#discarded. hes someone who would gladly never have been alive (a living human being) in the first place if it meant he could carry out his

[epicdogymoment]

well i think mobcop has everything to do with hijikata being an alivegirl

[melancholia-cressa]

Unwanted

This is the sequel to Weakness, the first Dio oneshot I posted here. Lord knows how long I had this thing in my files. I think it was 9 or 10 days? I had writer’s block and college had me in a chokehold, so I lost track of time. I was actually thinking about how I should end this for days now, and here we are. I rushed the ending, to be honest, so I still hope you guys enjoy it somehow.

warning: mentions of blood, minor swearing, huge spoilers for Part 3, another very long oneshot, and a lot of references to the oneshot preceding this

Note: I deliberately used Dio as his human side and DIO as the current one with the insane god complex.

                                            ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Dio Brando—no, DIO stood at the peak of humanity; transcending its mortal existence entirely. The moment he received his Stand from an old crone, the idea of anyone opposing the charismatic and powerful vampire was inconceivable. Foolish, even, in the eyes of his most loyal followers. The man couldn't care less for the corpses and blood that trailed after his every step nor for those who swore undying fealty with lips pressed to his shoes in a kiss of fear and reverence. Every word that rolled off his tongue is law and grace combined, akin to religious faith with its own avid believers and devotees. A mere touch is denied and unattainable, something that no one could even work hard for, unless it was to satiate his more carnal desires. If anything, men and women either feared or admired him. On more than one occasion, it was both. A god among men, they say.

So, why is one measly photograph enough to chill the blood in his veins and falter the confidence in his stride?

Enya watched her master with obvious curiosity. Her fingers gripped her cane tighter the longer DIO stared at the developed image. The old woman assumed that her lord, almighty and fearsome, stewed in cold rage. Never had she seen him cower from terror nor lose his composure. It was unimaginable. Enya discarded the notion and did not bother to ask questions. No one dares question him, after all.

His fingers curled, knuckles discreetly trembling from the force, and nearly crumpled the poor thing in his hand. To the untrained eye, his focus remained on the two prominent figures of Jotaro Kujo, a teenager donning a high school uniform with the addition of his unusual cap and a large chain hanging on the collar, and the latter's grandfather Joseph Joestar whose clothes resembled that of some human adventurer—Indiana Jones, was it? DIO didn't care to know and never will. He gave little thought to those men. Not even the two Stand users that left his ranks and became traitors once the Joestars took the implanted fleshbuds off their foreheads.

What caught his attention was the face of a woman who seemed to be in her early twenties. She stood next to Jotaro with her arms crossed and her gaze focused on the horizon. The grim smile and the hardened resolve in her eyes made her look more alive in the photo than what DIO wanted. The tension in her expression contradicted the ease in her posture, marked by her lax shoulders and dainty fingers paused midway from drumming against her arm. She brought unwanted memories of blood and weakness, ones he thought he buried long ago after a century of isolation.

It was you. The same eyes, nose, lips, skin, hair—even the damn way you held yourself. The glaring similarities between the woman in his memories and the woman engraved in the film rattled him to the core. DIO never believed in the supernatural before he became one himself. Although, he thought that reincarnation was an idiotic concept born from those who cannot accept that death and the afterlife were the end of all things. Yet, there you are; a painful reminder of his former humanity. The turmoil that wrapped itself around his mind added to the phantom throb of his heart from when he was still human.

His glare intensified, easing his grip on the spirit photograph. DIO doesn't want to alarm Enya nor any of his underlings. He loathed appearing weak and undignified; giving them an opportunity to ambush him should he let his guard down.

The photo fluttered next to a broken camera, smashed to pieces with a chop of his hand, on the table with a huff from the imposing man. Moonlight spilled through the windows and bathed him in its luminescence; his shadow swallowed by the darkened areas of the room where the light would never reach. The fury burned bright in his eyes, yet Enya noticed something else—an emotion indecipherable and foreign. She never had the chance to mull about it, because DIO turned on his heel and walked towards the stairs with an unnatural grace and elegance in his gait.

“It seems that fate is upon us,” he told no one in particular; his smooth, honeyed voice carried across the expanse of the lobby. "I shall retire to my room for the night. Do not disturb me."

DIO didn't need to say any more. The underlying threat in his words told Enya everything. If anything, this decision served to confuse the witch doctor more. Her master always ridiculed the Joestars, either with a scoff or a mocking laugh, in their quest every time he checked their progress to send in the next Stand user. Tonight, he barely uttered an insult nor a snide comment. She wordlessly watched him disappear around the bend, then sighed.

"Oh, Lord Dio… What troubles you so?"

The heavy thud of a closed door echoed in DIO's ears; magnified by the lifeless expanse of his room. His feet absent-mindedly led himself to sit on one of the armchairs across a small table where a golden goblet accompanied a bottle of wine. With a practiced motion, his fingers curled around the stem of the goblet as he poured himself a drink with his other hand. His vacant gaze remained on the red liquor flowing into his cup; lost in memories and possibilities that tortured him for a century.

DIO never did forgive himself for allowing you to die.

He had his chance. He could have turned you into a vampire like himself when he held you in that castle. He could have given you an opportunity to live life with him; his abiding presence a gift to compensate for the time he left you after he gained immortality. He could have given you unimaginable freedom—to see civilization evolve and change before your eyes, to live in a time where you two would be the only constants in the world. DIO could have taken you with him during that lonesome century to be beside him when the coffin was opened. He could see the silent admiration in your gaze if you were to travel the world with him as he searched for a way to attain Heaven. Knowing that you had never traveled outside of London, DIO would have gladly taken you to anywhere you wanted and wished. You could have been the one sitting across from him at this very moment. He could imagine a thick tome in your hands and the curious gleam in your eyes as you carefully flipped pages, as if they would break under the slightest pressure of your touch. You had never held a book before since girls were rarely educated then, and DIO was certain you would have loved to read.

If it wasn't for the fact that he respected your dying wish, DIO could have lived the rest of his life with you.

The bottom of the bottle harshly slammed against the wooden surface. Hairline cracks crept across the glass bottle due to his vice grip, knuckles turning pale from the force. His jaw clenched, teeth gnashed and bared, as he brought the rim of the goblet to his lips. Your disappointed frown flashed across his mind; the faint memory of your hands gently taking away the bottle from his grasp consumed his senses. DIO could feel your fingers brush against his wrist as you pulled him to the spare room in your house; the one which once belonged to your parents. The slur in his voice was painfully obvious, yet you never pried for the reasons that caused him to drink so much. That soft smile still graced your features, even when you faced his alcohol-induced outbursts of rage and annoyance. It burned itself into his mind even after all these years. DIO brought the untouched wine back to the table as fingers buried themselves in his hair.

He couldn't even bring himself to drink away his thoughts of you.

"Useless," he muttered, tipping his head back against the cushion. He closed his eyes with a grunt. A thunderous roar shook the floors of the castle as he slaughtered zombies who dared laid their greedy hands on your corpse. Blood—your blood—smeared his skin, stains that still haunted him for eternity, and it was everywhere. His hands desperately reached for you, your dead body clutched by that damnable blond who accompanied Jonathan, as he fell from the balcony—

"I, DIO, being pathetic and weak?" He spat, feeling pinpricks of pain blossoming in his clenched fists. "Forget your humanity. Forget Dio Brando. Forget her."

DIO found himself spending the remnants of the night wallowing in memories of you, until the light of dawn peeked through his curtains.

                                           ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Your smile greeted him the following night.

In the solace of his room, DIO traced a sharp nail against the photo that held your beaming expression: eyes alight with laughter and lips pulled into that godforsaken smile. Your fingers brushed your mouth, paused in the middle of hiding the aforementioned smile behind your hand. You shared the same name as her. Two cameras lie broken on the table along with a photo—disregarded and forgotten—of the Joestar group riding camels through the Saudi Arabian desert. He didn’t care for the others laughing beside you.

What mattered was the bitter throb of his heart that shouldn’t even be possible for someone who claimed to have triumphed over his humanity.

"Dio!" He could hear your scandalized gasp ring clear in the country air. A hand covered the smile on your lips as you laughed out loud, brushing off the strands of hair that stuck to your face. Water soaked the cuffs of your sleeves and your collar, but you didn’t mind. “I can’t believe you did that!”

Neither did Dio, but there he was: water from the nearby stream trickling down his fingers and a smug smirk stretching from one ear to another. He huffed, shaking the water off his hands, “You forget that I’m not some stuck-up aristocrat who can’t have fun.”

“True,” you hummed, wiping your hands on your skirt. “Then again, it has been a while since we spent time together like this.”

You lifted your apron to wipe off the water on your face when a handkerchief softly rubbed against your cheek. Dio, who was surprised at his own gentle ministrations, continued to dab the water off as if it was routine; his thumb ghosting your heated skin through the thin cloth. The scarlet flush blooming across your cheeks and tinting your ears made his smirk widen, if that was possible. You sputtered your gratitude, yet adamantly tried to evade the touch of his handkerchief as you held your apron in an iron grip. Dio could only laugh at your expense, his heart thundering and his own cheeks the slightest bit warm.

A resounding crash stole him away from the memory. The bright, blue sky and its cotton-wisp clouds faded from view; the bleak, ornate walls of his room in their place. The light of the sun was replaced with streaks of moonlight slipping through the cracks of his curtains and cascading down the floor. It was only then did DIO realize the crinkled edge of the photograph in his hand, the glittering shards scattered on the ground, and the wine that dripped from the wall to pool around the fragments of what once was a glass bottle. The quiet of the room was broken by three, quick knocks and a voice asking the man of his condition with an unmistakable, underlying tone of concern. DIO recognized the voice to be one of his most loyal subordinates, Vanilla Ice.

“What happened? Is something the matter, Lord Dio?”

A low growl rumbled in his chest. DIO closed his eyes, stopping time and pocketing your photo in one fluid motion. The World picked up one of the broken cameras and threw it out the window while the vampire stood over the Joestar photograph as if nothing happened. Images of you from his memories and your reincarnation occupied his thoughts; your photo burning a hole in his pant pocket. When time resumed, DIO swiped the photo off the table and thrusted the memories of his past to the darkest recesses of his mind.

DIO would leave you be for now if it meant he could take you back by his side in the end.

“Nothing that concerns you, Vanilla Ice. Come in, I have new orders for Enya.”

                                           ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

She’s not you. She will never be you.

But you want her to be, DIO’s traitorous subconscious whispered. This is ridiculous. The man has never even met your reincarnation. He never spent time with you in this life, barely even a ghost of a conversation between you two, yet he longs for your company more than anything. His rational thoughts and sentiments warred against each other, vying for his final decision on what to do with you. The moment DIO saw you, bleeding and bruised on the stairs below, his heart bled and his shoulders nearly hunched from the pain. His rational side of the argument was silenced and shackled by the chains of past memories that bound him to you. He ached to take you into his arms and whisper reassurances in your ears, that he will give you all the comfort and security he could never give you before.

He couldn’t. Not with Polnareff leaning into your touch; his arm slung over your shoulders and head dangerously close to yours. Not with his blood simmering under his skin and his nails piercing through his palm, blood slowly seeping through the fingers of his clenched fist. The fight in your eyes hid the intense worry for your wounded comrade—maybe even lover, DIO bitterly mused—as you pressed your side flush against the silver-haired man’s battered, stumbling body. You looked at DIO as if he was the gum stuck on the sole of your shoe; as if he was the vilest, most putrid thing that ever graced the Earth. The tension and anger twisted your expression into a scowl, brows furrowed and lips dipped into that all-too familiar frown.

DIO had so many questions to ask you; so many memories to share in the vain hope that you would sympathize with him and join him. One look in your eyes, the same indiscernible emotion flickering to life when you tended to his bruises before he was adopted by George Joestar, and DIO knew he would lose this battle with you just like all those years ago. He could feel your fingers wrapped around his arm again; the cold cloth pressed to his bruised cheek; the soft smile he hated and adored at the same time. White hot rage bubbled and coursed through his veins. His jaw clenched and his nails dug deeper into the scarred flesh of his palms, drops of blood dripping towards the floor. His heart pounded against his chest as if desperate to flee into your embrace.

“In your fucking dreams,” you spat, scowl deepening and shifting your hold on Polnareff. “I’d sooner die than join you.”

Phantom daggers planted themselves into DIO’s heart, violently thrashing in its cage, as the image of you in his memories clashed against your battle-worn figure. Remnants of your smile adorned your lips followed by the laughter that echoed in his ears; the teasing lilt reserved solely for Dio. Your eyes glowed with life, brimming with joy and love that he realized too late. Your outstretched hand implored him to take it; to cool the swell of his bruises and wipe the blood off his wounds; to run across the fields once more before he had to return to his studies; to spend another day with you in Victorian London before he found that stone mask. Then there was you of the present, breathing ragged and gaze lit with spite and abhorrence for everything DIO is. You struggled to carry Polnareff’s weight from how much you leaned on him. Blood matted your hair and a long scratch marred your cheek. He noticed your leg wobble, threatening to let you and the other man pathetically fall to the floor. Your hands gripped Polnareff closer to you, whether this was an intended or subconscious action was beyond DIO.

He still yearned for you, despite all of this.

                                           ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

His pained screams disrupted the once peaceful night of Cairo, Egypt.

“What?!” DIO felt the cracks viciously trail from his leg to his head, split in half similar to how Jonathan caught him off-guard on that fateful day. Humiliation, shame, disbelief, and a storm of emotions raged in his heart; eyes wide and lips parted from the turbulence wracking his body. Jotaro watched, heated glare shadowed under the brim of his hat, as DIO’s screams reached the heavens. The stars joined in the spectacle, mockingly bright under the torturous pain and suffering of the once invincible vampire.

“I-Impossible!” DIO warbled, choking and gurgling from the blood pooling in his mouth. “I… am DIO! I… am...”

Something in his gut coiled; whispers of his mind urged him to look in the direction of the harbinger of his demise. His gape drifted from the stars to Jotaro, but his attention was not on the high school delinquent. At least ten feet away from the two, you leaned on the railing of the bridge with trembling legs. One of your hands clutched the wound on your left side; a wound DIO inflicted himself. He clearly remembered the triumph and glee that dulled his senses; the swing of the stop sign that would bring the Joestar bloodline to an end; the surprise shifting into panic when you jumped in front of Jotaro with the intent to protect him. In his haste, DIO flicked his wrist and grazed your side with the edge of the stop sign.

He once thought fate favored him. That the decision to cut off his head and to take Jonathan’s body was fate allowing him to live another century. That your absence was a weakness that fate had nipped in the bud for him; that your reborn soul was another chance fate had given him to atone for his mistakes. So, why? Why would fate pit you against him, to relive that cursed night when Dio had taken your life in front of his very eyes? Were you fated to ally with the Joestars and die for them? Another corpse among the others that followed the wake of the Joestar lineage, all just to defeat him?

DIO couldn’t kill you, as much as he despised the sentiment.

A fool. He is and always will be a fool when it comes to you. Dio will always want you in each lifetime, and it pained DIO to admit it in his final moments. His heart lurched and lodged itself in his throat; the fire in his blood scorching his skin and insides. His hand reached out to you, just like before, but you’re not dying this time. He knew that, if the afterlife actually existed, he will never be able to join you. DIO saw your eyes widen as you took a step back, farther from his grasp. Another bloodcurdling scream rang in the night; dying gurgles heard only by the two people who brought him to his death.

Even in this life, Dio could never have you.

[ackerman-archive]

Sing me a song

Levi x Reader

Summary: After a traumatizing expedition, Levi walks around the grounds for some peace. Though for some reason, there was a mysterious melody that plays each night for the past few months, and his curiosity seeks to find the source.

Warnings: N/A

***

Today was once again a failure for the Survey corps. Not only did they went home empty-handed, but they also suffered a traumatizing experience due to the sacrifices of the majority. For a rookie scout such as(y/n), it was not easy for her to witness the death of her closest friend, Charlotte. 

Walking through the gates of Wall Maria, the horrifying scene of Charlotte’s frail body being gnawed by a female titan plays through her mind. Furthermore, seeing the disappointed glares of the citizens did not help the silent agony that is eating her alive. 

Once she arrived at the room that she and her comrades shared, (y/n) could not help but release the tears that she has been holding on to since earlier. Her knees buckled as she covered her mouth with her palms to stop her from wailing. What once was a noisy and rowdy room, was now empty. 

It felt rather eerie seeing the room as if everything seems normal. It has been the same since they left it before going to the expedition. The beds are all messed up as though someone just got out of bed, and their vanities are still cluttered with their perfumes and brushes. 

(y/n) walked over to Charlotte’s bed, her pillows arranged properly and her blankets folded nicely. Among the other girls, (y/n) smiled at the thought of Charlotte being the neatest among them all. (y/n) picked up her late best friend’s pillow, hugging it tightly and savoring the light scent that comes with it. 

As much as (y/n) would like to imagine that her best friend still exists, the haunting reality slowly seeps into her mind once again, shattering her heart even more. 

***

Few hours had passed since (y/n) came back home to their room. She reached into her pocket watch and glanced at the time. 

“1 in the morning, huh.” 

It somehow surprises her how it felt like she’s been there for long hours, only to see that two hours have passed. (y/n) then thought of dancing again in the empty room at the end of the hallway. She picked up her bag which contained her ballet attire and her pair of pointe shoes. 

Lastly, before leaving her room, (y/n) picked up the small wooden box that her father gave her as a kid. It’s a music box. 

***

After surveying the grounds, Levi decided to take a rest on the rooftop of the dormitories. Once again, today was an unsuccessful journey where humanity gained nothing and yet lost almost everything. It’s unfair how the cadets have to live the rest of their lives suffering in this hell. Levi doubts if he would even make it to his 50s, let alone start a family. Having a family is something that Levi could never imagine associating himself with. Not only is it a great burden, but the emotional attachment that comes with it once he loses his family would be unbearable.

Of course, one day he will lose everything. It is a thought that has been ingrained into his mind ever since the day he lost Isabel and Farlan. 

His train of thought suddenly comes to an end when he hears the distant tune again. Levi can’t exactly remember when he first heard this music since it has been around for quite some time. Needless to say, he missed hearing the familiar tune that would always play on the back of his head each night. Though he never asked himself where the music came from, after all, the concept of music was still rather new to him. 

Though somehow, listening to it had always brought him a sense of comfort. Levi wanted to know more about it but he was just too immersed in minding his own life. Perhaps all he can do for now is to sit on the rooftop each night just so he can hear this song again. 

***

The next morning, the remaining cadets are preparing for the ceremony of their fallen comrades. It was quiet at breakfast, as everyone seemed to be in a state of shock. Even for someone with experience, Levi is aware that he could never get used to the silence that haunts them after an expedition.

Just like any other person, one must clean up after themselves. Being the clean freak that Levi is, he made sure that his area was left free from crumbs and dirt. While returning his used plate, a soft humming passed by. Levi immediately stopped and looked around the hall, where people from different tables are eating their meals peacefully. 

“The fuck…?”, Levi muttered.

Levi swore he heard someone sing the soft tune that comforts him at night. Though looking around, everybody seemed quiet while eating. He then discarded the thought once again, instead, he chose to divert his attention to the upcoming ceremony. 

***

Levi continued to sit down on the rooftop every night, in hopes of hearing the same tune once again. Until one time, the music did not come that night. Out of curiosity, Levi finally had the guts to investigate. He walked through the corridors, checking each door only to find that the rooms were empty. 

Then suddenly, as if on cue, the soft music starts to play again. Levi, who is listening intently, figured out that the soft melody was coming from the end of the hallway. He looked at the door in confusion, and cautiously walked up to it. 

Levi looked through the gap between the two wooden doors. What he saw made his eyes widen in admiration. 

A young female girl was dancing along to the music that intoxicated his mind each night. With graceful movements, the girl spins beautifully on her toes. Levi had never seen such a beautiful dance, which made his heart flutter the longer he watched. 

He was not exactly sure about the identity of the girl due to the dim lighting and the small gap in between the doors. Though he was certain that he had seen her around, the girl was yet to be identified. 

The girl immediately turned to face the door when she sensed someone else's presence. 

Knowing that the girl might freak out, Levi retreated to his room in fear of being caught. Perhaps tomorrow, he might figure out who the girl might be. 

***

The next day, (y/n) was tasked to observe and write down the results of Hange's experiment. She had to spend the whole day in her laboratory just to figure out if any of the following liquids can dissolve a titan's skin. 

Hange on the other hand, went out for a short while to collect drug samples that can be used as experiments for her beloved titans. Although she might have other plans in mind.

Hange knew about (y/n)'s interest with the captain. She wanted to see if things might work out between the two of them. So she purposely asked Levi to be in charge of her other experiments alongside (y/n). 

Of course, Levi was rather grumpy at the thought of being assigned extra work. He forced his ass to walk towards Hange's laboratory, not noticing that (y/n) was busy mixing the liquids at the far end of the lab. 

While Levi was reading the instructions, (y/n) subconsciously humms the soft tune. It took quite a while before Levi realized that a faint humming can be heard. He immediately stood up and looked around the laboratory, eager to find the person singing the familiar melody. He searched in between the shelves of endless books, until he reached the last row.

Levi's heart skipped a beat as he saw (y/n) busy on the experiment. He realized that (y/n) might still not be aware of his presence. 

Levi decides to hum as well along (y/n)'s voice. Immediately, (y/n) stopped and looked at the raven-haired boy leaning on the bookshelf behind her. Needless to say, she was shocked to hear the person she admired singing along to her tune.

"Can you… dance again for me?" Levi asks shyly. 

(y/n) grinned, slowly taking his hand and placing it behind her lower back and holding the other with her left. Levi, of course, gladly accepted her hand. 

They both swayed slowly together, while listening to the voice of the other. 

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Knight of Black Flames

Shou didn’t want to look at the destroyed Digimon mini. Doing so meant yet another stab of pain to his heart. It was all his fault. If it hadn’t been for him – if he hadn’t been so Weak - then Peckmon would still be – still be there.

If I could do more than spark - He stared down at his hands. If he focused hard enough, tiny sparks ran over his hands. He was a Firestarter – if one wished to be technical about it. A simple level Red – someone who could be useful as a hot water bottle on a cold winter night, but not much more.

Not like Blue or higher levels, capable of incinerating people in a single breath, or even the legendary Black Flames, those who scorched so hot that they could not turn cold.

If he’d been stronger, he could have protected Peckmon. It was all his fault… all his and no one else’s.

“This is not so, Kahara Shou.” A deep, rich voice spoke. Shou’s head jerked up; he wasn’t in his bedroom anymore. He didn’t know where he was; he’d never seen a place like this before. What he could see of the walls revealed them to be of magnificent workmanship, as if he’d been suddenly transported to a castle or palace. Everything else he could see of this place continued the theme. A palace of some kind – but how had he gotten here?

Then his attention focused on the person who stood in front of him – if person were even the correct way to describe him. Whoever they were, they towered over him, and Shou thought they would have even if he were an adult. Roughly humanoid, in the sense of having one head, two arms, two legs, and a body, they gave the sense of being an old man, helped by the long beard and wise eyes that stared down at Shou. In one hand was held a long staff that Shou couldn’t see the shape of very well, and the other hand looked more like a large claw than anything else. Two slender scarlet wings rose up from behind the stranger.

All of this Shou took in during a single heartbeat. He swallowed and tried to steel himself.

“Who are you? Where is this place?” More sparks fluttered over his hands – then without warning, the sparks roared into a virtual hellfire. Shou leaped back in shock, eyes rounding. A strange new strength sang under his skin, pulsing as nothing ever had before. “Did you do that??” He didn't think this was a Firestarter. Even someone as weak as he was could have sensed that – maybe.

“No, Kahara Shou. You did. This is my gift to you – the first of many, I believe.” The stranger smiled down at him. “I have fanned your flames from the mere coals they were into a true hellfire, worthy of my Knight.”

Shou’s gaze flickered from his own hands to the fire and then up to the stranger. “What?”

“I am Barbamon – soon to be master of the Digital World. But I have need of a warrior to strike on my behalf. Many such warriors exist in the Digital World, but I will also need one who can exist in the human world. For that purpose, I have chosen you.”

Shou didn’t think he could believe his ears. “What are you talking about? Digimon – Digimon are data.” They were data that should be loved and cherished like anything else, not carelessly discarded or destroyed, but -

“Perhaps in your world that is true. But we are in the Digital World, where Digimon are as real as you. Allow me to present my second gift.”

Barbamon twisted his hand and between one breath and the next, Peckmon stood next to Shou. Not just a digital image, but Peckmon, real and solid, as large as Shou himself, and reaching for him. Shou’s fingers landed on his neck, and the solid reality of him was there, life throbbing under his touch.

“I was able to rescue him from the Dark Area,” Barbamon revealed. “It wasn’t an easy task at all. But for you, my Knight, it was one I performed gladly.”

Shou jerked his head to stare at Barbamon. He knew tears spilled down his cheeks and he didn’t care. “What do you want me to do for you?”

“You now possess the power of a Black Flame. You share in my power because of this.” Barbamon moved his staff in front of him, fingers flexing over the top of it. “There are certain items known as the Digi-memories that I desire. Peckmon, it seems, has one of them. Your first task, after you’ve completed training, will be to gather them for me.”

All of this spun through Shou’s head endlessly. He wasn’t sure of what to think about any of this – except that he could call fire stronger than anything he’d ever seen before and Peckmon leaned against him, strong and alive, and …

And if he said no, then Barbamon would take all of that back. He would be a common Red Firestarter again. He wouldn’t have Peckmon anymore. At best Peckmon could be a digital image on a device, not the living, breathing creature that leaned into him and whispered encouragement and support.

“What do you say, Kahara Shou?” Barbamon asked. “Will you be my Knight and assist me in the rebirth of the Digital World? Shattering the bonds between human and Digimon, for the greater good of Digimon.” A sly smile flickered over his lips. “Your bond with Peckmon would remain, of course. You have proven that you deserve it, as no others have.”

Something about those words made up Shou’s mind for him. He squared up his shoulders and faced his new master.

“Yes, Barbamon-sama. I’ll do what you want.” For the Digital World. For the Digimon.

The End

Notes: I have other thoughts concerning how NEXT plays out like this. But all in good time.

[robultrash]

Pulse

The only good thing  I’ve ever written 

Bulgaria: Dimitrov 

Romania: Vladimir 

“Vlad…” Dimitrov had moaned, my lips pressed against his collarbone. We were both shirtless, both heated. Both really fucking horny.

I had pinned Dimitrov down. I was more comfortable being under my lover, staring up into forest eyes. I liked it more when he was in charge, it let me be lazy. Or so, that’s what Dimitrov would tell me. But this time, I had taken control, was rocking my hips against the ebony man’s own, was whispering foreign words that he could barely understand, but he probably got the hint anyways.

“Nhg…Vlad…” Dimitrov moaned again, and I swear, it was the prettiest sound I had ever heard. He was under my control, both willingly and not, since I couldn’t help that my pheromones were probably driving him up a wall. And, again, it wasn’t helping that I hadn’t fed properly in a few weeks.

“If this...If this is your way of asking to bite me, you know you’re allowed.” Dimitrov said, and I knew it. He had given me permission before. And yeah, it usually started out like this. Or ended up like this. Either way, usually, whenever I needed to feed, Dimitrov ended up getting fucked.

“Can’t you give me the illusion of being in control?” I pouted, not that I was all that needy of dominance. I was perfectly fine being on Dimitrov’s receiving end. And even before I had started, I was already thinking about apology sex. I always had to apologize, somehow. I didn’t like using Dimitrov as a blood bank. But he practically would force it on me.

Dimitrov smirked up at me, he was in no position to be smirking. “Sorry, please, continue.” He said, and I did so gladly, straddling his body, and moving my lips over him. The terrain was well known for me, and not just because I spent a lot of time kissing the man’s chest and neck, though he had pointed out on more than one occasion how much time I spent there. As a vampire, you learn to understand the body you regularly visit. I’ve learned his pulses, veins that don’t hurt as bad to bite for feeding. Soft spots that could make him moan, or divots that my tongue would fit in perfectly. I had learned his body well, practically studied it. And it always paid off, for both me, in that I could make things less painful, and for him, in that I knew exactly what places to pay my apologies to.

I pull up, my fangs making themselves known through my smile. I sense Dimitrov’s fear. Of course, the process is still scary. The pain, the uncertainty. I could fuck up badly, or I could accidentally turn him. If I ever turned Dimitrov, if I ever cursed him with this, I don’t think I could live with myself.

“I can do it another day, when you aren’t so tense.” I offered, and Dimitrov was very tense. I wasn’t sure why, what stress was he not sharing? We are lovers after all. Usually I could read Dimitrov like a book, but he seemed very keen on hiding whatever it was that was bothering him.

He could read me well too, though. “You’re worrying too much, just keep going, before I grow soft.” He whined. Dimitrov didn’t get pleasure from being bitten, not when blood is drawn , anyways, so I knew better than to continue to pester him about what was wrong. He would tell me, eventually.

I nodded slightly, before leaning down. I rocked my hips a few more times, earning me the desired moans of Dimitrov, before I came close to his neck.

I usually bit his arm. That way, if mistakes happened, they could be easily taken care of. But in the heat of the moment or some demonic possession, I was slowly licking the Bulgarian’s neck, prepping him for what was to come.

Dimitrov seemed to stiffen, realizing I didn’t want my usual, but he didn’t complain. He never complained. I could ask to suck him dry (blood, not penis) and he would gladly accept.

“Vladimir.”

My brain didn’t register my own name, as my fangs grazed the thin skin of his neck. I could hear the blood running through his veins, could feel the goosebumps on his arms that I was holding. I could smell him, he was wearing cologne, it masked the scent of iron my vampiric side was seeking.

“Vladimir…”

My teeth sunk into him without my knowledge, wasn’t even sure what I was doing until the warm liquid filled my mouth. My whole self awareness flicked away, like a switch, and all that was left was the hunger that I had been denying myself, far longer than I let on. What I took from my lover wasn’t enough. And here, so close to the pulse that I denied myself constantly, I couldn’t control myself.

“Vladimir!”

Not even the scream broke my concentration. I remember each detail, the bit of blood that dribbled down my chin and onto the bed. Weak arms, pushing at me, trying to get me off. The more I consumed, the more of myself I seemed to lose.

I didn’t stop until that little pulse faltered.

“Dimi?” I said, pulling up, still not fully processing what was happening. I stared down at my lover, whose vibrant green eyes were now sickly and hazed. I noticed pale Dimitrov was, how much blood still seeped from his wound.

“Dimitrov!” I screamed, every nerve of mine on edge. What had I done?!

Dimitrov didn’t respond, merely closing his eyes. I threw myself off of him, desperately looking for anything to cover the holes in his neck, but my vision was blurred. Why was I cursed with tear ducts still?!

“No no Dimi, stay alive!” I begged. I contemplating turning him, but that was a selfish desire. I wanted Dimitrov with me always, I didn’t want to lose him. But I had nearly killed him, he wouldn’t want to spend an eternity with me. I didn’t deserve such a thing.

I wrapped my earlier discarded shirt around his neck, and once more felt for a pulse. It was there, but weak. It had never been so weak. I heard Dimitrov try to mumble something out, it sounded like a swear.

“No, don’t talk. I’m gonna call for an ambulance.” I said, searching around for a phone. I found Dimitrov’s in his pants, and I felt like crying harder. I had went too far this time.

The ambulance took too long. It felt like forever between the time I had called the emergency line, and when medical help finally arrived. I was still hovering over Dimitrov when they came in, pressing my now blood soaked shirt to his neck and crying over him, whispering to him, telling him stories about good little humans who didn’t die.

I was ushered into the ambulance with them, but I didn’t deserve to be. I thought about telling them what happened, but I didn’t want to be away from Dimitrov either. I had to make sure he lived.

Once more, the thought crossed my mind about turning the Bulgarian. I couldn’t live without Dimitrov. I knew I couldn’t give him up, but again, guilt reigned over my being, and I also knew I didn’t deserve anything from Dimitrov, especially not an eternity.

When Dimitrov had flatlined though, all thoughts of selfishness left me.

“No! Let me through!” I screeched, pushing at the doctors and nurses trying to hold me back, fangs flared out. Venom dripped from my teeth, and I snarled at everyone holding me back. But I couldn’t let Dimitrov die. I needed him to be with me.

“Sir! You need to step back!” One doctor yelled at me. He was a vampire too, I could smell it on him. He could read on my face how badly I had fucked up, how badly I thought this would save him.

“Turning him won’t fix this, let us save him.” The doctor said, and I finally backed off. I was asked to leave the room, and I stood right outside the door. I hadn’t cleaned up, blood still stained my face, and it didn’t help that I now smelled of pheromones from attempting to turn someone. I was surprised when no one came to put handcuffs around me and send me off to prison. I belonged there anyways.

Hours passed, and I could do nothing but pace. I couldn’t grow tired, and even if I could, I wouldn’t have slept anyways. I tried to clean myself off, but every time I looked in the mirror, I started crying. It held the face of the monster that almost killed his best friend, his lover. It eventually got so bad, a nurse offered to clean me up. I allowed her to wipe away Dimitrov from my face, but I kept my bloody shirt. I didn’t deserve to be so easily cleaned of my crime.

When a doctor finally came looking for me, I wondered if it was possible for a heart to stop without having one, because that’s what the moment felt like.

“Sir, your friend had to undergo a blood transfusion, you took a lot out of him.” So it was known what he had done? Good. He hoped everyone in the building hated him.

“But, he seems to be recovering well. He isn’t awake, but his heart beat is steady.” She explained.

“Can I see him?” I asked her, and she nodded, allowing me back into the room. I stared at his body. They had changed his clothes, and tubes and wires stuck out him. He looked more dead than alive, I thought, but the constant beeping of his heart monitor told me otherwise.

“His recovery has been so amazing, we believe he will be waking up within a few hours.” She explained, before resting a hand on my shoulder.

“He had woken up a few times, while you were out in the waiting room. He called out for you.” She explained. I towards her, before my eyes began to water, and I looked back at Dimitrov.

“If you want new clothes, or for us to call anyone-” The woman started, but I cut her off.

“I already left that information with a nurse outside, his friend will be here in a day or two.” Dimitrov didn’t have any family, not that I know about anyways. I knew he had friend named Roderich, and that was it. His father had died when he was young, and his mother was out of the picture. Dimitrov had had nothing until I came into his life.

And now, he only had absolute betrayal.

I sat by his bed for hours. I didn’t need to sleep, but at one point I had rested my head on the bed, and dozed off, thankful just to be able to feel Dimitrov’s warmth that only a human seemed to possess. I came too when I felt fingers playing with my hair, and the sound of voices.

“No, I’m not pressing charges or anything, it was an accident, after all.”

“Are you sure? You do know it’s illegal for a vampire to kill a human without good reason?” A male voice said. I resisted the urge to lift up, though I was practically dying to talk to Dimitrov, but not with someone else in the room. I wanted him alone.

“Well, then it’s good he didn’t kill me. Can you leave now? He’s awake, and you’re only making him self conscious.”

A blush burned on my face, and I lifted up, glaring at Dimitrov.

“Why would you say that?” I asked, pouting heavily, before reality struck me once more.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-.”

I cut Dimitrov off with a tight hug, tears burning my eyes, but the pain was welcomed. I had never been so relieved and sad and happy in all of my life. The other presence finally left, and I was alone with Dimitrov.

“Vlad, Vlad my neck…” I pulled away, realizing I had buried my face right into his wound. I stared at the bandage, it was thick and ugly and I hated that I had did this to him.

“Dimi…” I started, feeling a lump form in my throat. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to fight off the tears I didn’t deserve.

“I’m so sorry.” I knew it wasn’t enough. Sorry was not good enough for what I had done.

“It’s okay, I should have known better than to let you at my neck.” Dimitrov said, reaching out for me, but I jerked back.

“Don’t blame yourself! This is all my fault!” I cried, feeling hiccups begin to rack through my body. I was a cry baby, I knew that, but I felt guilty for even crying. I didn’t deserve to feel so sad, knowing this was all my fault. I deserved to lose Dimitrov and to feel guilty and to hate myself and-

My thoughts were cut off by soft lips pressing against my forehead. My eyes opened, and I saw Dimitrov, looking hazy with sedatives, but alive. He was alive.

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” He said sweetly. Dimitrov always knew the right things to say to me, even when he was the one who needed to be comforted.

“I almost killed you.” I stated.

“You didn’t though.” Dimitrov said, which wasn’t much of a comfort, but the fact that Dimitrov was still alive was enough for me.

“I’m sorry.” I said again, my lip quivering. Dimitrov rolled his eyes at me, and smiled lightly.

“Get up here you idiot.” He told me, and I obliged, crawling into the hospital bed with him.

“My heart's still beating, my blood is still flowing. I’m alive. And I’m still with you.” He whispered. I flushed a bit, but was happy to still have my Dimitrov with me. My head was on his chest, and I could feel his heartbeat against my cheek.

“I’m sorry.” I said again, it was the only words I could form with the way my throat was closed up. Dimitrov’s fingers found their way back into my hair, and he soothed me, easily calmed me down. I loved how he could do that, without words.

“It’s okay, but…”

I grew stiff at that.

“But you’re banned from kissing my neck for a year.” He said, a hint of humor in his voice. I decided to play along, because I knew it was what he wanted. He wanted me happy.

“What? Nooooo, Dimi!” I whined, looking up at him with fake sad eyes. He smiled back down at me, before closing his own green eyes that finally looked normal again.

[corvidfeathers]

residuum

It was a happy coincidence that the de Rolos has a daughter so young, who happened to survive the tragic death of the rest of her family. She was just young enough to grow past that tragedy; she would come to love the Briarwoods more than she ever had her own family. 

Delilah could be sure of that.

The destruction of Cassandra de Rolo was a gradual thing.

ao3

(Warning for emotional and magical manipulation and brainwashing.)

“Lady Briarwood,” the voice startled Delilah out of her reverie. “I caught the girl in my workshop again.”

Lady Delilah Briarwood straightened, shaking off the cobwebs of indecision and doubt that had been gathering in the idle moment. Days in Whitestone were really suited for little, but some appearances had to be maintained, and on certain days she sat in the Whitestone throne room and heard the grievances of the townsfolk. There had been few, at first, and then many, and then few again, when the citizens of Whitestone learned what sentence dissent carried. It was mostly an empty gesture now, but Delilah carried it out anyway on occasion, letting a few peasants into the throne room if they were brave enough and humoring their ramblings until they displeased her. The days in Whitestone were long, without Silas by her side.

Baroness Anna Ripley was standing at the center of the throne room, looking annoyed. One of her hands was holding the wrist of a pale, dark-haired girl. There were twin lines of blood across one of her cheeks, and the girl was staring down at her shoes, her fists clenched, and every muscle speaking of the desire to get away from her captor. Ripley’s wrists bore similar marks as her face.

Delilah gathered all of her composure into a brilliant smile. One needed it when dealing with people like Ripley. “Anna,” she said, beckoning imperiously as if Ripley hadn’t already stepped into the room.

The wan light of a Whitestone noon shown through the stained-glass windows of the throne room. It glinted off of Ripley’s dark hair, and gave her pale skin a sickly hue, not unlike that of Delilah’s many servants. Delilah toyed with that thought, and then set it aside for another time.

“This child,” Ripley said. “Is becoming a nuisance. She’s interfering with my work.” She tugged on the girl’s wrist, bringing her closer. The girl let out a small cry… and then her eyes met Delilah’s and she went limp.

Delilah smiled. Cassandra de Rolo was one of the few unexpected yet wonderful things to come of her and Silas’ conquest of Whitestone. Children had always been something Delilah had wanted, back when her notions of the future had been vague and naïve and happy. Back when she had not had to plan and scheme and fight for her happiness. That particular facet of her desires was something she gladly discarded when Silas was brought back to her. He was enough. He was always enough.

But it was a happy coincidence that the de Rolos has a daughter so young, who happened to survive the tragic death of the rest of her family. She was just young enough to grow past that tragedy; she would come to love the Briarwoods more than she ever had her own family. Delilah could be sure of that.

“Cassandra,” Delilah said, standing up and stepping down from the dais on which her throne sat. “You mustn’t interfere with Baroness Ripley’s work. What she is doing is vital for all of our futures. For the future of humanity.” She couldn’t miss the derision that flashed through Ripley’s eyes, but she ignored it. What was important now was the girl.

Cassandra looked up at her with limp, silver eyes. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders, and hadn’t been cut in some time; Delilah would have to see to that. Just another little detail for her new life. For all their usefulness, undead servants did not possess much initiative of their own. She was wearing one of the gowns Delilah had commissioned for her, a dark velvet dress in the style of Wildmount. Cassandra dropped her gaze back to her shoes. “I’m sorry, my lady,” she murmured.

“It’s quite alright,” Delilah said, stepping closer to her. Her voice was soft and honey-sweet. She brushed a lock of hair back from the girl’s face. She was starting to go white along her temples. Some were better suited to strain than others, Delilah supposed, and the last two years had been… stressful for Cassandra. “It’s natural to be curious. But curiosity has its price. It killed the cat, did it not?”

Cassandra mumbled something indistinct. Her eyes were half-lidded, and her body slack. She was swaying slightly on her feet, leaning towards Delilah.

Ripley, who looked a bit unnerved, let go of Cassandra’s arm.

It all happened in a flash; suddenly Cassandra stiffened, and her arm flashed out towards Delilah’s chest. Something green and sharp sparkled in her palm, sending little refractions of dull light bouncing off the white stone of the throne room.

Delilah spoke a word, her hands moving, and Cassandra froze. The long, wicked-looking shard of residuum stopped a hair’s breadth away from Delilah’s throat.

Cassandra’s strained against the spell. Her eyes were wide and wild, her teeth clenched in a snarl, but she couldn’t open her mouth. The magic crackled in the air between them, holding her in place, no matter how hard she struggled.

“Again?” Delilah said. Her tone was still soft and honeyed. “How many times do we have to do this, Cassandra? How many times before you realize the truth? You’re bound to us in blood, child. You did that with your own hands. You’re a de Rolo no longer.” She cupped the girl’s chin in one hand. “You don’t have to keep fighting. It’s a credit to your strength… but you owe the dead nothing. You can give that up, now. Give up all of that unpleasantness.” Her voice dropped, low and sweet. “All of those painful memories. You don’t have to fight for them. You’re one of us now.”

The fragment of residuum tumbled from Cassandra’s fingers and shattered on the floor of the throne room. Out of the corner of her eye, Delilah saw Ripley start.

A tear rolled down Cassandra’s cheek, and then another. Behind the magic of Delilah’s holding spell, her limbs were trembling.

“You’re one of us now,” Delilah repeated, her voice layered with magic. Enchantments that had taken years to learn, enchantments to bend kings and worlds around her fingers. Against that, what defenses did a fifteen-year-old girl have? And still, she fought it.

Less and less, each time.

Cassandra’s muscles slackened again. If Delilah released the spell, she would fall.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured. “Sleep, for now. Sleep. We’ll talk in a bit.”

Cassandra’s eyes drifted closed. Delilah let go of the holding spell, and caught the girl in her arms. She barely weighed anything.

“Guard,” she called to one of the men by her throne. “Take young mistress Cassandra to her room, and see that she is not disturbed. Carefully!” she scolded, as the man took Cassandra from her. It was only after the door closed behind the guard that Delilah turned her attention back to Ripley.

It could have just been a trick of the light, but Ripley looked faintly disgusted. “I’m not one to walk away from a problem, especially not one as scientifically fascinating as this whole endeavor,” Ripley said. “But if your… side projects… continue to detract from my research, there are plenty of other avenues of discovery in the world, and plenty of other benefactors who could use my skills.”

That was a hollow threat, but it was in Delilah’s best interest that Ripley not know that, not yet. Ripley would never leave Whitestone alive, could never be allowed to leave Whitestone alive. Unlike Professor Anders, she was not a devotee of the Whispered One, just a mercenary scientist with few scruples and useful talents. Those talents weren’t common, so Delilah and Silas had to human her egotism and obsessions… to a point. It was important that Ripley continue to believe she would be able to take her money and walk away from this job no strings attached as per her custom. It kept her useful.

As soon as she ceased to be useful, Delilah was going to enjoy adding her to the ranks of her servants. For sure, it would be a loss to the world. Ripley would lose everything that made her useful, and interesting: those nimble fingers, those piercing eyes, that clever mind. It was an acceptable loss. Plenty of better people had died.

“My apologies, Baroness,” Delilah said. She smiled. “Cassandra is... something of a distraction, perhaps, but she’s important in maintaining control of the town. Through her, we can regulate and control the attempts at rebellion.”

Ripley’s lips curled into a sneer. “Peasants with pitchforks wouldn’t have much chance of winning against us anyway,” she said, but then pondered it for a moment. “But I suppose, in the long run, the girl saves us future disruptions.”

“Just so,” Delilah said. “I’ll keep a better eye on her, however. She won’t disturb your work again.”

Ripley eyed her warily. “Make sure she doesn’t.”

“Perhaps I can help make up for your wasted time,” Delilah said. “There are so many of my servants in this castle; far more than I or Silas could ever need. I could assign you a few to help you with your experiments…”

Ripley’s face twisted in something like contempt. “Those twitching pieces of meat wouldn’t do anything but hinder my experiments,” she snapped. “If I needed an assistant, I would hire someone living. I would dispose of them afterwards, if need be. But for the time being, I’m quite fine on my own.”

Delilah smiled. “As you wish,” she said. She stepped back up to her throne, and sat down once again. “Thank you for bringing the girl’s disobedience to my attention, Anna. You can return to your work now.”

Ripley stood still for a moment, an entertaining display of emotions playing over her features, and then turned on her heel and stalked from the room.