowed herself a little laugh, silvery and gentle. “Oh, Cosimo. We have never had that fiery, passionate love but I think we can allow ourselves a little peace, do you not think?” She rested her head upon his shoulder. “We will live out this dream together as we have always done.”

“I do not deserve you, Contessina.” Cosimo said as he accepted her words and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Thanks for reading! Can also be found here :)

#medici: masters of florence #cosimo de medici x contessina de'bardi #cosimo x contessina #cosimo de medici #contessina de bardi #usertejal #myfic

43 notes · View notes

lov3nerdstuff · 5 years

Text

Dark Stars {Part 3}

*Loki x OFC*

Part: 3/10

Words: 6.5k

Warnings: blood, nudity, fighting

Summary: ~Loki could just let her die here and now. His problems would be solved and he could go back to his usual ways. But then he would forever be left with an unsolved mystery and he hated the prospect of that even more than the fear of what would happen if she lived.~

A story of what happens when Loki stumbles upon someone who is like him in every way. Only better. Oh, and they just happen save Asgard too.

A.N.: To celebrate over 1000 people following me (how insane is that?!), I decided to share the newly edited version of the very first Loki fanfiction I ever wrote! Enjoy the mischief 💚

All Parts can be found on my Masterlist!

___________________________________

It would have been an unfair fight, considering Ivy's injuries and Loki's larger physical strength, if it hadn't been for the magic they threw at each other mercilessly. Forming weapons, attacking and defending, both showing off what they were capable of… only to refrain from doing any serious harm.

After what seemed like hours, they both lay next to each other on their backs, facing the ceiling, breathing heavily into the otherwise silent room.

Hurting and healing likewise, with nothing but their magical abilities, was very much draining for both, though Ivy found herself more exhausted than Loki was. She was sure that he knew that, but he hadn't acted upon it, which did not surprise her much. They both had had a couple chances to end each other, but both had refused to do it.

However only Ivy knew that she had indeed taken the difficult road to fight, by not using her strongest weapon, the very core of her magic. Because if she had, there would have been no holding back anymore, and Loki would have died along with every last part of Ivy's own soul. And she would never let that happen. Not again.

So they simply lay next to each other, very much alive, panting and listening to the other's drumming heartbeat.

"I don't despise you as badly as other beings." Loki finally spoke up between heavy breaths.

"Aw, I like you too." Ivy laughed breathlessly, smiling up at the ceiling. Repressing the core source of her magic was what had truly exhausted her, but she would gladly let Loki believe that it had been their fight. Might do his ego better.

Suddenly they heard a yell, an exclamation of horror, and upon that some heavy footsteps approaching the cell. Both Loki and Ivy propped themselves up to rest on their elbows and looked towards the wide eyed guards who stood in front of the barrier-sealed walls, gaping inside.

"Well, hello there, buddies!" Ivy said overly excited, in a too high pitched voice for it to be anything but sarcasm, making Loki chuckle quietly under his breath. She heard it nonetheless, and it made her skin tingle rather pleasantly.

The guards on the other hand only stared at them in shock and disgust, looking around the interior of the cell until their eyes fell upon Ivy and Loki on the ground once more.

Of course Loki knew what was causing them to stare... the once white walls of the cell were now covered in the deep crimson of both their blood, as it was smeared and pooling everywhere, even on the ceiling. To the guards it must have looked like a slaughterhouse, a place of massacre and war. And it had been just that, for the last hours. Now however it had become a zone of momentary armistice.

Loki knew that they had kind of overdone it during their fight… but no injury had come of it that hadn't long before been healed. One of the many benefits of magic and good practice. And allies. He was fairly certain that not every single one of his own injuries had been healed by himself indeed.

For now, Loki had to admit that it amused him to see the guards irritated like that. As a child he had enjoyed creating illusions just to mess with them, and he still did enjoy it. Only that this time, it wasn't an illusion.

"We need to report this incident to the king… Right?" One of the guards said to his fellows, and they reluctantly agreed before all hurried off into different directions.

"We should get out of this cell before they return." Loki murmured while standing up and stretching out his sore limbs. Ivy stretched out her hand towards Loki for him to help her up, but Loki ignored her, barely rising an eyebrow at her antics.

"I do have a plan, but you will have to trust me. Can you do that?" He asked instead, looking down at her in all seriousness as he towered over her body. Somehow… he liked the perspective.

Ivy nodded slowly, though remaining seated on the ground, as she still felt shaky both on the inside and the outside. For some strange reason, she had no doubt that she could trust Loki. Maybe that was more dangerous than their fight after all. "What do I need to do?"

Loki only smirked at her, mischief and chaos swirling in his eyes as they probably were in his mind, and to Ivy he had never looked more intriguing.

_______________

Once the guards came rushing back a few minutes later, having gotten order from the allfather to bring Loki to him immediately, they once again stopped dead in their track and stared at the cell. It was pitch black inside, holding a darkly opaque smoke that made it impossible to see.

"Loki, stop this nonsense!" One of the guards exclaimed. "We know of the illusional games you play. Stop it at once. The allfather wants to see you."

The smoke slowly dissolved and they could see more and more of what was happening inside.

Loki just stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, right in the middle of the room, back to wearing his bloodied coat and a wicked smirking directed at the guards. At his feet lay the body of the girl. Her neck was twisted in an unnatural way, her wide eyes staring lifelessly towards the guards.

Upon their shocked faces, Loki merely sighed. "She was beyond annoying. And so stupidly naive! I did you a favor."

Immediately the guards opened up the barriers, pushing Loki back into a corner with their weapons, while he had his hands risen in defeat, showing them that he was no threat. A guard checked on Ivy while three others kept their weapons pointed at Loki.

Suddenly the barrier was closed behind their backs, locking them into the cell within a broken second. Surprised yet again, they turned to see Loki and a perfectly alive Ivy standing outside, smiling innocently at them while their doppelganger illusions dissolved into a faint green glow inside the cell.

The guards shouted and tried to make the barriers go down again, but of course they failed miserably and their efforts were just as vain as their muted shouting.

"I cannot believe they truly are just that stupid!" Ivy laughed incredulously, shaking her head to herself. "How did you know that this would work?"

Loki smirked at her. "You learn a thing or two when you are locked away down here for a small eternity."

"So you have done this before?" She asked with sincere interest. "Escaping, I mean?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I deserved to be in there. And I never had a partner to uphold the second illusion." The tone of his voice told her to not question him any further, though Ivy refused to believe that he had ever truly deserved to be locked away.

For a very long second Loki was lost in thought, until they heard voices coming closer rather quickly.

"Trust me once more?" He asked quietly, and before Ivy could reply, he had already made the cell appear empty and quiet. When Ivy tore her eyes off the cell and looked down on herself, she quite audibly gasped, as she no longer looked like herself, but rather like one of the guards in their golden armor.

Loki turned away from her the next moment, and crossed his arms behind his back. "Take my hands." He commanded calmly, but with determination.

"What?" Ivy blurted out dumbfoundedly, blinking too often and breathing too loudly for her own liking.

Loki rolled his eyes. "You are going to lead me upstairs, and you will act like everything is perfectly as it should be. You are a guard, and you are taking me to speak to Odin. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Ivy's mind finally caught on, and she held his arms together with one –very large and very male– hand, while using the other to gently press a dagger to his back.

A small grin appeared on her face, as she couldn't help but enjoy having this new power over him, him who had only hours before tried to kill her. Half-heartedly, but tried he had nonetheless. Yet, her appearance was his work of magic, and she knew that her power currently didn't suffice to change anything about that.

Thus, with a silent sigh, she had to admit that he was currently still in a position of more power than she was herself. His magic, his body, his knowledge… The goodness in him. All was currently surpassing her own resources.

While what she held hidden within herself as the past source of her magic may be more powerful than everything he could draw power from at the moment, it certainly was more dangerous as well. Foremost, it was very much different, and very much not what she was trying to work with. Her attempts at drawing power from HIS kind of sources were still juvenile, as they were something so different from what she had been used to, what she bad been using as a source for all her life. But he mustn't know that, and she dearly hoped he never would. It was hard enough to suppress something that had been the very core of her being for an eternity, but she was more than willing to draw her energy from a different source from now on.

Still, despite her momentary powerlessness, she smiled while she pushed Loki towards the exit of the prisons.

"Don't you dare enjoying this… I hereby remind you that I have the power to end you in a second." Loki said quietly, for he could almost feel her smirking behind his back. Oh, if only he knew...

They passed the guards at the exit, but weren't hindered in their journey.

"Where to now?" She whispered to him in her attempt at a deep and manly voice.

Instead of answering with words, Loki turned around to her the very moment they were alone, then grabbed her by the arm and brought them into his chambers in an instant.

Ivy, who thanked fate that she looked like herself once again, started strolling around immediately. "This is beautiful, like a piece of a different world… Placed and hidden between all the silly gold of the palace." She mused in awe, before she came to stand in front of a floor length mirror and frowned at her reflection. "I look like I have bathed in the blood of my enemies… that's both great and gross."

Loki on the other hand did not feel like spending any more of his precious magic on anything or anyone, not even himself, at the moment, and sighed at the prospect of doing things the boring, mundane way.

"You may leave now. They will need a while to realize that we are gone." He said blandly as he moved through his space. "Though I advise you to take care of your appearance first. It wouldn't be wise to walk around looking like that."

Ivy turned around immediately, frowning deeply, but unable to keep herself from snapping at him. "First of all, fuck you. I can walk around any way I want. Secondly, I thought we were partners now..."

"Thinking really doesn't seem to be your strongest quality." He remarked, walking into his bathroom as he started to undress. "The fact that I do not hate you doesn't imply that you can stay."

"And what will you do, smartass? They will come looking for you too, and then they'll throw you into the cell again, if you decide to remain here." She groaned in annoyance, but also the slightest hint of worry. Why was he being so difficult?! Yet, once Ivy noticed his rapidly decreasing amount of clothing, she still couldn't keep herself from staring quite shamelessly at his flawless body, put on display like that...

"Like what you see?" He teased, now fully naked and lowering himself into a pool of hot water in the adjoining bathroom.

Ivy suppressed the urge to turn around, to blush furiously and run even faster, because that would only have given him even more reason to be so darn cocky. Instead, she remained standing in the middle of the main room. "I only deem it highly unfair that you get to take a hot bath after all this madness." She called towards him, in actually decently feigned confidence.

"This is my bedroom and my bathroom. Like I said, you are free to leave any time." He snorted in return.

And that exactly was the problem… Ivy didn't want to leave him.

Thus she went to throw herself onto the bed –which honestly looked more like a depot for books than a decent place for sleeping– with a deep sigh, before she moved to sit with her legs crossed beneath her, looking at the many books around her curiously.

"But what about you? A prince without a kingdom is hardly a prince anymore is he?" She called to Loki as her eyes skipped over the many covers and titles. He did not respond, but Ivy knew he was listening to her, and so she continued. "What about the poisoned bread? It was intended for someone in your family, don't you care about that at all?"

"Do I look like someone who cares?" He replied while scrubbing the blood off his skin a little more forcefully than necessary. Really, hadn't he acted hostile enough already for her to see that he wasn't a nice person, a good person?

"Actually, yes." Ivy stated calmly. "Would you have saved me otherwise?"

Again, he didn't respond.

"Look, I know that we both know that my magic is nothing compared to yours..." She started over, thinking of her poor previous attempts to copy his magic.

"I wouldn't say that. I liked your black smoke…" He replied honestly, and he by now knew that she was very much capable of the same magic as him. It only surprised him that someone of her capability was this poorly trained in the art indeed.

"Was that Loki giving me a compliment?" She laughed in surprise.

"Don't get used to it." Loki mumbled more to himself than to her, and Ivy could hear him stepping out of the water a moment later. From her spot on the bed, she fortunately didn't have to spend energy on keeping herself from staring, as she couldn't quite look into the bathroom anyway.

"Do you really want me to leave you now?" She finally asked, after another while of silence, in honesty and without the tease.

"No." He replied quietly, but his voice was not giving away any emotion.

"But you said I cannot stay. You said I must leave." Ivy still couldn't quite resist the temptation, and tried catching a glimpse of him by leaning far enough to the side to peak around the corner, almost falling off the bed.

"I said you cannot stay, because that is very true indeed. We both cannot stay here, in the palace. And I didn't say you MUST go, but that you MAY go… for who am I to keep a bird from flying? You are free to do whatever you want, Ivy." The smooth depth of his voice, in combination with his words, made her heart pick up speed concerningly fast and her skin crawl way too much, which she tried to suppress immediately.

Then he finally surfaced back out of the bathroom, clean and clad in a way simpler form of his previous attire. "But since you are still here, I assume you won't be leaving anytime soon." His voice sounded rather amused by the fact than mad about it, and his gaze met hers a second later.

Ivy watched as he slowly walked towards the bed, his eyes fixed on hers intently, like a predator circling its prey. No, she wouldn't look away first. He came closer and closer, now standing directly in front of her at the edge of the bed.

With a small smirk he placed his hands on the mattress on both her sides, leaning closer and thereby making her lean backwards, until Ivy's back was pressed against the soft sheets. Loki hovered over her, his face a mere inch from hers, and she could feel the warmth of his body scorching on her skin, his breath tickling her neck… there was something in his eyes that Ivy could not quite grasp, but it was driving her positively mad.

But she wouldn't let him manipulate her, and her eyes remained locked with his, showing nothing but curiosity as she certainly would not let him see how much he truly affected her.

"I think you should get off my bed. Right now." He whispered softly, but very determinedly.

"Make me." Ivy responded in very much the same tone, unable to smirk like she had intended, chest rising and falling heavily to almost touch his own so shortly above her.

And in an instant Loki pulled away, standing up straight and turning his back towards her as he sauntered towards the balcony. In his hand he carried a book he had just snatched from its place shortly above Ivy's shoulder on the bed.

Jerk... But two could play at that game, and so she got up from the bed with a new determination, setting her mind on payback.

"If your royal highness doesn't mind, I will also take a bath now. In YOUR bathroom." She said sweetly. "Well, actually… I will take a bath now whether you mind it or not."

Then she started undressing in a painful slowness, losing item by item as she sauntered over to the bathroom, her back facing the balcony where Loki had taken a seat on the balustrade.

Ivy was most certain that he was watching her every move, and she couldn't help herself but enjoy it a little. Both, the tease and his eyes on her. Once she had reached the bathroom door, she had undressed entirely, down to her bare skin (and the magic still clinging to certain places).

"Like what you see?" She teased in the same tone he had previously used, as she turned around in an instant, barely catching a glimpse of Loki ogling her before he dropped his eyes back towards his book so quickly that Ivy almost would have missed it in the first place. But she was fairly certain that he was blushing the tiniest bit.

"Coward." She smirked, before kicking the door to the bathroom shut behind herself. Well, that had been rather bold, even for her, and she was somewhat proud of it.

With the same proud smirk she looked around the bathroom, only to find that indeed the word was very true to its meaning. Right in the middle of the room, filling it almost entirely, there was a large pool filled with steaming water that a few stairs led into.

The smirk dropped from her face and she admired the view, for this truly was a bath for a king. Or a queen… and she would not waste a second of it, enjoy it while she could.

_______________

Outside of the bathroom, Loki was still sitting on the balustrade of the balcony, smirking to himself. She was such a tease… and she surely knew how to fight, she had proven that much in the cell. That only made her all the more attractive, and Loki soon found himself sighing rather than smirking. She had proven herself of use to him while escaping… maybe he should keep her around a little while longer.

But she had been right, they needed to leave the palace as soon as possible. As if that was news to him… he shook his head to himself. However, usually his plans of escape were meant for one person only. And usually he actually HAD a plan for escaping after whatever mischief he had caused.

Now that (for once) he truly hadn't brought the situation upon himself, he needed to improvise and actually plan and think for two. The thought annoyed him, for he enjoyed being the master of his own fate, and his own fate alone.

And yet here he was, waiting for the sassy girl to be ready to leave. How foolish of him. How very very foolish. Maybe he should just leave now, quietly and unseen, to only be responsible for his own fate again. Yes, maybe he should ignore how desirable and tempting the current state of affairs was, and just run.

But if he ever wanted to redeem himself, to get out of this mess and not just far enough away from it, he would need her. If he ever wanted to be left alone again, first and foremost by the allfather himself, he would need her. And if she wanted to ever live in peace again, without him nor anyone bothering her, she would need him as well. Thus, despite his utter dislike of the word, they ought to be a team from now on. But being partners didn't mean he had to stop messing with her.

Then, as if placed to purposely distract him, his gaze fell upon the rags that once had been her clothes, strewn and neglected on the marble floor of his bedroom, and a devilish smile started to spread on his lips.

_______________

Once Ivy had successfully washed all the blood (both her own and Loki's) off her body, she moved on to finish healing her wounds and bruises, and then spent a little extra time simply letting herself drift in the hot water in accordance with her drifting thoughts. After a while of peaceful solitude, she finally felt ready to face Loki again. Almost looked forward to it, even. But she didn't look forward at all to having to wear her dirty clothes again and she cursed herself for not taking them into the bathroom with her. Even a quick, improvised wash in the pool would have been an improvement to their poor condition... but giving Loki the opportunity to make fun of her was not part of the plan, and he certainly would have if she'd gone on to clean her garments by hand. Thus she only sighed and stepped out of the pool at last, sauntering through the bathroom until she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and she sighed again.

Cuts, scratches and bruises she could heal until they had completely faded, but not scars as deep as the one on her shoulder. To be honest, she probably would have failed to even as much as properly heal it in the first place. Surely she could have prevented it from hurting, or from becoming life-threatening to her, but the truly magnificent work Loki had done on it was more than she could have hoped for. Despite the still visible scar. Maybe not even Loki could heal every wound to the point of fading.

She traced the thin, ragged line that was still visible right under her collarbone with a gentle finger, admiring his work. It looked nothing like the scars on her back, on the entire rest of her body. Those were leftovers from past wounds she had tried to heal by herself, without having had results remotely as impressive. Ivy just wasn't any good in patching herself up prettily… only effectively.

She had gotten quite good at hiding scars and blemishes from watchful eyes though, which is exactly what she had done a few moments ago when undressing. She hadn't wanted Loki to see them, nor to question her about their origin. They were reminders of a long past life, and thus her own concern only. At least they usually lay hidden beneath her clothing, so she didn't think of them all too often anymore. There would be new wounds, new scars to come anyway, and she had to live with it anyhow.

After the quick inspection in the mirror, she was positive that every new and minor wound had been properly treated and healed by herself. That was good news for once, and she almost would've felt content, if it wasn't for the little fact that she would have to walk back out of the bathroom, completely naked, only to be mocked by one certain god. Great. He had yet only seen her backside unclothed, and she wanted to leave it at that. For now… Her mind added before she could shake the thought out of her head.

As she looked around the bathroom, she finally spotted a closed door that seemed very promising. Grasping for straws now, she walked over and found the door leading her into a small and dark closet that was hardly worth mentioning in comparison to this grand bathroom. It probably was this tiny because Loki almost never actually physically changed his clothing, without the use of magic. But despite the admittedly poor number of options, she finally found just what she had been looking for, smiling to herself as she resurfaced out of the dark closet. Oh, Loki would absolutely hate this…

_______________

Once he heard the bathroom door being opened, Loki tore only his eyes off his book, while his face and body didn't move an inch. That probably was for the better, for if he had lifted his face to greet her, she could have seen his jaw dropping.

Ivy came walking out of the bathroom almost happily, the sound of her naked feet on the marble floor echoing through the room, with her hair still damp and starting to curl again around her shoulders. Now that the raven strands weren't all tied up, tangled and bloodied anymore, they spiraled down almost to the gentle curve of her waist.

But what almost had him falling off the balcony indeed was the fact that she wore one of his shirts. ONLY one of his shirts, on her bare body. And she looked utterly godly by doing so.

Must be the shirt, he tried to tell himself, but failed in even forming a straight line of thought for a few seconds, before he finally regained his composure.

And just like that, he knew that it was his turn again in their little game. A smirk came onto his lips, and he jumped off the balustrade, turning his back towards the open window where Ivy just now came to stand.

"Loki, where are my clothes?" She asked, rising an eyebrow while looking around the bedroom once more to make sure she hadn't missed them. Nope, they were definitely gone.

His grin broadened. "Come here..." He gave her a wave to come closer, his back still facing towards her as he looked down onto the plains of Asgard.

Once she stood next to him, leaning against the railing like he was, he pointed down to the fields way below them. "See that tiny white spot down there?"

Ivy took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself down, then closed eyes for a second and finally turned to Loki, who was still grinning at her almost proudly.

For just a moment, Ivy didn't say or do anything, and Loki almost believed he might have won their game already. Then however she moved so quickly that he could see it coming, but failed to dodge the punch she threw right at his face.

Ivy watched with a proud smile how Loki rubbed his hurting jaw. "Ouch…" He commented utterly unimpressed, even though on the inside he was very much impressed indeed. It hadn't hurt him all that much, but he had expected a different reaction, and certainly not anticipated her speed.

"You deserved that." Ivy said contently, turning around to walk back into the bedroom, while Loki followed closely behind her.

"I deemed your clothing inappropriate and made the decision to get rid of it. Since you want to stay with me for now, I thought this appropriate." He commented with a seriousness in his voice that made Ivy snort.

"Who said I want to stay with you?" She rose an eyebrow at him in amusement.

"You are wearing my shirt." He replied smoothly, thinking he had made a point, which he probably also had.

"And you are wearing down my patience." She replied shortly, while closely observing the reaction on his face. "Does that mean you want to stay with me as well?"

Loki kept on smirking, as he clearly enjoyed this way too much. But so did Ivy, and thus they stood glaring at each other for a while longer, before Ivy finally turned her back to him and started marching towards the doors that led into the hallway.

"What do you think you are doing?" Loki asked, all playfulness gone from his voice the moment she opened the door.

"Getting dressed." She replied with a smirk, looking at him over her shoulder, while walking into the candle lit hallway.

Loki surely hadn't seen that coming. "Ivy!" He hissed, but she was already too far gone. In an instant he moved to follow, soon coming to walk next to her. "I don't know what you are doing, but you will stop it RIGHT NOW!" He spoke very calmly, yet dangerously low and laced with both anger and concern.

"You wanted me to wear something more appropriate for your royal ass, and now you need to suffer the consequences. But, of course, you are free to leave at any time." Ivy smiled innocently, but kept on walking down the hallway nonetheless.

"The palace is crowded with guards looking for you and me, and they will most certainly not be gentle when they throw you into the prisons again!" He tried to reason with her, but without any results. She was one hell of a stubborn tease.

"Well, you better prevent us from getting caught then. You owe me anyway." She mused quietly.

"I don't owe you anything. And I'm not going to waste precious magic on someone as braindead as you." He snapped back, but while they walked, Loki kept scanning the hallway nonetheless. For reasons beyond him, he felt oddly protective over Ivy, and obviously he was not going to let himself get caught either. But for the moment, he only remained silent and watchful, while still going along with whatever she was up to.

And despite his own reason, he just couldn't stop thinking that Ivy was walking around the palace wearing nothing but his shirt and a smirk. And that she was obviously totally unimpressed by the impending danger.

What in all the realms did she think she was doing anyway? He could have just brought them wherever she wanted to go, but since she had refused to tell him her destination, he was left to follow her through the hallways like a lost puppy. Oh, how he hated that. Yet, in the very depth of his mind, he kinda enjoyed the excitement of it all. Enjoyed that Ivy wearing his shirt made his heart beat impossibly fast, and his stomach twist most pleasantly.

Suddenly they heard quiet footsteps in the distance, coming rapidly closer towards their position as they grew louder. Ivy still didn't seem to take interest in it, but Loki grew more nervous by the second. The footsteps were right around the next corner now…

Ivy was still not remotely slowing down, nor doing anything to prevent the inevitable, and Loki realized he had to act. With one swift move he wrapped an arm around her waist and covered her mouth with his hand, swooping her off her feet to vanish into the shadows together before she could make a sound, then pressing their bodies against the cold stone wall and thus out of sight. He inwardly cursed himself for using his magic despite promising not to, but went on to make the dark shadows of the hallway even darker, so Ivy and him couldn't be seen from the out of the light.

Only then, while they waited for the chatting guards to pass, for the adrenaline to ebb down, he realized that he still held Ivy's body pressed to his. The warmth that radiated off her almost made his eyes flutter shut in bliss, and he couldn't remember a time when someone had been this close to him for more than the second it took to stab them.

Then she bit into his finger and the feeling was gone in an instant, leaving him flustered and desperate to regain his composure as he let go of her quickly. And yet, as she turned around to face him, there was none of the expected anger in her eyes, but they were wide and shiny and probably looked exactly like his own in that moment. Surprised, and deeply irritated.

For a few long seconds, they only stared at each other wide-eyed, before Loki remembered who and where he was, only to immediately rise his walls back up again, forcing on the indifferent facade back onto his face. He stepped out of the shadows and into the light once more, waiting for Ivy to lead the way, which she did without as much as a word.

After crossing a few hallways and, on Loki's constraint, dodging into the shadows separately a few more times whenever guards crossed their way, Ivy seemed to finally have reached her destination.

"You know, if you had told me where you wanted to go we could have been there in a second. Without all the trouble." Loki remarked quietly, while Ivy pushed the wooden door open. They stood in front of Sif's chambers.

"I don't know what the lady who lives here is called. I merely know that she must have roughly the same size of clothing as me." With that, Ivy disappeared into the darkness behind the door.

Looking down the long hallway once more, Loki followed her into the room reluctantly. "How did you know she was not in here?"

"She will be attending dinner at this time." Ivy answered while disappearing in Sif's closet, leaving the door open so Loki could see what she was doing.

"So you knew not once where her room is, but also when she will be at dinner?" Loki frowned, but was positively curious and thus had to ask. "Did you also know where my room was?"

"Obviously." Ivy laughed while picking up various pieces of clothing here and there. "I know my way around the palace as well as you do."

Of course she did… Loki rolled his eyes and turned around to inspect his surroundings with mediocre curiosity.

"This should do." Ivy finally said as she walked out of the closet, shutting the door behind her.

Loki turned around and bit down the smile that wanted to spread on his lips. There was truly nothing that didn't flatter Ivy, she could've worn a potato sack and still look gorgeous… it was ridiculous, really.

She had chosen black leather bottoms, which fit her legs snugly, but not as snugly as they were supposed to. Then, to his surprise, she still wore his shirt, tucked it into the hem of the pants. On top, she had put on a black jacket that had leather pads on the arms and was open and flowy in the front. It looked so utterly Midgardian that Loki wondered where Sif had gotten it in the first place.

"You chose my shirt over Sif's armor?" He teased, not able to hide his smirk any longer.

"Green is my color, darling…" She winked at him and didn't fail to notice just how pleased Loki seemed with the fact. "And as for her armor… She wears it literally all the time, and that means everyone would be able to tell I stole it from her." Ivy answered and turned around for Loki to fully see the clothes she chose. "Is this more what you'd deem appropriate?" She chuckled, walking over to stand in front of him with a teasing smirk.

"It will do." He said, averting his eyes to keep himself from staring at her. Both her looks and her being were doing odd things to his mind again. "Now tell me… What got into you that you decided to walk around the palace practically naked?"

"Oh, don't tell me you didn't enjoy it!" Ivy laughed and started strolling around the room, taking in the warrior's belongings and decorations. But as Loki didn't answer, she turned around to him once more. His face showed no more hint of fun and jokes, but instead a seriousness that made Ivy shudder.

"I saw the woman you call Sif a lot during my exploration of the palace and I enjoyed her sense of fashion." She tried once more, but Loki still didn't buy it.

"Alright, if you must know, I… wanted to prove something." She finally admitted, though leaving it at the vague expression.

"I don't know whether you are insane, brave or simply fucking stupid." He commented coldly, after hearing her poor excuse of an explanation.

"Maybe a little bit of them all?" Ivy smiled at him almost affectionately, making Loki roll his eyes at her.

"Anyway, it was a very risky thing to do. You should thank me. If I hadn't stepped in, you would be back in your cell by now." Loki replied in such a condescending manner that Ivy frowned at him, thoroughly annoyed by him constantly belittling her.

"Who says we would have been caught? Or even seen for that matter?" She snapped right back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"The guards were right around the corner and you showed no intention in doing anything to preventing the inevitable! Did you even think about the consequences of getting caught?!" His voice was dangerously low now, making Ivy shiver a little in its depth, but she would not let him win this.

"Did it ever cross your peanut of a mind that maybe, just maybe, I am not a complete idiot? That I am very much capable of taking care myself? No? Well, let me tell you that I can very well save myself and your sorry ass along with me!" She yelled at him, finally fed up with his constantly hurtful remarks, belittling comments and downright condescending attitude. Teasing and games was one thing, but mocking in seriousness was another.

"Oh, so you weren't dying before I graciously decided to save your life?" He yelled back, anger shining bright in his eyes like stars in the nightsky. At least she had his full attention now.

"Maybe you shouldn't have saved me if you regret it so much now." She breathed as came to stand right in front of him, staring coldly up into his eyes with every intention of showing him how little she cared by now. Cared if she lived or died. Cared about his opinion, about his stupid remarks and about him. But her eyes betrayed her.

_______________________________

Tags:

@vodka-and-some-sass

General Tags:

@its-remy-not-ratatouille @wegingerangelica @thidls12333 @tomstoobeautiful @dreary-skies-stuff @averyhill4445 @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @sadly-falling-through-wonderland @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @mygodisloki @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @halszka-potter @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @inthemarvelvoid @from-hel-i-with-love @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @foodthatsgoodforyoursoul @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief

HUGE shout-out to all the lovely people who keep commenting and liking and sharing and just READING my work 💗 I love you all more than you can imagine! Feel hugged by this tiny 1.60m goblin that is me 💚

74 notes · View notes

swan--writes · 5 years

Text

Don’t Leave Me

(I was listening to Easy to Leave by Mary Lambert while I wrote this.)

Damn, this was a hard one. Anyway, remember that woodworking reader who likes knives and goes to mortuary school from this fic? I’m making her an OC. The two stories aren’t really connected though, you don’t have to read Jealousy to understand this story.

Warnings: cursing, suicide mention, mentions of abuse

When Cerys Dormouth was sixteen years, six months, and four days old, she used spirit work for the first time. It was uneventful, just a Ouija board quasi-experiment that no-one in the Netherworld bothered to respond to. It was, however, an important, formative experience for her. Humans are funny that way. Still, it wasn’t until she was twenty-one that she begun doing her research, and she was twenty-three before she summoned her first spirit.

At the time, she couldn’t see the spirit, but she felt someone in the room with her. She would later find out she was something of a target in the Netherworld for a few months after that. Cerys was an easy mark for any ghost who needed a quick body snatch. In retrospect, she should have been much more careful with her wards and her words. By the time she was twenty-five, she had finally learned to avoid being possessed. She learned her way around banishing spells, and she kept at least one on standby every time she did spirit work. She researched which substances would react most effectively with every spirit she summoned, communicated with, and would eventually need to send away. This was fortunate because at twenty-five, Cerys set her sights on something much more powerful than a simple ghost.

When Cerys Dormouth was twenty-five years, eleven months, and six days old, she summoned the demon Beetlejuice. He was a little dirtier than she had imagined, but he would do.

Cerys needed a demon so she could gain practical insight into her assignments for mortuary school. She needed to have a power kick around to help with her witchy endeavors. Mostly though, Cerys needed someone – literally anyone – to make her side of the duplex feel like more than half a home. So, she let Beetlejuice stick around after the ritual.

Quickly, Cerys came to have fairly low expectations for Beetlejuice. Sometimes she would come home to find her apartment a mess. It would look like she had been robbed, though she knew that was impossible. Her resident demon would never allow that. Sometimes she would come home to find the place spotless. She just rolled with it. Once, she found Beetlejuice squirming around her floor as an oversized snail. He later told her that he enjoyed the security of his shell. As a result, she gave him virtual free range of her apartment. If she hadn’t, she knew that not only would he ignore her restrictions, but he would deliberately get all up in shit that he had no business getting up in, just to make a point.

So when Cerys first heard the rustling in her apartment almost two months after first summoning Beetlejuice, she didn’t think much of it. She didn’t know or particularly care what Beetlejuice did when she was sleeping, as long as he didn’t directly disturb her. Hesitantly, she stuck an arm out from her blanket cocoon and lifted her phone from her bedside table. 2:12 AM. No way in hell was she getting out of bed for Beetlejuice’s antics.

There was no way anyone could have broken into her apartment, or that anyone who managed to break in could do any real damage. And if Beetlejuice was making all the noise, she probably didn’t want to know what he was doing.

After just a few moments, the rustling subsided. Cerys closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh.

Not two minutes later, the rustling was back. This time, she was out of bed in an instant, shoving on her glasses and hastily pulling her thin black robe on over her pajamas as she padded out of her room on bare feet. It wasn’t because she felt a need to tell off the demon, or because she was actually concerned about an intruder. The concern that Cerys felt sloshing around in her stomach acid was for the low sound she had heard before the rustling. It was the rolling of a desk drawer.

The only place she didn’t allow Beetlejuice to access was the bottom drawer of her desk. Cerys had never told him that he wasn’t allowed to open it, she had merely used her woodworking skills to seal it shut during one of his trips to the Netherworld. The last time he went through her desk, she had ever-so casually strolled past her office door to see if he could open it. Beetlejuice seemed to have accepted that, for whatever odd Swedish reason, the bottom drawer was not meant to open and moved on. It had never come up between them – she couldn’t think of any reason it would – she never asked him about it, and any anxiety she had concerning it had evaporated over time.

Now that anxiety was creeping back into Cerys’s mind. She heard a crash and jumped, halting for a moment. As much as she hoped Beetlejuice had simply transformed himself into another large gastropod and she could go back to bed confused but otherwise unbothered, she knew tonight was unlikely to be that easy.

When she finally make it to her office, she stilled again and stared. The second drawer up in her desk had been pulled out completely, exposing the contents of the bottom drawer. It looked like the crash had been Beetlejuice losing his patience with reaching through the opening, opting instead to yank the bottom drawer out of place. He had separated the door from the rest of the drawer box on one side. Some of the drawer’s contents lay on the floor, others had been placed atop the desk.

The drawer’s contents had been scattered all over the office. There were keys attached to ribbons, feathers, a messy black journal, a scratched zippo lighter, baggies of pressed flowers, and several daggers. She hadn’t used any of these supplies in nearly two months. Cerys was reasonably certain that the lighter was dead. She considered snagging it and throwing it into the trash outside, just in case.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked, intentionally preserving the tired rasp in her voice. The more casual she came across, the better.

But Beetlejuice didn’t answer her. He was searching through a pile on the floor, clearly looking for something and becoming more and more frustrated that he couldn’t find it. His movements were rushed and jerky, and he didn’t seem to care about the mess he was creating. His left hand was closed around something, though Cerys couldn’t tell what it was. What she took the most notice of was his hair.

It had taken Cerys all of two days to learn that Beetlejuice’s hair was practically a mood ring. Most often, when she was around, it was the same shade of healthy green. Now it was extremely dark, different colors flashing in different parts of it. Red, yellow, purple, blue, purple again–or was that red? All against a layer of deep black.

She frowned and rubbed at the back of her head, tan fingers slipping through her short dark hair . When she took a step further into the office, she felt the cuff of her purple pajama pants dragging the faux-wood laminate floor. Beetlejuice didn’t even look at her. She tilted her head. “Beej, what’s–”

“You were gonna send me away.” His voice was bordering on manic.

“What?”

“You know goddamn well what I mean!” he growled.

She flinched. “What did you find?” Cerys asked carefully. Her stomach was beginning to twist itself into slow, deliberate knots. In a rush of stripes and lichen and righteous anger, Beetlejuice marched up to her and shoved his left hand into her face. In it sat a small curled strip of paper. Hesitantly, watching him, Cerys took the paper from him. It felt weathered between her fingers and her heart fell into her stomach with a splash when she realized what it was.

Her nervousness must have shown on her face, and Beetlejuice seemed to take it as an admission of some sort. Slowly, very slowly, the red in his hair was winning out. Every other color ceded and from his roots, an intense crimson begun to spread.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady.

“Oh, it’s not a banishing spell? Of course. I’m sure you were gonna use it to summon a fairy, right? What do I have to worry about? Your precious little pet demon.”

The mocking in his voice stung. “No, I mean I wasn’t going to use–”

“Don’t lie to me!” Immediately, Cerys went silent. “Where is it?”

She knew better than to ask what he meant. Beetlejuice had only found one part of two components. Cerys swallowed and stepped around the demon. She bent down at the edge of the heap of materials he had scattered on the floor and lifted a small glass vial.

The vial was cone-shaped and about as long as one of Cerys’s fingers. It was almost empty, but for about a quarter teaspoon of course black salt and a small moldavite stone. The vial was corked, and there was black wax holding the cork tightly in place. The scroll in her hand had once been bound to it by twine. It must have fallen off.

Beetlejuice was advancing on her now, forcing her to move backwards. “Haven’t I done everything you asked? I came when you called, I scared off your shitty neighbors, I tear myself apart every goddamn day for your stupid projects! I’ve done everything for you! You’re not gonna send me away!”

Cerys’s back hit the wall and she stared at the demon’s flashing eyes. “Of course I won’t–”

“Stop fucking lying to me!”

“I’m not–”

“This thing could exorcise me!”

“Why do you think I locked it away?!”

Beetlejuice froze.

For all his menace, he seemed entirely unprepared for Cerys to yell at him. They had fought before, tensions had risen, they had both raised their voices. But never had Cerys shouted back at him, and certainly never with tears stinging in her eyes. Not once in nearly two months had Beetlejuice seen her cry. He almost looked taken aback.

“You’re the first demon I ever tried to summon, it would’ve been stupid to not have an exorcism!”

“And what, you didn’t think to mention it?”

“I knew this would happen if I did.” Cerys gestured violently between them. Beetlejuice took a step back. “I knew that if you knew I had it, you’d think I would use it.”

“Well, aren’t you going to?”

“No! But what if you leave and I have to summon someone else?” Beetlejuice scoffed and turned away from her. She stared at him, shaking her head. Impossible, impossible man. There was a long silence before she finally made a decision. Cerys held the vial out to him. “Take it.”

Beetlejuice’s head snapped around and he locked his gaze on her. “…what?”

“Take it. I’m serious, do whatever you want with it.”

“How do you know I won’t use exorcise some other dead guy?”

Cerys shrugged. “You don’t need this to do that.” Beetlejuice didn’t move. “You don’t want me to have it, right?”

The demon’s expression was unreadable, his tone half as harsh as it had been moments before. “Don’t fuck with me, breather.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t–”

“Take it, Beetlejuice.”

He flinched almost imperceptibly at the sound of the name. That was when she noticed the shakiness of his breathing. The slow fading of the red in his hair as it turned to black. The wet gleam of his golden eyes and how much deeper the bags under them seemed in this moment.

“Beej…” Cerys whispered.

Both their hands were shaking when he reached out. Slowly, carefully, Beetlejuice lifted the vial from Cerys’s fingers. He wrapped his chilled hand around it, clutched it to his chest, and heaved in a breath before either of them realized that he was crying.

For a full minute, Cerys could only watch in shock as he lowered himself to the floor. Beetlejuice did not cry. Demons did not cry. Cerys didn’t know it, but that phrase was playing unbearably loudly in Beetlejuice’s head, in an old, harsh, unforgiving voice.

Demons don’t cry. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be worthless, you’re a demon.

Demons don’t cry.

Cerys pushed out a breath and sank to her knees beside a shaking, sobbing demon. Beetlejuice was curled around his hand, around the exorcism, around his cold self. With as much feeling as she could hold in her body, Cerys wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He gave a startled cry, but relaxed into her almost automatically. She leaned sideways against the desk, curving around where the bottom drawers should have been, and he pillowed his head on her chest.

From this close, Cerys eventually noticed that he was trying to uncork the vial with his thumb.

Her words left her in a rush, in a breath. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He whined when she took the vial from him, slamming it on top of the desk.

“But–”

“You can’t leave, Beej.” She spoke softly, but with a vehement strength. “You can’t leave me. Not like that.” A few hot tears dropped from Cerys’s eyes and onto Beetlejuice’s forehead, and she let go of him for a moment. When he looked at her hands, he saw her tearing the paper he had handed her into two, then four, then eight frayed squares. She tossed them aside harshly.

“C–Cerys…”

She wrapped both of her arms around him now, cradling him against her. One arm returned to its place around his shoulders, the other draped across his front and hanging onto his waist. He clung to her waist. “Don’t go. Please don’t go,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Beetlejuice mumbled. “Demons aren’t supposed to cry, I–I’m sorry.” Cerys took her hand from his waist and ran it through his purple and black hair.

“Cry as much as you need to, just stay.” He leaned up and pressed his face into her neck, letting her silent tears fall into the hair she was still stroking.

“Okay.”

When Cerys Dormouth was twenty-six years, one month, and two days old, she kissed the demon Beetlejuice for the first time. It was wet and brief and a little messy, and more meaningful than any kiss she had ever taken or given before.

Buy Me a Coffee?

43 notes · View notes

herald-divine-hell · 5 years

Text

Woven Memories

Me, uploading another fanfic of Woven Memories? What is this audacity! But anywhere, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 1 - A Sea of Light

Year: 9:17 Dragon

The visitors poured through the gate in a river of gold and silver with banners withering overhead; banners of gold and green; of silver and blue; of black and crimson. The banners of House Trevelyan danced upon poles of polished silver, waving in the wind high up in the ramparts. The golden steed of Trevelyan reared upon its black stable in defiance, proclaiming its command over all the earth that it may step its hooves upon.

But, Amayian saw, there were others like it as well. The purple-black checkered field emblazoned with the silver steed of Trevelyan-Hasburn from Wycome; the silver-blue quartered with the black steed and golden rose of Trevelyan-DŐrthar from Hercinia. Cousins upon cousins that Amayian did not even know existed, yet somehow bounded by blood. The Trevelyans were a large family, his tutors often spoke of. One of the greatest houses in the Free Marches, spanning from the Trevalius in Minrathous to distant relations in Ferelden. Beside him, his younger brother, Rhyis, shifted on the balls of his feet, eagerness lighting his eyes and features.

“Do you think Cousen Alexandra is with them?” asked Rhyis. The wind stirred his thick, wavy locks of russet-brown, falling like a crown of dark tendrils that framed his features. His face was soft, cheeks flushed with pink from the cold, and freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and splattered across the crimson and white skin. Like his sister, Ashania, Rhyis had their father’s eyes - violet that shone with a light which made them even brighter than Lord Rhyis’. He wore a black doublet, striped with trimmings of gold. A cape of golden-embroidered darkness tumbled down his slant shoulders, a white wolf’s fur trimming at its borders. It looked almost too big on him, but their mother, the Lady Jacqueline, had expressly instructed stern punishment was to be enacted on if she had seen his brother stripped of it. Even Amayian had been warned, and he had never been one to defy the will of the Orlesian matron.

Amayian pushed up on the tips of his toes, narrowing his eyes as they flickered from banner to banner, seeking for House Trevelyan-Dulaphin of Kirkwall. Sunlight sparkled like glittering beads and caused the white marble walls of Vasenarg to shone as if wrapped eternally in its golden embrace. The wind came soft and gentle and sweet, fresh morning dew dancing with the cool air. Despite his mother’s many worries, Amayian had doubted that either his brother, his sister, or himself would have caught any shivers. But there would have been no point in bringing that up to his mother. Uncle Esmarian had once jested that their mother had been Andraste herself, with the way she conducted herself in a very clean and stern matter, but caring nevertheless. Lady Jacqueline had not denied it.

“I don’t see it,” he whispered back, and turned to find his brother’s lips pulled into a pout. “She’ll be here soon, no doubt.” Amayian understood his brother’s disappointment. Even he was filled with a sense of it when the great sea of multi-hued banners were neither the one they searched for nor sought. Yet, a part of him knew that the Trevelyan-Dulaphins would not turn their noses to Lord Rhyis Trevelyan. No one could even do that, not even Uncle Maxalias.

He tugged his cloak closer over his shoulders and hunched a little over, taking a soft breath. Without Alexandra’s presence, Amayian knew that this visit would not be a good one in any sort of manner. The bailey was soon filled with shining armor gleaming silver with scabbards clacking against metal-covered thighs. The sounds rang in his ears like thunder across a storm-filled sky. His fingers twitched and clawed at the soft texture of his cloak, and he wished he had the ability to disappear into the shadows, away from the rising tide of Templars who had blood connections to his family.

A feeling pulled at his stomach, a heated flame that sought to escape from the confines of his body. It boiled his blood, seared and sizzled beneath his skin to make it feel like his flesh was shifting with burning water. A brittle, chilled hand clawed at his chest, hammering icy pains across his shoulders and down to his fingertips. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A storm of fire and ice, flecked with lightning which crackled tendrils with the frosted hand.

For the briefest of moments, only the sound of the wind was in his ears, tilted with the clacking scabbards against the armor of Templar family members. But he straightened himself, clamped his hands together and halted their trembling. His fears of the Templars were often abdicated with the knowledge that his father would protect him from any of their zealous actions. It did not keep the fear entirely at bay or subsided in any meaningful way.

Though he did wanted to flee into the shadows, hide in the safety of his bedroom, but he did not. Instead, he shifted his heels, dug his feet into the softening mud, and stood his ground, like his father had. Hairs at the back of his neck prickled.

The sea of banners rode forward like an unsheathed blade, before spreading like colorful wings. The gates were spread wide, and the Trevelyan horde seemed to gush forward like a running river, Amayian worried that there would be no more room for any other visiting lords. It seemed to him that all of Thedas swarmed the bailey, like a buzzing hive of silver-gleaming swords and burnished armor of gold and copper and white, with clouds of purple and black and crimson and gold and emerald and azure whirling and whipping overhead.

Glancing a little to his right, past his sister who wore a gown of white laced with gold, Lord Rhyis and Lady Jacqueline of Vasenarg stood erect and unmoving, like the like the gleaming walls of Vasenarg herself. Though, Amayian thought them more terrifying.

Lord Rhyis wore a black doublet with golden buttons flashing with pale light down the center. A cape as dark as his doublet cascaded down his broad-shoulders, like a river of darkness trickling down the face of a mountain. Little adorned it, besides the bear fur trimming across its shoulders and borders. His long, lushed black hair fell in raven waves, peppered with hints of gray. His features were sharp and chiseled, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline with a close-cropped beard covering his cheeks and jaw. His mouth was pulled tight and straight. He looked as if he was the Vismark Mountains staring down at the flowers of a meadow. A force greater than the bright colors of life. Amayian felt a sense of pride fill him. There was no other man as great as his father, Amayian was sured. That pride allowed himself to straightened his back and banished the tremble from his hands.

Lady Jacqueline stood as magnificent as his father appeared strong. Her long waves of the same brown that Ashania and Rhyis both had, tumbling in heavy locks, like a shuddering shroud framing her features. Hints of laughing lines adorned the sides of her golden-flecked green eyes, but her lips were frowning as tight as her father’s. Mother dislikes it as well. That did not sit well in his stomach.

The widening, colorful sea parted, leaving a road from the gatehouses to them. Then, Amayian saw the banner: two rearing, golden steads flaking a flame upon a black field stirred toward the west. The banners of House Trevelyan-Daluphin. Uncle Maxalias is here. He leaned once more on his toes, nudging out his chin to see if he could catch the sight of the black wooden wheelhouse. At the head of the approaching entourage rode Lord Maxalias, a slim man with skin as pale as snow and thick black, wavy hair cut short. His nose was long, sharp, and straight. His purple eyes were a dark violet, speared with a deep, harsh blue, but on his lips was a soft smile - though it never reached his eyes. Lord Maxalias dressed in vivid colors of silk: a crimson coat and breeches, a creamy-white waistcoat lined with golden buttons. Across the coat’s shoulders, running down in floral patterns to trim at his cuffs, were golden embroidery. It seemed to practically shimmer beneath the life. Riding at a mere trot, Lord Maxalias looked as gallant on the horse as a knight from the tales. But a cold pressure weighed heavily on Amayian’s shoulders at the sight of him, and he fought a shiver.

Behind Lord Maxalias rode the wheelhouse, which trembled and shook with every bump of a scattered pebble or risen earth. It was black, like the banners that wove through the air on the curtain walls. Golden paint covered the wooden’s corners, bringing out the black more so than the gold. But Amayian knew what hid in the hobbling carriage. The thought brought a semblance of a smile to his lips, and he clenched his cloak tighter to his chest.

Turning, the wheelhouse came to an abrupt stop, heaving forward a little, before settling back with a low groan by the wooden axis and wheels. The clattering of a thousand voices silenced with the halt by the wheelhouse. Most of the Trevelyans had came by horse, embodying the ideal of their heraldry. Not even great-aunt Lucille had came with her wheelhouse, though the woman neared her fiftieth year. Uncle Maxalias seems happy that he drew everyone’s attention, thought Amayian, glancing at his uncle and the door to the wheelhouse, expectedly.

Lord Maxalias swung from his horse with swift elegance, landing with a soft bounce onto the earth. Spreading his arms wide, he turned on his heels, leaned back, and smiled brightly. His purple eyes caught the sunlight, softening the indigo to a paler blue, though they glimmered with mischievousness. “My beloved cousin, the Storm of Starkhaven.” He laughed merrily, but a chilled hand shrouded the bailey, and both feet and hooves of men and horses alike shifted.

Lord Rhyis neither shifted nor gave any indication that he was pleased at the sight of his cousin. Instead, his mouth tightened, the wind fluttering his hair back. His father’s eyes narrowed, the Lord of Vasenarg said, “Maxalias.” He did not offer his hand.

Uncle Maxalias’ smile did not falter for a moment, but something flashed in his eyes which hurled Amayian’s stomach, a glint of sharp ice that made his paling eyes paler and colder. Turning his gaze away, they landed upon Amayian’s mother, who was as straight-backed as his father. “Jacqueline, as beautiful as ever.”

Her mother merely inclined her head for a moment or two. “Lord Maxalias.” The title on her lips was harsh and filled with disgust that even his mother could not hide.

The door to the wheelhouse swung gently open, pulled back by a foot soldier in silver armor and green cloths and brown leather. His shortsword hung in a scabbard plain and worn, and the silver of the guard glimmered faintly beneath the light when it caught it. But Amayian could not see his face, even when he turned to stand flat against the wheelhouse, door handle in hand. His face seemed entirely made of shifting shadows, but a pair of golden-hazel eyes burned with a calm and serenity. Kyal. A golden-hazel eye winked when it caught Amayian staring, but quickly returned to gaze off in the distance.

A woman stepped down, garbed in a dress of emerald green satin laced with intertwining vines across the corset and sleeves, which draped with sheer, translucent cloth toward the ground. Her long hair was a mane of wavy locks and of a rich deep brown, framing a square-jaw, with soft cheeks tinted with a hint of rose. Golden-green eyes peeked out beneath long, black lashes, twinkling. A smile danced upon full, small lips.

Aunt Amélie, he thought, watching as she slipped one of her hands into the other. His mother’s younger sister. Lady Jacqueline and Lady Amélie were both daughters of the House of Talayene, an old cadet branch that had split when one of Amayian’s many ancestors married into a Orlesian house with a sickly lord as her husband. He had died, and his wife had taken command as the matron of the household, installing her son as the new lord and declaring the House of Du Valus to be renamed the House of Talayene. Ever since then, Amayian been told, his family had a strong influence in the northwestern parts of the Orlesian Empire. Sizable enough for them to claim the title of Dukes. Enough to catch the eye of the Storm of Starkhaven.

“My dearest, eldest sister,” said Aunt Amélie, pulling the sides of her dress up, crossed her legs, and knelt a little to the earth in a humble. She then brought Amayian’s mother into a warm hug, kiss both cheeks, and cupped them with gloved hands. “Why don’t you smile? It's been years since I last saw you do so.” Glancing at Father, Aunt Amélie’s eyes were frosty and narrowed to slits. She leaned close, whispering something in his mother’s ear. Something which caused Lady Jacqueline’s shoulders to tremble with laughter. Amayian shifted to side to side on the heels of his feet. His Uncle had warned him to be wary when he saw Trevelyan woman interluding with one another. But it did not seem entirely too bad. It had gotten his mother to laugh, and that was what mattered, did it not?

His mother and father spoke in soft words with Uncle Maxalias and Aunt Amélie, leaning together in a huddle as the bailey was continued to be filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, and Amayian was slowly believing that the entire world was streaming through Vasenarg’s gatehouse to clog the castle.

Rhyis whimpered in disappointment and poorly hidden annoyance. His fists were balled into tiny fists, bottom lipped pumped out into a pout, and his cheeks flushed bright red. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Amayian pulled him into a hug, his own dread tugging at his stomach. Did they leave her back at Kűrgaz? Instead of letting himself reveal that dread, Amayian smiled and kissed the top of his little brother’s head. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We’ll see her next time Uncle Maxalias and Aunt Amélie visit.” He did not think that he sounded as assured as he would have liked, but his brother seemed to have bought it well enough. Sniffing, the pout his brother had worn retreated a bit and he pressed his face flushed against the silk of Amayian’s doublet.

Then, the wheelhouse creaked once more, and a shadow slipped down from the doorway, landing with a slight jump onto the earth. Black, billowing curls trembled in thick waves by the wind which came eastward. A small, childish smile played at her lips, and large, almond-shaped green eyes, speckled with gold, shimmered like light spearing through evergreen trees. His cousin stood only a little taller than him, with a soft face and rosy cheeks. She had her mother’s eyes, but her glimmered more green than gold, as if the sun dripped pools of light into a meadow dancing with flourishing grass.

Rhyis untangled himself from Amayian’s waist and lunged forward, draping his arms tight around their cousin’s neck with enough force that Amayian was sure he thought his cousin lost her breath. But, instead, she merely giggled and wrapped an arm around Rhyis’ waist, a lopsided grin plastering her features. “Hello, little cousin,” she laughed, with a voice as sweet as summer air.

Alexandra Trevelyan was always the sunlight at the soirees his siblings and Amayian were forced to attend, a breaker of darkness as boredom from which would have slowly settled on them with time’s slow crawl. She knew how to make Amayian laugh, and with a mind that matched Ashania, she shown as a beacon, a symbol of what a Trevelyan ought to be, even if she was little more than a year older than Amayian was.

Aunt Amélie’s voice broke the joy like a howl from a wolf. “Alexandra,” she said shrilly, “greet your aunt and uncle. It is unbecoming of a lady.” Her lips were thinned, jaw set tight, and Amayian watched as his cousin’s cheeks flushed the brightest of red.

Hesitatingly, Alexandra released Rhyis, whom pouted and crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. Mother sent a dark, but not unkind, look toward her youngest child, and spread out an arm, combing her fingers as an offering. Rhyis took it, and slipped to nuzzle his face against the skirt of Lady Jacqueline’s dress. Amayian noticed the smile forming at his mother’s lips.

Alexandra curtsied with only the slightest mistakes, and rose to clasp her hands at the front of her dress, like her own mother. She smiled up at Amayian’s mother and father. “Greetings, Uncle Rhyis, Aunt Jacqueline.” Her words came strong and vibrant, unlike the softness of a lay sister or the Revered Mother when uttering prayers in the chantry. But she seemed to whittle beneath the gaze of her mother and father, and brought her own stare to rest at his parents’ feet.

It was his mother who saved his cousin from inflaming her cheeks with crimson. She knelt down, fingers raking through Esmyial’s wavy locks, and pressed a kiss to Alexandra’s forehead, pulling back with a smile. “It is good to see you again, Alexandra. Maker, you’ve grown. You’re almost up to my stomach.” She laughed and rustled Alexandra’s hair, who pouted, puffed, and soon joined in with the laughter. Amayian felt a smile blossom on his lips. Rising from her bent position, Jacqueline Trevelyan notched an eyebrow. “Where is little Malanias?”

“Alas, we were forced to leave Malanias at Kűrgaz with our other servants.” Uncle Maxalias shook his head, sighing, as if that was the most disappointing news in the world.

Father spoke, and when he did, Amayian jumped at its sudden arrival, like a clap of thunder from a storm that seemed to have ended. “Then let the Maker preserve him.”

Amayian’s mother followed suit, tilting her head in a soft bow, the words uttered gentle and not loud enough to be heard, but he knew what she said well enough. Ashania brought her hands to her lips, cupped together, eyes closed, and by that point Amayian was compelled as well. Malanias was only two years old, but even Amayian saw that the boy had little in him to survive. It had hurt his heart to see him so thin and small. The babe smiled and laughed easily, even with the shadow of death crawling over him. The Chants gave a soft, warm beat to follow in his blood and quieted an uneasiness which lingered unexpectedly on his chest. When he lifted his eyes, the sun glowed warmer, somehow.

“Thank you, Uncle Rhyis,” said Alexandra chirply, and the wind eased into a soft breeze to allow her hair to finally settled about her shoulders, like a rippling curtain of darkness.

For a moment, his father seemed to smile, but it disappeared as swiftly as it came. He turned to Uncle Maxalias, who’s smile never waved, not once. “Ashania, Amayian. Take your cousin with you to one of your bedchambers. I’ll send the others to you once they arrive and I greet them.”

Ashania and Amayian bowed, and the wind curled up, splattering his cloak behind him in a hard whip. His sister smiled, nodded, and said, “Yes, Father.” She entwined her arm with Alexandra’s, and nearly dragged her along with a light skip to her step. Rhyis soon followed in a run, nearly tumbling to the ground. He steadied himself and continued on, laughing. The guards at the keep’s bronze doors pushed the open with a loud creak which was drowned out by the chatter.

He glanced up at his father, and bowed once more to his uncle, aunt, mother, and father in silence. “My lord,” he whispered, “my lady.” His uncle and aunt smiled, though they did not reach their eyes. They were cold, distant, detached, though Aunt Amélie seemed warmer - only a touch, however.

Father merely nodded. “Go on.” His voice seemed softer than before. His mother ruffled his hair and laid a kiss to his forehead and smiled.

The sounds of the Trevelyans grew fainter as Amayian walked up the marble stairs, the echo pounding in his ears, and weakened the laughter and the prattle. It sounded like drums in his ears, and the hallway was casted in faint balls of orange and gold, seemingly bouncing in the air as darkness seeped. With trembling hands, he stepped through the threshold into Vasenarg’s great, black maw.

15 notes · View notes

orsino-the-enchanter · 5 years

Text

Excercises In Futility

...or an one-shot featuring the musings of a mage who keeps going because of necessity. Characters: First Enchanter Orsino ,mentions of Uldred Pairings: none Genre: angst, existential philosophy

Deep within the Gallows’ guts, in a small tower looming over the miserable expanse of irons and ironies that is the Kirkwall Circle of Magi, the First Enchanter is dreaming.

A pale wrist carved in hieroglyphs made with surgical precision is dangling off the bed; a crimson trail the only sign of life that trickles down and adorns long fingers. It drips from the signet ring into a pool onto the wooden floor underneath; like a liquid hourglass always giving by taking. The ominous metallic red mist of magic coming out of it and thickening the air was testimony to that; yet the crackling from the hearth, the rain cascading down the barred narrow window and the enchanter’s steady breathing made the whole scenery seem deceptively serene. Perhaps it was. When one’s home is a prison, does it make it any less of a home? Does it make it any less of a prison?

Inside the First Enchanter’s mind, however, serenity was a foreign concept. In a sense, that was the only true freedom any mage was allowed, and he would make use of it, even though he had no choice on the matter. How did that Chant go, again? “To you, my second-born, I grant this gift: In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame, all-consuming, and never satisfied.” In the First Enchanter’s case, that flame burned in sleep as intensely as in his wake. Perhaps even more so.

That was his rare gift -his curse: relentless consciousness and self-awareness, always and forever until he was dead, comatose, knocked out or made Tranquil; whatever came first. No more dreams, then. Orsino had once read that everyone’s existence is tied in a field; and free will is the illusion that either the field is never-ending or the rope is. He, of all people could not argue with that.

However, determinism did not need to be blind. To say "yes" to necessity and change the inevitable into something done of their own free will? That is perhaps the only humane way to deliverance. A pitiable way, yes, but there is no other.

“And what of revolt? The proud, quixotic reaction of mankind to conquer Necessity and make external laws conform to the internal laws of the soul, to deny all that is and create a new world according to the laws of one's own heart, which are contrary to the inhuman laws of nature--to create a new world which is purer, better and more moral than the one that exists?” The flame within the First Enchanter’s bosom would ask, defiantly.

Well, what of it. Mages do not get to have existential agonies; they do not get to exist, period. Pain is every mage’s lot, like his only friend used to say back in Kinloch, and the First Enchanter had concluded that it is in fact despair which births revolt. Not the gentle, spiritual kind of despair but the vile, brutal kind that leads an injured animal to attack its tormentor. There is no room for poetry; not yet, at least. Only for survival.

Was it not despair that made this particular gift to emerge in the first place? The First Enchanter still remembered the last night of peaceful sleep he had, many years ago; he could still taste the bitterness of guilt that night etched. If only he had woken up, rushed to Maud’s side, broken into the closet, prevented the inevitable... But he did not. He slept peacefully; were he not hopelessly young he would have known it was the quiet before the storm.

And the storm did come. Chaos. Anger. Pain. Agony. Then, an all-consuming Void. And finally, the Dreams came.

He was young and naive. He paid for both sins equally in one single night: the gray in his hair took the youth away and the gift of the Somniar took away the naivity. The pain took away all that was left. And still, the First Enchnter thought it was fair. Although everything else was not.

“Why do young people die?” The Flame inside him screamed. “Everything that happens in this world is unjust, unjust, unjust! I won't be a party to it! I, the knife-eared worm, the mage slug, I! Why must the young die and the old wrecks like me go on living? What kind of justice is this? I shall never, never forgive the Maker for that, the day I die, if He has the cheek to appear in front of me, and if He is really and truly the Maker, He'll be ashamed! Yes, yes, He'll be ashamed to show himself to me, the mage-slug!"

Death had no mercy. Everyone knew that much. Wht not many knew was that in the Gallows, Despair, the Mother of Gifts was Death’s biggest ally. Slowly and tirelessly it ate through the living like mould, leaving but empty vessels for Death to claim, and it infuriated the First Enchanter. Especially because the young were most vulnerable to it.

“Why are you helping us?” a teenager had asked him earlier that day. There was nothing but hatred in his eyes -the kind of hatred and bitterness only a teenager is capable of. He had been brought to the Gallows mere days ago. “We are all lost causes, mistakes of nature only meant to cause destruction and ruin. You call it a gift, but I killed my own parents with it. My mother scolded me for not tidying up my room and it was all it took. You are an idiot to believe that there is any hope or redemption after that.”

The First Enchanter knew; of course he did. This was not the first such case that fell under his care -yet, somehow, the boy’s words, the look in his eyes, somehow scratched a wound that had never healed. His own brow furrowed and he fixed the insolent youth with an icy, stern glare as he felt his blood boil in anger. “Ever heard of Entropy?” he said, and the boy looked at him as if he had suddenly transformed into a monster. “I have seen such cases. People who drain life merely by their touch; make steel erode, turn forests into wastelands. And when there is nothing to absorb, the force turns to absorb themselves. I have seen little girls slowly melting away like candlewax, infants who looked like elders, children playing around covered in man-made exosceletons to prevent anyone from coming to contact with them; wearing their own sarcophagi while still living. Call me foolish, if you will. I am helping because regardless of what they are like; what you are like, you deserve better. You deserve life.”

And tonight, the First Enchanter would make sure of it.

It was forbidden, and, until revently unheard of, but he and Uldred had developed this sort of magic together; a fine combination of a Somniar’s ability to shape dreams and blood magic’s fueling of energy. However the chance to test the spell in such a great scale hadn’t risen until now. Shaping the dreamworlds of hundreds at the same time: nconceivable, invaluable. However, putting the spell into practice revealed one drawback: great amounts of energy were required to control so many minds and blood -an excellent resource as it were- was not in limitless supply. The First Enchanter thought it was a small price to pay, regardless.

Dreaming was getting increasingly harder now and the crimson mist in the room had turned into thick fog, blurring out shapes and angles. The hearth had burned out long ago, yet the trickling of blood on the floor continued -albeit in a much slower pace. There was not much more left to give. However, the First Enchanter was content. From now on, his nights of disquiet would be put into good use; what was sacrificing himself every night so that his people could finally sleep at peace? Giving up what was already lost to provide comfort; efforts in vain, excercises in futility today, tomorrow, ad infinitum for the sake of his people; was that not the heavy duty of a First Enchanter?

The first ray of dawn made it past the barred window of the tower, and illuminated a faint, sad smile upon his lips. The Gallows started to wake up. And Orsino’s mortal coil finally gave in, magic fading and the warm, unfamiliar comfort of unconsciousness embracing him at last.

((soundtrack))

______________________________________________________

Tagging @tryvyalsynnes for all the WIP Wednesdays you tagged me in and i failed to deliver. I hope this compensates for it.

#mun's fanfiction #orsino #first enchanter orsino #somniar magic #dreamer magic #blood magic #angst #existential philosophy #existential angst is the best angst #one-shot #hints of blasphemy #just the musings of a mage who only goes on because of necessity

8 notes · View notes

crmediagal · 5 years

Text

Update!!!

To those who may be interested: I’ve resumed posting my WIP fic, Seeds of Redemption, at my personal website: www.crmediagal.com. I had deleted the story on fanfiction.net and Archive of Our Own last year due to unnecessary negativity, so I’m happy to share that the story is BACK in full force (pun intended), being revised, and updates have resumed!

* * * If you would like to receive updates and access to the story, please fill out the form on the Contact page and you’ll be granted access! * * *

Story: Seeds of Redemption Chapter 10 - https://crmediagalhome.wordpress.com/sor-chap10/

Synopsis: The First Order may have fallen, but the Proclamation has risen in its stead. As the galaxy is threatened by the coming of a Second Darkness, Ben Solo must painstakingly navigate both sides, the Dark Side and the Light. Only he is no longer alone in this fight, with far more at stake to lose than he ever would have dreamed. Rated M, AU, Post-TFA.

Excerpt from Chapter 10:

Ben’s lower lip quivered the longer he observed their passionate quarrel outside the house. He prayed they would soon cease. Why did they have to fight all the time? Were all mummies and daddies like this, greeting one another with spiteful words and leaving each other on tearful, angry farewells?

Make it stop, he pleaded, closing his eyes to shield his sight from their awful, contorted faces. Make them stop!

A flicker of crimson light—blood red and overpowering—flashed across Ben’s eyes, jerking the boy from his gloomy prayers. He wasn’t sure what compelled him to turn around, but he acted on instinct, spinning around so fast that he staggered sideways and almost lost his balance. His eyes were wide as he sought the red, flickering lights he had merely glimpsed behind closed eyelids. It was then that he realised that they appeared to be coming from the Holocron lying stagnant on the floor in the middle of his bedroom.

Timid and confused, Ben inched closer to the flashing, broken cube. Hadn’t his mother told him that it no longer worked? It certainly looked faulty. There should be no reason that the crystallised design should blink red.

Ben wrinkled his nose. Shouldn’t it be blue? That’s what Uncle Luke’s does when it lights up…

A shiver tore down Ben’s spine. The temperature had dropped by ten to fifteen degrees. How was that possible? Why was his bedroom suddenly so cold? He roped his tiny arms around himself, shuddering and trying to keep his teeth from clattering.

The strange new energy, unsettling and ambiguous in nature, extended its reach, beckoning the boy to it like the tantalising curl of a finger. Ben angled his head and braved another step closer to the Holocron which still blinked madly upon the ground.

Just as he considered bending forward to touch it, an airy hiss stopped him midway. ‘Ben…’

Ben froze. It was a voice he didn’t know—not by name, anyhow—male, low and ancient, with a languid drawl that was older than any wise man he had ever encountered; as aged as the one thousand-year old trees that rustled their leaves beyond his window.

Had he imagined it? What was this peculiar, seductive energy that so deeply spoke to him? It had awakened something within him; something he couldn’t pinpoint or describe in detail. Was this energy and that voice one and the same?

Then he heard the voice again and his fears were somehow, though unexplained, confirmed by its creepy address. ‘Ben…’

Ben’s small muscles tensed. He wanted to run; he wanted to scream; he wanted to cry for his parents outside, though they wouldn’t have heard him even if he had tried, what with the Falcon’s engine resounding and shaking the ground beneath his feet.

Stranded, Ben waited, petrified with fear. He held his breath, unable to cry out; or to run.

‘My poor, little prince,’ the voice spoke to him once more, using a luring air of affection Ben had never heard before, ‘I can make it stop. I can make it all better for you; better than you ever could have dreamt…’

“You – You can?” the boy barely got out, for his mouth had gone dry. He gaped at the Holocron, transfixed by its pull.

‘Oh, yes. If you trust in me, Ben, we can do extraordinary things…’

Ben stared at the Holocron from whence the voice seemed to have spoken, half memorised, half terror-stricken. “Who – Who are you?” he chanced asking and the energy at once swelled, invisible fingers ghosting through his tousled hair and along his large, rounded ears. He shied away from its unnaturally cold touch, though the gesture had piqued his interest.

‘Patience, my little prince,’ it insisted to him, enticing the boy closer with every soft-spoken word. ‘All in good time. Now, tell me, what would you like to play?’

Available to read in its entirety at www.crmediagal.com

#reylo #reyben #reylo fanfic #kylo ren #ben solo #rey #star wars fanfic #crmediagal writes #seeds of redemption #feel free to PM me if you would like access to read this story

5 notes · View notes

percywinchester27 · 6 years

Text

Unconventional Roommates (Epilogue)

Word count: 2.6K

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Series Summary: Now that his brother is at Stanford, for the first time in his life, Dean does something for himself. He takes a step towards chasing his own dreams and moves away from Lawrence to start college, which is both thrilling and scary at the same time. Only catch, in this unknown town, he is stuck with the MOST infuriating female on the planet- the roommate from hell!

A/N: Here we are! Thank you, guys. Your love kept me going <3

This couldn’t have been possible without the incredible @deanssweetheart23. Thank you so much for everything, Athina. You rock, my princess <3

Unconventional Roommates masterlist

"This is a horrible fricking idea!" Dean grumbled, getting out of the car.

Y/N merely smirked, and Dean had to admit that the expression had never looked so alluring on anyone else. "You're just nervous. This is the coolest thing I've ever done."

Dean adjusted his tie. She looked so happy that he would have done anything to keep her smiling like that. This wasn't a big deal as it is. He was only nervous because he had never done this before, and also because he was about to walk in with the best girl he knew.

Incidentally, the reason for Y/N's excitement was same as his nervousness. She had never done this before either.

The building was colored in flashing crimson and purple lights which reflected on Y/N's face. Dean couldn't help but be reminded of the fair, when they were stuck in the Ferris wheel. She had looked beautiful then, and she looked beautiful now. The black wig that she was sporting suited her perfectly, so did the dark lipstick. She looked something else.

Just before they could enter the hall, Dean caught hold of her hand and pulled her back.

"Have I told you that you look absolutely stunning?"

Y/N looked down, smiling shyly. It would still take him time to get used to her reacting like that instead of glare down at him like she was about to pull out a butcher's knife.

"You don't look bad yourself, Romeo!"

"Are you kidding me?" Dean complained, touching his slick black hair. "I look like a clown."

"No you don't," she said, running her hand over the lapels of his coat, fussing over him. "You look hot." She licked her lips. "I'd kiss you, but I don't wanna ruin the look with my lipstick."

"Screw the look," Dean said, reaching out for the small of her back and pulling her close. "I don't give a damn about the look."

He leaned in, but she put a finger to his lips. "If you kiss me now, we'd have to go right back home to finish what we started, and I don't want to miss tonight. It's such a big day for you."

Dean could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. She was so proud of him.

It wasn't a big deal. They were launching the paper today, but they all did it every month. For him, though, this was the first time. They had loved his pictures so much that a couple of them were being used in tonight's Halloween party as a backdrop with some Halloweeny stickers. Y/N had been delighted to know about that. It was right after telling her that, that Dean had asked her out to the party.

She had been excited about it from the get go, especially the dressing up part. Dean found it amusing that she was so excited about dressing up even though she did it for a living. That was until he found out what she was planning to dress up as. Honestly, he shouldn't have expected any less of her. She had somehow convinced him to dress up as Gomez Addams, complete with the temporarily colored black hair. He might have to take a couple of days to wash it off completely, but again, her happiness was so palpable that he didn't want to take it away. She was ravishing as Morticia.

All things considered, it was still better than her idea of dressing up as Ted Bundy and Clementine Barnabet. Dean had to talk her out of it. He loved that she was still wearing the printed socks that he had gifted her. The skull beanie had been a constant up until tonight.

As the day approached though, despite her initial reaction, Y/N seemed to grow a little anxious about it. Not enough to curb her enthusiasm, but definitely enough to not fully enjoy it. They had had fun with putting together the ensembles. For the past week, since their evening on the beach, Dean had woken up at ungodly hours to catch Y/N's closing act of the night. All eyes in the club hungered for one look at her, but her eyes only searched his, and Dean felt like his chest widened a couple of inches each time.

After each show, he'd wait behind the curtains to welcome her when she came back, not believing that the Nymph was his. The other girls were happy for Y/N. They were all around her age, but she had mentored almost all of them. It made him clearly see her for who she was- a giver. She did so much for the girls who could very well end up being her own competition, and she did so much for all those little girls in Mia's school, too. Seeing her interact, he also realized that she was a natural teacher, she loved to share what she knew, selflessly.

They scourged through the fancy costumes at the Elixir, trying to try out funny hats and coats, entertaining the girls who had been exhausted after entertaining people all night long. Y/N's eyes shined when she saw him accepting her life and everyone in it so easily. She kissed him harder that morning in the car.

They did find the perfect costumes for Gomez and Morticia, too, there.

Other girls passing them were dressed as nurses or hot assistants, making the most of the opportunity to wear revealing clothes without it being questioned and more credit to them, but there was something very endearing about Y/N's childish excitement about dressing up in two full length layers.

"C'mon!" He grinned, pulling her by her arm, but she didn't move.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?"

Dean huffed. "Now you're having cold feet about this? After you made me spend 2 hours in the bathroom trying to get the hair right?"

"No… Dean," she said, voice abruptly serious. "It's not that, I mean…"

"Hey," Dean put his hand against her soft cheek. "You alright? You're not feeling sick, are you? I told you not to overdo the shifts. In fact, you can take it easy now. Anyway you're quitting the job next month when all your installments for the apartment are paid."

"Dean. Listen." She put her hand over his… the one she was already holding. "Do you want to be seen here with me?"

"Y/N!"

She was quick to put up her hand. "Look… I'm not doubting you. You're like God's personal blessing who just happened to creepily drop into my apartment, but not everyone is as accepting as you. Someone might recognize me… and I'm used to all sorts of slurs, but you're not. I don't want to put you through that."

Her voice had consistently risen, and her eyes were widening with every said word.

"Shhh… Just stop panicking," he said, pulling her against his chest. "You're missing the whole goddamned point here. You think I'd be ashamed if someone said anything about you? Don't you get it by now that I'm just beyond thrilled to be with a fantastic person like you? The first night when I found you at Elixir, I didn’t leave because I was mad at you, I left because seeing me there was distracting you. I thought you knew that."

She shook her head. "I do know that, and I know you won't be ashamed… I thought you'd be more like… angry."

"If someone called you a bad name?"

She nodded meekly against his silky black lapels.

"We could always make them a customer in our newly furnished torture room," he shrugged. "Bet that will teach them to talk crap about hard working people."

She laughed, breaking completely free of the dismal Morticia façade. "You're crazy."

"Says you!" He said smiled, pecking her cheek. "That's very rich, don't you think?"

This time she let him take her in.

If it was a rainbow disaster outside, the inside was how the fairy world would look in the scene of an Armageddon. It was insane. Dean didn't know where to put his eyes. Wasn't Halloween supposed to be incredibly gloomy? Why was it so colorful?

"Hold me!" Dean said, grabbing Y/N by the shoulders. "I think my retinas are screaming for a savior."

"Shut up, it's not that bad," she admonished. "Besides, bright flashing lights are supposed to make you bold and all that. People dance without stopping to think what they look like."

"Seems fair." Dean looked at the centre of the floor where couples were trying to dance along the jazz tune.

"You wanna go out there?" She jerked her neck towards the floor.

"What? No!" Dean said, flustered. "I can't dance to save my life."

"It's not that hard… come, I'll show you."

He rolled his eyes. Of course she could.

Y/N pulled him towards the dance floor, but still away from the centre. She guided his hands to her waist and put both of hers on his shoulders. "Now you just sway from one side to another. See? Like this."

"I'm just gonna step on your dress and pull us both down," he warned trying to follow her. It wasn't fair that she was doing it so effortlessly and he was left to struggle.

"OMG, Y/N!" Hannah exclaimed, walking up from behind. "I didn't know Dean was gonna bring you along! You both look great."

Hannah was dressed like a Vampire… at least that's what Dean made out of the fangs and blood crusted lips.

"Cas, Meg!" She called out. "Look, Dean's here and he bought Y/N along."

Soon enough Dean's other two friends were there. Meg was wearing a red and black bodysuit with horns and tail, while Cas was dressed in a white suit with attached feathered wings, a halow perched on top.

"Angel and Demon?" Y/N asked. "That's very original."

"Hey, it wasn't my idea," Cas said, pulling her into a half hug. Dean wasn't really sure Y/N was the hugging type, but Cas just gave the vibe.

"You turned out to be way more badass than we gave you credit for," Meg grinned, nudging Y/N in the shoulder. "And there we were wondering how you could rock that limbo so hard."

It was hard to tell in the flashing lights but Y/N seemed to blush.

The DJ changed the song to a more upbeat one Meg pushed Y/N towards Dean, "C'mon, you guys, move it!"

"You wanna move it?" Y/N wiggled her eyebrows, grinding against him. Dean laughed but before he could reply, his eyes fell on Nick who was eyeing them from the sides.

"C'mere!" Dean pulled Y/N tightly against him, one hand sliding down her back to grab her ass, the other fisted in her hair, holding her to him. He brought his lips to her temple, kissing her softly, then deliberately dragged it along her cheek and down to the base of her neck. Sucking a mark exactly where he knew affected her the most. Y/N's moan was both muted and involuntary.

"Dean!" She giggled. It wasn't something she did often, but Dean loved the sound. He didn't stop there…. He let his lips travel along the column of her neck, hands roving all over her back.

Y/N's fingers gripped his coat tightly, her chest rising and falling against his own. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Nick had disappeared.

"Who are you putting on a show for, Winchester?" She said, reaching up to kiss his lips, not caring about the lipstick anymore apparently.

"No one of importance," Dean shrugged. "You mind putting on a show?"

"Nope… not at all. I do that for a living."

Dean didn't care if he had put Nick in his place, or not. Nick had sure tried to ruin it all for Dean, but ultimately hadn't it worked in his favor after all. For all he cared, Nick could go screw himself. He had Y/N, there would never be a bigger victory than that.

"So about Thanksgiving," Y/N said, "I can't really cook a turkey. I mean we invited all these people, and I can't cook to save the world."

"It's okay, we'll figure something out," Dean replied. "There's like a million cookbooks out there. Besides we can always order, and everyone is getting something or the other. If the turkey sucks, we can eat the mashed potatoes."

"But counting Mia and the girls, Sam and Jess, Cas, Meg and the couple of girls from the club, there's like 12 of us. Our apartment isn't big enough."

"Y/N. Stop panicking!" They had both stopped dancing by now and were just holding each other's hands. "We have almost a month to go. By then you'd have signed the papers for the building and we can do it in the basement."

She still didn't look convinced.

"Hey," Dean lowered his face to look into her beautiful eyes. "Even if they don't like the turkey, the newly minted torture equipment will keep them from saying anything." He winked.

"Seriously, Dean," she said, "I've never done this before. I don't know how to talk to people… what to talk to people about. I just- this feels so normal and I've never had normal before."

His heart broke for her. She wanted this and yet she was so scared of the unknown.

"You know the girls, Y/N. And Meg and Cas are friends. They like you. You know that!"

She nodded absent-mindedly. "What about Sam and his girlfriend?"

Dean scoffed remembering the conversation he'd had with his brother. "Sam thinks you're way out of my league. And Jess? I've met that girl. You don't need to talk, she'll talk enough for everyone in the room."

"Mhmmm…"

He pulled her back against his chest and they started moving in slow circles again.

"You'll have your dream, Y/N. We'll have a studio downstairs and Mia can live here. You can study something else at the University in the day and I'll get a job in a few years down the line. We can eat crappy food, play scrabble on weekends and have long walks on the beach. That is normal, right?"

"That doesn't sound too bad," she mumbled, and her voice was so hopeful, Dean was tempted to take one look at her face to know what she was really thinking.

"Do you want to head home?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. "Let's stay a while. This feels normal and I like it."

She put her head back against his shoulder as swayed on the same spot. Dean didn't know what tomorrow held. Hell, all of this was so new to him that he couldn't even estimate what the next minute was going to bring. But as long as he was with Y/N, he knew he could do it. He could do anything. Dean was happier than he had ever expected to be in his life.

He was learning what he loved, his brother was happy and doing good in life and there was an incredible girl in his arms.

To say he was content would be an understatement.

He was fucking ecstatic.

Dean bent down to kiss Y/N's forehead. He could get used to it…. in fact, he would be the luckiest guy in the whole wide world, if this unconventional life became his normal.

*************************

A/N 2: This is it, guys! We are done with one more series. My immense gratitude to everyone who has commented, sent asks, and words of love. It’s meant more to me than I can ever tell you. Thank you so much!! Much love <3

So, did you guys like it???

A/N 3: Please do consider reblogging my work and leaving feedback. Reblogging helps spread it, and also helps against the “best posts first” option tumblr has. The more the notes, the less chance of it getting buried beneath others posts. And the comments are what keep me going. I love you guys and I’ll be in forever grateful <3

Here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

UR taglist:

@deanssweetheart23 @captainradicalpassion @docharleythegeekqueen @sleepless-sin @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @ohgodwhybloggg @roxyspearing @oneshoeshort @theofficialduke @wildlandfox @mrswhozeewhatsis @emoryhemsworth @dslocum89 @justacinnamonroll @fanfreak07 @dustycelt @serienjunkiegirl @thinkwritexpress-official @babykalika2001 @daskleinevolk @jayankles @blacktithe7 @pensysto @iyannamckague @shamelesslydean @crystallstaircase @melonberri @commander-meghan-shepard @trenchcoat-angel @smiling-meerkat @sprnaturallover @violinbetty @fandom-trash-worth-it @grace-for-sale @katsanders @samwinchesterfanfic @bluestarshining @torn-and-frayed @adaliamalfoy @anathewierdo @gabavaldman @brindz30 @heavymetalhauswife @sdavid09 @hatemeup @plaidstiel-wormstache @deannawinchesterpie @kit-kat-katie99 @jessieray98 @mlovesstories @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @directionernullneun @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @theoriginalvicki @angelessquirrel @thereisnolumos @julie121899 @mikid2000 @freekryptonitecloud @padasteph-nie @luna-plena-venandi @tiffy119 @linki-locks11 @mirandaaustin93 @pjofangirl18 @hunterswearingplaid @cookiechipdough @superlock-on-pc @daughterleftbehind @abumbling-bee @savanna1899 @imweirdandobsessed @emilycollins11 @diariesofthebeautyobsessed @bakabozza @imascio08 @luvspnandphan @stormisamystery @atc74 @aiaranradnay @bellastellaluna @deansgirl215 @xristina-gkika @almostelegantfire @infinity-dreamchaser @roonyxx @ericaprice2008 @akshi8278 @leatherandapples @ceisbill @alwaysdreamingforthebest

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #reader x dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester reader insert #anawrites #anawritesspn #Ana writes UR #Ana writes Dean #ur epilogue #q

203 notes · View notes

barbika1508 · 6 years

Text

The awakening (Demon! Yoongi x Reader)

Part 1

Word Count: 4,4k

Genre: Demon! BTS, Demon Au, Prince Au, Angst, Romance

Pairing: Demon! Yoongi x Reader

Character appearance: Park Jimin, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jung Hoseok, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jeongguk

Warnings: Cursing, Graphic violence, Blood

Authors Note: I wrote this sometime ago, woke up during the night with this scene in my head, so I took it from here…it’s basically the end of a story before the finish so I went with it.

The spacing, and the words written in Italic means it’s a flashback/ memory.

also the whole Death bringer nickname I’ve been wrecking my brain for some time for a better nickname but came out with this, so if anyone has a suggestion tell me I’ll change it if its better XD

Summary: Y/N is a mere human, who one day unsuspectingly fell into hell. And not just a random part of hell or the top level, no she fell right inside the mansion where the prince of darkness lives. Instead of casting her back to earth, or imprisoning her because it’s hell after all he decides to spare her life. But the prince of darkness who may be the most powerful demon to walk to earth and rule hell, still is a growing young man who has to face all types of threats. Maybe she is one too?

Part 1 / Part 2

Its hazy, everything is hazy. I feel as if I’m not even in my own body because I don’t feel anything. I stare blankly without a trace of fear as a droplet of blood runs down and then falling hitting the ground rather quickly. I feel more trickling down my chin and I know it’s my own. My knees do ache on the harsh bare ground that haven’t softened my fall, hands dirtied from the soil and colored into a crimson color all the way up till my elbows. I can feel the liquid trail down gravity doing its job. Its warm on my skin. My fingers twitch as does my body, another cry going of in distance, meaning another life has been lost. But that’s happening away from me. From us. Yet I can hear it so clearly as if I’m standing right next to the dying soul. But I can’t bring myself to look up, I should but I can’t…I can’t…

Looking to the side I stare as Jeongguk gets knocked onto the ground, his head getting slammed into the earth to render him immobile probably, or just going for the kill. He looks unphased by it, grinding his teeth together, face contorted into a grimace as his hands push into the werewolf’s throat trying to keep his snapping muzzle away. It seems as if its irritating the giant wolf even more. If I didn’t know any better I would assume the always strong maknae has this handled. He’s not one of the best warriors for nothing after all. The truth it different though. I can see it even from this distance with my weaker human eyes that there’s fear in his. He’s losing the fight. I always teased him about this, of the day he’ll lose. But I never thought I’d witness or experience it. He can’t lose. He’s the golden soldier, the most noble knight, the last barrier, our protector, and my friend. He can’t die.

The numbness from the initial shook edges away fear raising up my spine like an unwanted cold breeze. It makes me want to cower away, back inside the mansion back to the safety of Yoongi’s room, to hide underneath the blankets where nothing and no one can touch me. Well besides Yoongi himself. Its his bed and room after all I’m just the stranger, the human who got onto his good side.

I bet he’d creep up on me like he always does thanks to his damned abilities. Sneaking up to me for no particular reason, sometimes simply out of amusement too.

Another cry vibrates around us but this one familiar which makes my head snap onto my right, eyes unmoving from two figures. If I thought I feared for Jeongguk a moment ago now it grows worse. Taehyung loses his footing but it’s only for a split second, and yet the demon fighting against him manages to slash against his side, blood spluttering around. Despite the groan that sounds more annoyed than from pain, he holds the demon’s arms away kneeling down as the foul creature who has transformed into a hairless goblin looking motherfucker with black eyes, and claws which he’s trying to keep away. I flinch seeing Seokjin charging forward into the bastard from the side tackling him and Taehyung over.

The breath of relief that was about to leave from between my parted lips gets stopped at the weird unpleasant sensation that tingles up my shoulders. There are more enemies coming. I don’t know how, and why I just know I can feel them from the g…from the ground. My head falls forward eyes staring at the dark dirt that’s drinking up the blood that’s still trailing down from the gash on the side of my head which should be inflamed but I barely feel it being there.

It doesn’t hurt. The hit shook me till my core, literally rattled my bones maybe even detached my very soul from my body for a moment, because I saw a light. And it was blazing gold before I was back in my body and in the darkness. The initial dizziness and haziness its not present anymore, and its not logical as to why I’m feeling like this…I feel…fine. No.

I feel angry. Angry to be a useless human. On top of it this meat sack, without any recollections of who I was before, who I used to be. I feel anger because they are all fighting to protect me, anger because they are all willing to risk they’re lives in exchange of my completely useless one…me a pesky human. I’m fuming because I can’t do anything myself, haven’t been able since the day I woke up in the throne room randomly. Not even the muscle memory that saved me a few times, isn’t useful now. I’m just so plain.

I’m fuming because of how useless I really am. I feel as if the anger is eating me alive, the guilt, the worry, the heartbreak cracking my soul. I can’t compare to the powerful beings around me…the ones I started calling family…they are fighting the battle all alone…it’s my battle to fight my…

‘’Y/N!’’

A howl fills up the air, fear clutching at my heart making me feel as if its going to burst inside my chest. My fingers still trembling dig into the dirt, my joints flaring up in pain but briefly. A hiss joined with a threatening growl from somewhere behind me alerts me that someone is charging at me as that sensation when someone creeps on you gets me to stop breathing briefly. Glancing back and to the side I watch as the demon two sizes bigger than anyone here gets knocked over roughly with a bat, Jeongguk marching towards it looking like he’s fuming Hoseok at his side ready to behead anyone with the machete he still clings onto.

But what gets my immediate attention and alert are the shadows that have risen up from the ground materializing in thin air. I stare as they retreat into the earth, gaze trailing after feeling them slither away. My eyes widen as my head straightens up and forward. It was inevitable.

Oh no. You idiot. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Why?

What follows behind fear? Terror and despair. It’s as if Deimos and Phobos are mocking me.

Both emotions swirl in the pit of my stomach, making my soul restless all my lingering thoughts disappearing as my mind goes blank and I can only feel these two things while I watch the true horror that’s happening a few feet before me, at a safe distance he told me before to stand behind.

Yoongi is in a similar position as I was redeemed into. But he is on his knees hands clutching onto the demon’s hand desperately that is angled in a weird manner hovering too close to his chest. Or is it in his chest? Said demon is standing right in front of him with a wicked grin over his gruesome but still humanoid features, the resemblance between the two almost uncanny.

The shadows that were raised near me in a protective manner a moment ago should have risen around him instead. And they are to some extent but have stopped midway into the air and are slowly retreating disappearing against the ground and not into it. I almost whine when Yoongi spurts blood from his lips meaning the hand is much closer to his heart that it seems to me. The other vile creature remains unphased even with droplets of blood landing on him.

This can’t be. Yoongi he…he can’t be kneeling like that! He’s the crowned prince!!! He has sacrificed so much already, went through many hardships in his long life he’s not supposed to kneel to anyone let alone that piece of shit. He wasn’t supposed to get hurt, he promised me…he promised that he will stay with me! He promised to keep me safe to…you idiot. You fucking idiot.

I’m angry and absolutely fuming in rage because he knew the outcome! He knew or at least estimated that he wasn’t going to survive this. Ever since that kiss, that first brush of hands that first night under the pale full moon he told me I was his priority. Nothing else mattered. And he knew going into this because it was inevitable, you can’t just keep killing off ants without killing its queen first to be able to live normally. They don’t leave you alone. And the moment is finally here. The moment I’ve had nightmares about for a strange reason which no one had figured out. It all comes to this.

What is death? It’s a single word.

‘Goodbye.’ The word, his voice echoes in my mind. That bastard. That fucking prick!!!

‘’Y/N! We need to go now!!!’’ Namjoon’s voice comes out of the blue bringing me back to the present making me realize that I’m not safe in the first place. And I don’t give a shit anymore. There’s no point really ‘’Y/N!!!’’ he keeps calling my name urgently, and I’ve never heard him raise his tone so high before. He’s always calm and collected, and a true cutie pie despite being a demon who can take your soul at any given moment with a press of lips to seal the deal.

My eyes remain on the person that is dearest to me. He is my life, my whole reason to live. Has been since that confession of his, which revealed that he’s not a monster as everyone portrays him to be. Yoongi’s head turns the slightest towards me, grey eyes staring at me. Even like that, infused with pain and agony he choses to look at me. He doesn’t need to say anything for me to understand him ‘’Go, please go love.’’ I can hear him in my mind seeing his eyes plead me to go.

‘’…Y/N c’mon…’’ his tone turns more desperate ‘’We need to go, you’re in danger here…’’ Namjoon’s words falter as the ground shakes at the exact same moment my fingers twitch again. It’s like someone has pulled out all the oxygen from the air, making it toxic as it runs into my lungs which weights me down. I feel as if it searches and goes for my heart terror and despair both squeezing it tight.

I choke on nothing my arms giving out body crumbling down almost making me crash into ground. I use the strength I got not to eat dirt literally as I try to understand what’s happening with my surroundings. Or maybe it’s my body that’s at fault.

I feel Namjoon rush towards me faster, but his closeness changes something. Its as if an elastic band snaps off. The pained groan reverberates through my chest up my throat halfway turning into a growl. Each time I breathe out I feel as if a fire has ben literally ignited inside me.

And it burns. Oh, how it fucking burns. Boiling in me, spreading through my veins, arteries, my blood my skin my insides, everywhere. It’s too much, way too much…it’s inferno.

‘’How pathetic.’’ Comes a pleased snarl ‘’What a weak mate you’ve chosen yourself cousin. I barely touched her and she’s already panting like a bitch in heat…’’ I can hear them shuffling as my head hangs low. I can hear them moving around shadows which; I can hear now. I can hear them. Literally. A chilled shiver runs down my spine as I listen to they’re whispers. They sound so gentle, so alluring. The word serene crosses my mind. Even though the surroundings are far from it.

‘’Don’t…ever dare too…’’Yoongi inhales sharply shadows starting to hiss before they settle back into whispers which are rushed. The calmness has been broken. I can hear the growl between the faint whispers, I can imagine the beast that is laying just beneath them.

‘’Before I send you to oblivion, I want you to know that I’m going to enjoy wrecking her, defile her in every possible way until she awakens.’’ The threat has me cracking my neck to the side, the movement setting of a chained reaction which shifts my bones under my skin rearranging them all from head to toes. Ouch.

‘’Hyung what are you waiting for, don’t just stand around...aishhhhhhhh!’’ Jimin hisses in pain sounding as if he touched something he shouldn’t. His skin is sizzling but heals quickly thanks to his special abilities. I can hear that perfectly in the back of my mind not even having to turn around.

‘’…over my dead body.’’ Yoongi growls with spite ‘’You won’t lay a single finger on her.’’ his shadow gets this high-pitched tone, whispers raising in volume into tiny little screams of fury. I feel as if they are making my ears bleed. The sound hurts. But it fills me up with rage of my own stacking it all up.

‘’I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s a spell. A curse that’s setting a fire barrier around her. We didn’t think he’d stoop so low to call in a warlock to perform dark magic.’’ Namjoon rambles in the back sounding distressed and pissed.

‘’You and your fire tricks, Y/N. The real fun begins when you use your own two hands.’’ The voice sounds amused the chuckle sounding like thunder.

‘’Doesn’t sound fun to me.’’

‘’Not everyone can be like you. It is why you need to be fair and square towards them.’’ the voice goes on wisely triggering a big chunk of my memory of years’ worth spent learning how to fight in many different techniques and weapons ‘’Even if they do deserve to be killed instantly.’’

‘’…what are we going to do?’’ Jimin asks worriedly.

‘’…you can’t stop me. I’m taking the great General L/N with me. The world known Death Bringer. She will make a fine weapon and mate…’’ he gets interrupted by gurgling noises. I can hear someone spitting probably they’re own blood ‘’Ah dear cousin, by this rate you’re only going to kill yourself faster by your own hand.’’

The threat is meant for the man I love which now sounds more serious like he’s going to go any moment now. The feeling that goes over me is a freezing, numbing one. It makes my head snap back to the pair of demons who are standing behind me, concerned still with getting me safe when in reality I’m the monster they should fear. They are only kids. I want to smirk because they are children compared to me. I stare blankly at them, one flinching visibly as I met his eyes.

‘’Ah hyung?’’ Taehyung calls hand slapping against Jimin who has his own arm outstretched forward, his icy powers trying to spread over and cool down the protective shield that my subconsciousness formed. It’s not a barrier it’s a shield. And he’s trying to bring it down. Not appreciated.

‘’Y/N-ah’s eyes are glowing red and are screaming bloody murder that’s…that’s not supposed to happen. Right?’’ his voice gets slightly higher more panicky as he tries to turn away to the other boys that are still around us fighting demons and all kinds of monsters and creatures off. Leaving him alone my eyes snap to Jimin whose glaring at me with icy blue eyes, the concentrated expression on his face shifting into a frown.

‘’Ave atque vale, dear cousin.’’ (Hail and farewell)

And then it all fast forwards before my eyes, head falling down on the ground so my forehead rests on solid earth, as my head begins to fill out with memories. It’s as if a flood has been released, the memories not pouring in my mind because they were there all the time, but they are being refreshed played before my eyes, in my ears, scents swirling in my nose, and body getting washed over with different senses and touches.

It only takes a split second and half of an exhale to make the ground shake all around us. Every creature standing on the field falters. Every one. I can hear the air moving, hear the tinge of metal in the air that formed out of nowhere, ready to strike down. I can taste blood on the tip of my tongue, my muscles tensing up bones having settled in they’re places.

And then everything happens so instantly.

Getting up is easy, my body doesn’t protest as it hums with energy and reawakened power that has been lying under my fingertips this whole time. I just didn’t realize it. But the power that has been at bay this whole time, settles into my bones again making me feel whole again.

I blink only once and it’s enough to find myself in a completely different position and place. My brain quickly catches up on the events and the movement my body did automatically. I take only half of a second to jump start my brain.

Standing in between the two demons, I reach out with my bare hands grabbing onto Yong-joon forearms with an iron grip that probably burns him at first, and only a moment later the pain registers from the grip I have on him. But he lets go of Yoongi automatically, as I drag him sideways forcing him to turn away. My ears pick up on the hisses of the shadows, that die down in confused murmurs picking up with intent a moment later as my lover registers its me whose standing in front of him.

Inhaling deeply in the air I get a good whiff of the bastard’s scent that has me, scrunching up my nose as his pale grey eyes stare at me ‘’I knew I smelled a rat right from the start.’’ I snarl forcing the demon to back away, his resolve faltering horns appearing on top of his forehead. And there it is. The shame. Only one horn is intact, the other cut off years ago by my own very hands.

‘’You fucking…ughghghhhh…’’ he hisses as I force him down onto his knees arms starting to lose circulations from how tightly I’m holding onto him, leaving imprints in wake.

‘’I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from me.’’ I growl my fingers crawling upwards, as he tries to resist and get out of my hold. My attention snaps upwards towards the second wave of soldiers that have been sent. I spot giants easily mingling with elemental demons this time around, the scum having done its job with dying but tiring the boys down in the first wave that has been killed off behind us. What a fucking copy can’t, he copied my strategy from years ago.

‘’You belong to me…’’ he dares to growl eyes showing his true nature and intent, the want and greed as they almost turn pale from hatred ‘’Father should be proud I captured your eye, you’re not as invincible as you think you are General, you can’t change his fate! He’s not fit to be king!’’ he hisses tugging one arm away from my hold breaking his elbow successfully but he does to reach for the ground to unleash his power. I block him by sliding my foot enduring the powerful punch he meant to throw at the ground that would swallow Yoongi whole and probably crush him on spot. A dirty trick he was taught from the dark warlocks. I trick I’ve picked up randomly when meeting said warlocks and sparing they’re lives millennia ago.

I bite into my cheek ignoring the pain, letting my head rotate so my neck snaps and cracks as I lean closer and over him, holding the scum that he is now with one hand the other snapping around his neck tightly. I want to kill him, so badly I crave the bloodlust to be sated…but I made a promise that bounds me. A promise that had me cut his horn off in the first place.

‘’What a pest you are.’’ Both his hands reach up to grip my own, but I glance sideways hearing the whispers again, past my own thoughts that chant ‘I want blood, give me blood, he deserves it, he tested me long enough’. Yoongi stares at me with the silver in his pupils still settled on his knees, bleeding visibly from his chest, heart having almost been ripped out. But the shadows are caressing his skin, mending the wound together. It’s the glare that gets to me, that raises the rage towards the demon before me.

The man I fell in love with the one I promised to dedicate my life to…he’s staring at me like I’m a stranger.

A hand suddenly shots up fingers digging into my stomach. Head and attention shooting forward I raise an eyebrow seeing shadows have crawled up and over me which have just now protected me from this blow. Not really fatal but it would be an annoyance till the end of the day.

‘’You’ve brought this onto yourself little boy.’’ I can’t help but to mock him. Outstretching my left hand, I spread my fingers open and wait. It only takes a moment but the steady blazing steel that’s infused with not only titans and blood of many gods, but also made from the very essence of one of the sacred stars itself from the world above starts forming the handle fitting perfectly between my fingers. The demon’s eyes widen in realization, panic and fear settling in his eyes as he stares at me, mouth opening wide to protest or shout. To later for despair now.

A swift movement of my wrist and the deed is done. What surprises me is the hand wrapped around my wrist stopping the sword on the other side, to hang in the air my eyes meeting familiar grey ones again.

His jaw is set tight, cold harsh anger radiating from his graceful smooth features, skin pale against the murky colour of blood that has dried on his revealed chest clothes having been ruined in the process.

‘’So doubtful.’’ I coo as his eyes snap to his cousin that’s crying out in agony. Letting go of him he falls on the ground still very much so alive but having lost both horns. It’s a very painful thing to experience, they are part of our skulls. It’s why this doing is the lowest of them all. I’m not unfamiliar with doing this, having had cut both my horns right from the roots a millennium ago.

I receive a growl in return making me smirk, but tug my hand away switching my sword into my other hand as I turn to him, to examine his chest. As my hand reaches up his stops me, making me face his eyes again ‘’You remembered?’’

‘’I did.’’ I reply getting serious again. Despite it all, despite now knowing who I was, who I am…it doesn’t change anything ‘’Did you know?’’ I ask through my teeth hardening my expression.

‘’I did not. I suspected it but couldn’t associate a mere human with the cruellest general that lead the second war against the angels. A human who could barely look at the sight of blood pretending it didn’t make her sick, when in reality she bathed in it for years.’’ He growls in the end.

The second wave of soldiers is getting very close towards us, and it’s surprising that he hasn’t made a move yet. He is in no condition to fight, and the boys aren’t in a good shape either.

‘’You should head back to safety, your majesty. You shouldn’t be here.’’ I speak the last part through my teeth daringly leaning in closer. Yoongi is one of the most powerful demons in the kingdom, and this realm. It is why he’s meant to do great things, why he alone survived this whole time. He can wipe out the entire army that has been sent to kill us. But he does have a weakness that lead him to this position. He met me.

‘’This is not your war to fight Y/N-ah.’’ The way he addresses me brings a smirk to my lips and to take a step back tugging my arm easily away from his firm hold.

‘’It became my war from the moment, you smiled at me for the first time.’’ I admit my true feelings, which in the past, okay let’s be honest only months ago before I found myself here I would never do. Glancing backwards I swing my sword around checking out if it still fits my hand, trying to get used to the feeling of it once again securely in my palm. The other boys are finishing up with the lower-case demons, making sure that they are all dead. They were underprepared despite reassuring me all along that they are strong enough for anything. And it’s still a big accomplishment to take down over 1000 demons only the 7 of them.

But now it’s time to turn the tables. I briefly meet each and every one of their gazes before nodding and turning to Yoongi who reaches out for me. I brush my hand in a way that dislodges his own from forming contact with me ‘’Get inside behind the walls where it’s safe. I’ll come back to you.’’ His lips tighten, as I rattle the bracelets that had ridden up my forearm, the metal begins to expand after a mere though and a password crossing my mind ‘’And unlike you I keep my promises, jagiya.’’ I tease in the end, armour securely wrapped round my body having formed from the bracelet that was gifted to me lifetimes ago.

Not wasting any more time, or thoughts I turn forward and start to march shield growing from the bracer on my left hand. I start to hit it with the steel of my sword imitating a marching pattern. Its one of the sounds I'm known for making. It got me several victories as the enemies ran away or surrendered just from hearing it. It was all mind games back then. Now it’s time to show how cruel and ruthless I really am.

They caged me in my own body, into a mortal flesh without memories leaving me lost and helpless to die. They forgot how thick skinned I am, forgot to look for my weaknesses, forgot that even half dead I’m deadly to anyone approaching me.

But the fact remains persistently so in the back of my head: my newest and only one weakness. Its him.

And I’m prepared to lay my life down for him to keep living. Let’s test that theory.

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

/ Part 2

189 notes · View notes

automaticenemycrusade · 4 years

Text

Morgo’Boondax: Exordium

﷼ Exordium ﷼

The golden city, grand was its majesty. It glimmered before his eyes, eyes that now lay behind lenses of distress and unease. With a hand still clasped on the door, he glanced over his shoulder and shouted a final warning, “Barricade de doors n’ don’t let nobody in! If it ain’t me, dey ain’t safe.” The prelate wouldn’t stay long enough to see his demands met, for as soon as the words left his lips, he stepped outside and slammed the door behind him. It was as if he feared that for every vestige of strength he hadn’t put into securing the door, his foes would take their due. Donning his mask, he glided down the intricately-paved roads with all due haste, tossing fleeting looks from here to there in an attempt to see if the enemy had risen past the city’s first line of defense.

Luckily for him, all his gaze caught onto was a familiar lone sorcerer, plagued with fatigue, and he supposedly had a message for him, if the standing salute had anything to say.

“Soldier!” The prelate announced. “What’s de situation at de flank?”

Oddly, the sorcerer shook his head, his response bedeviled with baited breath, “Nah, mon! Dey be attacking from de docks now! Nazmir was just a ruse.” The prelate looked on with sudden horror, as his counterpart continued, “Our forces gonna need time ta reconvene at de stairs!”

“By de Loa,” He said grimly. “Hurry on den, wit’ me! We gotta be reinforcin’ da forward line.” With a nod from the sorcerer, they pressed further into the city. Somewhere along the way, the prelate regarded the troll at his side with a warm smile, as he knew the man from battles long since fought. Raptazi, was his name.

It wasn’t long until they spotted the first signs of resistance. The duo came upon a bridge, and on said bridge, a small skirmish was taking place. Zandalari warriors, a pair, were holding their own against their oppressors to the best of their ability. They were outnumbered by several Alliance paratroopers, all varied in race, though one amongst them was a Pandaren. The prelate’s heart sank at the notion. It was he that once traveled across the sea in an effort to see the maddened prophet’s vision fulfilled, and yet, here they still stood, on opposing sides of a war. Despite this, the Pandaren, as well as the rest of his comrades, were still taking part in assaulting the city, his city, and his honor be damned if he let them lay a finger on his kin. So, he met their bloodlust and animosity with that of his own, bounding into the fray and joining the melee alongside his companions.

The confrontation went surprisingly well at first; he landed a strike here and a jab there, ushering in the crimson tide of his foes. However, they were still outnumbered seven to four, and he and the men he led slowly grew overwhelmed by their adversaries.

Rumble, rumble. What was that? Rumble, rumble. The sound grew louder as it got nearer, and soon enough, in the distance, the prelate could spot a familiar face atop an armored Direhorn.

Brandishing a finely-decorated broadsword, the troll atop the beast called for his mount to ram into their flank. The ivory of its horns glistened with blood as it shredded through their ranks, providing the Zandalari the edge they needed to turn the tide completely.

The prelate’s features brightened beneath his mask, so much so that he felt inclined to show his glee wholly by removing the faceguard and hooking it onto his brooch. “Hakolho!” He exclaimed, with an emotion unlike what the situation would portend: happiness. “Knew ya couldn’t stay away.”

Hakolho, as he had been revealed to be, met the optimism with a wily grin, hollering out in response, “If it ain’t Jorgo’Boondax!” and with that, he swung out the broadsword and leapt down from the Direhorn to finish the deed. With his aid, the allied forces triumphed.

Although Jorgo desperately wished for a moment of respite to catch up with Hakolho, a troll that he hadn’t seen for far too long, the conflict all around him only worsened, so in agreement with his better judgement, he pushed reunions aside and barked out the order, “Regroup! Everybody ta de steps!” His command was followed. The battalion assumed formation at the prelate’s back as they barreled to the docks, drenched in sweat and gripped with exhaustion. Nearly there…

Fear and disquiet took their hearts once they laid eyes upon the horrid sight, the sight of the port and its Alliance infestation. They were countless, endless, merely a wave of steel-clad men and women with that same azure tabard and that same lion’s crest, wielding an insurmountable arsenal of swords, bulwarks, and firearms. Boomsticks, they called them, a machination that Jorgo had come to find dishonorable and cowardly. A bow required a hunter’s senses, a keen eye, and the strength to nock an arrow, but these things, they accomplished the same goal, just with the added convenience of pulling a trigger. For an instant, Jorgo’Boondax embraced the calm before the storm, as he lifted his spear to a sky clouded with smog and cried out, “Fah Rastakhan! Fah Rezan!”

“FAH ZANDALAR!”

A cacophony of war cries and thunderous cheers echoed out across the field of slaughter, as steel clashed against steel and plate grinded against plate, a tide of human, dwarf, and elf descending upon the small battalion, though despite their struggle against overwhelming odds, they held strong at the top of the steps, which would soon be flooded with blood. Even still, Jorgo fought on, for behind him were the homes of his people, his family, and the families of his men. The burden on his shoulders was heavy,

Ten.

But it was necessary that he hold this position until reinforcements return from their fool’s quest in Nazmir. The situation was growing unsalvageable as their enemy gave no quarter. One by one, his men began to fall, as their shields cracked against the onslaught of steel and left them exposed for attack. A warrior was felled by what felt like a thousand blades, as another was struck with arrows like needles to a pincushion.

Nine.

An outrunner had slipped past his defense and deftly avoided the halberd aimed at them, a dagger emerging from their sleeve and tearing through a warrior’s backside. The crimson result gushed onto the prelate, only delving him further into a senseless battle trance.

Eight.

Everything went out of focus, as he blindly drove his spear through the outrunner’s neck, then another, then another. He lost count, eventually. The more that came within his reach, the more corpses that landed at his feet.

Seven.

An agonized shriek ruptured from the Direhorn’s throat, which, notably, was now deluged in both its own and its enemy’s blood. It was difficult to tell which fluid took the majority on its hide, but either way, it thudded forward and sluggishly swayed to the rhythm of its own death, sliding onto its side, and eventually, down the steps themselves, which hurled Hakolho from the saddle and into the ravaging maw of the Alliance masses.

Six.

Try as he might to aid Hakolho in his time of need, he was all too preoccupied by the torrent of Alliance dogs he was being forced to single-handedly deal with. The spark of hope within him was at last fading as his deterrence was continuously breached, but, when all seemed lost, the rallying cries of his reinforcements finally met his ears, to which his faith was instantly reignited. If he was to die here, he wouldn’t die alone.

Five.

With his load lightened, he took the time to stumble behind the newly-formed frontline of Zandalari and tend to his wounds, calling upon his Loa’s light… except nothing would answer. Each attempt led to a measly flicker within his palm. He clenched his hand into a fist.

Four.

Something was off. “Push forward!” He called out, unsteadily, and yet the feeling did not expire. Something was wrong.

Three.

He looked off the right. Nothing.

Two.

He looked off the left. Nothing… or so he thought.

One.

Among the last things he saw were the barely visible silhouettes of the archers atop the pillar and a despondent, bloodied Hakolho ascending the stairs, just as the sharpened tips of arrows dug into his chest and sent him spiraling to the ground.

Doriyah.

Morgo… Morgo.

#frogboyfiction #wowrp #wowroleplay #world of warcraft #roleplay #zandalarforever #zandalaritroll #trollrp #wyrmrestaccord #wyrmrestaccordrp #battle of dazar'alor

1 note · View note

sanguiresse-a · 7 years

Text

bloodsong. (pt. 1)

(pt. 2)

The first and only known journal entry of a dusty leatherbound book, kept locked in the archives of the Black Rose labyrinths.

Dated in Noxus, 1462.

I feel myself going mad, a state which I can only attribute to the great fog bleeding into my thoughts. I write as an act of safeguard, of proof— for if I am to turn to nothing but a raved fool, know this. Know these are the writings of a man still in possession of his sanity, even as it slowly drips away like water, held in the curve of my palms. Emilia tells me that I should never lose myself, if my self exists in these words. I trust her, even though I’ve never been fond of the written medium, least of all my own. But she is right. What else do I have, when the blood within me sings in a stranger’s voice?

Let me begin.

I can still see that wretched temple.

It is a secluded place, up in arid mountains and stinking of corpses. Here, we worshiped our liquid god. Across all regions and religions, there exists one deity, its status undisputed, its divinity unquestionably worshiped. That god is blood, and that god is the only one I have ever bowed my head to. The Targons have their skies, the Ionians their spirits, but all have seen the scriptures of holy crimson.

I suppose you could call us priests.

It is a dangerous magic. One curious visitor, upon seeing our craft and becoming awestruck by it, described our magic as manipulation of blood. Hemomancy, as he said, though it was a strange phrase, and in describing it, the scholar made it clear he knew nothing of which he spoke.

We do not wield blood, for it is impossible to. Blood contains the soul and the vitality of a living being— in every sense of the word, it is alive, and demands to be acknowledged as such. I’ve seen pupils lose themselves to its voracious nature, for they made the mistake of believing themselves to be stronger than that which gives them their very lives.

Emilia understood this. When she came to the temple, dressed in her city robes and all its adornments, she showed remarkable respect. For five days, she stayed with us, learning about the blood and kneeling at our altars. Her heartbeat was calm, steady, and powerful— not unlike Emilia herself. Upon meeting me, she complimented my scarlet eyes, how bright they seemed compared to the others, how promising. I had thought the same of hers eyes, like the sun discs of the Shurima. And as much as I was intimidating by this woman, I found myself drawn to her.

When she left, I left with her. She was headed to a city called Noxus, a place formed out of ruined villages and survivors of the Rune War. The other priests protested and insisted that I stay with them. Perhaps they could refuse my wishes, but Emilia was not so swayed. I felt a bit like a parcel, being argued over and bargained. But she won, as she is so fond of doing.

We arrived in Noxus a few weeks later, and how noisy it was! While walking through the marketplace I found that I could scarcely hear anything that was spoken to me, and everything that wasn’t. What I heard: footsteps on rough stone, hearty laughter from conversations in which I did not partake, heartbeats pounding like war drums— by the gods, it wasthe heartbeats that rang above it all. Even when the people are silent, when their mouths are finally shut and they simply exist— still! Still, their hearts beat in their chests, in my hands, my head.

Such cacophony was never within the temple. But even so, I knew I would never return. I began to accompany Emilia during her daily obligations. She was looking to establish a ruling government for Noxus, which she assured me was in chaos. I couldn’t tell, but what was my view? I knew little outside the mountains. I was told that the people I saw as aristocratic were nothing more than low-class laborers.

Emilia dressed me up in fine suits and taught me the matters of civilization. Even now, I still fidget with the buttons on my blouse and the ruffles on my sleeves. But they are wonderful; I feel particularly like the dashing princes in storybooks. It is a shame that they are so easily destroyed; I don’t suppose the princes of old had much to do in the way of massacre.

That became my natural forte. In Noxus, there was little for me. I could not understand the concepts of which the others conversed about for hours: matters of politics and black magic, long and abstract ideas about peace and conquest both. What I knew was far simpler.

To that end, I didn’t learn the name of my first kill until after he was dead. All I knew at the time was that he didn’t like Emilia, and she didn’t like him. He accused her of villainous intent, of trying to take control of a small new city that didn’t need her as its ruler. His blood flared, his heartbeat quickening to maddening levels as he screamed at her. I could not even hear or feel Emilia’s heart.

I could not stand it. And quickly, I put an end to it.

He opened his mouth to speak, and instead of words, his blood rushed out from his throat and into my hand. I remember how he fell forward, and Emilia had merely stepped back and peered over at the corpse, unfazed. I’d like to think she was impressed, for she thanked me. Emilia LeBlanc, thanking me!

I quite liked the feeling. Even now, I remember her words— “The blood was wasted, simply swimming around in that fetid brain of his. You’ll make better use of it, Tristoph.”

I thought that I should’ve felt more sorrow, regret, even, at killing a man who was simply too loud. If the feeling was there, it was overshadowed by the sheer joy I felt at being useful to her. I helped her! Well and truly helped her! I have always known my ability to rip the blood from the veins of a living being; in the previous years I’d taken victims of many raptors, deer, monkeys— once, a pack of sabrewolfs. But never a human being. I found that it was just as easy.

And so it continued. She’d unleash me like a beast upon her enemies, siphoning the blood and mixing it with my own. Emilia tells me that her position has risen, thanks to me. What do I know? I know her home is grander than fairytales. I know her dresses are jewel-toned now, instead of black and white. I know she smiles more.

Once, I sat beside her on the couch while she discussed economics with a thin and wily banker. When the conversation became tense, he jabbed his finger in my direction and asked, “Are you to send your crimson reaper for my blood?” What a name, I thought! To take the blood of others and claim it as my own— no, not my own. Ours! It was a brilliant costume to wear for her. Sometimes, it was not even her enemies that she would point me towards. One night Emilia brought me to a farm just outside the Noxian plains. She knocked upon the door, and a homely-looking woman answered. I heard the chatter of her family coming from the nearby dining room.

That night, I truly felt like a reaper, passing over the homes of the innocent and harvesting their vitality. This new life was cause for adoration, and slowly the teachings of my masters faded from memory. It was inevitable, but foolish. I forgot the scriptures of my god and replaced them with her words. But how much blood can a man hold in himself, I wonder, before he begins to go mad?

There are a thousand lives beneath my skin. None are the same, and all are begging to be freed. I hear them like the heartbeats in the city square, like a chorus of voices singing from my veins. It occurred so subtly that one day, in a night of sitting alone in my chambers and listening to the hum of souls, I realized I had forgotten the sound of silence.

I knew I was stronger than the priests ever could be. The way that blood gravitated towards me was faster, more attentive than it was in the temple. I even learned that I could twist the magic inside the blood, forcing it to the surface and manifesting terrible sickness for the individual. Was it all worth it, I wonder? With every victory comes another voice, not only in my head but in every part of myself.

I told this to Emilia, and she recounted the teachings of my old mentors. She suggested that perhaps I was the god, not the blood.

Me! A god!

To this, I refused. I had known Emilia for years now, and never had I once yelled at her. But to imply godhood? I leapt to my feet and began to rave, all the teachings of my old mentors coming back to me— the blood is alive, the blood is voracious! What am I but a vessel? From nothing there comes blood, and from the blood comes everything!

Emilia— sweet Emilia— was calm throughout this all. She rose from her seat and placed her palm, gentle and cool, against my cheek. Her touch relaxed me as much as it did surprise— for all this time, Emilia had never offered even a hand upon my shoulder.

“Do not lose yourself, Tristoph,” she said, and her voice soft but I heard it clearer than all the rest. “There is still much more for you and I.”

We parted that night, and when we met again, Emilia revealed to me her speculations and research about my magic. Could I drain the blood of inhuman bodies? Outside of our land, would my power still hold strong? What would occur if one were to drink my blood?

I was aghast at her insensitivity, but like my old mentors, I could not argue with her. She clearly had not forgotten all she learned during her stay at the temple, but the detail in which she presented her ruminations far exceeded what could be taught in five days. She showed ancient rituals to me, those meant to wrangle blood into obedience, and as I soon came to learn— into immortality.

I realized in that moment that the blood in my veins was not truly mine, but hers, for if anyone could claim dominion over the untamed, it was Emilia LeBlanc. She told me that she’d come into possession of ancient blood from a distant land, and there was no one else to see to it but me.

She looked at me with her golden gaze and sundered me to silence. She asked me if I would help her.

All I could think of was the great fog in my head and the bloodsong in my veins, surely conducting its requiem.

But all I could do, of course, was nod deeply and kiss her hands and listen to her heartbeat, calm and steady above it all.

#i havent read a book from the 21st century in three months #and im still reading dracula #this is the result.#drabbles tbt #btw this isnt vlad #im pretty sure i made it clear enough but a lot of details are lifted straight from my old backstory for him #so i didnt want anyone to think im now writing vlad as the hecking narrator from cask of amontillado

24 notes · View notes

gray-morality · 7 years

Text

The Phoenix stirs... [part2]

Part 2 - 2018.03.10

The room was mostly bare but for a low table of Hingan design on which sat some papers, ink and brushes. A few cushions had been thrown on the tatami floor and two men were sitting by the small table. The Au ra had a more relaxed posture, crossed legs and his tail slowly waving behind him. His dark skin was a sharp contrast to the white scales and the bright orange limbal of his eyes seemed to burn right through anyone he gazed upon. This person at the moment was a simple Hyur Midlander of Far-Eastern origins, with black hair and no less striking crimson eyes. He sat seiza by the Au ra’s side, his head slightly tipped down in humble respect. “This is satisfactory.” The Au ra broke the silence after writing a few more words in Hingan on the sheet in front of him. “Where should I put you though, mmm?” His gaze fell on Katsuro.

“I will serve in whatever role you see fit to give me, my Lord.” There was a brief pause; hesitation. “Though… if I may be so bold, I believe my experience may serve you better as a Shirei-kan. But I will accept any pos-” “That will not do.” The Au ra’s voice had not risen but the tone was commanding. Immediately, Katsuro bowed his head low. It wasn’t fear that made him do so, but something else he’d have trouble explaining. “You have no displeased me Katsuro, nor spoken out of line, on the contrary. I want you to be my Shadow.”

The Far-Eastern man rarely showed any surprise, but this time was an exception. Gasping suddenly, he forgot protocol and raised his head to meet his Lord’s gaze. When he spoke, it was nothing more than a breathless whisper. “Your...Shadow?”

“Be my eyes and my ears, be my Will. You shall be above all else, answering to none but me.” The Au ra’s lips curled into a smile. “When I first met you many, many years ago, you had potential; A blade in the forging, deadly but not yet complete. You were far too young, barely a man, with scars upon your soul still too fresh. But now… you’ve been tempered and molded into a breathtaking weapon.” The Au ra pursed his lips, gazing upon the visage of Katsuro a long moment. “What should I name you then? Every weapon of such exquisite craftsmanship need a proper name; it’s what gives them a soul and a purpose… ah! Remove your shirt.”

Katsuro merely blinked once and did as ordered, loosening his obi belt and removing his uwagi, setting them aside by his side. Chest now bare, the many scars across his torso - some more faded than others - were laid bare for his master to see. They were the testament of a life of battles, of victories and losses, of lessons learned the hard way. But they also proved that he was a survivor, that he always rose back to his feet to face the next day. But those were seemingly not the focus of his Lord’s attention. Instead, a clawed hand rose, fingers lightly tracing along the coils of a black snake, from Katsuro’s right pectoral and down his right arm. The art was exquisite and must have required many hundred of painful hours. When the fingers reached Katsuro’s forearm, they stopped. There rested a bird he was very familiar with; the Fèng Huáng - the Phoenix in the common tongue - a bird of legend in the Far-East.

“I’m pleased it hasn’t faded with the passing years. Yes, this will do nicely. You shall be Kuro Hebi, the Black Snake. I tremble at the thought of those incurring your wrath, for I believe there’s no cure for the venom of your bite. Does this name pleases you?” His master's voice was suave and had lost its commanding tone, perhaps to offer to Katsuro the chance to speak his mind more freely. Katsuro’s cheeks burned and he was aware his face had turned a shade toward crimson. “I do, Hagane-dono.” And he bowed down in front of his master - Ujitoshi Hagane - forehead touching the tatami, in both pride and gratitude.

#Katsuro Wakahisa #kuro #Ujitoshi Hagane #mateus #rp #the phoenix stirs #feng huang ying

2 notes · View notes

botwriter · 7 years

Text

Rewritten, Chapter 11: Zelda’s Awakening

Read this on Fanfiction.net ➜

“’It’s going to fire, and it’ll hit me, and then you run,’ he explained, casting her the briefest glance over his shoulder as the Guardian began to target him. He savoured looking at her, and tried to tell her, with his eyes, what he’d felt for so long. He had no time to tell her now. It was no use.”

♪

As fast as they could manage, Link and Zelda ran back towards the castle, hands clasped tightly together. Rain had begun falling from the dark clouds amassing above, though Link could tell it was no ordinary storm. When they finally had Hyrule Castle in their sights, both of them came to an abrupt stop. Towers had risen around the castle, glowing red but clearly of Sheikah technology; guardians were pouring out, hundreds of them, bodies red as they fired shot after shot throughout castle town.

Zelda’s breath caught in her throat. “No- the Guardians, they’re- attacking Castle Town!” she began to run forward, but Link caught her hand, pulling her back. For once, his unflinching courage was at a standstill. If it was him alone, he would have ran forward no question, but he was tasked with keeping her safe, and at the moment, that took priority over Calamity Ganon.

“We can’t- Zelda- we can’t-” Link stammered as she fought against his grip.

“No! You have to fight Calamity Ganon,” she protested, “you- can’t run away from this!”

Link was shocked at her words, but held onto her wrist tighter.

“I’m not running away from anything,” he argued, “I’m protecting you!”

“The Champions - they’re getting ready- look, there’s Medoh!”

Of course, Revali had gotten back to his tower first, and the great bird had stood up straight atop Rito’s pillar. But even from the distance, Link could see it was no longer glowing blue; it was a deep crimson red, and Link’s heart sank. Zelda seemed to realise what had happened the same time.

“No,” she whispered, and the beam that left Medoh’s beak, not a righteous blue but a searing blood red, slammed into the base of Castle Town and pushed along the earth for a moment before dissipating. A moment later, explosions erupted in its path, giant blooms of bright red and orange, one after the other, throwing entire houses into the air. Link quickly pulled Zelda to him, turning her away from the sight of her kingdom in ruins. He couldn’t make sense of his feelings. He felt like he was watching something far away and untrue, but that was home- and everyone in Castle town - how could anyone have survived that? He tried not to think of his parents, and focused on Zelda instead, who was clutching his arms.

“The others- Urbosa, Mipha, Daruk-” Zelda cried, and Link looked towards the other beasts and saw them perched at their respective locations. They had been piloted, but now… it was not the Champions controlling them.

“They- were the only ones to get the terminals activated, they have to be in those beasts,” Zelda realised, and a moment later she fell forwards, eyes wide, hand shooting to her heart in a fist.

“Zelda?” Link asked in a panic, holding her shoulders up. Her eyes were wide, and terrified. “They- I can feel it, they-” her voice broke, but Link knew there was no time to wait.

“We need to go. We need to go to Kakariko, and see Impa,” Link said urgently, fighting back his own tears for Zelda’s sake, “it should be safer there. We can try and regroup. We’ll go through the swamp, by the river.”

He knew it was nearly fruitless. To get to Kakariko they would have to pass the castle, and get through the dueling peaks, all without their horses and without falling victim to any of the guardians or Ganon itself. But there was no choice. All he could do was run with her, and get her somewhere safe, and then… go to face Ganon on his own.

She hadn’t said anything, but followed him nonetheless, and they began running down through Hyrule field towards the swamp. Here and there, they had to creep due to guardians already spreading themselves throughout the land - it was easier in the rain, at least, so Link was grateful for that. His sword unsheated, it was muddy in all the rain, and both Link and Zelda were already a mess; he’d let a few tears out, but none that she could see, as they ran. He was ahead of her, holding onto her hand as tight as he could and urging her to go faster as they attempted to bypass the castle and get to Kakariko. A guardian, close to the forest, had spotted them. Link wondered briefly how powerful it was, urged Zelda to stay behind a tree, and faced it down.

It crawled towards him, lifting itself up on its legs and staring down at him with one eye. A moment later, the beam started, a target appearing on Link’s chest. As it flashed, he jumped out of the way, and heard Zelda yell; it had knocked down a tree nearby and started a fire, raging despite the rain. Alright, don’t get hit by the beam, Link realised, wishing desperately he’d had his shield with him. But there had been no way of knowing what was to come.

“Let’s go!” he yelled, running past Zelda and grabbing her hand as he did so. The guardian tried to follow, but the rain hid their footsteps and the tree stopped the guardian from moving quickly enough to spot them.

Once they were further away, and it was quieter, Link was still urging Zelda on. She was wearing her prayer clothes, and the beautiful white dress had become muddied and wrinkled, so Link understood it was harder for her to keep up. Suddenly, her hand slipped from his and she fell to the forest floor; Link stopped immediately, barely keeping himself from falling over.

“Zel-”

She was staring at the forest floor, tears flowing freely, and as Link listened to her voice, the rain came into focus. He approached her, sheathing the master sword, and knelt down in front of her.

“How… how did it come to this?” she asked weakly. “The Divine Beasts… the Guardians… they’ve all turned against us. It was… Calamity Ganon… it turned them all against us!”

Her fists clenched tighter against the dirt floor, and Link could do nothing but look at her, helpless.

“And everyone, Mipha, Urbosa, Revali, Daruk… they’re all trapped inside those things,” she said sadly, looking up at Link, but he could tell what she felt earlier was more than just that they had been trapped. They were gone.

“It’s all my fault! Our only hope for defeating Ganon is lost, all because I couldn’t harness this cursed power! Everything I’ve done up until now… it was all for nothing…”

Link wanted to argue, but he knew it wouldn’t be any use. He felt as at fault as she did.

“So I really am just a failure!” she sobbed, staring at him desperately. “All my friends… the entire kingdom… my father worst of all… I tried, and I failed them all. I left them… all to die,” she whispered, and a moment later the tears overcame her and she fell into his arms. He held her as tight as he could, rubbing her back as the rain seemed to let off a little bit. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay, that they could still fix it, but lives had been taken. There was no more fixing this. Just vengeance.

“It’s not your fault,” Link replied slowly, even though he knew Zelda would want to argue him on it. “We couldn’t have known when Ganon would strike. We couldn’t have gotten back to the castle. And we couldn’t have been prepared for him taking over the Guardians and the Beasts,” he said, and Zelda quieted a bit, but seemed stubborn in her sadness. He understood.

“Let’s go,” he said, standing up and lifting her to her feet.

It was night by the time they reached the Dueling Peaks. Guardians had been on their tail the entire time, and while they hoped to have better luck past the mountains, the two Hylians were shocked to see the valley and the swamp completely full of them.

“How-” Zelda said breathlessly, and Link merely grabbed her hand and pushed forward.

“We have no choice. I’ll protect you. It’s going to be okay.”

♪

Barely a step into the swamp, and one of the guardians had spotted them. Link let go of Zelda’s hand, and rushed forward, sword drawn; it glowed a brilliant blue through the rain, and he brought it down upon the beast’s front leg. Metal and rock screeched together as it fell, tilted, and Link ducked beneath it to take out another. Still it would not desist, and aimed a target at Link that he couldn’t seem to escape; the knight ducked out of the way, and heat seared at his cheek as he did so, the shot narrowly missing. The guardian only began to take aim once more.

“Link! Stop!” Zelda cried, but there was no stopping now that he had engaged with the creature. The next blast missed, and to Link’s relief, flew past him and hit another guardian instead. But without warning, he was hit from behind, and almost immediately after, another’s beam struck him in the chest, and he flew back from the impact, his body slamming into the now-stationary guardian he was attacking. Breath left his lungs quicker than he could recover it. His brain fuzzed. He felt like he had holes in his body.

“Link!” Zelda cried again, and her voice prompted him to try and focus, vaguely aware of the two red targets on his body. He turned, letting out a gasp at the horrifying pain in the guardians had inflicted on him, nearly slipping on his own blood. Perched on the body of the first guardian, he waited for just a moment - and then fell as the second Guardian took out the first with its beam, which went flying over Link’s head. Thank Hylia they didn’t seem to understand when they were attacking themselves. Chunks of rock and metal burst through the air as the Guardians destroyed each other, scraping Link’s face and arms and legs, but he had no time to think about his injuries. He knelt on the dirt, one arm propped on the Master Sword, and breathed heavily despite the pain and blood he could feel seeping down his back. Each breath was more painful than the last, causing blood to fall from his wounds into the dirt. He knew, immediately, that he didn’t have long; but he had no choice but to stay standing. As long as he could, as long as she wasn’t safe, he had to stay on his feet.

“Link, save yourself, go! I’ll be fine- don’t worry about me!”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. She wouldn’t be fine, and he could never abandon her. Link staggered to his feet, falling backwards a bit with Zelda behind him. A third Guardian had noticed them, and it crawled over the bodies of others that had fallen, looming over top of them. Link faced it down, standing in front of Zelda, knowing his body would at least act as a shield.

“It’s going to fire, and it’ll hit me, and then you run,” he explained, casting her the briefest glance over his shoulder as the Guardian began to target him. He lingered looking at her, and tried to tell her, with his eyes, what he’d felt for so long. He had no time to tell her now. It was no use.

The target began, and Link turned to face the Guardian which would surely kill him, letting his eyes fall shut. He had no energy left to take it down.

“No!” Zelda cried, and she pushed her way in front of him; Link’s eyes shot open.

“Zelda!” he yelled, but his scream trailed into silence as a high-pitched ringing filled the field. The Guardian never released its beam; instead, the Princess was glowing with a heavenly golden light, and Link’s eyes fell upon three triangles lit upon her hand. The light grew, and soon enveloped the entire canyon, flowing over all of the Guardians. One by one, Link could hear them falling, and the one directly in front of them shook before toppling over itself. Malice dissipated from its body like a smoke, and they were safe. Link let out a last relieved breath before allowing himself to collapse onto the ground, still gripping the sword.

“No - no! Link, get up!” Zelda exclaimed, having run back to him. She propped his head upwards, and he let out a painful cough. He could feel the chill of the rain now seeping through him, cold in his wounds, which he knew now he wouldn’t survive.

“You’re going to be just fine,” Zelda assured him, and his heart broke in his last moment knowing she was wrong. He spent the last of his energy opening his eyes to look at hers; so green. She was adventure, wilderness, everything, and he had failed her. He failed.

“I love you,” he whispered, all his body would allow of him, and savoured the sight of her as long as he could before slipping out of consciousness.

Link didn’t hear her heart-wrenching cries for him to get back up, didn’t feel the way in which she held him desperately, her head pressed into his chest. He didn’t hear her say “Please, I love you, Link- please…” as she sat, alone in her final success, as his body began to go cold. He didn’t hear Fi, in his sword, speaking out that there was still hope. Link died that day with a heartache, one that would not leave him for a century still to come.

#botw fanfiction #breath of the wild fanfiction #zelink fanfiction #zelink #botw #breath of the wild #loz #THOSE FEELS #REMEMBER THIS ISNT THE END OBVS #U KNOW HOW IT GOES #botw spoilers #breath of the wild spoilers

150 notes · View notes

ameliacrowley · 6 years

Photo

The forest was tremendous, foggy and blooming. Its canopy was reigned by rhododendron, magnolia, and redwood. Cascading lights counting between leaves allowed for a mosaic of herbs to claim the boulder covered grounds below. Bundles branches waves from many trees and a medley of flowers, which were found in the quietest places, added some bright touches to the otherwise brown view. Creepers dangle from most trees and a range of flowers, scattered sporadically, protruded from the otherwise monotonous bark. A clamor of noises, which were caused by critters, reverberated through the air; accompanied by the rustling of the leaves and branches of the treetops in the wind. Birds formed a chaotic orchestra with the sounds of fight over dominance between larger animals.

In the middle, a lush field of grass is contoured by numerous hedges and flower bushes. A lone ornamental piece stands dead center which evokes the image of an animal, a lion. The smaller flower bushes try to take all the attention in this garden and succeed to a large extent; their own unique, miniature world. The hedges reach nearly seven feet high, the same as the lion, but they will eventually grow at least twice as large if left to their own. A couple messages carved on stones are spread around the garden, names of people in passing and those soon to be forgotten within the mystic wonderland. Grass and plants seem to refuse to try and claim more land than they’ve been allocated, perhaps thanks to some intervention. The ornamental piece eternally beckons all visitors, drawing all attention towards it. The smaller flower bushes make sure they’re paid attention to as well, and the hedges and flower bushes are hard to miss, but there’s no way to win when the garden is designed with the focus on the lion.

And in the middle of it all, bewildered by the masterpiece stood a rather large man adorned in plate armor. A rounded helm with half a squared face guard with two squared openings for the eyes. His shoulders were pointy, long and quite large. They’re decorated with layered, spiky pieces of metal, ending in two sharp spikes facing outwards and downwards. His upper arms are protected by pointed, fully covered rerebraces which sit perfectly under the shoulder plates. The lower arms covered by vambraces which have a row of hook-like barbs attached to each outer side. His breastplate is made from various layers of rounded metal sheets, covering almost everything from the neck down and ending at the groin, though the sides are only covered near the bottom. His upper legs are covered by rounded, layered metal cuisses. The lower legs are protected by greaves which have a later of chainmail covering the outer sides.

A man of important, surely, lured to this very specific spot. A man that will come into play soon enough.

For you see, he was being stalked. Following the crude imprints, his heavy armor left behind in the wetted space of moss and rocks as he traveled. A small female wearing what was once a dress, now torn and dirt stained shadow of its former self, only barely able to hang from her shoulders like a discarded old towel. A big piece had been ripped from the right side, holes littering its entirety; leaving much exposed to the elements. She wore a fur scarf around her neck wrapped around her face to just below the eyes. Its odd and worn, but otherwise in a good condition. And as she spoke, her voice was no different. A worn down rasp of what was once a vibrant and beautiful voice to be sure, withered with time and loss into nothing more than a scar of what she once was.

“Are you there, my love?”

“I am…”

“Are you sad?”

“I am…”

“What does it feel like?”

“...The end…”

And as she pushed through the brush, the weeds and the undertow of the forest into that clearing, once more that man came into view. How he stood with a single hand planted so firmly against the lion that sat there in the middle. How his mere presence radiated sheer memory of a time and place once gone. A moment of silence broken by that rasp of hers which barely broke through the natural sounds of the forest.

“Have you forgotten us yet?”

Words that caused pause in his actions, his body numbing of everything that once was to instead turn cold as the very stone he adored. “You are still known, though I do try to forget.” Words much more confident, prominent than her own that easily broke through the bustle of the surrounding area. Only a moment more did he linger there against the stone before turning to face the woman, eyes meeting with her own in a momentary solence of sorrow and remembrance. “Why have you led me here, Lia? Why bring me to the place of our childhood, where we played, dressed in the same thing you wore then? Why do you hide away and only strike when no other soul is around to condemn you for your acts? Is this where you wish to die? Have you brought me here so I can finally put an end to you, you filthy monster? You were once beauty, and now you are nothing more than a monster. Evil and devious in all given ways.”

“...And now the curtain rises…”

With that same hooded gaze, she made careful steps towards the man. Each was equally as poised and elegant as the last, almost on par with the grace and beauty of a trained dancer. Each as quiet and soft as the foliage around here, without a single extra sound to disturb the tranquility of the garden. Steps that led her mere inches from the man, bodies so close that the heat from her own stained fog across the cold plating her wore. “You’ve awoken something deep inside me and for once, I feel inspired. A lust for a particular art that was caged away many years ago… And my dear brother, art requires certain cruelty.” As she spoke a single hand lingered upwards, the very tips of her fingers caressing along the plated cheek of his helm. “I am misunderstood, beauty can’t be evil and I never hurt anyone. It is nothing more than themselves that kill.” Her fingers traced downwards until the very ends of her digits wrapped along the edge of that helm, carefully pulling it from her head to simply discard off to the side. All the while, her free hand went to do the same, pulling that worn fur scarf from around her face to reveal a scared mess of a face. One worn and tattered nearly as much so as her dress. “Art is such a fickle thing; smiles and screams -- I bring both.” A single one of her hands then fled back upwards, callused skin that yet seemed still so pristine running along the blackened stubble peppers along his cut jawline. “You will be poetry, you will be beautiful… And I want to feel everything. I will make you famous… Now sing for me!”

Words that came harsher than the rest, words that pressed on and silenced near every other sound that echoed throughout that forest. A voice that cawed nearly as loud as the single gunshot that rang out. His eyes widened, trailing down to peer between the two towards crimson that started to trickle down the entry wound along his lower abdomen. Nevermind the splattered of that crimson paint now staining the statue behind him. Crimson that stained her very fingers as the gun fell to the ground and instead digits found their way into the wound; each cut and near sliced to the bone by the jagged fragments of torn metal and plate. “I have been planning your final performance for a very… long… time. When they find you, they will cry! I -live- for the applause… And you will die for it.” As those fingers pressed deeper into that wound and the flesh of both parties ripped, the male started to shiver; trembles of adrenaline coursing through his veins, through every last inch of his body, giving him just enough fight through the pain to the knock the hand away from his face and instead wrap each of his meaty digits around her lithe throat.

“I have risen through the filth and muck!” She hissed as he lifted her from the very ground she stood on, fingers torn to the very tips as they were pulled from within that wound. “I -am- beauty. No poets words as your own could match my craft! This… Is my love!” Each word coming harsher than the last, training each breath she had only to struggle in pulling another back in. And yet from him, came nothing. Nothing more than the wheezing of pain that he fought from crippling him. The anguished groan of life, forcing him to cling one for the coming moments that would allow him to finish off and rid the world of this monster. The monster he had created. All the while she did what she could to fight against it, flailing. Screaming, kicking, like caged animal lost in the moments of fear before entrapment.

Moments of struggle that faded into her favor with every passing moment. Struggles that allowed her to claspe bloodied and torn fingers to either side of his shoulder, struggles that fight her way closer to him, pulling through every moment of her own excitement and pain until lips met with his already so cold throat. Simple moments in time that allowed her to sink her teeth into the flesh and fickle muscle and tare away the last thing keeping him from the intending darkness. The gruesome sounds of his windpipe being crushed and torn from where it rest, hinted with the gurgles of blood that filled his lungs instead. Moments that led to him finally falling limp against the very statue that kept him there, dropping her to the ground. The smell of crimson that gagged even her as she lay there on hands and knees, gasping to catch breaths wasted away.

As she pulled herself from the dirt, sitting before this masterpiece she had created of the purest of paints, she sighed; shoulders dropping as subtle ease took over. Her eyes wandered to her blood-soaked hands, following the flowing river as it cascaded down along the silver plate, ending at a blackened void of what was once a throat. “Life has no meaning… But your death shall… The end is important in all things.” Words that feel near lost amongst the sounds of the garden which soon enough returned to their deafening screams. “Everyone wears a mask, Rhett… I just chose to create my own… And behind every mask, is another mask. Only to the audience do I show my true face. But that raises the question, dear brother… Which is the lie -- the mask or my face? I have a thirst for melodrama and until they stop me, I will keep going.” She dug her lax fingers into the dirt and pulled herself along the ground, a rather wide and wicked grin forming as she rests against the statue as well; her back against the fine pointed line of the lions base with a single hand lifted, catching stray droplets of crimson that dripped from the fine points of that lifeless bodies fingers.

With cupped hands that pool of blood was brought upwards, better allowing her to see into it, to see the reflection of the last remaining of her line. To see his face forever caught in those final moments. “You wanted to kill me back then, didn’t you? You helped lock me away, you tried to stop my work. You will learn… We cannot be killed. We cannot be contained.” The thickening paint within her fingers slowed as droplets stopped defacing the rocks and grass below. “We were good… But I wonder what they think when they see me.”

“We cannot be good, we must be perfection. Every element must be in place. We are a slave to this passion. This art… Is a compulsion -- We cannot resist it. There is nothing for us, but this. We swear each performance is the last… But we lie every time. We can’t live without the euphoria of performance. That delightful moment before the curtain goes up. The ecstasy of opening night… Mmm the ecstasy of killing.”

“Beauty is pain. The moment before the shot is painful. Each bullet is a piece of our soul -- each shot if a piece of us. Bliss comes only in the moment before we fire… Is it only when the gun fires that I am alive. How wonderful.”

“...And now the curtain rises…”

#Rp #LiaCrowley #Newbeginnings #Lovelygoodbyes

0 notes

itskimtaehyung · 8 years

Text

Always Pt. 1: Killer (M)

What has Jungkook done...?

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Killer!Jungkook, Angst, Smut

Word Count: 4,710

Content/Warnings: Gore, Smut, Offensive language, This is the only chapter in the series with this kind of very graphic gore so if you're not a fan of gore, just skip to the ************. That’s where the smut starts.

Summary:

You would die for him, kill for him, and everything in between.

He was as much a part of you as yourself.

You didn't want anyone else.

It was always Jungkook.

His fingernails were rimmed with a dark reddish brown. The crevices of his palms and knuckles laced with the same dried crimson. His clothes were black but you could see darker splotches where they had been stained. His hair was disheveled. His eyes wild. Your eyes made their way back to his face. Tears still poured down his cheeks. His breathing was uneven and his shoulders moved up and down violently. Neither of you had moved from where you were standing. You felt a stinging in the back of your eyes, as you stepped forward toward your husband.

"Jungkook, what did you do?"

You took his hands in yours and brought them close to your face to inspect them. It was still quite dark out, the sun had not yet risen, and in the dim lighting of the foyer lamp, you could have sworn that this was blood on his hands. But no, it couldn’t be. You didn’t want to believe it. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will it away, hoping this was all just a bad dream and you would wake up in bed with Jungkook’s arms around you. You refused to believe it until he told you himself. However, Jungkook just stood there, looking at you and sobbing. You wrapped your arms around him, trying to comfort him. Your body shook with every ragged breath he took. When his breathing became more steady, he brought the back of his hand up to his face to wipe away his tears. The dried substance on his hands dissolved with his tears and streaked his face in a deep scarlet. Still, you held him.

Finally he spoke, voice shaky as he said, “Y/N. If I ask you to do something— and you can’t ask me why, you can’t ask questions— would you do it?”

You pulled back to look at him. “Of course,” you replied, without hesitation. “I’d do anything for you.”

“Are you sure? Because that’s what I need right now.”

“Yes. I’m sure. Anything.” What did he do? What did he want you to do? He said not to ask questions, but that didn’t stop you from having them.

He stepped out of your embrace, all emotion left his face. “Good,” he said plainly. “I need you to go back upstairs and change into something black. All black. No white, no greys. Tie your hair up and grab the bleach from the bathroom.”

You did as you were told. When you came back down wearing a black tee shirt and sweatpants, Jungkook was still standing by the door. You could tell he had been crying since you left to change, but he was trying to hide it. What had him so distraught? What could he have possibly done? The blood on his hands seemed to answer you question, but no, you didn’t want to go there.

Jungkook took your hand and silently led you to the garage, where he parked his dark grey pickup truck. He opened the bed of the truck and in it you saw a large, black plastic bag, some saws, knives, a pickaxe, and a couple of shovels.

“Jungkook, what is this?” You had never seen Jungkook with these kinds of tools before and didn’t know why he had them.

“No questions remember?” You nodded your head. “You trust me right? And you’ll help me?” Again you nodded. “Alright. Here, put these on,” he said, handing you a pair of latex gloves.

He climbed onto the bed of the truck and grabbed one of the knives. He then used it to slice open the bag. You jumped back at the sight, gasping. You were about to scream but nothing came out.

Inside the bag was a man. His eyes were closed and his skin was nearly white. Dirt and what looked like grease was matted in his bleached blonde hair. His mouth was slightly open and dried blood lined the inside of his cracked, blue lips. Everything below his neck was streaked with crimson. The source was without a doubt the deep gash in his throat, from which the red liquid was still gushing.

“Give me a hand, will you please?” Jungkook asked, attempting to pull the body out of the bag.

Without answering you climbed onto the bed of the pickup and grabbed one of the arms while Jungkook grabbed the other. A puddle of blood had accumulated at the bottom of the bag, and was pushed out along with the body. It now covered the back of the truck and soaked your shoes. You didn’t know a body could possibly contain this much blood and still be bleeding some more.

“Who is this man?” You asked, when you were finally able to speak again. However your husband solely looked at you and shook his head. No questions. Right.

“Now help me get his clothes off.” He was being disturbingly calm given that there was a dead body in your garage and he was probably the one who made it that way.

Jungkook took off the man’s jacket, removing his wallet and tossing it aside. You picked up the wallet and opened it. There was no cash, and no credit cards inside. You only found a driver’s license, which you pulled out and inspected. Kim Taehyung. Who was this Kim Taehyung and what did he do to deserve this? You kept your mouth shut because you knew you wouldn’t get any answers.

Next you helped Jungkook take off the man’s— Taehyung’s— shirt. Was he really Taehyung anymore? Was there any part of him left in this lifeless shell? You looked at his face. Even though it was bruised and streaked with dirt and blood, you could tell that this man had once been handsome. Hell, he was still handsome. Even ghastly pale and lifeless he was still beautiful.

When Jungkook discarded the stained scrap of fabric, you weren’t prepared for what you saw next. His back and his chest were scored all over with slash marks. He had been whipped, but why? Some were fresh, still oozing, not yet healed before he was killed. Others were older, scabbed over or merely scars. There were also deep pools of green and purple on his wrists, where he had been shackled, and dried, dark gashes from when he tried to break free.

You have no idea how long ago he died. Since it was so cold out, the decay had been hampered. There was the distinct smell of death, but it was not nearly as strong as it could have been.

After the two of you removed the rest of the clothing, Jungkook’s voice was shaky but his face remained expressionless as he said, “We need to remove the arms and the legs, burn off what we can, and then bury the rest.”

“We need to… What?!?” You couldn’t hide the look of horror on your face.

“Just trust me okay? We need to get rid of as much as we can,” he replied matter-of-factly.

Had he done this before? How many times? How could you not know?

Jungkook positioned the body so that it was lying lengthwise on the bed of the pickup. He then grabbed a saw and motioned for you to do the same. You picked one up and stared at it.

“Don’t worry, babe. It’s okay,” Jungkook reassured. “It’ll all be okay.” You weren’t convinced, and by the sound of it, neither was he.

Jungkook brought the saw up to Taehyung’s shoulder and started cutting away at the flesh. You were surprised that it still bled. That there was still blood left in him to bleed.

“I don’t think that’s going to cut through bone.” You said, grimacing at the sight.

“That’s why I’m just cutting the flesh around it. After I’ve severed the muscles and tendons, I’m going to pop the joint out of it’s socket.”

You could feel the bile threatening to creep up your throat. You were about to vomit. Where did he learn all this?

“Don’t just stand there, help me,” he pleaded. You could tell that he was reaching his breaking point, that he might start crying again at any minute. You didn’t think you could handle seeing both the dead body and Jungkook crying at the same time, so you tried to help him. You sawed away at the flesh around his other shoulder and both his legs, while Jungkook used his strength to snap them free. With the audible pop of the dislocation of his joints, the contents of your stomach were threatening to shoot up your throat again. When he tossed the limbs aside, they made a sickening thump on the back of the truck.

“Babe…” Jungkook looked at you. He saw in the dim light that your bangs were soaked in sweat, blood and dirt streaked your face, and fear ran through every inch of your body. “This next part… This next part you don’t have to watch if you don’t want to. I can do it myself.”

“What are you going to do?” You asked, though you didn’t think you wanted to know the answer. Jungkook brought a finger up and swept it across his neck. You understood. “I’ll look away,” you replied.

Although you couldn’t see what was going on you could definitely hear it. The image you constructed in your mind was much worse than the actual thing. You could hear the flesh ripping under the serration of the saw, and the sticky sound of blood gushing from the incision. You heard a crunch as the saw broke through Taehyung’s spine, and a wet thump as his head dislodged from his body and hit the bed of the truck.

You kept your eyes closed. You didn’t want to look. Suddenly you felt Jungkook’s wet hand on your bare arm, leaving smears of crimson all over it.

“Honey, it’s done. You can look now.”

You slowly opened your eyes to find Jungkook’s face just inches from yours. You could see the fear in his eyes, the uneasiness. Then you looked down and saw Taehyung’s head at your feet, in a pool of thick red. You leaned over the edge of the pickup, dry heaving. You wanted to vomit but nothing was coming out. Your throat burned and tears streaked down your face.

“Hey, if you’re going to throw up please do it in the truck. That way we don’t have to clean the truck and the garage.”

“I thought you said I could look?!?” You gasped for air, struggling to get enough of it in your lungs. You felt light-headed, like you were about to pass out.

“Yeah. I was done with the cutting. But you’re going to have to see the head anyway when we dispose of it. It’s not like I can hide it from you.” Jungkook saw that he was losing you and scooted over to put his arms around you. “Hey, hey. Breathe. In and out. Please don’t pass out on me. I need you.” He brought you toward his chest. You could smell the blood, sweat, and death that clung to his shirt.

More tears threatened to fall as you rested your forehead on him and breathed everything in. He held you for a few minutes, letting you calm down. Sunlight started streaming through the frosted windows of the garage door. The sun was starting to rise.

“Hey, we gotta get going.” Jungkook lightly pushed you away from him. “We have to finish before the neighbors wake up.” He was right. It was almost 6am and your neighbors would be getting up for work soon.

You nodded and he stood up and swung his legs over the edge of the pickup bed. He removed his shoes, leaving them in the truck as he padded toward the door that led to the backyard, wearing only his socks. He disappeared outside for a few moments, and returned carrying one of your large metal trash cans.

“Put the body, clothes, and as much blood as you can in here,” he said, positioning the bin at the opening of the truck bed. “Oh yeah, and also the wallet.”

You crouched down to put the chunks of what had once been Taehyung into the metal can, pushing as much of the blood in with them as you could. While you did so, Jungkook took the batteries out of the smoke and carbon monoxide detector that was above you.

“What are you doing?” You asked him.

“If we’re going to burn the body, we can’t have the smoke alarm going off. The neighbors might hear it and come to check on us.”

“We’re not going to do it outside?”

“Are you crazy?” He snapped. Considering what you were doing, maybe you were. “What if one of the neighbors walked out and saw the smoke? It’s a little early in the morning to be having a barbecue, Y/N.” He was starting to get impatient. It was getting closer and closer to when people started to wake up, and all this talking was just wasting time.

“Right. Sorry,” you muttered weakly. As if remembering that you had never done this before, that the only reason you were doing this was for him, all for him, his demeanor softened.

“No. I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything right now.”

“It’s okay, babe. I trust you.” You stood up, hoping that it would indicate to Jungkook that you wanted to drop the subject and move on. The two of you didn’t have much time.

You were about to climb down from the truck when Jungkook held a hand out to stop you. “Wait,” he said. “Shoes too.” You did as he told, taking off your shoes and throwing them on top of the dismembered Taehyung. The blood had also soaked through to your socks.

“Socks too?” You asked.

Jungkook paused to inspect them, contemplating if there was enough blood on them to warrant their disposal. “Um. Yes, socks too.” You took them off and added them to the pile. Lastly you threw in Taehyung’s clothes and his wallet.

Jungkook walked over to the passenger side of the truck and pulled out a drill and a gallon container of gasoline. He used the drill to make perforations all along the metal lid of the bin.

“What are you doing now?” You asked.

“We have to keep the smoke somewhat contained without smothering the fire,” he replied. He then set the drill down and doused the contents of the can in gasoline.

When all of the gasoline had made it’s way from the bottle into the trash bin, Jungkook set the bottle down and opened all the vents and the back door. He then pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it on. The flame danced just above his fingertips before he dropped it into the metal bin and placed the lid on top.

Jungkook put his arms around you and held you as the two of you silently watched it burn. Watched Taehyung burn. Watched it until there was no longer anything left to burn. Until Taehyung was reduced to only ashes and bone.

When the flame finally died out, Jungkook interrupted the silence by whispering, “Can you grab the hammer from the tool box?”

“We’re not done?” At this point you were exhausted, and you just wanted it to end.

“No.” He replied. “We need to crush the skull and teeth. Make the bones as small as we can, so if people come across them they wouldn't be able to tell they're bones.”

“Where are we gonna dump them?”

“I was thinking just the backyard.”

“The backyard? Our backyard?”

“I mean, yeah. That’s why we gotta crush them up,” he explained. “So that they blend in with the soil. So if we ever move and someone starts digging in the backyard for a garden or some shit, they won’t notice that they’re digging up human remains.”

You gagged, and felt yourself getting light headed again. “Okay,” you resigned.

You walked over to the tool box and picked up the hammer. You handed it over to Jungkook as he opened the lid of the trashcan. He grabbed a trash bag, poured the contents of the bin inside, and set the bag on the ground. Then he brought the hammer up past his shoulder and started swinging. The hammer made loud cracking sounds as it made contact with the bones. It was so loud that you worried the neighbors might hear.

While Jungkook was hammering away, you noticed that he left out the skull, which was resting next to his feet. “What about the skull?” You asked him.

“We gotta be more thorough with the skull so I’m going to do that separately,” he answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, we have to take the teeth out and crush them one by one and make sure the skull is completely crushed because those are the easiest ways to identify a body. If we eliminate them then it’ll be nearly impossible to determine who this is.” But you knew who it was. Taehyung. That name would haunt you for the rest of your life.

You just stood and watched as he repeatedly brought the hammer up and then back down with such great force that you flinched each time. By the time he finished reducing every bone to dust, he was covered in sweat. His muscles glistened in the light of the rising sun, and you couldn’t help but stare.

“I’ll dump this out later,” he told you, setting the hammer down. “But right now I need you to help me clean the truck.” You nodded. “There are some old towels in the front seat.”

You took that to mean that he wanted you to grab them, so you did and handed them to your husband. He climbed back onto the bed of the pickup truck. He then crouched down and started soaking up as much of the blood as he could. But it was everywhere, and soon the towels were completely soaked and he was just pushing the blood around.

“I thought you put most of it in with the body,” he accused.

“I did,” you replied.

“Then why is there still so much left?” He sounded irritated, but you knew that was because of the circumstances and not because of you.

“There was a lot of blood to begin with.”

“Right, yeah. Sorry.” He continued trying to wipe up the blood, but was making no progress. “Hand me that bucket, will you?” He gestured toward a large plastic bucket that sat in the corner of the garage.

You dragged it over. He then wrung the towels out over the bucket, trying to get as much of the blood out as he could, before returning to wiping up the rest.

Once most of the blood was absorbed, he grabbed the bottle of bleach that he told you to grab from the bathroom and started pouring it all over the back of the truck. The smell was strong, and you found it worse than the smell of Taehyung’s decaying body.

“Is that going to work?” You asked.

He stopped what he was doing and squatted back to look at you. “What do you mean? It’s how they do it in all the movies.” The movies? Is this where he got all this? Does he know that not all of them are accurate?

“I think hydrogen peroxide would work better. It actually dissolves the blood.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a woman. Removing blood stains is something I do a lot.”

“Alright, alright. Do we have any?”

“Yeah, there’s a bottle by the washing machine.” You make your way over to the little alcove where the washing machine resided. “I don’t think it’ll be enough, though. So we can use the bleach first and then clean up the rest with the peroxide.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Jungkook replied, taking the bottle from you.

The two of you scrubbed the back of the truck until you were sure you got all the blood off. When you were done you were so exhausted you just wanted to curl up on the pickup bed and sleep. Then you remembered that you still had to dispose of Taehyung's remains.

Jungkook caught you eyeing the bag with a blank and weary expression. “Don't worry, Y/N. I'll take care of it. You go upstairs and shower. I’ll be up in a bit.” He leaned over to kiss you on your bloodstained cheek. You nodded and went back upstairs.

You scrubbed yourself for what felt like an hour, trying to rid yourself of all traces of Taehyung. You watched as his blood snaked down the drain. Even after the water had gone clear, you still felt him on you. Even if you scrubbed for the rest of your life, you didn't think you would ever feel clean. At that realization, you exited the shower, and found Jungkook waiting outside the bathroom for you to finish.

“Sorry it took so long,” you mumbled, brushing past him and avoiding eye contact.

“I understand,” was all he said as he disappeared into the bathroom.

*************************************************

By now, it was about 7am and you should have been getting ready for work. You thought it'd be best to call in sick instead, so you did. You were already dressed in your pajamas and had just finished drying your hair when Jungkook stepped into the bedroom. His hair was dripping and he had on only a towel that hung low on his hips.

“Y/N,” his voice was low. You stared at each other. Time seemed to stand still. It had been so long since he'd said your name like that, since he'd looked at you like that, full of a mixture of lust and fondness that you so missed.

He closed the distance between the two of you and put his hand on either side of your face, kissing you on the lips for the first time in what felt like forever. You wrapped your arms around his bare waist and breathed him in. The smell of death had left him and was replaced by the fresh scent of soap. You wanted to enjoy this moment, enjoy the feeling of his mouth, his lips, his skin.

He pulled back all too soon and when you opened your eyes you found him staring at you, taking in every inch of your face. “I missed you so much,” he said, and you could see the sadness and longing in his eyes.

“I missed you, too, babe,” you replied, and his lips joined yours once again.

His tongue roamed your mouth as he put his hand on your lower back to pull you closer until your chest was pressed against his. You tightened your grip around his waist. He pulled away and stepped back slightly so that he could start undressing you. You weren’t in the mood after what the two of you just did, but it had been so long since he had touched you like this, so you let him.

He lifted your shirt above your head and placed soft kisses along your neck and collarbone. You moaned at the sensation, causing Jungkook to press himself closer toward you. You could feel his hardness rubbing against you through his towel and tried to focus only on that. You tried to swap the thoughts of the sin you two just committed in exchange for a different kind.

“Thank you for helping me,” Jungkook mumbled, his lips never leaving your skin. “Thank you for everything.”

You place a finger under his chin and lifted his head up so you could kiss him on the lips again. Jungkook guided you over to the bed and laid you down. He then slid your pants off of you as you scooted farther back on the bed until your back hit the pillows. He threw his towel on the floor and crawled on top of you. His tongue swirled around yours as his hands roamed your body, grabbing and massaging your flesh.

He rubbed his erection between your legs and pulled back to ask, “Are you… Still on the pill? I know it’s been a while since we…”

“Um. No. I’m not. I stopped taking it a while ago,” you answered.

“So should I…?”

“Yes.”

He got up off of you and reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a condom. He opened it and discarded the wrapper in the wastebasket next to the bed. You felt yourself getting wetter and more aroused as you helped him put it on. All thoughts of Taehyung and the unspeakable act the two of you committed just hours before left your mind. Right now all you thought about was your husband and how much you wanted him to kiss you, touch you, love you.

Jungkook placed a kiss on your lips and then your jaw before moving down so that his face was between your thighs. He was about to put his mouth on your wet core before you stopped him.

“No,” you breathed, putting your hands on either side of his head. “Not right now. Right now I want to feel you inside of me.”

He nodded and scooted back up until he was face to face with you again. He bent down to place a kiss on your jaw and tug at your earlobe with his teeth. He rubbed himself against your clit a couple of times before he pushed himself inside of you. It had been so long, and you weren’t properly prepared, so you groaned at the slight burning sensation as he entered you. He went slowly, giving you time to adjust to him. Your body soon remembered and the pain was replaced with pleasure as Jungkook slowly rocked himself in and out of you. He didn’t go fast, he didn’t get carried away. He wanted to drag this out as long as he could, wanted to enjoy the feeling of you wrapped around him.

You held onto him tightly, dragging light scratch marks down his back, You didn’t want to let him go, didn’t want him to distance himself again. You could feel his breath on your neck, becoming more and more shallow. You, too, were close your climax, but tried to hold it off. But it was no use and soon you were coming around him, gasping for air. He lifted his head up and rested it on yours, grazing your lips with his before coming himself.

He moaned your name into your mouth as he came undone. The two of you stayed there for a while, breathing hard. “Thank you, for everything. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispered, his forehead still pressed against yours. “I love you so much.” He gave you one last kiss before pulling out and tossing the condom away. He then laid down next to, wrapping his arms around you and holding you. You laid there as he fell asleep, his head resting on your shoulder as one of your hands played with his hair.

You tried to forget. But in the quiet, soon the malicious thoughts began to resurface. You couldn't get the images of the past few hours out of your head. Taehyung whole. Taehyung in pieces. Taehyung. You wanted to sleep but you couldn't. You wanted to cry but you couldn't. You started to feel numb. You didn’t know if you would ever be normal again. You just stayed there listening to your husband breathing, stroking his dark brown locks.

You stared at him. Thinking about how he’d changed over the last year. His face was thinner, his cheekbones more hollow. There were pools of darkness under his eyes. Not just his face was different, but his body too. He was leaner, and put on more muscle. His arms felt strong as he held you.

After an hour or so exhaustion finally took over. You fell asleep thinking about the future, about what would happen to the two of you.

A/N: I’m very sorry for this. Taehyung is my bias i love him very much and this was very hard to write. I hope you don’t hate me. Also shout out to @j-hellnah for helping think of the word “nightstand” when i forgot the name for it and @jungkookpd for letting me know if i was doin too much with the gore

415 notes · View notes