#dark souls fic

[redsixwing]

Tell me about "The Worldbuilding Thing"

For the title meme!

The Worldbuilding Thing is a Dark Souls short fic collection, meant to explore Anor Londo at its height, after Gwyn's sacrifice but before the fading of the Flame. I talk about it a bit more here.

Here's a snippet in work:

Tolly raised the coals to working heat and dropped the scrap from the silver armor into a ready crucible. It would surrender to heat, if not to force. She could not watch, not with the flame as fierce and bright as it was, but she knew the time to anneal steel. That would do for a start. Outside, Anor Londo was waking up. Sandy and Rina dashed by, pursued by their father, all three laughing. She called and waved to all three, wishing them well in their day. Somewhere in the markets, a cock was crowing. The bakers would be in full swing. Passers-by began to look more alert, less exhausted, as the folk who supplied the market street gave way to those who came to shop. Her sand-glass was empty. Tolly took the crucible out with tongs and peered in. Uncoated before the fierce heat, its surface had gone to an even, sooty black. The edges had slumped, but the material was harder than ever.

[ancientmyrddin]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dark Souls (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Knight Artorias (Dark Souls) Additional Tags: POV Second Person, Existentialism, Surreal, Death, Drabble, Character Study Summary:

You are dying. You were never real enough to die.

[blackjackkent]

Pairing: Unkindled/Firekeeper Warnings: None Word Count: ~740 Setting: Dark Souls 3, directly after the End of Fire ending

A/N: Random little flashfic vignette that my brain insisted on spitting out after thinking about DS3 for the first time in a while and having feels about the End of Fire. Honestly I have a whole longfic in mind about an Unkindled's journey towards this ending that I would like to write, but idk if I will ever actually get around to it, so this is what I have produced instead, at least for the time being.

Idk how good this is or how much sense it will make to anyone besides me. XD Like DS itself, it operates more upon vibes than sense. But here it is for anyone with interest in such things, and hopefully my brain will let me go to bed now. <3

-------

“Ashen one… hearest thou my voice still?” she asks. 

All is dark. The first flame has burned out at last; not even embers remain. And with it has gone all light out of the world, even that pale ring of fire that had been the sun’s last dying form. The blackness is absolute.

He breathes - once in, once out. Then again. The kiln smells of charred bones. 

The firekeeper speaks again, her voice like the whisper of silk on skin. “Ashen one… what we have done may not be undone. Dost thou still hear me?”

He turns his head, listening. In the silence of the darkened world, he can hear the gentle susurration of her feet through the infinite ash that blankets the kiln. So many have died in this place, fed themselves to the fire in pursuit of immortality for a god long dead. But no more bodies will burn here now. They have seen to that. 

They have seen to the end of the world.

“What have we wrought, ashen one?” she asks him. There is a tremble in her voice. “Surely we were not wrong? The world had stretched itself to breaking, its only respite to be found in utter surcease… It was a kindness we did, and yet I did not, in all my visions, sense how cold it would be…”

He feels that chill as well, seeping through his armor. It is not a chill merely of the air, but of the world itself. Its heart has been stopped; its flame-blood no longer flows. 

It matters not to him, of course. He is not alive, in spite of his breath and the twitch of his flesh, but merely a construct molded of the remnants of those who came before. No matter how cold this long night grows, he will not freeze. 

But she might…

The thought stirs him from his torpor, as his own discomfort did not. Were he abandoned to witness this sea of black in solitude, he might have sat there unmoving for many hours before finding the will to rouse himself. But he is not alone. 

The fire has faded, and the world with it. But she is still here, as she has been waiting at the end of every battle since he was pulled gasping from the grave. She has been his voice, as he has been her eyes. She has given him strength, and he has acted for both of them in pursuit of a new world. And now, even in the endless darkness, he is not alone because she is with him. 

He stands. His armor rasps metal on metal with the movement. He hears her soft exhalation, a sigh of relief. 

“I hear thee, ashen one. Wilt thou come to me? Canst take my hand?”

He reaches out blindly, led only by the sound of her voice and that nearly imperceptible sound of ash under her feet. His gauntleted hand brushes the sleeve of her robe, and then her fingers close around his with a desperate intensity that he can feel even through steel and leather. She tugs his hand to pull him to her; he cannot see her but he feels her weight as she leans into his chest, her forehead pressed to his breastplate just above his heart. 

“I know I am not wrong in what I saw,” she says softly. “A new flame will kindle itself, dancing across the darkness. We could take no other course than this; we could not hope for a new world while the old one still writhed and struggled for breath.”

It is a plea for reassurance, for comfort. He says nothing still, but releases his grip on her and begins, methodically, to strip the gauntlets from both his hands. Each metal glove falls into the ashen dune with a soft thump. When she reaches out for him again, their fingers interlace, warm skin on warm skin that says what he cannot say in words.

She relaxes; her voice softens to almost a whisper. “Yes. If we walk side by side in this darkness, there shall be nothing left to fear. Thou wilt stay with me, to see this new world together?”

He lifts her hand and presses his lips silently against her knuckles. 

Her breath catches, releases shakily. “Then this is how it shall be. We shall traverse the roads of black, and I shall be at thy side.”

[daemon-in-my-head]

He hesitated, and I will never forget that he did.

My brain is absolutely fried. It's been 32° Celsius today. There's no coherent thought left, so I just played around with colours. Fuck backgrounds btw.

I wrote 5 words today. Then I collapsed in my chair. Yeah, I'm doing fineeee, summer is my vibeeeee, I'm absolutely not rotting awayyyyyyyy

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lonely Souls Club 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Idk, something a bit different.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky

She doesn’t see him but he sees her. He’s not hiding. He’s right there. If she just looked up, he’d be caught. But she doesn’t so he remains.

The pointed led scratches over the thick paper. Beside the open sketchpad is a plate of orange chicken and lo mein. He hasn’t touched either. His appetite has wandered away like his mind.

Carefully he etches the line of her nose. She carries a lot of her character there, as she scrunches it at whatever she’s reading then wiggles it as she reaches to sooth an itch. She never quite stops moving, like a hummingbird, she’s aflutter.

Mrs. Zhao comes by her table to deliver her food. A plate of dumplings steaming amid a bed of bean sprouts and broccoli. A quiet thank you is uttered but her eyes don’t meet the elder woman’s gaze. He notices how she can hardly look anywhere but the pages beneath her fingers. Her shield against the world around her.

She closes the book and slides it to the edge of the narrow table for two. She grabs the chopsticks and slides off the paper sleeve. She pulls, struggling to pry them apart only for the left one to break in two, still stuck to the other. Disappointment shadows her features and she lays the chopsticks down mournfully.

He scribbles, trying to capture her expression. He has several crowded onto the page; her pensive stare, her scowling focus, and the shadow of a smile that dimples her cheeks. She takes the fork and pokes at a dumpling. The sharp tines release a small plume of steam.

She uses the side to cut into the tender shell of the dumpling. She blows over a small morsel before tasting it. Her delight is plain as she chews slowly, savouring the taste. As he watches, he recalls his own frigid food.

He lets the notebook close on its own. He leaves it by his elbow, setting the pencil down to roll against its spine. He pulls his plate close, twirling a knot of noodles around his fork. He takes a bite and peeks over at her. 

He pretends that they sit together, that they’re eating at the same table. In some other world, they would be. This would be a sweet date he surprised her with and she would thank him with a smile. Her real smile, the one she chews on but doesn’t let free.

But this isn’t that world. This is reality and he’s just a stranger. She doesn’t know him. She hasn’t even noticed him sitting right there. He puts the fork down and sits back. His appetite curdles to hot bile. 

The loneliness is what he hates the most about this new world. The people around him move too fast, they’re all lost in themselves, they’re looking with seeing, talking without listening. It’s like they don’t even speak the same language.

He asks Mrs. Zhao for a to-go box. Another pile of leftovers to go with the rest. It’s habit. He hates to see a meal go wasted. He remembers the days of mustard sandwiches, when his mother scraped every grain of flour to make a loaf. Nearly a century. A hundred years lost, a life stolen. From him.

He packs up the noodles and the saucy chicken and snaps the lid shut. He doesn’t leave yet. She’s still eating. Just as deliberately as before. Her careful bites are self-conscious as she dabs a napkin to her lips now and again. She doesn’t finish hers either.

She accepts a box and a fresh set of chopsticks to take with her. She slides the remnants of her meal into the container and closes it, fingers squeezing the edges as she checks to make certain it’s secure. She doesn’t leave either. She lingers as she resumes her reading, just a few pages before she finishes the chapter.

She counts out a tip on the table top and stacks it by her empty plate. He tilts his head. She’s a creature out of time. Sort of like him. He always sees the plastic swiping or the tap of a watch that has the machine chirping. She’s old-fashioned, he likes that.

She uses the table to leverage herself to her feet. Her hips are slightly crooked as she stands and pulls on her light baby blue jacket. It’s long and belted at the waist but she leaves it open. She slips her book into her canvas bag and hangs it over her shoulder. She cradles the container in her arm, leaning on the chair before she takes her first step.

He noted that before. One leg seems longer than the other as she limps across the quiet restaurant. She doesn’t seem bothered by her uneven gait, she simply goes on. She stops by the door and looks at the little figurine; a smiling cat waving an arm.

He puts his head down and listens to her departure. He looks down at his gloves hands, turning over his left as a glint of metal peeks out below the sleeve. Someone like him can be fixed but she’s there, with her small steps, forgotten.

He gets up so quickly, he hits his leg on the table. He hurriedly gathers up his sketchbook and clutches it against his leftovers. He waves to Mrs. Zhao as he marches out but can’t untangle his voice from his chest. He doesn’t want to lose her. He can’t lose another thing.

In the street, he catches sight of her blue coat. She’s not very quick as it is. He can easily keep up but he doesn’t want to meet her pace. She can’t see him. Not yet.

He rounds the corner nearly a block back from her. He pauses to feign interest in a window as she clutches her hip and slows. She stops not much further down as a bearded man sits against the brick with a cup jingling in his hand. She speaks so quietly, even the man on the pavement has to lean in. If it wasn’t for the laboratory torture, Bucky wouldn’t hear her either.

She’s sorry that she spent all her change but he can have the food. At first, the man’s face twists, he doesn’t seem happy with that. Then he accepts as if he can’t bear to deny her. Who could?

“Thanks, lady,” the man sounds like a buzzard.

She nods and wishes him a good day, as good as it can be, she adds. Then she’s off again.  

As Bucky trails her, he’s reminded of someone else. Of someone who once needed him. His protection and care. Just another person who abandoned him. The one person who could’ve understood him. Gone, just like everything else.

He tucks his chin down, eyes narrowing on the woman. Target acquired. He shakes off that thought, that worrying echo of the past. He’s not the machine they made him. He’s still a man. Alone and broken, just like they left him.

Like her.

Her

Just along the crooked and cracked walk, behind the overgrown bush, there lays the peeling door behind the creaky metal grate. It’s a grim scene but sometimes you pretend it’s a hidden entrance and that you’re unlocking the passage to some fantastical world. You twist the key, wiggling it before it catches, and you pull as hard as you can.

The wrought iron is heavy and one of the bars juts out enough to catch your sleeve. You use your shoulder to hold the outer door open as you unlock the second. You stumble inside, your hip achy and overworked. You close both doors tight, cranking the deadbolts back into place.

The rain will come soon. It’s why you wore your jacket. You expected it to come earlier but you’re glad it didn’t. The change in pressure always wracks your bones.

You hang the baby blue coat as you put your canvas bag on the worn wicker seat of the chair beside the door. The apartment is small but it’s all yours. The single room is a kitchen, bedroom, and everything else but the bathroom. That is barely more than a closet.

There’s a thump from above. Several as the neighbours’ toddler barrels around. You should’ve waited until after nap time to leave.

You leave your boots on the woven mat and fish out the novel from your bag. You limp across to the folding couch, still a bed as you hadn’t bothered to roll away the flimsy mattress. You lower yourself onto it, pulling a pillow behind you as you recline.

Your pelvis is sore. The chair in the restaurant wasn’t very comfortable, though the food was good for the cost. You don’t eat out very often. Not really at all but it’s your birthday and you wanted to do something special.

You open the pages and quickly dive back into another life. A world where magic can weave miracles but tempts a dangerous darkness in its use. No good thing comes without a price.

You slump down as you read. The sunlight slowly fades as the clouds shift and the din deepens. You close the book as you look across the room at the floor lamp. The small distance across the room seems akin to Tolkien’s infamous trek. You don’t want to get up, you just want to sleep in the damp afternoon.

You sigh and put the book beside you. You rub your eyes and forehead and bend one leg, then the other. Your muscles are taut and protest with a dull burn. You can’t read in the dark, you’ll get another headache.

You groan and push yourself to sit on the edge of the mattress. The slender frame echoes you sharply as you stand. Your right foot comes down heavier than the left as you cross the space. You flick on the light and flinch as a storm cloud seems to pass over your very window.

You turn to face the gap between the curtains. How strange. You near the pane as rain speckles on the outside. You peer up at the slat of sky visible between the rooftops. 

You twitch again as you hear something mulch. You whip your head to the side as you look towards the bush. It could be a critter hiding in the bin, no time to find their nest as the storm rises.

You back away, puffing out your fright. Living alone makes you paranoid, even if you prefer it. You live by your own rules, your own schedule, your own whims. The problem is, you’re finding it difficult to figure all those out. You don’t know what you want.

You sit again and rub your lower back. The only thing you can name, you can’t have. The pain is your eternal companion. The looks you get when you venture out are just as persistent. You felt those curious, somewhat dejecting, glances today. You don’t care if they think you walk a bit oddly, you just don’t like to be looked at.

You turn your head to gaze longingly at the kettle. It’s the perfect weather for tea and you forgot to get a cup of green at the restaurant. Yet, it’s a very far way to go, then back again to wait for the water to steam.

You relent. You stand up and go to the small counter set into the wall. You flip on the electric kettle and lean on the chipped laminate. The toddler’s footsteps rumble like thunder overhead and the shadows once more stir behind you.

You turn to face the apartment, hands curled around the counter’s edge. The steady drip of the eaves form a tempo as the rain spatters harder against the window, rattling it in the wooden frame. The doors quiver too as the tempest blows into the alley.

You used to like rainstorms, before they made you hurt so much. Before they seemed so dark. You used to like a lot of things before you were broken. Those days seem very far behind you. Sometimes, you wonder if they ever were.

[fosermi]

On this ARK we sail together...

@stillafanofsonic enabled me and I RAN with it.

[polarisbibliotheque]

Can You Hear The Rumble? - Vergil x Reader

Music Inspired Fics (Devil May Music) - Cirice, by Ghost

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: Everyone knew the kind of demon a hunter should be wary about is the one who plays with their victim's minds. You and Vergil were very proud on the outside - but how would it be when having to save each other on the inside for the first time?

TRIGGER WARNING: A lot of blood, cuts, bruises, scars and suffering on both Vergil and the reader's sides. The reader also struggles with perfection and self-loathing - in a "I'm never going to be a good person" kind of way, because I needed to get more intimate on the reader's part as well - and there are scenes with the reader covered in cuts and bleeding, though not self-imposed, it could be read like that. Those scenes are the reader's and Vergil's internal images of themselves. Reader and Vergil meet each other on their imperfections and the darkest parts of their souls, so BE WARNED. This might not be everyone's cup of tea and there are lots of potential triggers.

Author's Note: @tokkis-shelf asked me if Vergil's part of the Halloween special was inspired by Cirice, and here we are now. It is what kickstarted the song-fic requests! As with a lot of people, I think, Cirice is pretty personal to me.

In the video, it was so comforting to me seeing the black sheep being represented hahahaha and I guess that's why people love it so much. The part where they hold hands? I died, I'd never let go, I cry my soul out upon watching. (I did a very similar drawing to that scene when I was in school around 15 years ago, so it drop-kicked me out of my body xD)

Now, when writing this, I kept in mind that this song has a double meaning and can be quite comforting and quite manipulative at the same time - hence why I use the "can't you see that you're lost without me?" in two different situations, 'cause I think Cirice can be interpreted in so many ways and each person takes what they need from this song. I hope you guys like it!!

Plus, the song the reader and Dante sing at the end is The Power of Love, by Huey Lewis and The News

Cirice, by Ghost

“Can’t you see that you’re lost…?”

It happened every time Vergil walked in the darkness.

That voice in the back of his head, silently taunting him, the hiss of a quiet viper in the hopes of taking him back to the darkest parts of his soul. Quiet, lurking, whispering… Mundus always there, somewhere in the folds of his consciousness, guiding him back into the void – luring Vergil back into his shackles.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

As if Vergil couldn’t belong anywhere else, as if his place was in Hell. After all he had been through, after all the sins he perpetrated, he believed wholeheartedly there was no hope for him at all – only a fool’s hope; only a glimmer of a wish he wasn’t as tainted as he was… A desire to not be such a monster as he was.

Pacing quietly through the empty cathedral, Vergil had already learned not to give in to those thoughts – to keep them at bay, as only a whisper in the darkness, of trickster voices that would always remind him of how inhuman he was.

It was times like this Vergil longed for the faint glimmer of the moon, or the warm ghostly light of a candle. It was easy to get lost in the dark, but a single ray of light could help through the direst of situations. That night, though, it seemed like the moon had fallen asleep behind the curtains of the clouds – Selene hiding her tears for her earthly lover in his eternal sleep.

None of you knew what that night entailed – you weren’t even certain what you were dealing with. That was the reason why Lady strutted in the Devil May Cry, not too fond of taking a job she didn’t know if it was up to her abilities.

“Well, looks like I have a new one for you to pay your debt, big guy!” Her singsong voice interrupted the ambience of the jukebox; Lady entering the shop with Kalina Ann and all.

“Eh, I’m never gonna be free of my debt, Lady, let’s be honest.” Dante sighed, putting his feet down and throwing his magazine across the table, shooting her a serious glare. “But things have been borin’ lately, so one of your odd jobs’ not gonna hurt. Whaddya have for me?”

“You talk as if I never help you enough to maintain this place.” She lifted one eyebrow, approaching the big desk at the middle of the shop.

“Gotta give the woman credit, Dante. Last month’s bills were on her.” You shrugged as you had finally come out of your shower, happy to see Lady around, still drying your hair with the towel as you went down the stairs.

“See? Someone who has a bit of common sense.” Her smile was nothing short of devilish as she gestured towards you.

“You know where you are, Lady. ‘Common sense’ isn’t much of a thing in this household.” You greeted her by quickly blowing her a kiss while passing by, making your way towards the couch where Vergil was quietly reading.

“Ey, you’re hurtin’ my feelings like that.” Dante put one of his hands over his heart, laughing alongside you as you kept on your way. “But fine. I’ll give ya that, Lady. So, what’s up? What job do you wanna throw at me this time?”

“I am not throwing it at you.” And there it was: you could always see when Dante stroke a nerve when Lady got defensive and with that fiery stare on her multicolored eyes. “If you wanna do it, great, if you don’t, I can deal with it myself just fine. I’m here to be a good friend since you can barely afford all that pizza you keep stuffing yourself with!”

As you sat by Vergil’s side, you both exchanged a telling glare. Just like you, Vergil was used to observing people. Granted, he didn’t know Lady as much as Dante or even you, but he did know her since he was very young. That fiery, easy-to-anger personality had been there since they first met at the Temen-ni-gru – and Vergil argued it was one of Lady’s traits that would never change.

Something he was quite pleased with, if he had to be honest with himself. It was a good trait for a human demon hunter like her. Dante always praised human’s hearts and particularly their love and empathy – Vergil praised their burning anger that made them unconquerable in the direst of circumstances.

“Jeez, alright, alright, don’t shoot me!” Dante raised his hands as if he was at gunpoint, making you wheeze quietly. Vergil side-eyed you for a while – half judging, half holding his own laugh. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?”

“Humpf.” Lady rolled her eyes and took a slice of pizza from the box resting on the desk, pointing at Dante with it right after. “You know I wouldn’t bring you something if it wasn’t important.”

“Actually, you would.” With those words, Dante rested his arms crossed on the table – all the while, you and Vergil watched it all as if it was a show. Who needed a TV when you had those two? “But you’re bein’ too dodgy ‘bout it, babe. What’s goin’ on?”

“I got a call from a priest in a city nearby.” Lady’s answer was uncharacteristically quiet, followed by a bite from the pizza while she seemed pensive and in any hurry to chew it. “I’ve done some jobs there, know the guy, he’s nice. All the times he called me, it was always a quick, good-paying job. He said some weird things have been happening at the cathedral for the last couple of weeks.”

“Not to sound mean, but there’s always somethin’ strange happenin’ at churches.” Dante’s eyes carried a bit of skepticism: ‘weird things’ didn’t always entail a job for the Devil May Cry – and it usually ended with all of you hunting a rogue raccoon or something.

“I know. But this guy, he doesn’t get scared easy, ok? He’s one of those types of priests who’ll try to shoot down a couple of demons with a shotgun and, if that doesn’t work, he gives me a call.” Those words, though, made you and the Spardas raise your eyebrows. Indeed, it was a rare type of priest, but a good one to keep as acquaintance. “He said the cathedral is increasingly quiet, even from noises outside, with occasional distant noises that are not done by any of those who live there. After it all started, the other priests reported having weird nightmares, of being chased by something in the dark, inside the cathedral – this thing whispering things they can’t understand. Alright if it happened to one or two, but soon all of them started waking up in the middle of the night with similar nightmares – and, catch this, the higher ups of the clergy didn’t tell the common priests about it, but they all reported the very same dream.” Those words caught everyone’s attention. Vergil finally closed his book and leaned forward, paying attention to Lady’s retelling of the priest’s misfortunes. “The priest has been trying to figure out what’s going on, but some old books appear to go missing from the library, only to re-appear as if nothing has happened. Some books are missing pages, something that never happened before. He also said the inside of the cathedral has been getting darker and darker as the weeks go by. As if something is approaching – his words, not mine.”

Vergil immediately furrowed his brows and seemed to turn into an ice sculpture right by your side. You risked a glance, finding him with his usual dark aura – pensive, somber and quiet; hunter’s eyes showing themselves in a matter of seconds.

“Rare are the creatures in Hell in search for knowledge…” He muttered loud enough for his brother and Lady to turn their attention to him. “But those who do, are usually among the worst. Haunting noises, torn books, nightmares, dead silence and total darkness…”

“What? You think those Hell Piranhas came out of their pit?” Dante’s question had a bit of fun in the words, but his eyes were serious and he didn’t allow his lips to smile.

“Could be. Could also be a demon trying to mimic them to hide something else.”

“Hell Piranhas?” You and Lady didn’t need a cue to ask at the very same time. Neither of you had ever heard of that – and both of you had heard of a lot.

“This is not their name, but it is how Dante calls them since we were kids.” Vergil almost sighed in response.

“How we both called ‘em. Mister smart-pants over here isn’t that much better than lil’ ol’ me.” Dante winked at both of you, making you giggle quietly in return. “They’re kinda like illusion demons, but they like stayin’ in the darkness and gatherin’ knowledge. Usually work for someone bigger, though.”

“And even if they don’t, they swallow up all their knowledge and that is dangerous in itself. Afterwards, they feed from the victims they have been toying for so long.” Vergil continued Dante’s thought, ignoring his brother’s previous words. The more you didn’t think about what Dante had said about him, the better – for Vergil couldn’t deny it. “They hunt in packs, and the more victims, the more powerful they become. Some call them the Pit Deceivers, others call them the Lie Weavers…”

“You call them Hell Piranhas.” You concluded bluntly, making Vergil stare at the horizon with emptiness in his eyes – he could say all he wanted, flex all his demonic knowledge, you heard the Piranhas and now you’d never forget it.

“I never heard of them.” Lady had her eyebrows furrowed, searching her memory for some story like that.

“They either don’t leave the pit that much or not many humans survive to tell the story. That’s why.” Dante pointed at a great, old book Vergil had left on one of the tables a long time ago and now it was its official resting place. “You can find it only in the likes of the Codex Daemonica.”

“So either we have them around, or it’s something else. Something bigger. Right?” As you asked, Vergil only agreed with his head as the attentions turned to you. “Or something mimicking the Piranhas.” And Vergil had to sigh at your addition. He would never have peace again. “The mimic or the master, what kind of demon would the Piranhas answer to? If they are that obscure, I take it their existence is more of a niche knowledge in Hell rather than a common information.”

“On that, you are correct…” Vergil murmured in response, falling back into his pensive demeanor. You knew he would be lost for a while.

“See? Good thing I brought this for you, then.” Lady waved dismissively at Dante, but you could sense a little edge in her playful voice. Dealing with big things was fine, same as dealing with cruel demons and the ones that played the big-scary-one persona. Unknown demons were another kind of monster – one only Dante and Vergil used to deal with. “Plus, they always pay well.”

“Eh, I won’t be seein’ much of that money, if I know ya well.” Dante scoffed, having a small smile hidden in the corner of his lips; his tone and demeanor, though, were quite somber and you knew the red devil was taking it seriously.

“If you don’t mind, Dante, I would like to take over this one.” Vergil finally declared while getting up from the couch. “I know some of the hellish creatures who might make use of the Weavers or mimic them.”

“Fine for me, I’m needin’ some time to rest.” Dante sighed, but looked right back at you while Vergil rested his book on the big Devil May Cry desk. “But I’m gonna feel a lot better with someone around to keep an eye on ‘im, pretty thing.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on letting you guys deal with this all by yourselves anyway.” You got up from the couch, immediately receiving a glare from Vergil. “I’m going, blue devil, whether you want it or not. I want to get acquainted with these Piranhas.”

Vergil only closed his eyes, letting out the longest and most regretful sigh you ever heard in your life.

And there you were – although Vergil lost track of you quite a while ago. He knew the stirrings rippling through his heart when you were in danger; and being the fierce human you were, Vergil wasn’t worried about having you search for the demons in the cathedral.

There was, though, a slight uneasiness. That voice echoing in the darkest parts of his soul, it always came as an omen – causing nothing but destruction, inside or outside of himself. Vergil never could really say which one would be, but both were devastating.

“Veeeeergil…”

His steps came to a dry halt in the middle of the cathedral. The night outside the colorful stained-glass windows was pitch black, robbing the colors of their warmth and light – the fire on the candles, long dead in that cold night. The whisper that crept to his ears, like stark chalk on a chalkboard, dragged itself through the marble floor and took a hold of his soul in its clutches.

It was a different kind of sound – different from the ones inside himself, calling him to the darkness. It was from the outside… The Lie Weavers. Slowly coming up, finding him as their next victim. He was close to one of the places they were certainly lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for someone they could consume.

Vergil never feared the darkness. Tightening his grip around Yamato, his steps resumed his way, approaching the places in the cathedral the faint light of the night could barely touch. Those demons should have known their end was near, and he was the harbinger of their demise – he expected all kinds of trickery, of resistance, of fight from them.

He did not expect to hear a familiar voice, filled with uncertainty.

“Vergil…?”

Halting his steps once more, this time his silvery eyes lost their predatorial gaze as his heart jumped in his chest – even if for a slight second.

“Mother?”

His answer was but a whisper before he was swallowed by darkness.

*

When engaging with illusion demons, one should be aware of not falling into their element: when engulfed by it, those demons were more powerful than expected, able to subdue even the strongest of foes. Breaking from their control required mental and emotional discipline rather than brute force.

It was a slight second – a foolish slip from his human soul, disarmed by the trickery of Eva’s voice – and Vergil was surrounded by a sea of darkness and turmoil. His heart stirred with anger towards himself for being such a child, a vulnerable stupid child, tricked by a puppet of something his heart missed so much.

Eva was long dead. There was no demon able to bring her back. And he would never see her again. All that logic was tossed aside in a spark of a second by his stupid human heart, trembling upon hearing her speak his name again. Granted, Vergil only heard his mother in his dreams, barely remembering how her voice sounded in reality, and this time he heard outside himself – but he should have seen it coming. Illusion demons, trickster demons, cruel demons… They all relied on the barely closed scars inside his damned human soul.

Vergil could always count on them to re-open those wounds, making him bleed as much as he did on the floor of that cursed cemetery so many years ago – and he was a fool to fall for it after he had been through so much.

“Vergil… Can you hear me…?”

“I can, you damned deceiver. You can stop these theatrics – mimicking my dead mother will not affect me.” His voice cut through the dark like the sharpest of ice, his predatorial gaze back into his silver eyes.

“I… Don’t understand you, son. I cannot find you.” Her voice had a tinge of sorrow and desperation – but it was exactly like Eva’s voice. Vergil remembered it with a tinge of gold, probably a result of the haze of nostalgia, but today it was grounded and melancholic – perhaps, that was how Eva had always sounded… He just didn’t remember it. “I can’t find you. You aren’t home.”

“I haven’t been home for a long while.” Vergil didn’t even try to hide the growl that raised from his chest as he argued with that creature. He was used to having a puppet of his mother parading in front of him to hurt his human soul even more, but that was already getting on his nerves. Taunting him about the fact his mother ran to find him that fateful night wasn’t part of the usual games those filthy demons played – and to say they were honing his wrath was an understatement. “And I will never be back.”

“I… I cannot see you, Vergil. Where are you…? Why…?” He could hear the weeping in her voice, faint sobbing while the desperation made her words tremble. Vergil raised his head in the darkness, holding his own heart not to quiver: she wasn’t real and it was all a gimmick to affect him. He would not be affected. He was stronger than that. “Why couldn’t I save you? Those demons they… They hurt you, didn’t they? Oh, my child! My son! They hurt you and I could do nothing! I couldn’t be your mother!”

“Enough with this, filthy, hellish creature!” His voice finally exploded from his chest, roaring in the dark and echoing through the void, finding only silence. “You have no right to desecrate my mother’s memory like this! Shut your putrid mouth and stop with your rancid lies!”

The glint of the Yamato being unsheathed made the darkness recoil for a split second, only to envelop the Dark Slayer once more. His grip was tight, his eyes fiercely looking for his first opponent to direct a very well-placed judgement cut that could end all those creatures with just one swing of his hand. Vergil had enough and all the patience he carried in his being wouldn’t be enough to stop him from overkilling those demons – he just had to know where to direct his wrath.

“Don’t say those words, Vergil… You are not… Not like this.” Her voice still trembled, and his hand was still certain around Yamato. Vergil knew quite well at that state he was a weapon of mass destruction, he just had to find his opponent. His soul was screaming for him to do that, to put a stop to all that mockery. “You are good… You are my son.”

Vergil would have sliced that demon into a thousand million pieces without flinching, even if it took the form of his mother – but his eyes widened as a soft, warm hand touched his face. In all those years being taunted by demons, being tricked and mocked, seeing so many puppets of Eva, Sparda and Dante, none of them had touched him… And none of them genuinely felt like them.

It had been so many lost years he hadn’t felt his mother’s touch – last time, she could cup his entire face, thumb lovingly caressing his innocent eyebrows, but now her thumb could only reach his cheekbones. Nevertheless, it felt like her: not like a golden, nostalgic lost memory of how she felt, but exactly like Eva’s hands, even with the slight roughness of her continuous gardening.

“It took me so long to find you… I am so sorry.”

“You are not my mother.”

“Don’t say that.” Her answer was a sorrowful whisper, her thumb now carefully caressing his sharp cheekbone. Vergil closed his eyes, unable to move, convincing himself all of that wasn’t real and not allowing his heart to sway – forcing his arms to remain frozen by his side, fighting the urge to embrace her. Reminding himself: his mother was dead, killed while trying to save him, a long time ago, and nothing could bring her back. “Your heart hasn’t hardened as much as not to recognize me. You…” Her voice once more became soft, as if trying to do the same with his soul. “You are not a monster… You are my son, my Vergil.”

With those words, Eva’s hand was finally met with a tear – melting the ice from those silvery eyes.

*

There was an impending storm rumbling inside your chest.

Whenever that turmoil took ahold of your heart, you knew Vergil was in trouble. You had just finished checking your side of the cathedral, finding some things out of the ordinary but no demons, when the waves became aggressive in your chest. Your steps were already taking you to meet him, but you found yourself walking even hastier – the sound, though, eaten by the shadows that seemed to only grow around you.

Neither of you had calm seas of feelings: they usually raged like a maelstrom of emotions you could barely get through without some destruction – be it internal or external. But there was a certain note of melancholy and desperation in your heart at that moment that made you know Vergil was hurting – and that hurting, you knew quite well.

It was almost ironic how you apparently despised each other at the beginning, but after a while you came to understand; that aversion was there because you, in a certain way, were a mirror of each other. You could see in him the traits in your soul you disliked the most, and Vergil did see in you the same thing – those traits, however, were the same ones that brought you together, and made both you and Vergil feel seen and understood for the first time in your lives.

He didn’t judge your sins, as you didn’t judge his. To your eyes, he was never a monster, and to his, you could never be as crooked as you thought you were. You found each other in imperfection and, in that, you managed to talk and feel on the same level – after that, every feeling of admiration, care and love was easy to blossom.

You understood that storm, that thunder rumbling inside your chest at that very moment. You could feel it exactly the way he felt – and you knew Vergil needed help… Even if he would never say so himself.

You couldn’t hear or see him, though. You found yourself exactly at his area of patrol in the cathedral, but there was no clue as where your blue devil had gone – and for him to completely disappear, imposing presence and all, was quite an achievement in itself. The air was stiff, heavy as if the windows had never been opened, eating up any sound from the inside and the outside. The darkness was heavier than the one you had previously patrolled, shadows allowing only a few glimpses of the opulent decoration and the path in front of you – although, you couldn’t see more than a few meters beyond your feet.

If you couldn’t trust your sight or your hearing to find him, you could trust your heart: the storm would guide you. Closing your eyes, you allowed your feelings to take over, following with your footsteps in the direction you could hear his soul calling.

Those shadow creatures wouldn’t be able to hide him from you: no matter what happened or where you found yourselves, you would always be able to feel Vergil’s presence and find him in the darkest of hours.

And as the thunder in your chest cracked violently, your feet came to a halt and you opened your eyes.

Right in front of you, there was only darkness. Not like in the shadows that took the cathedral little by little, but pitch-black darkness, that no light could cast aside. To enter it would mean to be completely bare: vulnerable, lost, without guidance, naked – but the screaming in your soul made it very clear Vergil was in there.

Contrary to your lover, you were afraid of the dark. You always preferred to have a little light by your side, for you never knew what could be lurking alongside you, ready to pounce and drag you to certain suffering and death. You protected yourself by being forever vigilant, as you always did – a trait that exhausted you, yes, but luckily, in the last few years, you had Vergil around to keep a light by you when your body started giving out.

For that reason, you would never fear entering the darkness for him.

And with a deep breath, your bold steps took you inside the dark.

*

Your feet were cold, bare, stumbling over a sticky floor. Even if your eyes could see only darkness, you felt the freezing air of that night slicing your skin: you were shirtless and something was hurting… Oozing. The cold wind mixed with a faint warmness that leaked from the open wounds on your skin.

Blood. You were bleeding.

Your arms immediately wrapped around you – those scars, they were showing. They never showed before.

Running your hands quickly over your body, you could feel the warm blood slipping through your fingers; some wounds barely holding themselves closed while others still poured as in the day they were created.

That was the version of yourself you used to fiercely hide. None of those wounds were physical, none of them could be seen… But whenever you looked in the mirror, you saw them there, under your skin, under your soul, quietly resting until you couldn’t hide them anymore.

“You are lost…”

It was always the same voice, of something dark, something inside you that could break your soul if you didn’t shove it back into the darkness like you always did. That was why you were afraid; that was why Vergil always kept a faint glow by your side whenever you couldn’t hold yourself together. The dark was dangerous to you – to both of you.

“You are lost without me…”

“I can survive quite well without you…!” You growled to the darkness, keeping that part of yourself at bay. The part that gave in to the pain, that bathed in the blood and didn’t want to get up… And the part that would bathe and rise in rage, making you survive at great cost to those around you.

You were past that. And you didn’t need that to survive. You didn’t have to survive, you could live.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost…?”

“Vergil!” Your scream was a roar in the dark, looking for the one you plunged into the darkness to find. You wouldn’t give in to the trickery of those Piranhas – and you would get Vergil out of there.

They would learn they shouldn’t fear only the son of Sparda: they should also fear you.

“You think you can find him…?” After the mischievous ethereal voice questioned, you heard a giggle rippling around your feet as you stumbled on the sticky floor to find your lover. “You think you are that good? You think you aren’t a monster?”

You furrowed your brows, doing your best to ignore the voices. You knew it was that part inside of you that always taunted how broken you were, how imperfect your soul was. For the longest time you believed there was nothing good in you, nothing to save you from a life of loneliness, until you crossed paths with Vergil.

He was broken too – and he would never judge the things you did to survive your lethal wounds.

“Vergil! Can you hear me?! I’m here to find you!”

“How chivalrous, how heroic! What are you trying to accomplish?” The giggles pooled around your feet, threatening to drag you inside that pool of viscous darkness. “Trying to prove yourself? You’re never going to be perfect. You’re a black sheep, an outcast, remember? The likes of you aren’t heroes.”

“Oh, I’m no hero…” You growled back, fighting against the things trying to pull you back; fighting against the pain of the freezing cold and warmness of blood. “I’m a fucking fighter. You’re messing with the wrong kind of monster, fucking Hell Piranhas.”

“Piranhas…?” A faint whisper in the dark broke whatever control those things were trying to have over your body, starting at your feet. It was Vergil’s whisper – followed by a louder speaking tone. “Y/n! I can feel you, where are you?!”

“Trying to find you!” You screamed back, immediately dragging your feet towards Vergil. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel where he was – and there was nothing those demons could do against that.

The darkness seemed to shift for a couple of seconds. You couldn’t understand what was happening, but you saw a faint, ghostly pale glow in the dark – almost imperceptible, but your heart knew, you could finally see Vergil.

And, in return, he could see you. Moving his feet, Vergil dragged heavy shackles through the floor, screeching in a horrid, soul scratching sound as he willed his body to move towards you. You could hear him grunting with the effort, another set of chains being dragged as Vergil moved his arms – slowly, but surely, wearing all of his strength to get to you.

You felt the viscous ripples of the floor creeping up your legs, almost on your knees, doing their best to pull you away – back into the darkness, back to the taunting voices, to the doubt, the hurt, the self-loathing.

“Vergil! Let me hear your voice! You’re still there, right?!”

“Yes. I am always here.” His answer came with grunts of effort, barely above the noise of the chains screeching around him.

The darkness shifted again, and his form became even more visible, as yours did to him – followed by a scream that rumbled in his chest, Vergil managed to get even closer. That made something spark inside yourself, that thundering storm breaking in your soul cracking in a scream that broke the insidious tentacles holding you back and making you lunge forward.

Once again, the glow you diffused only to each other seemed to get stronger as the darkness wavered.

“Y/n…” He growled once more, the shackles screaming on the floor as he reached out to you.

“Vergil…!” You reached out in return, barely making out the form of his fingers in the dark.

As you were almost touching each other’s hands, the heavy, muffling darkness faltered once more. You could finally see one another, as you were in that godforsaken place.

Vergil was shirtless, his body covered in wounds – new and old – bleeding profusely. His silvery eyes were red, sunken in deep shadow, surrounded by a deep purple mist on his dry skin. You could see his bones under his pale skin covered in so many lacerations you wouldn’t even know where to start healing him. His knuckles were battered, showing the flesh underneath, as well as his wrists covered by heavy iron shackles – wounds from fighting against them for so long. His hands were still long and elegant, but bony and covered in bruises.

You had never seen Vergil so hurt, so broken, so… Vulnerable.

In return, his eyes took in shock the vision of you: as shirtless as him, as battered and wounded as he was. Even if not locked in the shackles he wore for so long in Hell, you walked barefoot leaving a trail of blood behind you. Those scars, those wounds, those bruises… He knew they were there, but he had never seen those. You looked weak and tired, bloodshot eyes under dry skin, as if you hadn’t slept in ages… And those things you fought so much to conceal, now crystal clear in front of him.

Those were the scars you carried inside yourselves. The wounds you had to fight against every day – that you had to try to heal, even if sometimes it seemed impossible. The things you would never show, but, somehow, you managed to sense it in each other… Now you could see it, clear as a bright night.

And, even if you wouldn’t admit to yourselves, those were the very same breaking thunders that would keep you moving – fiercely fighting, fiercely surviving.

As you took in each other’s internal selves, Vergil’s silvery eyes finally found yours.

A loud thundering noise shook the floor underneath your feet twice, as your hearts rumbled alongside the devastating sound. You lunged forward, holding Vergil’s hand as if your life depended on it. Never breaking your eye contact, Vergil held your hand with the strength you would expect of the legendary Dark Slayer. You made each other stronger, and there was nothing that could come between you now.

His shackles immediately screeched back, pulling Vergil violently away from you. At the same time, you were grabbed by the viscous darkness – your knees, your legs, your abdomen, your arms. It pulled you back with vicious strength, doing its best to drag you away from him – back into the darkness.

“Don’t let me go!” You screamed back, tightening your grip around his bony hand.

“I will never let go!” He growled, doing the same, trying to drag his body forward – failing to notice you willed yourself towards him as he pulled you into his arms. Those silvery eyes never moved away from yours.

“You are lost…! Lost…!”

The voices chanted and screeched around you, doing their best to drag you apart. For a moment, your hand slipped and you let out a desperate scream, hurting your lungs as you were almost pulled back into the void. Vergil’s cry resembled a roar as he willed his body to move and tightened his grip in a way he didn’t hold even Yamato.

He hadn’t held his brother’s hand once. This time he wouldn’t make the same mistake. This time, he would hold you even if that damned the both of you to the darkest pits of Hell.

“Can’t you see…? Can’t you see that…?”

“I am lost…!” You barked back to the voices, still staring into Vergil’s eyes, trying to catch your breath while your lungs stung as if you were inhaling a thousand knives.

As Vergil looked into your eyes, though, he knew exactly what you were going to say – and he could safely say it was the very same thing he struggled to find the words to.

“Without you.” His answer came in a dark tone, ragged from the effort he too made to be able to hold your hand.

The thunder rumbled twice again – the voices shrieked and you suddenly found yourselves being launched into each other’s arms as the forces that bind you broke into a million pieces.

Vergil’s arms wrapped around you, one of his hands holding your head close to his chest, as you wrapped yours around his waist, keeping him as close as you could. His head rested on top of yours, and you kept your eyes closed – washing away the blood above his heart with the tears that streamed down your face.

“Don’t ever hide from me.” Vergil’s voice was uncharacteristically shaky, somber but reassuring. You had never been so vulnerable in front of him – and even upon seeing you like that, his reaction was to take you in his arms, to welcome you. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“And I’m not afraid of your darkness.” You tightened your arms around his cold, bony body as you felt tears running through your hair. “I can see beyond your glimmer, and I’m not afraid of what’s in the dark.” Your voice shook as you took a deep breath and Vergil’s arms held you even closer – his body shaking with the tears falling from his eyes. “It’s you. And I’m never afraid of you.”

“Neither am I of you.”

His answer was but a whisper – a whisper enough to break the darkness into a memory to be kept away in the deepest pits of Hell.

I can feel the thunder that’s breaking in your heart I can see through the scars inside you

*

*

*

*

“You killed the Piranhas from Hell with the power of love?”

Vergil wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. Or die. Or both.

Probably both.

The whole crew was there as you and Vergil never came back from the job as quickly as expected – and when you did, it looked like you hadn’t slept in days.

The priest was more than happy with the result of your work – even though you never discovered why the Weavers decided to come out of hiding nor what they wanted. The congregation was just happy they were gone and the whole reason behind it would be a long-term thing for the Devil May Cry to work on – or to keep an eye on; maybe something bigger was approaching.

You and Vergil didn’t feel like going back to the shop, though. When you were hurt physically, things were very much ok to deal with, but when the wounds were emotional… You needed time for yourselves.

Unlike his brother, Vergil was a little more responsible with his money – and you, a lot more than the two. You managed to find somewhere to spend a few nights… Which involved the both of you talking out everything you felt and saw. It was harrowing at first, something neither of you were versed in and honestly were terrified of, but it eventually brought you even closer together.

So, to say you had defeated the Lie Weavers with the power of love was something that killed Vergil inside.

And you could almost see his internal self, glaring at you with a ‘really, after all of this you say this kind of foolishness’ look in his sad, silvery eyes, as Lady stared at both of you and made the question everyone was thinking.

“Yep. Power of love, it’s a curious thing.” You shrugged, making Vergil physically groan by your side while Dante slapped his table with a huge grin on his face.

“Make a one man weep, make another man sing! Hell yeah, Back To The Future, babe!” He winked back at you as you smiled in response.

“Of all the people you could end up dating, Vergil…” Trish sat on Dante’s desk, crossing her long legs while sporting a devilish smile on her rosy lips. It was interesting how her voice could never really sound like Eva’s. “It had to be someone who references the same songs as your brother.”

“Alas, fate plays many games…” Vergil rolled his eyes, but as they rested on you, there was a vulnerability you saw only once in that pitch black darkness. “But it is kind enough to give us what we need.”

No one ever really understood what he meant, but Dante was the only one who managed to see something inside his brother’s silvery eyes that could only reflect in yours – and that made him genuinely smile.

Indeed, you would never be the romance of a fairy tale book or a romantic comedy – but you could see what lied beyond each other’s scars; taking a glimpse at the worst of each other without fear and finding whatever light was left inside. You could understand – and that was much more than most lovers in the world would ever have.

[klbzplb]

heyyy look at these people that have no idea what sort of mess theyre getting into

(scene from chapter one of @ari--anon 's i am weary with contending! i love this fic so much its so good. i thought mumbos slight third wheel energy in that scene was funny so this happened)

bonus woo

unblurred scar and ariana because i really like how they came out :D also a little easteregg in there for those who read the fic :DDD

[onlykenobimatters]

Codywan au where the clone troopers are actually a reincarnated group of an ancient sect of warriors from mandalorian space. They remember pieces of their previous society; some from the beginning of their origins all the way to the last grasping few. A lot of effort goes in to getting them assigned to the correct battalions. For they had a pantheon of gods they once worshipped and while they have always been One Blood, they believed very seriously in their coming of age ceremony where they must choose the god they would worship. It might have been thousands of years, but none stray from their Chosen.

(The pantheon would be similar to others in which they might have a core group of gods, but other minor gods could also exist. Each with their own domains;

Plo Koon was The Guardian? Protector of Packs and god of loyalty.

Mac Windu the Seer, protector/god of the past and future

While Yoda could be one of their oldest gods, his domains having shifted through the years but mainly protector of the young.

And then quigon who is associated with natural disasters. Legend is he was roaming their world, damning and saving mortals as he went, when he created a disaster so wroth, so powerful, he could not bare for it to fade. He pleaded with his grand sire and eventually Yoda agreed to help him. Combining their domains they turned the raging storm in to a young godling.

Obi-Wan, nature personified.

There are many legends involving the young godling and his journey. How he discovers his domains. And how he uses them to follow in his father’s footsteps to create children in his Image. For what is more natural than life and death?

Obi-wan is not the only one to create a god, but he is the only one to not need assistance. He becomes the Creator, the god of natural order, Father of Life (ahsoka) & death (Anakin)

Over the centuries the Line of Natural Order is adapted to many cultures within their system. Other attributes are gifted to them by followers of The Great Powers as well;

Life, goddess of survival & champion of the light side of the Great Power.

Death, god of balance & champion of the dark side of the Great Power.

The Creator, god of natural order and the Blessed, those who hold connections with the Great Power. )

and like I don't quite know where I was going with this, but clone wars era where the clones kind of remember this culture that doesn't seem to be recorded anywhere and these jedi that feel something Awaken when they meet these shining lights in the force.

and Obi-Wan gently cupping Cody's face, his blue eyes shining brightly. Obi-Wan allowing the force to guide him as he gently lays a kiss upon Co-, no, Kote's forehead, the warrior breathing in harshly as the first Blessing in thousands of years is granted to him. Kote is glory and Kote will uphold the Natural Order as The Creator, Ken'Obi, sees fit. For Kote is now Blessed by his patron God.

i dont even know this got away from me ugh

[redsixwing]

The Worldbuilding Thing? 👀

For the title meme:

The Worldbuilding Thing is a collection of loosely-related short stories in support of The Fallen Knight. It's Dark Souls fic in which I attempt to characterize the city of Anor Londo and examine it while it's alive. As such, it's almost entirely OCs who have nothing to do with the main plot of the game - instead, they're tools for examining concepts I particularly wanted to think about.

I'm currently working on a (second) short arc about a blacksmith who really, really needs to get out of town.

If you want to read what's complete, you can find it on AO3.

[ancientmyrddin]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dark Souls (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Artorias the Abysswalker/Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Artorias the Abysswalker & Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Past Nameless King/Dragon Slayer Ornstein Characters: Artorias the Abysswalker, Dragon Slayer Ornstein Additional Tags: Flashbacks, Friendship, Shapeshifting, POV Second Person, Past Relationship(s), Banishment, Prompt Fill, Faraam is the Nameless King, High Fantasy, Dragon Ornstein, No Dialogue, Touch-Starved Series: Part 2 of at the precipice of some unknown ordeal Summary:

Faraam does not leave Anor Londo quietly after his banishment, rending his bonds wherever he has built them.

Ornstein, who forsook his fellow dragons to be with him, struggles under the sudden weight of his departure.

---

When you sleep, in your cold and empty bed, you dream of the skies. You feel your wings touching the clouds; your great and powerful legs propel you from the side of the mountain where you all once lived, and you take to the skies. You feel no cold, you feel no heat, you see no light nor dark. You cannot conceive of Faraam or Lord Gwyn or of anything beyond this flight. You see your family; you hear their roars echoing inside your head. When you wake up, they still echo.

[latuarts]

[animatorweirdo]

Imagine being a knight from Lordran and helping Luthien on her journey

(Another Dark Souls piece I wrote and left to gather dust in the storage. It might seem a less edited, but I hope you like it)

Warnings: mentions of dying, fighting, blood, violence, imprisonment, escaping, the C & C are the regular jerks, muteness, reader somehow ends up as that one therapist.

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

- Imagine after Luthien escapes, she wanders through the outer borders of Doriath. She ends up encountering you, a person wearing strange armor, battling a terrifying creature she had never seen in her immortal life. 

-It was so horrifying – she hid in the shadows and watched the battle between you and the monster. 

-You skillfully evade the attacks, rolling away and using your shield to block. 

-However, you were getting exhausted. The injuries had started to take their toll on you, and you had no estus flasks left. You were going to die soon if you didn't finish the creature, and you couldn’t let that happen.

-There was something wrong. You couldn't feel the connection to the flame. It vanished ever since you fell into that mist with the creature. 

-For the first time in years, you were afraid of what was going to happen if you died. Even as an undead, something bad might happen. 

-You found your chance to attack when the creature left itself open and quickly plunged your sword into its chest, finishing it off and letting its blood dress the grass beneath you. 

-The creature screamed in pain as its body turned into dust, and you were left standing, victorious and alive. 

-But, your victory was short-lived as your body began to collapse from all the wounds and exhaustion. 

-You fell on your knees, your vision going dark. 

-As a last resort to stay alive, you tried to dig through your bag and find the black sprite of humanity. 

-You found the sprite, but you fell before you could crush it. Your body refused to move, and your mind was falling into the darkness. Unable to save yourself, you accepted your fate. 

-You stared at the blue sky in wonder as you did not remember Lordran to possess such beauty before succumbing to the darkness and letting the fangs of death take you once more. 

-Luthien came out from hiding after witnessing your victory and battle. She was quick to come to your side and feel the life inside you vanishing. 

-She took the strange sprite that lay by your side and with her own magic, used it to heal you, unknowingly reviving you from death itself. 

-You were surprised to awake from the darkness and even more surprised to find a beautiful maiden kneeling by your side. 

-Luthien was glad and spoke to you, speaking about the battle between you and the monster and how she managed to save your life. 

-You were amazed by her beauty and even more amazed that she was not an undead like most people you have encountered so far. 

-Luthien asked for your assistance to help her travel outside and find her lover, Beren, who she sensed was in grave danger. Your sword skills had impressed her, and in return for saving you, you decided to swear your blade to her. 

-You did not speak, but Luthien understood your gesture, and that is how you two set forth to find her lover. 

- You never spoke or said anything, barely made any sound, so Luthien took you for mute. It did not bother her since your bodily gestures, like nods and shaking your head, were obvious enough for her questions. 

-In truth, you had no idea about Middle Earth, elves, orcs, Sauron, or even Morgoth. 

- However, since phantoms from other worlds were possible in Lordran, you guessed you had somehow traveled to another world, which would explain the disconnection to the flame and the fire link shrines. 

-You did not have much of an opinion about the elven princess. Luthien was quite talkative, talking about the plans and sometimes ranting about the situation with her lover and her father’s pride price, which could get her lover killed. 

-You did not know how to offer comfort when she was having these moments since you were rather closed off from feeling emotions and empathy, so the best you could do was lend your ear and a hand to hold for comfort. 

-Luthien did not know how to feel by your silence, but she found comfort in your company and in the small gestures you did. You provided odd companionship, but it was enough. 

-You did everything she asked, but one thing you refused to do was show your face beneath your helmet. It was a bit odd, but she stopped asking when you gestured that wearing the helmet was a personal choice. 

- When you two were found by Huan, you reacted with aggression as you didn’t have great experiences with undead dogs from Lordran. You took out your sword, ready to kill the beast. 

-Luthien was lucky to calm you down and prove Huan meant no harm. 

-You wanted to trust her intuition, but still, you kept a careful watch on the hound as he led you two to his two masters. 

-You were skeptical of the two Noldor princes, Celegorm and Curufin. There was something odd about them, especially how they looked at Luthien when she revealed herself and spoke to them. 

-You have met a fair amount of people with tongues like snakes, so you knew something was off when they denied meeting Beren or him ever coming to Nargothrond to seek aid from its king, Finrod Felagund. 

-They promised to give their aid if you came to Nargothrond, but when Celegorm offered to give Luthien a ride on his horse, you grabbed her shoulder and shook your head. 

-An uneasy feeling rose within Luthien when you gestured for her not to accept the ride. You knew there was something else about the princess that she should be cautious about, so she declined Celegorm’s offer. She claimed she wanted to walk with you since there weren’t enough horses, and she did not want to make it unfair for you. 

-Celegorm sent you a glare that did not go unnoticed, and it was now more clear to you that the elven prince had something else in his mind than aiding Luthien. 

-Despite his insistence, Luthien declined and walked with you to Nargothrond, becoming more suspicious of their words.

-You faithfully defended her when beasts ambushed from the shadows, resulting in your sword losing its durability and breaking after the fight. 

- When you reached Nargothrond, Curufin offered to have your sword patched by the kingdom’s blacksmiths, and despite your reluctance to leave Luthien alone with the princess, you complied when she insisted and convinced you to have your gear fixed. 

-If you had found a bonfire, you could have repaired your sword and gear with its flames, but since you were in another world. You were unable to do so. 

-You met Curufin’s son, Celebrimbor, who seemed intimidated by your presence but agreed to repair your sword and some of your gear. 

-You concluded Celebrimbor was not bad like his father after watching him repair your gear and listening to him talk about things. He seemed to be rather naive to his father’s secretive nature. 

-Celebrimbor was intimidated by your silence and how you watched him but then found an odd pleasant time talking with you. 

-He was impressed by your gear and fascinated with your weapons since they seemed to be enchanted with ores he was not familiar with. 

-He took you for mute since you only answered with nods and shakes, but you gave a different answer by drawing the name of the blacksmith who enchanted your weapons to the ground. 

-The uneasy feeling about you within him vanished, and he even talked about personal things such as the ongoing thing with his family and how his life seemed to go so far. 

-You didn’t know how to feel, but you offered comfort by awkwardly patting him on the back. 

-However, when he mentioned a mortal man named Beren recently arriving in Nargothrond to seek the aid of King Finrod, who had left Nargothrond in charge of Orodreth — you became alerted. 

- The realization that the two princes had indeed lied about Beren ever coming to Nargothrond sparked a flame of anger and fear since it meant Luthien was in danger. 

-Celebrimbor was startled when you suddenly grabbed your repaired gear and weapons and marched out of the forge. 

-You walked through the stone halls but hid and carefully listened in the shadows when the two Noldor princes came to your sight. 

-They talked about having Luthien’s hand in marriage and gaining her father’s alliance for their war against Morgoth. 

-Celegorm was certain he could gain her affection even though she had greatly refused. He would even do it by force, but in the meantime, he would allow time to soften her up while keeping her locked. 

-They had however one problem, which was you. They had to find out how to get rid of you since you would no doubt help Luthien escape if you found out. 

-You were infuriated by their plans to force Luthien into an unwanted marriage and the realization that they had tricked you into separating from her by having your gear fixed. 

-You wanted to spill their blood and see their pathetic life leave their very eyes, but you knew that you needed to be smarter and free Luthien first from her captivity. It will be difficult since you can’t kill like you could in Lordran. The elves were living, not undead. 

-Not only that, you needed to find out where Luthien was kept while not alerting the princess since you had already left the forges. 

-You became cautious when Huan appeared to you from the shadows. You were ready to kill the creature, but when the dog laid down in submission – you hesitated. There was something in its eyes that told you not to kill it, not yet, at least. 

-You had an odd feeling that the beast was on your side instead of its master. However, since dogs can’t talk — you decided to break your silence and ask where his masters had hidden Luthien. 

-The dog stood up and motioned you to follow him. Reluctant but in haste, you decided to trust the dog— after making it clear what you would do to him if he betrayed you and Luthien. 

-You guessed the beast took your warning seriously as he then led you through secret paths to the room where Luthien was kept. 

-You knocked on the door to confirm her presence and were slightly relieved to hear her voice. 

-Luthien was glad to know you were behind the door and worried since the door was locked and said you had to find a key, which was most likely with Celegorm. But little did she know that you possessed a set of keys to everything. 

-You grabbed your master key from your bag and opened the door without a hitch, surprising Luthien and Huan on the go. 

-Luthien did not expect you to open the door quickly but was glad to see you, and you three then made your escape. 

-Huan decided to come along despite your obvious dislike toward him, but then you were found by the two princes, who quickly learned about your disappearance and Luthien’s escape. You picked Luthien up and set her on Huan’s back so you could run. 

-your high endurance made it easy for you to keep up with the dog’s speed, and you nearly made it through the front entrance only to be stopped when the two princes alarmed the guards and claimed you were kidnapping the princess. 

-You got surrounded, and you had the attention of all who were in the main entrance, including King Orodreth. 

-Celegorm boldly claimed you had done something to his hound and his guest, claiming you were doing evil’s work because why else would his own hound assist you. 

-Luthien was infuriated and told the truth about how he and his traitorous brother had lied and locked her up, intending to force her hand into marriage, sprouting everything that happened. Why else would his hound betray him instead of helping him with his evil? 

-King Orodreth and all the other bystanders shared mixed looks, uncertain of which side to take. 

-Celegorm claimed she was confused, and when you saw one of his servants approach her from behind – you acted, taking out your sword and cutting his hand. 

-The elves were frightened when the servant screamed at his severed hand. 

-Luthien pleaded you not to kill them, but you acted when the other guards came at you. 

-You fought all of them furiously, avoiding their attacks and striking back with force powerful enough to send them flying. You did not give them a chance to lay a single wound on you. 

-You heeded Luthien’s plea and did not kill any of them, so you only struck them down, too injured to fight you. 

-Celegorm and his brother grew pale, and the elves of Nargothrond grew frightful as you fought like an undefeatable warrior in their eyes with the strength and speed of a beast. They could not tell if you were either an elf or a man beneath the helmet. 

-You turned your gaze upon the brothers after defeating all of the guards, making them prepare for a fight. 

-Celegorm said he had never lost a swordfight even though there was uncertainty in his voice. 

-You grabbed something out of your bag, a pouch of paper that seemed to contain dust made out of charcoal. 

-They watched as you held your sword before you, wrapping the paper and the charcoal around the metal, before gripping and pulling the pouch across your sword, igniting the blade in flames. 

-The brothers were startled as you held your flaming sword, ready to fight. For the first time, they were uncertain if they could win a fight as they had never witnessed such a thing before. 

-However, Celegorm had his pride, and despite the odds – he was ready to fight you, unwilling to lose and have Luthien escape his grasp. 

- King Orodreth quickly ordered the fight to be ceased, wanting no blood to be shed on Nargothrond. 

-He turned toward Luthien and told her he believed her since you had heeded her order and not killed any of the guards. 

-He did ask her and you to leave and continue your journey alone since you had severely wounded his and Celegorm’s people. 

-Luthien agreed even though she demanded Celegorm and Curufin pay the price for the crime against her. 

-You felt disappointed by the outcome as you would have loved to set the two on fire but faithfully followed Luthien along with Huan out of Nargothrond, leaving a forever frightful expression upon the brothers and the elves that witnessed your terrifying might.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lonely Souls Club 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: we're almost through the week.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky 

Bucky can smell her body soap as it wafts off her. Everything about her makes him giddy. Just walking beside her, getting to look at her, getting to talk to her!

And now, he’s taking her out to lunch. Almost like a real date.

He’s antsy to get to the restaurant. He tried to measure his patience as best he could as he fixed the lock. While she showered and dressed in the small bathroom, he paced her apartment, taking the chance to adjust a few of the cameras. Better, he can see the door.

He is mindful not to walk too fast for her. She seems to be moving a little better. If it’s the short nap she took or the shower, he’s not sure, but he’s happy for it.

She’s shy. He knows she’s often alone and keeps to herself but she sends him sheepish glances only to quickly look away each time their eyes meet. Her heart continues to race just as it did when she awoke to the intruder. 

He steps ahead of her and opens the door of the noodle shop. She looks up and her eyes scan the sign then the windows. She lifts her cane in ahead of her as she steps through, “this place is good.”

He smiles. He hasn’t been back since the first time he saw her. Now he’s with her and he can hardly believe it. He follows her in as Mrs. Zhao greets them. She shows her surprise with a clap and a squeal.

“You brought a friend,” she muses.

“Uh, yeah,” he answers as the woman leans on her cane, stuck in limbo between them.

“Let me get you seated,” Zhao speaks to her and ushers her along as Bucky trails behind. They sit in a booth as menus await them and Mrs. Zhao bows before she leaves them. 

She, his companion, his date, nestles her cane against the wall of the booth and her eyes flit around. She peeks at the menu then at him. She folds her hands in her lap, making no move to peruse the options further.

“You come here a lot? She knows you?” She glances towards the kitchen.

“Ah, yeah,” he answers with a nervous chuckle, “I don’t always have the energy to cook so…”

She nods and shifts on the seat. He sees how her cheek ticks and she grips the edge of the table to adjust her posture. He flutters his fingers over the laminated menu.

“Is it okay? Are you uncomfortable?” He leans forward.

“Fine,” she ekes out and brings her fingertips to the edge of the menu.

“Right, um, well, if you want a little padding you could sit on my jacket,” he offers.

Her lips curve softly and her brows raise, “that’s really nice but I’m okay.”

She looks down again at the menu. He sees how she chews her lip and slants her mouth. He knows exactly what she’s looking at. Not the dishes but the prices. It's a habit. He’s been there too. Pinching every penny, darning every sock and sleeve until it’s too frayed to mend, stretching broth with water, and washing with no soap. His bad days are over and he wants to help end hers too.

“How about we do the meal for two special,” he offers as he sees her fixate on the sides section. Three spring rolls isn’t going to stop the growling in her stomach that awoke the minute they stepped inside. “It’s a good deal. You can pick the type of noodle.”

“Oh, uh,” she taps her fingers, “I guess… if it makes sense.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” he insists. He knows the portions are generous. They’ll get enough for her to take a box home, especially with the rolls and salad on the side. “Do you like Udon or chow mein?”

“I like both,” she says, “udon, maybe, if you like it.”

“Sounds good to me. Broth? I don’t really like the beef, it hurts my stomach.”

“Pork’s good,” she suggests, “if you want.”

“Sure,” he agrees, heartened that she didn’t push back on his idea. She needs a good meal, not half a cup of oatmeal with six raisins on top. 

“Tea,” Mrs. Zhao interrupts, a tray in her hand. She sets it down, presenting a big slate gray pot and matching cups.

“Thanks,” he says as she echoes him in a small voice. He gives their order and Mrs. Zhao leaves them with a rosy smile, a definitive look sent from one to the other.

He pours tea into the cups and sets one in front of her. She looks at the contents then him. She thanks him and leans in to inhale the scent. Her stomach rumbles viciously and she winces.

“So, how long have you been in the city?” He asks, turning his own cup nervously.

“Um, since high school,” she answers, “so… a while. What about you?”

“Born and raised,” he says proudly. “Always happen to come back.”

She nods and blows across the tea but doesn’t drink as the steam puffs hotly. Her eyes flit over and her stomach grumbles again. She watches another table as they clink cutlery on their dishes. She’s fighting it but she’s starving.

“Uh, wow, didn’t even realise I’m so hungry,” he says, “I don’t even think I had dinner last night.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs and turns her eyes to the table, “and you didn’t get much sleep. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I’m a bit of an insomniac. Got a bit restless last night and good thing I did or I wouldn’t have been able to scare that guy off, huh,” he stills the cup and flicks his thumb around the curve of the rim.

“I guess,” she puts her hands to her neck and shivers, “that was really scary.”

“Well it’s a good thing I deal with scary people all the time,” he says, “lot of people say the same about me so I guess that helps.”

“Oh,” she bats her lashes and her eyes meet his, “I didn’t mean–”

“I know, I’m joking,” he assures her. She’s so jumpy, he wonders if that has anything to do with her limp. If maybe she’s afraid of everyone and everything for a reason. Well, she won’t have to be, not with him.

“Ah,” she forces a smile, “right.”

“Hey, you held your own,” he sits up straighter, “you swing that cane like a champ.”

“Yeah, ha,” she laughs, just a small one as he reaches for the tea cup again, “I… I hit that guy.”

He chuckles too, “you did. Honestly, I think after that, there’s no way he’ll be back.”

Her

You try to eat slowly and it doesn’t take much before you’re painfully full. You put the chopsticks down and take a napkin to wipe your mouth. Bucky smiles at you, a noodle hanging from his lips as he slurps it up.

“Sorry,” he covers his mouth, “caught me at a bad moment.”

“It’s good, I… I’m full,” you look at the noodles still left in your bowl.

“Oh, no worries, we’ll just ask for a container,” he says, “be good to have some leftovers in the fridge… just in case.”

“Uh, yeah,” you agree. You wonder if maybe he saw inside your empty fridge or he just means well.

“I’m getting there myself,” he stirs his bowl with his chopsticks.

She nods and he raises his hand as he sees Mrs. Zhao, the namesake for the restaurant, “excuse me, hi, sorry, whenever you have a chance.”

She acquiesces and rushes off. He sits back and smacks his stomach, “mm, did you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s very good,” you agree.

Mrs. Zhao returns and offers the bill to Bucky. You look away, embarrassed.

“I forgot to mention, can you add a box of tea,” he hands it back.

She agrees and whisks off again. You sit in silence, awkwardly searching the restaurant. You would offer to pay for your own but you can’t. You’re dirt poor. You can’t help but think he knows it too. No one is that nice. It only takes one look around your place to see it.

Zhao returns once more, sets a box of tea before him and some containers, then the bill. He pays in cash and tells her to keep the change. She chimes thankfully and wishes you both a good day. You pour your noodles into the container and seal the lid. Bucky does the same.

You grab your cane and turn on the bench, dragging yourself across to plant it on the floor. You brace the table and stand as he does so much easier than you. He takes his container and yours, stacking them atop each other, then the tea on the very top.

“Oh, thanks,” you utter as you get your feet set.

“No problem,” he grins.

He waits for you to go first. You make a slow, uneven advance to the door. You keep your eyes straight as you refuse to notice the glances sent in your direction. The lucky cat by the door waves in farewell as you approach.

Bucky reaches past you and opens the door before you can. You limp out into the street. Your hip burns from the thin cushion of the booth bench.

“That was nice,” he says as he walks beside you, again patiently keeping pace with you.

“It was,” you agree, “it’s really kind of you.”

“You act like having lunch with a pretty girl is a chore,” he jokes.

You scoff, “please.”

“Please what,” he tilts his head.

Your chest pinches and your face heats up, “you’re just being nice.”

“No,” he argues, “I don’t lie.”

A sudden flash glares to your left and your toe catches in the sidewalk. You stagger and land on one knee, the pavement dinging the bony cap harshly as you catch yourself with a hand. Your cane clatters beside you as you look around in confusion.

“Hey, what the hell?” Bucky barks, his voice deeper and scarier than before. “Don’t do that.”

You glance over at a man with a large camera. He blanches from behind the lens but takes another photo. Bucky shifts as if he might lunge at the photographer and he runs off.

Bucky sighs and reaches to grab your arm, gentle but firm.

“Hey, you alright?” He asks in concern, his other arm hugging the containers.

“Yeah, I didn’t see him. I’m sorry, I must’ve stepped on a crack–”

“That jack– guy should be apologising,” he sneers, “so rude.”

“Yeah, I…” you hiss as you grab your cane. He holds onto you, helping you rise, but not too quickly, “I… why would he…” you peer over your shoulder then back to him, “are you famous?”

He huffs and shrugs, “I guess to some people.”

You furrow your brow and let your shoulders sink, “oh.”

“I don’t really think about it, you know? I got a job and I do it. All the attention, I hate it,” his hand slips down your arm and reluctantly falls away. You swallow and turn back down the sidewalk. He walks with you, quiet for a moment before he speaks again, “does that mean you don’t wanna be friends?”

You think as your cane taps between your footsteps, “I didn’t… No, I just…” you take a breath, “I’ve never known anyone famous.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he sighs.

“Yeah, seems like.”

[missmisnomer]

into a nightmare

inspired by the deliciously dark fic Black Shore by @landwriter but as so often happens in the creative process, the concept ran away with me and i could do nothing else but enjoy the ride. maybe i'll try again another time to capture the exact right mood.

anyways, enjoy

click for better quality istg tumblr i know it's big but you're killing me here.

[h-doodles]

Connection // Consumption // Possession is my way of Love & you are mine as i am yours, various - a web weave for it's quicker & easier (to eat your young) by @pinkcannibal 💖