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vodkassassin · 4 years

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Mobei Jun POV because people keep asking for him lol ;3

—

Shang Qinghua does not make an appearance at this morning’s war room council.

It really should not make that much of a difference. Mobei Jun should be able to manage the council himself, should be able to direct his generals without second guessing his own orders. He should be able to lead his own kingdom without the ever present aid of his right hand human advisor.

Except. Shang Qinghua does not make an appearance at this morning’s war room council, and nothing ends up getting done at all.

Mobei Jun dismisses the lot of them two hours early. The gathered generals and council members and network agents don’t look incredibly surprised — instead, they have the gall to look both relieved and concerned in equal measure, and Mobei Jun finds that he cannot even fault them for it.

The North has grown used to having Peak Lord Shang at its helm, always managing every faucet of it, and now it seems that not even a single council meeting can be attempted without Shang Qinghua’s input.

It should be insulting. It’s ridiculous, really, how Mobei Jun has become so reliant on a single person. It should be embarrassing. He should feel offended, ashamed, pathetic.

Mobei Jun can’t feel any of these things.

He was raised as the heir apparent of the Northern throne. The crown prince. He was taught the history of his kingdom, learned its politics and rituals and government. It was his birthright. He knows how to run a kingdom.

Or, at least, he knows how to run a kingdom the way that his father and the kings before him would have.

The kingdom is prospering now, however, and it has nothing to do with how his predecessor would have ruled it.

Because Mobei Jun had also spent a good half of his life with Shang Qinghua beside him. With Shang Qinghua giving intelligence and advice and then, steadily growing bolder and more comfortable, just taking over this task or that so that Mobei Jun would not need to trouble himself.

And the North flourished.

Mobei Jun may be the king. He may be the one that sits on the throne and has the final say. He may be the one that the rest of the world and the realms credit for his homeland’s current prosperity. But there isn’t a single citizen in the North, Mobei Jun foremost, that does not know who truly rules this kingdom.

The gathered demons troop out of the hall without a single complaint, all in agreement that they should instead meet up at a later time. That being a time when Lord Shang is more available is unspoken but understood by everyone present.

Mobei Jun steps down from his throne and leaves through a door behind it, his cloak sweeping behind him as he makes his way down the hidden back hall that leads toward his royal wing.

His father used to live in that room, before he’d died. His mother had lived in this one. Mobei Jun’s own quarters he passes by similarly, before coming to a stop before a set of doors near the other end of the hall, more toward where the corridor meets with the rest of the palace.

He’d wanted to situate the suite closer to his own, and subsequently the throne — for reasons pertaining to safety, of course — but Shang Qinghua had argued extensively until Mobei Jun gave in.

He always gave in.

Truly, Mobei Jun is weak.

The two guards standing outside the door salute him, silent as the grave, and he eyes them both with a sharp glance. Their presence here makes it clear that what he seeks is beyond those doors. Neither of them speak, not even to greet him as he stands there, and it makes Mobei Jun suspicious.

He is quiet, thusly, as he pushes the doors open and steps into the room.

He surveys the suite, eyes roving over each space. The foreroom is empty and still. The bedchamber just beyond its open doorway to the right is similarly devoid of life. As is the kitchen and dining area.

Mobei Jun pulls the door closed behind him as he steps further into the suite, careful to make sure that it does not make a sound as it shuts. He walks past the foreroom and enters into the office, eyes immediately zeroing in on the person he has been searching for.

Of course.

Shang Qinghua is folded over his desk, face pillowed into his arms, breathing steadily and quietly. He’s fallen asleep over a half finished document, the ink not even dried and therefore making a mess of his sleeves. Papers and scrolls are scattered across the desk around him, a tall stack of finished work sitting precariously to his left.

Mobei Jun steps over to stare down at him in silence. Shang Qinghua is dead to the world, a soft and barely audible snore escaping him as he turns his head to the side. There’s a smear of ink across one cheek which contrasts lightly with the dark smudges beneath his eyes that are not made of ink.

His small movement causes the tower of papers to sway. Mobei Jun reaches out and lifts the top half of it away, settling it down on the table beside it. He does this again so that there are three stacks of paper, instead. They take up more space on the desk, but pose far les of a risk of falling over and making a mess. Or toppling onto the sleeping peek lord.

A soft, incomprehensible hum tumbles from Shang Qinghua’s lips, and Mobei Jun reaches out to run a thumb over the ink on his cheek. It’s still damp, smearing across the skin, and comes off onto his fingers.

Catching himself, Mobei Jun withdraws his hand. He stoops down and gathers the man into his arms, lifting Shang Qinghua up until he rests snugly against Mobei Jun’s chest.

He stands there for a moment, gaze riveted on the sleeping face. Shang Qinghua turns his head into his collar and breathes out a puff of warm air that tickles Mobei Jun’s exposed collarbone.

He takes in a careful breath, and makes his way out of the office, carrying Shang Qinghua across the suite and over to the bedroom.

It’s odd, having Shang Qinghua in his arms like this. He fits so neatly, small but firm. Comfortable. Mobei Jun has, before now, only ever held him like this when he was injured or unconscious. To have the peak lord here in his arms without a sense of urgency pushing him forward and not letting him enjoy it is startlingly different.

He steps up to the bed and leans back, carefully balancing Shang Qinghua against his chest with one arm braced around him. He uses his now freed arm to grab the corner of the covers and peel them back.

With a space open in the bed, now, Mobei Jun readjusts his hold and settles his armful of cultivator onto the mattress. Holding Shang Qinghua upright for a moment, he slides off the ink-stained outer robe and then lowers the man down onto the pillow.

The peak lord immediately turns onto his side when he comes into contact with the soft sheets, reaching out an arm to throw over the pillow as if to hug it to himself. He falls still, and lets out a quiet sigh.

Mobei Jun watches him for a moment, feeling a sense of calm come over him. He folds the outer robe and sets it aside, then reaches down and gets to work at sliding off the slumbering peak lord’s boots. One after the other, and in the process the left leg of Shang Qinghua’s pants slides up to reveal the smooth skin of his calf.

Mobei Jun pauses. The boot held in his hand slips from his grip and lands on the floor with a dull thud, and his eyes snap up to Shang Qinghua’s face without his meaning to.

The man lets out a murmur, taking in a slow breath only to release it in a quiet sigh. He turns his head to nuzzle it into the pillow, and then is silent.

Mobei Jun stares at him for a few lingering moments, taking in the way that his hair has come undone ever-so slightly, to spread across the pillow in a gentle wave. Once he’s certain that the man has indeed not woken, he slowly turns back to the bare, unclothed leg that sits before him.

It’s just a leg. Nothing interesting. Or, that would be the case, surely, if it was not Shang Qinghua’s leg and, in addition, covered in sprawling, artful images.

The first thing that Mobei Jun notices are the scales. Winding with intricate detail, each individual one almost glimmers up at him with real life breathing from them, set into each other tiny and overlapping by the dozens to make up the entirety of the serpentine dragon that coils around Shang Qinghua’s leg. They’re gossamer and a lovely blue that reminds Mobei Jun comfortingly of ice and sapphires. The lower half of the creature’s body disappears up into Shang Qinghua’s pant leg, the dragon’s head curled to bite its jaw around the peak lord’s calf. It’s clawed talons are buried in a sea of lilac gentians that covers the entirety of the ankle, rising up to gently caress the body of the beast and grace the rest of Shang Qinghua’s leg with bursts of violets and blues.

It’s beautiful. Done by the hand of a master artist, clearly. The details are so incredible and lifelike that it’s almost as if he can just reach out and touch them. Feel the sleek, cold scales of the dragon under his palm, the petals of the flowers brushing against his fingers like the beat of butterfly wings.

All he feels is heated, smooth skin.

Mobei Jun snatches his hand back, face uncomfortably warm. Quickly, he crouches down to retrieve the errant boot and turns away to set the pair neatly on the footstool at the end of the bed.

Very consciously, he does not look down again at Shang Qinghua’s leg when he turns back, and instead reaches out to grab the edge of the bedsheets in his hand. He carefully tosses them over the slumbering peak lord, covering him completely up to his neck.

Mobei Jun stares down at the man, who lies pliantly and snug, face smoothed out in dreamless peace. The ever-present tenseness to his brow in his waking moments is conspicuously absent, and it makes Shang Qinghua look ever-softer in his sleep.

Mobei Jun is suddenly overcome with the wish that he had the ability to do for this man what a good sleep can. That he could, somehow, take away the constant stress that Shang Qinghua piles upon his own shoulders. That Mobei Jun could manage, himself, to ease the burden of his many duties and ensure that Shang Qinghua can feel at peace like he is now, where he can be awake to actually experience it.

Mobei Jun pivots on his heel, turning his back on the peaceful and comfortable and overly inviting scene that a sleeping Shang Qinghua presents.

There exists a tightness in his throat that he will need to leave the room to clear, least the noise cause the peak lord to wake. That won’t do — Shang Qinghua has foregone sleep too many nights in a row already. He needs this.

Mobei Jun wishes that the man could need him, for once, instead.

He walks forward and pushes his way out of the room, making sure to close the door quietly behind him. Both the guards that stand outside of it eye him from the visors of their helmets, but neither say a word. Good.

If they had made even a peep, Mobei Jun isn’t sure he wouldn’t just haul back and hand them their lives. He is tense enough for it and he knows himself. Which won’t do, clearly, as it might wake Shang Qinghua.

Mobei Jun stalks down the hall, feeling tense. Too bad that Bai Zhan peak lord hasn’t come to visit alongside Shang Qinghua. This king could really use a good battle, right now.

#svsss prompts #mobei jun #shang qinghua #moshang #vodkassassin fanfiction #sleepy SQH #MBJ POV

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kazeofthemagun · 2 years

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Genesis - Dichotomy

[original image source]

“In his ingenuity he shouted, "Let there be land," And there was. A silver land to a silver sea, and he could walk upon it with all four limbs. But a living form required to breathe. The starry sky was beautiful, but the Gods slowly suffocated underneath it. And so the Goddess shouted, "Let there be air, let there be a sky.”

[The origins of the Dragon Gods, the Architects, Chaos, the prophecy of the Unlimited, and the one forgotten. 3k words, pre-series.]

[content warnings: war, death]

At the beginning, there was nothing. The Soul of All slept, condensed into an infinitesimal point within the vastness of the nothingness. A shimmering light when there was none. An island of color within the black. Everything; Without definition, amorphous, yet structured. Whole, yet incomplete. Dreaming, yet awake.

Limbo. For eternity did it linger, and it lingered for one quantum moment. Superposed. Time was irrelevant, years nonexistent; Nobody knew when it happened because there was no consciousness other than the Soul's own.

And then it was done. The light split in twain and born was a Something in place of Nothing.

Where there had been only darkness there was light. The Soul spread outward, kindling stars; Swept across the cold to welcome warmth. Among the swirling creation there appeared a planet, one of a neverending ocean. Her waters reflected the eyes of the heaven, painting them with a shimmering silvery white glow. The kiss of the Soul touched all, and then, there was the gift of life.

And life needed its governors. That was how Gods were born, bringing order into chaos.

Shapeless beings with agency over their own. They came into this life, two consciousnesses arising wordlessly among the silver sea. And the Soul simply told them, "Be."

And with this one word directive they set out to explore their new domain. One word to dictate their purpose, one word to grant freedom.

First, the two Gods thought the sea was good. Thus, the sea stayed. Like a mirror it glimmered, flawless waters unmarred by movement. The Gods then thought they wished to touch them. Thus, they became corporeal - shy attempts at sculpting the forms that would represent them. But they were clumsy, learning, ever evolving, just like the primordial life that toiled beneath the surface. Life much too simple to partake in the world's beauty, so the Gods thought - let there be communion.

Thus the two Gods spoke to one another, exchanging pure thought. They mirrored, speaking in the same tune, until there was the kindling of individuality. They had been born from the opposite sides of the Soul, after all. One God adopted masculinity, the other adopted femininity. They shaped their fledgling forms to compliment one another. The male God thought to become a dragon, and attempted to create a fitting form. But his claws sank into the sea and he drowned. As a God, he could not die, so he emerged again after a time, his sister weeping for him and crying out in terror. Her, mourning his loss, he saw and found the strength to rise. In his ingenuity he shouted, "Let there be land," And there was. A silver land to a silver sea, and he could walk upon it with all four limbs. But a living form required to breathe. The starry sky was beautiful, but the Gods slowly suffocated underneath it. And so the Goddess shouted, "Let there be air, let there be a sky."

And there was.

And the Goddess rejoiced, and made her body into the shape of a flighted serpent so that she could dance among her very first children, the clouds. The God laughed in joy at her, and they knew then that to Be was to Create.

The land was barren, so they shaped it with their own bodies. The God's talons carved valleys, raised mountains; The Goddess danced across the sky and painted rainbows, ushered rain. The rain fell on the barren silver desert and plant life sprang, the life within the ocean shyly wandering into the Cradle of the Gods. And it grew.

And it grew. But that life could not shape its own bodies, or create Something from Nothing. It needed energy and for it, there had to be consumption. Life began to devour life and the Gods watched in horror as small souls suffered ceaselessly, trapped in decaying vessels of bleached bone. So the God said, "Let there be death."

And there was. Bones turned to dust and souls returned to the earth. So the God said, "Let there be rebirth." And there was.

The Wheel of Life began to turn, a cycle of pain and torment of endless consumption. And the Goddess said, "Let there be joy."

And she made it all worthwhile. She gave emotion to the beasts and wings to the birds so that they may dance together with her. And the God encouraged the beasts to grow formidable in body and develop many skills. Together, they completed one another. Together, the two Gods turned the Wheel of Life - the God governed the beginnings and endings and the Goddess governed the middle.

And they rejoiced; But the God, an Earthbound Dragon, he could not visit his sister in the skies she made. And the serpentine Celestial Mother could not brave the scorching sands of her brother's kingdom, for they burned her belly. And so the Goddess granted her brother a pair of great feathered wings like those of her birds, and the God granted his sister many legs to line the length of her body, so that she no longer had to crawl. Then and only then did they feel complete enough to name themselves, and the halves of the Soul they had awakened to.

The God hollered,

"Hallowed be the Soil from which all come and to which all shall return. May the earth 'pon which thou tread be thy cradle and thy grave!"

And he became Bahamut, God of the Soil.

His sister then followed,

“Arise! From my Mist my children be born, and with my breath I grant thee life. From my soul my children be blessed for they shall be one with the heavens themselves.“

And she became Tiamat, Goddess of the Mist.

The two Gods then created their respective Courts: Bahamut made the mighty Espers, a species of creatures between beast and deity, and told them to forge their own aspects; The Espers set off to find the shapes for their bodies and names for their souls, finding inspiration in the developing world. Tiamat birthed the brood of Mist Dragons, gave them her very breath and ushered them to dance across the sky and help maintain the dome of heaven. The Great Spirits of Soil and Mist spread across the world and influenced all they touched.

And life flourished in the lands of silver. A great people arose from thoughtless beasts and built their homes. They built cities among the waves and among the sands; Eventually, they took to Tiamat's domain without wings and awed her with the concept of the aircraft. They began to question reality and their place within it, birthing philosophy and the arts from the gifts the Goddess bestowed upon them. They yearned for eternal life and turned their gaze to the God of the Soil. They wished to overthrow the order he had made and remove the limits to their life. But time and time again they failed, creating only ghosts of former glory, entities bound to crystals and devoid of body. Displeased with the concept of death Lord Bahamut brought to turn the Wheel, they gave him a new name in their hatred: God of Destruction, and made him a devil in their mythos. Bahamut merely laughed at the audacious title, and descended upon a city to rain fire.

"We Gods have the power to grant names and let them be the truth; If you wish to be Gods yourselves, let this be your one act of divinity - You named me Destroyer, and thus I am."

The flames that night were high enough to reach the heavens. The great silvered city fell to ash and scattered to the winds, and Tiamat wept for the audacious, yet brilliant people.

"They are beings born of Soil and Mist alike, they are our children." She'd cry, turning sorrowful eyes to her brother, the Lord of Espers. "They did not deserve this fate, even if they sinned against thee so."

But Bahamut merely replied, "If they are to learn the ways of this world and ever hope to achieve true strength, they must be tempered by their own mistakes."

And the Dragon Lord was the one who understood that to Be was also to Be Destroyed and Rise Anew Greater.

From the carnage of their defeat the great people did rise up again and swore vengeance against the Dragon Lord, and he gladly made himself their adversary. To promote growth, he embraced the role of the devil in their stories, no longer simply a benevolent Creator, but a malevolent force of Destruction just as well. Tiamat gave life to the world and Bahamut burned it and waged war on the people to stave off stagnation. Like a volcanic eruption, swathes of ash followed in his wake - and the fertile Soil invigorated with it continued to give birth to new life.

The great people continued to devise new technologies, even creating their own ideas of life through advanced biotechnology. They crafted many seafaring devices, improved their aircrafts, and eventually took to the stars, exploring beyond the confines of their silver globe. With nigh boundless ingenuity, they created machines that drank of the burning suns themselves.

But such a Golden Age was hardly to last.

Something vile stirred within the vast darkness of the universe, and a third God opened its eyes. A creature from outside the Soul of All, made only by the entropy that reigned in the lightless expanse. And so, it became the thing that made it. It became a force of undoing, a reversal of Creation. The people of the silver world saw it waken and approach and named it "the Primordial".

And all the stories then tell how the Primordial descended upon the land of the two Gods. A shapeless sea of black, an all-consuming void, taking on the qualities of what it devoured. Learning, growing, unharmed by even the strongest weaponry. All it touched it reduced to Chaos, earning it that very name; One which it gladly adopted. Oh, Tiamat and Bahamut and both their Courts tried to make a stand, but even their strength was insignificant in the face of a creature from outside of Creation. They fought, and they perished countless times in their vain struggle. All hope seemed lost.

Until the brightest minds of the people - to be remembered only as the “Architects” - came together to devise their greatest inventions of all. A union of Gods, Men and Machines; Infused with the metals from the stars they mined, the Celestial Weapons would be made to stand against Chaos. For these ultimate armaments, a great sacrifice was required and an envoy was sent to speak to the Goddess of the Mist, for they needed her very life to create the Sword.

Sorrowfully, she agreed, and her form was made more suitable to bear her soul's stay in the Weapon. When it was done, her spirit was sealed and bound to the Sword; Only the most worthy among the people took up this holy blade - the King of the Architects.

And from within the Sword, Tiamat spoke to him. She told him that her brother's grace would also be needed to defeat Chaos. The Architects made the shell of another Celestial Weapon to host the Dragon Lord's soul, and an envoy was sent.

But the God refused. "None may wield me, for they shall only perish under the weight of my power. Prove to me you have what it takes, for if you are too weak, then this world is already forfeit to Chaos."

Bahamut's challenge was answered swiftly. None other than the King stepped up to the great beast, drawing the Sword and aiming it at the Destroyer's black heart. "So be it! If you wish to see how brightly our people can shine, I will show you, and our might will blind you!"

With these words, he lunged, and the Dragon God unleashed his strongest ray of fire. But the King cut through, the power of the Goddess' Sword formidable enough to part seas. They fought and fought, evenly matched, and the oldest legends say they fought for days, until eventually, the White Sword was plunged into the chest of the great Dragon. With a terrible cry, Bahamut was felled. He had seen the might of the King and deemed his people worthy of his grace.

And so, the Gun was created, housing Bahamut's spirit. Tiamat worried for her reforged brother, but he had no anger in his heart for what happened. Instead, he only hoped that the power that bested him would suffice to best Chaos as well.

A wielder of the Gun was selected among the King's most trusted - his General, a man of great pride and prowess alike. Together they ventured forth to challenge the Primordial God, the demon having manifested a monstrous avatar. "Who dares?" It spoke, eating the remains of a city.

With both of the Weapon Gods at his side, the King drew his blade and bellowed, "Foul beast! You shall not reduce my lands to nothingness - the King of the White Sword will slay you here!"

Chaos... merely laughed. "What is a king to me?"

...The King and General both fell that day, and hope seemed truly lost.

The Weapons were miraculously retrieved; Many changes made to bring out even more of their potential in a desperate race before the Primordial devoured the last of the silver world's civilization. Souls of wielders were bound to the Celestial Sword's jewel, and their hearts to the Celestial Gun's chamber; And yet, nothing seemed to suffice. Those champions who did not die fighting Chaos and its minions died to the strain on their bodies from using the powers of Gods. None were hardy enough to truly bond with the Sword and the Gun - all the work that went into their creation squandered when they fell short in practice. Chaos would remain undefeated, and free to claim for itself all that ever existed.

In a final attempt at salvation, the Architects sought the remnants of the Soul of All’s energy to glean the future. The Oracles communed with the flow of the universe and saw that one day, on distant worlds only just beginning to birth life, the true wielders of the Weapons would arise. Only through a perfect union, would a creature capable of rivaling the Primordial God be born - linking within them the strength of the Architects' finest creations and the Dragons sealed within. As such, they would be granted immortality so long as their souls existed within the chassis of their armaments. In the old tales, these two hypothetical beings became known as the “Unlimited”.

The Sword's match was to be one day born on the planet of Misterica - and the Gun's - on the planet of Windaria.

Knowing now that their home was already lost, but the universe could still be saved, the Architects cast the Celestial Weapons into the cosmos, hiding them away deep beneath the surface on the worlds that would birth the two saviors. Three of the Oracles - artificially immortalized in crystal and existing henceforth as spirits - became the Trinity of Guides, their mission to make sure the prophecy would come to fruition. There was Tema, the Guide of Windaria; Her work directing the fledgling Soiltech empire’s ascent from the backstage, Istoriya, the Guide of Misterica, traveling in her magitech vessel to carve crystal and seed religion; And at last, there was Fabula, the Guide of Wonderland; Overseeing the fates of all those lost within Chaos' bastardized realm. Together, they would lay the groundwork for the Unlimited's arrival, and Chaos' ultimate demise.

The majority of the old legends have fallen away into obscurity, erased by Chaos and the passage of time alike. Multiple variations exist, twisted by the few who still know of the story at all. The Celestial Weapons have become known as the Demon Weapons - Maken and Magun - respectively, and most records of the Dragon Gods have faded and warped like mere reflections in the water. The remnant of the Cradle itself was renamed Wonderland, and more worlds were added by Chaos until it had become unrecognizable in anything but the language used - that, and the last flying castle of the Architects, Gaudium. It is unknown whether the name was the original, or if the Primordial renamed it in celebration of its victory.

Most notably, there exists an alternate version of the Weapons' origins. This version has been erased in nearly all of the existing records. It speaks of a prototype, made before an idea to use the Gods' souls was pitched - a Weapon animated by an artificial soul. Such a Weapon, sadly, became extremely unstable in its suffering, and began to aggressively destroy all that came in contact. Ultimately, this prototype played no role in the tale of the King and the General as it was destroyed, shattered into pieces and locked in vaults all over the Cradle to prevent it from going rampant ever again.

It, along with most of the Architects' technology, was completely annihilated by Chaos. Or so the rumors say...

#[[drabble #[[headcanon #[[Our Antithesis ║ Chaos #i lost my tags one second #[[God in the Gun ║ Bahamut #[[Goddess in the Sword ║ Tiamat #[[Guide of Lost Shipwrecked Souls ║ Fabula #[[Witch Wreathed in Yellow ║ Tema #[[Silent Engraver of Crystal║ Istoriya

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mvchinery · 3 years

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MJ RODRIGUEZ / / have you met MARA JADE yet ? SHE is a TWENTY - SIX year old TRANS WOMAN HUMAN. she’s originally from UNKNOWN & now shows loyalty to THE UNALIGNED. she is best known for being a EMPEROR’S HAND / SMUGGLER, & i hear she’s pretty DEVOTED yet also PRIDEFUL at times ; i hope she survives the galactic civil war.

THE PAST.

taken from her family at a young age by emperor palpatine himself, sidious personally trained mara in the ways of the force, although officially she was one of the imperial court’s dancers --- when she was slightly older, many assumed her to be one of palpatine’s concubines. she was pushed through an intensive training regimen, learning covert espionage & assassination skills, & at age fourteen was dubbed the emperor’s hand.

she worked as palpatine’s personal assassin, hunting down jedi & corrupt imperials alike, her work kept carefully under the radar. she worked closely with & even spied on darth vader at the emperor’s command, who she hoped to one day replace as sidious’ true apprentice. her bond with sidious was so powerful that she could hear his voice from across the galaxy.

when he died, mara felt it like a knife to the gut, & her world ground to a hault, his last order echoing in her ears : YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER.

she had no interest in serving the squabbling generals who grasped for power in the wake of sidious’ death. one of them kidnapped her, attempted to force her to support his bid for power --- mara broke out, slaughtered stormtroopers, & slipped away from the empire like a thief in the night. she was hunted, but she was smarter & stronger than anyone they sent after her, making her way through the galaxy, doing odd jobs to get by.

THE PRESENT.

mara is a smuggler, & one of the best. she’s settled into steady work, has a ship of her own, keeps largely to herself, although she’s slowly being recruited by talon karrde. she keeps her purple lightsaber hidden, drapes the force around herself like a cloak. she still hates luke skywalker, will kill him if she has the chance to, but she hasn’t attempted to hunt him down.

she doesn’t know, but there is a part of her that does, that this anger towards skywalker is not her own. it’s an imprint of palpatine’s feelings, pushed upon her, a manipulation of the dark, as so many things in her life have been.

she’s been loyally following orders since she was only a child. now, she’s on her own. she doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

PERSONALITY.

mara knows her value. she’s confident, capable, proud, always gives her best to everything that she does. she’s scarily efficient & endlessly calm under pressure. she can easily put her emotions aside for the greater good, prioritizes & analyzes danger. she has a very tough exterior, reflects her childhood of violence & indoctrination with harsh combat skills & caustic humor. she is endlessly loyal. she won’t betray her causes for anything, serves with a fierce devotion --- but truthfully, she gives herself to people, not causes. her loyalty was with sidious, not the empire, & so it was easy to walk away.

beneath her ice lies an incredibly warm & compassionate individual. even when she was an assassin, she showed mercy to those she thought deserved it, often using her extensive resources through her official position to save the lives & careers of those she deemed good. she sees the nuance in people, going so far as to help an imperial general who had assisted the rebellion, because she knew his family’s safety had been threatened. she can be ruthless, but she has a form of honor code, trying to repay any favors done to her. she doesn’t care for anyone right now, but she’s protective of those she grows to love.

#galactics.intro #MARA : ABOUT.

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veiledfox · 3 years

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A Kitsune’s Dangerous Experiment

Trigger Warnings for: vomitting, blood, self-harm, body horror. Portions marked with ----- both before and after

Extra: 1 Meter = 39.37 Inches / 3.28 Feet / 1 Yard

Kyuushi sat atop the crater edge surrounding Orth, watching the horizon as the sun slowly crept down beyond view, the skies turning purple as night eased in. No matter how many times she sat here, watching sunrise or sunset, she couldn’t ever get over how beautiful this odd island with it’s ominous Abyss was Never finding herself able to stop coming here to see this view at least once every week or two.

Though, as she sat here, looking behind her to see the moon peeking over the horizon of the vast ocean around the island, she found herself wondering about something. After all this time delving into the Abyss, she had known since the beginning that attempting to ascend would always be a problem, with varying negative effects per layer of the Abyss. Thus she never attempted to ascend at any point in her delving.

-----

Dizziness and nausea ascending in the first and beyond.

Nausea, headaches, and numb limbs ascending in the second and beyond.

Suffering from vertigo, alongside audio and visual hallucinations ascending in the third and beyond.

Intense pain throughout the body, and spontaneous bleeding from orifices ascending in the fourth and beyond.

Complete loss of senses causing self-harm, and confusion ascending in the fifth and beyond.

Total loss of Humanity, or death ascending in the sixth.

Inevitable death attempting to ascend anywhere beyond the sixth.

Though Kyuushi had heard rumor of there being a possible third outcome to ascending within the sixth layer of the Abyss. During her time down in the sixth, she’d even seen some odd things herself that gave credit to said rumors. Tell of Humans who survived ascending from lower areas of the sixth layer, still alive, sentient, and whole, but transformed, into a creature of the Abyss that is immune to the negative effects of ascending in any later.

During one of Kyuushi’s visits, she could’ve sworn she saw some odd, small, almost rabbit-looking and bipedal creature, wearing a large rounded outfit, casually ascending a hill like it was nothing. No dizziness taking them, no visible signs of pain being suffered, certainly no bleeding. Yet... they went up.

-----

Every time she could remember, Kyuushi was always finding a way to move lower, even if she was in the middle of some sort of fight against a creature. Or being chased by one too dangerous for her to handle, even with her Bow that she had found during her delving. Any time she’s been higher than wherever she last left the Abyss, was when returning to the Realm of Orth from her home. Always coming out on the surface, with no negative effects bothering her.

This began to get the better of her judgement, appealing to her curious nature, and want to understand more about the Abyss. Or, in this situation, about the relation between herself and the Abyss, whether or not she would be considered Human by it, or one of it’s own creatures? She was a foreigner to this world as a whole after all, and while she had a small part of herself that was truly Human, she was much more Yokai than anything else.

The sensible part of her mind would scream not to test the Abyss, she knew how harsh and violent it could be, but in the same moment the rest of her mind was just asking question after question. Would she feel any of the initial layer effects? Would she suffer the negatives of ascension like any other delver from Orth? Would she experience the hallucinations within the third layer and beyond, when she seemed so immune to them back home and within other realms? What of the sixth layer, would she be effected by it at all with how little Humanity she had in her genetics, and if she was, how would it change her?

On top of it all, what was even the cause of the Abyss’ curse? Was it just something that happened, or was there some other reasoning? If the earlier was true, then she should still have been experiencing some form of it’s negatives due to leaving the Abyss in any way at all. Yet, not once did she ever even feel the slightest bit dizzy when returning home, nor when finding herself back on the outskirts of Orth when coming back to this realm.

The desire to learn was getting to Kyuushi, making her fidget where she sat, and bringing her eyes to find her gear all neatly packed just beside her. She had brought it, mostly to act as an anchor to lead her to this realm, but also to have available should she decide to delve into the Abyss. Though her initial plan was simply to come to see the sunset with this gorgeous view, and return home right after, refreshed and relaxed to find a good night’s rest.

Now, however, she found herself standing as she takes hold of her bag. Hefting it over her shoulder, as she stares down to the gaping maw at Orth’s center. She wouldn’t descend towards it immediately, instead waiting a while longer while walking the ring of the crater that surrounded the city and the Abyss. Letting the last of the sunlight disappear, and the moon begin to rise. Watching for the lights of the city beginning to dim or darken entirely as it’s inhabitants would settle for the night.

Her head would turn on a swivel the instant she caught sight of a portion of the city beginning to darken enough that she felt confident to traverse. Setting into a sprint along the crater edge to get behind the darkening portion, and arriving just as the last few lights were going out. Able to see now as it acted as a catalyst for a wave of sorts, lights of other sections of the city moving away from this slumbering area beginning to dim and go out as more and more of the city began to rest.

This was her opportunity, leaping out from the edge of the crater with all her strength, the Woman would soar over the first handful of buildings. Finding herself passing above one taller building as she began to descend, but catching herself on unseen platforms of condensed magick instead, so as to keep from making noise. Rushing forward on her self-made platforms, until leaping again once past the edge of the building’s roof. Letting herself begin to drop as her momentum would carry her closer and closer to the Abyss.

Once more she catches herself before touching down on a different rooftop, just needing one more good leap now with her mobility to find herself plunging down into the Abyss directly. Though this moment would also be the one she needed to be most careful, as she knew there were individuals who often watched the Abyss to ensure that people without Red Whistles weren’t attempting to delve down into it. That, and to the people of Orth, she had already descended. Well beyond the first or second layer too, meaning anyone seeing her on the surface like this wouldn’t exactly be a good thing now.

Creeping toward the building’s edge, she would look down over the pathways through the darkened city. Watching carefully for any wandering persons that weren’t simply returning to their homes for the night. Looking beyond after a moment, toward the Abyss’ edge, to the walkways that over looked the pit entrance itself. She could see one person, an older Woman with a Blue Whistle hanging from around her neck. Slowly pacing along the walkways, though Kyuushi would momentarily lose sight of her as she passes a small home.

Reaching to a pouch on her hip, she would retrieve a small stone. One of many she had gathered, as she could use most anything solid as lethal ammunition with her bow. Closing the pouch, she watches for the Woman to enter her vision again. A minute passing before finally she spots her, still walking along the edge walkways.

Rearing her hand back, she tosses the stone high and far. The rock dropping, hitting against the side of a building just a short ways ahead of the Woman, and clattering onto a walkway between it and another building. Kyuushi watches as the Woman straightens, having heard the sound the rock made, and moving to inspect. Seeing her approach the corner to turn where the rock fell, she uses that instance as her opportunity.

One more leap, with all her strength, the Kitsune soars forward, clearing the rest of Orth and nearing the center of the Abyss’ gaped maw. Briefly catching on her platforms one last time to stop her forward momentum, before immediately letting herself drop straight down. Diving right past the layer of clouds that hindered vision beyond the 150-meter depth mark of the first layer.

With her placement in this early layer, Kyuushi let herself drop a bit farther, wanting to get closer to the second layer, and knowing that the center of the first was still mostly a grand pit. Internally marking her progress down through visual markers she had grown to memorize as she continued letting gravity take her. During this very drop, letting her ears and tail free from their confines, knowing there would not be any delvers within these first two layers that were out and about at this time.

400-meters.

500-meters.

750-meters.

800-meters.

Turning herself around throughout the drop to ensure she caught sight of the markers she remembered. Catching sight of some of the avian species of the Abyss returning to nests on the way. And even the sight of some of the nightlife beginning to stir.

1000-meters.

1120-meters.

1175-meters.

1200-meters.

1300-meters.

Abruptly, Kyuushi would call upon her Magicks. Taking her bag off her shoulder and letting it drop before transforming herself to the form of a small Wyvern. Catching her bag in her talons before beginning to ease her way down towards a ledge overlooking the final drop into the second layer of the Abyss, the Forest of Temptation. Figuring the ledge she had landed upon before turning back to her normal Humanoid form was likely at the 1340-meter mark of the 1350-meters that made up the first layer as a whole.

Looking around on this landing of hers, she could see a portion that began to ascend gradually toward the wall of the Abyss. A small ledge running along the wall around the left until meeting up with a larger portion of land. From the looks of it, the angle of the hill would take her up to the 1310-meter mark of the Abyss’ depth. Nothing too major normally, but with full knowledge of the curse that would likely attempt to assault her, she would need to be cautious.

Still, Kyuushi would stand herself upright, putting her bag over her shoulders again as she turns to face the gradual ascent. Beginning a slow, cautious tread up the slope to see how things would play out. Every step getting her about a half-meter higher and higher from where she was, she figured she’d be at her slow pace a moment before she could feel anything.

Letting her eyes wander for the half-way point, she set it as her goal to reach before taking her first pause to stop and assess how she was feeling. Having heard a few times from others, and read in her research, that Humans would feel the effects of the curse upon ascending ten meters. She would push for fifteen, and plant herself there for a moment to gauge the curse’s effects on her.

A brief time passing, she would pass the ten meter point in her ascension. An dd sensation falling upon her body, making her ears and tails twitch as if she had been startled by something. Though when trying to focus on it as she took her last few steps, she couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. She just felt... off. Like what she was doing was something that was entirely unnatural, and that the Abyss despised her for it.

Beyond this weird feeling, however, as she came to her fifteen meter pause, she felt nothing of the curse’s effects. Only that the sensation that had begun a moment prior felt stronger than before. Heavier almost, like trying to push her back down toward where she had landed as the wyvern earlier. Almost akin to a rubber band stretched between two pins was above her, and by going up she was pressing against it, making it want to snap back down where it belonged.

Having thought about this strange feeling for a short time, Kyuushi would make one last push to truly test how much this layer’s curse could effect her. Sprinting a little further up the hill to the twenty meter point, with full intent to press further on, but she has to catch herself with a platform beneath her foot as it goes a little too short to find ground, and her balance is thrown off.

Dizziness and nausea. Her head feeling like it was just starting to spin as she stood where she was, stabilizing herself. Throat growing uncomfortable towards it’s base, a familiar tight feeling to if she had just seen someone being choked by something. Thankfully, the later of the two wasn’t getting any worse at the moment, while the earlier was gradually increasing the longer she stood. Leading her to carefully ease herself down, getting her hands onto the ground below her, and turning to sit herself facing the Abyss’ center.

Letting her eyes close as she began to breathe, utilizing the benefits that the Total Concentration Breathing she had learned in the Realm of the Hashira granted her when outside it’s origin realm. Gathering herself, calming her body, and mentally recovering. Continuing the breathing pattern for a few minutes as her mind began to wander, while it took in how the curse was effecting her.

Questions of whether the Abyss was trying to urge people to delve deeper into it through this curse by discouraging the opposite. Of whether or not it was doing so because, in some messed up way, the Abyss was a living thing in and of itself, needing nourishment from people entering it. A part of her even starting to wonder if the curse might be some form of spell that had been put together by ancient inhabitants to try and protect themselves way at the bottom... wherever the bottom truly was beyond the 15500-meters that was the sixth layer and above.

Kyuushi would let her mind roam a few minutes longer, letting the curse’s effects subside while the uncomfortable sensation kept strong. Only rising to her feet again once she felt she could, and running down the hill to leap from the edge and plummet further, past the first layer proper now and into the second. Using the same method as before to mark her progress best she could.

1400-meters.

1550-meters.

1740-meters.

1800-meters.

1960-meters.

2000-meters.

2090-meters.

She could see the first signs of the second layer’s deepest point by now, the inverted forest. Again, removing her bag from her shoulders and letting it drop as she changes to a wyvern, catching the bag and flying down as quietly as she could toward the forest of upside-down trees that awaited her. Avoiding going anywhere near the observation camp she knew was nearby by all means possible while in this form.

Eventually, Kyuushi would spot a tree that reached just a hint farther down than the rest. It’s canopy thick enough for a safe landing, she would ease herself down and shift back to herself once on a massive branch. Hoisting her bag onto her back once again, and taking in the area around her.

From what she could recall, there was a gap with no good ground of any kind between the second and third layers proper. That, when coming down through here her first time, she had to be lowered into the third layer via a gondola from the observation camp. Though she couldn’t allow herself such luxury this time, nor did she intend to return there at any point in the future. The tall woman that ran the place, quite honestly, scared her.

Though, from where she was, she could just barely make out where the lift would pass through the canopy to descend, and figured she was close to the 2400-meter to 2500-meter mark of the Abyss’ depths. That, and there were some smaller branches than the one she was currently standing on that were higher up from her. One problem arising immediately, however. The first was already more than twenty meters above her. current elevation.

She had to think about how she wanted to do this. Simply jumping up to the next branch, while she still had her bag, would be far from a good idea. If she felt the effects from ascending on the way up, it could lead to losing her balance even before landing, and falling off the branch immediately. Thankfully everything currently directly below her was just more branches of this tree. Yet she could still be injured if she didn’t handle this right due to the height between her target and the branches below.

It would take her a moment, but Kyuushi would come up with an idea. Taking her bag from her shoulders again, she sets it down and opens it up. Rummaging a little within, she manages to retrieve a coiled net from inside. Unrolling it, she lays it across the branch she was currently on. Reaching into a different pouch on her belt, she pulls from it four arrowheads. Each one made of a dark metal, but missing any arrow shaft.

Setting one to each corner of the net, she then begins work on tying the corners to the arrowheads, securing them around the metal tips. Giving each a testing tug with a fair bit of strength, when the net wouldn’t tear, she felt comfortable that this idea would work. Thus, she’d return to her bag, retrieving her bow, Quad-Rail, from it’s side.

This bow, from any distant glance, would look purely like any other. Just one where the main grip point for the user would have a rounded opening above where the hand sat. Small pieces extending to it’s center where it would hold an arrow fed into place, providing a more stable, direct space to nock and fire arrows through. A small opening on one side of this section allowing arrows to be fed into it, and set between the stabilizing pieces with simple, swift motions. The bowstring having a similar ease-of-use addition, being a central section where there was a small, lightly padded ring affixed to the string at it’s center.

Though differences of note would be, for one, there were blades lining the front face of the bow. From just above and below the center of the body where the grip sat, metal would extend out, before forming blades that ran toward their respective ends of the bow itself. Only connecting with the odd material body of the bow again at it’s farthest points, before they would continue out another two inches to provide a double-ended blade to the weapon itself.

On top of this, there were hints of inner workings to the weapon itself. Rings on rails which could slide about the sides of the bow’s main body, save for it’s farthest ends, and the very center about where the user would hold it. Two on each side toward one end, and two on each side toward the other. By where the user held would be two double-sided pushbuttons on both sides, placed for ease of use with one hand to allow adjustments of these rings on the fly with either hand. Similarly, there would be a separate small button, with a small switch below it, one on either side for both hands.

Walking to one end of the net with Quad-Rail, the Kitsune would pick the first corner tied around an arrowhead from the branch. Using her index finger on one pushbutton, she would make the higher rings slide down to their most central positions. Repeating this on the other to make the lower pair of rings match. Then adjusting her thumb over the small button on the side of the grip, which would press it down, making the rings light up with a faint blue glow.

Kyuushi would set the base piece of the arrowhead in front of the top most ring, along the left side of the bow body. Easing it back, feeding the body of the arrowhead through the ring, until the points of the head itself met the ring’s edges. In doing so, a smaller ring of light would form around the base of the arrowhead itself, almost like the ring now held it in place. Which, it seemed to do, as she would let go of the arrowhead suspended by nothing, but it wouldn’t fall loose at all. Instead it stayed in place, allowing her to do the same for the other corner arrowhead of this end of her net.

With the two corners now hanging from the arrowheads set within the left side rings of Quad-Rail, both held firmly in place by this odd blue light, she would stand up and carefully walk with the net in tow. Heading to the opposite end of it, and getting the net to turn so that it’s length would lead toward the higher branch. Setting her front most foot on top of the net’s edge still on the branch as she raises her weapon, holding it horizontal with the left-side facing up.

A few taps at the pushbuttons for both the upper and lower rings would adjust them just a little further away from the centermost point they could reach, putting their trajectories at soft angles due to the curve of the bow itself. Reaching to the bowstring with her right hand, she hooks two fingers into the ring, and begins to draw back. The lights around the base of the arrowheads extending as she draws, making makeshift arrow shafts which, as she gets to a full draw, connect to the string, then to the ring her fingers were hooked into.

Taking a brief second to aim, she releases the ring, freeing the bowstring, causing the light-formed arrow shafts to instantly collapse on their beginning points, sending the arrowheads flying through the air to the upper portion of the branch that was Kyuushi’s target. The distance gained between them due to the angles they flew drawing the net almost taut between them against the bark of the branch they were now embedded into.

Kyuushi would take the brief moment after to repeat the readying process with the two corners still on her own branch, which thankfully had been pulled a little closer to her from the momentum of the opposite end. This time, however, setting the arrowheads into the rings on the right side of Quad-Rail, those which were below the bow in her horizontal grip.

Stepping back a little on the branch as she adjusts the rings farther out, she simply aims down toward her feet before hooking fingers within the ring again. Once more, the arrowheads gripped with blue rings around their core bases would have light connect them to the bowstring’s central ring where she pulled. Tethers that would collapse when the ring was released, sending the arrowheads into the branch and pulling the net taut in each direction with the distance caused from the angle the rings were at.

Kyuushi had provided herself a net bridge between the branch she stood on, and the one above her. One she could safely climb along, without having to worry about losing her balance if she were to feel the effects of the curse on her way up. Though she would be lying if she were to say that, climbing the twenty meters up and crossing a twenty meter gap like this wasn’t a little nerve-racking.

Still, she would return the rings on her bow to their farthest positions and release the button below her thumb, letting the blue glow on them fade as she returns the weapon to the side of her bag. Moving the bag itself to a more safe, widest point of the branch by the trunk before moving to stand before the net. Stretching her arms and hands briefly as she breathes, readying herself for the second layer test.

Getting low for better balance, she takes grip onto her net, climbing up the first little bit till she matched her usual standing height. Already she could feel the beginnings of the unknown sensation making her fur and hair stand on end, but she brushes it aside for now and climbs further. Getting up to the mid-way point and pausing to see how things felt for a minute.

Already she could feel that pressure like earlier, though for the moment it was a fair bit weaker. Less like it was urging her to descend, more like it was simply just suggesting that she does. Though before she could move to continue past this point, she could feel the faint signs of the first layer’s curse returning. All subtle sensations, but she could feel them. If she were to proceed to the twenty meter mark like before, she was sure they would return in full, if not feel even worse than they did prior.

With the feeling being a mere tickle compared to what it was before, and being at least partially accustomed to feeling this strange pressure that she assumed was the Curse, she presses on. Taking a breath, and continuing to climb at a slow, cautious pace. Passing the fifteen meter point of her net-bridge ascent before long, and feeling the dizziness and nausea already returning, Thankfully not getting any worse than they had been at the end of her first test.

Though they would gradually grow stronger as she continued to the twenty meter mark, to the higher branch where she would stop and gauge how things were going. Finding her fingers and toes beginning to numb as she nears the branch itself, and feeling the sensation not only spread to her hands and feet, but take hold on her tails and ears as well once she reached the branch proper.

Climbing atop it, she quickly moves to get her back against the tree trunk and sit herself down at the branch’s thickest point. The back of her head beginning to throb as it felt like it spun even more so than it did in the first layer, and that tightness in her throat now enough to make her retch a few times. Feeling like she needed to expel some unknown, unfelt thing from her guts, but nothing was coming up.

As she sat and breathed, her mind reached back into her many visits to this realm in the past, recalling stories from people she had met on her travels within the Abyss. Remembering, more specifically, the tales of experiences with the curse itself that others had, or saw their companions go through. Everything she could recall, it seemed to her that she was experiencing what people would more often suffer after ascending one or two meters, only after going up ten herself.

From this, she figured she could climb another twenty meters if she had the room to, and only begin to feel the same effects as a Human ascending ten meters. Likely, by the time she ascended twenty meters in the third layer, she would be feeling worse than she was now, and seeing the world spinning around her. What she didn’t know was whether she would experience any form of hallucinations. Made her mind begin to run with it’s curiosity, despite how it was starting to hurt to think.

One downside continuing onward from here, her headache wouldn’t simply just pass. She knew that already from times she’d had a headache prior in her life. Each time from here on out, whenever she ascends, even if only by the same degree as it just did, her headache will worsen. Essentially, bit by bit, hindering her thoughts more and more, meaning she’d risk not being able to remember her findings through these tests by the time she returned home.

Wanting to keep this from being the case, after a few minutes more to let everything else but the headache and the odd pressure subside, she would pull the arrowheads from the higher branch. Tossing both of them back to the lower branch with the rest of her stuff, before jumping down to it herself. Retrieving the other two corners of the net and the arrowheads tied within them to wrap it all up and store it away again.

In doing so, however, she would exchange them for a notebook with an ink pen attached to it. One which, thankfully, was enchanted by a friend of her grandparents when first made so that it’s scrawling would dry quickly, and it wouldn’t run dry of ink. With this, Kyuushi could sit herself down for a few minutes, open to an unused page near the back of the journal, and write down her experiences.

First layer curse: dizziness and nausea after ascending ten meters.

Experienced: Light dizziness and weak beginnings of nausea after ascending twenty meters.

Additional Odd sensation causing fur to stand on end.

Second Layer Curse: Strong nausea, headaches, numbness in limbs.

Experienced: Mild dizziness, dry retching, light headache centered at the back of the head, numb hands, feet, ears, and tails.

Odd sensation from first layer returned, about 1.5x strength compared to before.

Third Layer: Vertigo, audio and visual hallucinations.

Experienced:

Closing the book after the half-minute it needed to dry, Kyuushi stored it and the pen back into her bag. Closing it up, strapping it shut, double-checking that her Quad-Rail was secure, and picking it up again from the branch to set it over her shoulders. Walking along toward the very farthest point that she could of the branch below her feet, and peering down into the depths of the abyss.

She was at the bottom of the second layer, with nothing between herself and the Goblets of Giants down below than the Great Fault. A 4000 meter vertical drop, with minimal ledges to even attempt walking on, and many, many creatures that had their nests within the walls of the Abyss. The Crimson Splitjaw among them.

Kyuushi had heard the tale of how a man attempted to challenge the Abyss utilizing an airship of some sort. The ship and it’s crew managed to reach the third layer, but once it began it’s direct descent, it got quickly attacked and destroyed. Sent plummeting down to it’s demise within the layers below.

On top of that, she had descended through here the normal way once before, and through her own means twice before. She knew full well the dangers, but also knew fairly well how to avoid most of them. Still, the Kitsune wouldn’t risk going down without being equipped for any threats that may challenge her.

Retrieving her weapon from the side of her bag again, she gets her thumb over the button to light the rings, and adjusts them to their center-most point. Setting her other hand ready atop the pouch with her small collection of rocks to be ready to set them as ammunition to retaliate to anything.

Taking a small leap off the branch, she catches herself on condensed magick platforms every ten meters as she progresses down. Finding her way to the wall of the Fault, and keeping it to her right side while her bow was in her left hand. Small leap, ten meters down, platform. Repeating the process, as quietly as she could, and watching her surroundings extremely carefully.

It would be almost a half hour later that she was sure she was nearing the 3000 meter mark, the true beginning of Great Fault below the Inverted Forest. The beginning of the four-kilometer descent that she’d have to make to pass through the Fault, and reach the fourth layer beyond it. Though she would also need to stop sometime before that point, and attempt ascending twenty meters once more.

Thus, Kyuushi would keep her eyes open, watching for any openings of old nests or general entrances into the caves that were said to run down the Fault through the walls which surrounded them. Never had she seen more than an opening which looked to be hope to creatures like the Madokajacks. But this might be her chance to. Then again, however she was aware of a wrecked airship, separate from the one which went plummeting into the depths. As far as she was aware.

Perhaps, she could use the wrecked ship if she spotted it at any point as a twenty meter marker. Proceed beyond it, then ascend to it to rest on it. The one worry arising is that it might be home to some creature of this layer by now. If so, she’d likely be better off avoiding it completely if possible.

Instead, she focuses herself on descending. Circling ‘round along the outside wall of the Fault and progressing down ten meters at a time. Wanting to just get as far down as she could without encountering anything that might want to kill her. With it being the middle of the night, she was sure there wouldn’t be too much stirring about, but caution was still a good idea to exercise. Making sure to avoid any openings she sees on her descent, dropping straight down to continue past beneath them instead.

4200-meters.

4400-meters.

4600-meters.

4800-meters.

5000-meters.

5200-meters.

5400-meters.

5600-meters.

5800-meters.

6000-meters.

The Woman finds herself stopping, just beyond six-thousand meters into the Abyss when she hears a noise echo through the Fault. It’s subtle, but it’s a guttural sound that she can remember from a Crimson Splitjaw she encountered once before. She could hear it, and from the sound it was a distance away from her, possibly even in some cave in the walls of the Fault, but it was present.

Kyuushi would keep her head up now, looking across and around the Fault, only taking brief glances down to try and understand where she was and where she was going. Moving her hand between the rock-filled pouch and her bow to set a rock into each of the rings, blue light gripping at the bottom of each and holding them in place while she continued downward. Getting her fingers idly holding the ring center bowstring, ready to act if needed.

6150-meters.

6200-meters.

6300-meters.

6398-meters.

Coming to a stop, she can see an opening in the wall ahead of her. One which, leaning away from the wall to see into it better, didn’t look to be very deep. Nor did it seem inhabited at all. Instead seeming, at most, like a would-be nest that never got finished. She could spot some hints of dried blood on the small ledge that was visible, after all.

A good opportunity to test herself against the curse, as it looked big enough that she could get herself seated on it, with her bag beside her, and still have an inch or two in front of her before she’d run out of room on the ledge. Getting down to it’s elevation, she assumed it was about 6412-meters deep at least within the Abyss. She was making good progress, for passing through on her own at the rate she was. Just, the sooner she was out of the Great Fault, the better.

Carefully, while passing her bow from hand to hand, ensuring that she held the button down, she gets her bag off her shoulders. Setting it gently onto the lege on one side of it, and lining herself up at the other after ensuring it was stable. Before letting herself drop, however, she would retrieve the rocks from the four rings on her bow and latch it to the side of her bag to ensure she didn’t accidentally drop it.

This time, wanting to be more direct with her method and get her test over with. Kyuushi would turn away from the ledge, looking directly below herself into the darkness below. Taking deep, quiet breaths, thankful she wasn’t hearing the Crimson Splitjaw any more, and readying herself to drop. Not even jumping anywhere this time, instead just letting the magick-formed platforms beneath her feet vanish, and reforming them ten meters later. Doing it one more time, to get twenty meters below the ledge she would seat herself on.

Looking up and seeing the indent above the ledge, she takes a few more breaths and jumps straight up. Covering the first ten meters, she catches herself, and already has begun to feel the strange pressure she couldn’t place. The sensation she had felt both times ascending in the layers prior, as a sort of precursor to the curse’s effects.

Another breath in preparation, and she jumps again, being quick to catch herself on the ledge with her bag, and shifting herself back to get herself pressed to the wall as much as possible. Immediately feeling everything from the second layer slam down upon her body, with almost twice the strength as it had prior.

The whole of her arms and legs, every single tail, both ears right down to her scalp, it was all numb. Her gut twisting and churning, unhappy with nothing as she began dry retching again. Having to even bring a hand over her mouth as it felt, truly, like she was going to vomit. Especially with her head not only spinning, but now entirely throbbing in light pain, and the world going askew in her vision. Even if the vertigo was only slight, thankfully she was pressed between her bag and the stone wall behind her.

This combination of effects had Kyuushi shaking a little this time, unsettled by just how much this curse was still effecting her, despite being mostly inhuman. Yet, the thing that would truly send a chill down her spine, was when she suddenly heard a gentle giggle. Almost as if it was right next to her ear with how clear it sounded, and it was familiar. So. Very. Familiar.

Instead of scaring her, however, despite the initial shock, she found it... strangely comforting to hear her mother’s laughter while all this other stuff was happening. A bit of true familiarity among this world that, no matter how many times she might come here, will never truly be as familiar as home to her.

This place was ever changing, after all. Trees in the second layer growing old and dying, being replaced by whole new ones. Trees within the inverted forest in the over hang above sometimes falling as they whither away and plummeting to the Goblets below, which changes the layout of the fourth layer directly in turn.

She could never come into this place beyond the first layer, and expect every single detail to be the exact same as before. From here on out especially, she wouldn’t be able to expect such a thing to any degree whatsoever. This layer is dangerous for the fact she can’t just take to a wyvern or bird form and fly through it. Too many flight-based predators existed here.

Though once she got past here, the true dangers would rear their ugly heads, and while she would be able to take flight again, it wouldn’t be without a great risk. If anything attacked her in some way, depending on her form, she would certainly be injured and the result would be horrid. She could recall the Orb Piercers, having encountered one herself. It was the fight that lead to growing her fourth tail, after all.

It took a few minutes longer than the layers prior for the curse to begin to subside. Feeling the vertigo subside first, then the dizziness, the nausea following quickly after. Her mother’s soft laughter being next to fade away, which saddened her a little, admittedly. Then her headache, well, for the most part that stayed, but thankfully it calmed down a fair bit, while staying present across her head too.

A part of her was starting to feel like she should maybe head back to her realm after the next test. Give herself some time to recover, let her headache pass and her body heal from this disorientation, and whatever of the curse she was about to experience in the fourth layer. The first that truly worried her, as the curse promised intense pain and bleeding across the body.

The sooner she got down to the fourth layer, and got her test done and over with, the sooner she could get home and recover. Leave the fifth and sixth layer curse testing for another day, Kyuushi would just give herself another few minutes to recover from the third layer before making any movement to continue her descent.

Standing up on the ledge, she grabs her bag and sets it over her shoulders one last time. Stepping off the little indent in the Great Fault’s wall that she had nestled into for her test, and letting herself down the rest of the way. Ten meters at a time, like before, taking it slow, and careful. Finding her way past the edge of the Great Fault, and out beyond the 7000 meter mark, into the fourth layer.

Immediately, she takes to moving out from under the open tunnel that was the third layer. Getting under the roof layer of earth for the fourth, into the safety of it’s shadows from airborne predators, if any might be stirring. Finally being able to let her bag drop again, and take form of a wyvern like before, snatching her equipment and gliding her way down to solid ground on a slope.

Shifting back, she gauges the elevation she was at compared to the lower points of the slope. It sadly didn’t look like it reached far enough down to make a twenty meter difference in height. Walking a little away, she tried looking over a nearby ledge, seeing a lower section of ground a little father down. Then another just below that. The first one looked just a little too short, about sixteen or seventeen meters. The second, thirty meters, no good for consistency.

Walking to the opposite end, she sees that the land mass she’s on has a longer, steeper slope. One that she couldn’t be able to walk down, but it definitely went beyond twenty meters toward a lower section that would be safe to drop to if she were to lose her balance on her way back up. So Kyuushi had her plan for this final test for the day.

A little jump forward, she gets out over this steeper slope far enough that she can manage dropping twenty meters with no issue. Catching herself with her magicks again, she takes a moment to breathe. Ready herself for the upcoming curse effects before turning to took back up to where she had jumped from.

-----

Jumping back up, as her feet land on the ground proper, she immediately feels the vertigo again. Dizziness accompanying it, both much stronger to the point she almost lost her balance and fell backward. Though she managed to push herself to move forward, pressing her arm to the stone wall beside her for extra stability.

Not that she could feel the cold stone, however, her hands once again going numb, her feet right with them, then her limbs. Dropping to her knees, she turns herself so that she’s sitting facing the pools that made up the Goblets of this layer. Just in time as her whole body was now starting to feel numb. Limbs completely now, while her torso was only lightly so.

Then the laughter from her mother began to return, though this time it was slightly distorted. Enough so that it gave her chills, or, at least, she thought it was, she couldn’t tell. All she could feel, beyond the dizziness and the building headache, was her throat beginning to burn.

Dragging her legs to spread them as she starts feeling herself begin to retch again, something finally came up. Just, it was all saliva. Spilling empty guts onto the slope before her. At least, at first it was just clear bodily fluids. But quickly she could taste a hint of iron, and it changed from clear fluids, to thick red blood.

By now Kyuushi was gasping for air, panting from how badly she felt she needed to vomit again. Attempting to move her arms so she could get her hands against her forehead wanting to hold it while it pulsed with pain. In the same moment, however, she could see blood dripping down from her face. She could tell it was likely leaking from her mouth, having just thrown up and feeling like she needed to again, but knowing that was expected from this curse, she had a good idea where else.

She could hardly think, however, not with all of this. Not as her whole body throbbed with internal pain. It felt like the time she was hit against a tree by a Demon. Her whole body was sore, and briefly went numb back then, but right here, right now, this was her next few minutes of life.

Retching a few more times throughout the next ten minutes or so, she thankfully would only vomit one other time, much less blood than the one prior. Though as she coughed after, there were splatters of blood that she saw leaving her mouth. Letting her eyes close, wanting to try her best to calm down and stabilize her breathing. To try and drown out that laughter in her Mother’s voice too.

After so many minutes of pain, discomfort, and bleeding, she wasn’t wanting to keep hearing the laughter from her deceased parent. This curse of the Abyss’ was so cruel doing this to her. Then again, it was cruel to anyone that would try to ascend. It didn’t discriminate between the people it affected so negatively.

Though, she could tell that this odd pressure she had been feeling for the past few minutes was, without a doubt, the curse wanting to keep her down within the depths. The way it always felt, how it acted, it certainly seemed to be the less an oppressing force upon the delvers, and more a reaction to delvers trying to leave. Though, if the stories were true, than creatures that belong to the Abyss, or people who have been changed by the abyss, were immune to it, and allowed to come and go freely.

Either that, or they were able to find gaps in this curse’s unseen barrier. Areas that were safe to ascend and avoid the curse, while the space around such theoretical pockets were still hostile. It was too much to try and think about any further, she was just wanting to get home, to recover from this all with a comfortable soak, and soft bed afterward. Wanting to try and move as soon as the numbness across her body would begin to stop.

Her first attempt being a lost cause, as the moment she tried to lift herself from the ground, she fell right back down and vomited again. Thankfully only saliva this time, which was a sign that the curse effects were starting to subside. The dizziness and vertigo passing next, finding herself able to orient properly within the world around her again.

Slowly, but surely, Kyuushi could feel her body returning to her too. The numbness fading, while at the same moment the giggling would disappear as well. Gaining feeling again, she moves a hand to feel below her nose. Finding remnants of blood that had been seeping from it earlier. Checking under her eyes next, there was some faint hints of bloody tears, but thankfully they didn’t seem to get too bad to worry about. Her ears last, thankfully nothing.

How much blood she had expelled with her retching, however... that did get her a little scared whether or not she’d even be able to get home. Already feeling dizzy again as she managed to, slowly, stand up against the stone wall behind herself. Stumbling some with every step as she begins towards her bag, picking it up so that she could concentrate and call upon the Tori Gate.

-----

The soft gust of wind was the telltale sign that alerted her the path was open, not even trying to look for it, as she knew it always presented itself directly before her. Simply taking a step, then another, and she could just barely smell the water of her lake. Could see the blue of the waters below her. Taking in a deep breath, knowing that she was safe. She was home. She could rest.

Stumbling her way to dry land, before turning to head to her house. Leaving her equipment in the entry way of her home, while she continued on toward the bathroom. A little clumsily stripping out of her clothes, till feeling generally sore, and turning on the shower so she could seat herself on the stool beneath the pouring water.

Staying here for a while, and just hugging herself as that twisted laughter plays from memory again. Knowing full well she would likely begin having nightmares of that horrid sound daring to use her Mother’s voice.

She would update her notes before laying down to sleep and let her natural healing take over.

Third Layer: Vertigo, audio and visual hallucinations.

Experienced: Prior curse symptoms from the two layers above, the negatives all doubled, headache spread to entire head, minor vertigo, audio hallucinations in the form of Mother’s giggling.

The odd sensation from the two layers above, stronger, but not oppressive, almost possessive.

Fourth Layer: Intense pain throughout the body, and spontaneous bleeding from orifices.

Experienced: Prior symptoms of the curse, doubled in severity, gigging from Mother’s voice distorted, throbbing pain throughout the body, bloody vomitting, bleeding from the nose, minor bleeding from the eyes.

Odd sensation prior to the curse present again, likely some form of invisible layer of atmosphere or barrier within the Abyss which, in retaliation of delvers trying to ascend, retaliates with the curse.

#The Kitsune {Kyuushi}#A Kitsune's Dangerous Experiment #Truths Among Myths {Headcanons}#Veiled Legends {Story}

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serararku · 3 years

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Eyes of Amethyst Finale

The tower groaned and rattled, throwing Thalen onto his stomach. The floor rolled like ripples over a pond before the room began to tilt and turn. He didn’t have time to think when the whole place began to collapse, and he watched helplessly as his prey and the woman slid down the ledge and into freefall! Osric had been watching from the base of the tower, eyes narrowing as he’d heard the gunshot. Already preparing to leap - he froze, the sound of the explosion and the ground shaking breaking his concentration. “Gods damnit, Thalen.” This was why he liked details. He quickly glanced over the structure - trying to figure which way it was likely to fall before his attention was drawn by a woman’s piercing screams.

He didn’t have time to calculate - the Dragoon crouched as low as he could go, planting a fist into the grass as he focused his aether into his legs. The dirt beneath his feet shot up with him when he launched himself high and far into the air, the wind hissing past as he aimed at a nearby tree. As soon as his feet touched the trunk he was airborne again, bouncing off the forest and skybound, heading straight for the falling woman. “URF!” The air was knocked out of her lungs when he managed to wrap an arm around her; in her panic she coiled her arms and legs around his body and squeezed for dear life. With a grunt and a turn Osric planted his feet against the tree he’d been rushing towards and drove his lance in to balance himself, quickly scanning for Thalen. Kiban rushed past with his maniacal laughter, but the Dragoon ignored the Strangler -- the bounty was of no concern to him. “Hold on.” He whispered in her ear, but she was too terrified to respond. The Gunslinger was dropping fast. He used his tail to twist himself upright, and was clinging to a chunk of stone in a desperate attempt to cushion his fall, but at this height…

His eyes darted to a hundred places in under a second, highlighting the path he would take to lead him straight to his partner. “There you are…” Osric adjusted his hold on the woman and pushed off the tree - ignoring the creaking sound it made as he focused on his target. The Dragoon didn’t go up, but forward, lunging head first into the lethal shower of stone, wood, and fire.

Osric’s feet landed on the side of a wall before he jumped again. Four steps down a wooden beam and he was gone. He tucked his legs in as he soared through a hole, his lance swatting away anything that could potentially harm or kill from the woman’s head as he landed on and clung to a spiraling and smoldering boulder. Then he pushed off again, weightless, sailing through the billowing smoke, flipping and twisting in the air like a dancing dragon. It was the first time he could cut loose in over half of a year -- he almost forgot what he was doing. Almost.

He wouldn’t be able to hold Thalen the way he had the woman, but it’d be better than letting the man continue to fall. He grunted as he made contact with Thalen’s falling form - trying to focus on manipulating the aether around them to slow their downward progress as he braced for an...uncomfortable landing. Osric landed in the grass like he was stepping off a six fulm drop, graceful like a strider floating on the surface of still water; he bent his knees and cradled the woman in his grasp, but nothing was broken or injured -- not a scratch. Thalen on the other hand was a different story.

“Fuck! Shit! Godsdamnit!” The Miqo’te landed hard on his feet and rolled down the incline to keep himself from snapping his ankles and shattering his knees. He lost control after his third flip, spiraling out to flop and slide the rest of the way. Yet despite his grunts and curses, he still wasn’t a piece of modern art on the side of a rock thanks to the Dragoon. He stopped on his back at least, so his face was at no risk of grinding against the stones beneath him. He slowly opened his eyes with a grimace just in time to see the rubble blown skyward from the explosion coming down on their heads. “AHK-!” He flinched when a rock the size of a brick buried itself into the ground between his legs, almost permanently removing one of his most precious tools for his most beloved vice.

“What was that about this being an ‘easy’ job, Thalen?” Wielding the lance with one hand wasn’t an easy feat - but the grip in his left was a work in progress, and the woman - who now stood behind him as he knocked away falling debris - was still in shock, unable to do much more than cling to the back of his armor. He shot an annoyed look over his shoulder as the last of the debris settled - before turning and guiding the young woman towards Thalen - waiting for the man in question to right himself so they could leave.

Thalen rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet. He checked his body for any serious scrapes or bruises, but thankfully Osric’s acrobatics saved him from being crippled or worse. “Yeah, yeah… least nobody got hurt, aye? Now where’s that bastard?” As soon as he finished speaking, both Thalen and Osric glanced over across the wreckage to see Kiban laying in the grass, his body twisted and broken, but he was still very much alive; somehow he survived that terrible fall, but it was unlikely he would survive til sundown. “Beautiful… now we just scrape 'em off the ground and-” SPLAT! A crumbling part of the tower slid off another rock and rolled over the Strangler like a boot stepping on a grape.

“You were saying?”

Thalen looked like a priceless vase just slid off a table right in front of him, and he was just out of reach to stop it. He stared at the red stain beneath the rubble, as the Twin Adder guards and the onlookers came rushing in. The Gunslinger was almost trampled over when they swarmed Osric, their deafening chorus of cheers growing louder in a fever-pitch. They clearly had front row seats to his double-rescue.

Osric’s eyes widened at the rush of people, taking a step back and holding his right hand out to give himself - and the woman standing behind him some space. “Easy - if you don’t mind. She’s had a bit of a day and some space would be beneficial.”

"Back up! Back it up!" The Deputy shouted out from behind the crowd. "Clear out! Give them some room!" The crowd continued to swarm the hero of Quarrymill, reaching out to touch his arms and shake his hand. "I SAID GET OOOUUT!!!" Like a knife gliding through a loaf of bread the masses split in half at the bellowing of the Roegadyn officer. A representative of the Conjurer's Guild ducked under Grand Talon's massive tree trunk arms and stepped around the Dragoon to check the woman for any wounds. Meanwhile the Deputy plucked Thalen off the ground like he was a vegetable. He turned to his assistant before grunting, "Search the rubble for any bodies. We need to get that paperwork started now."

"Uugh…" Thalen groaned, remaining limp in his grasp. "All in a day's work…"

"Kiban deserved the noose for his crimes, but if it weren't for the Warden's incompetence those civs would still be alive." Grand Talon nodded at Osric before his grimace returned when he gazed at the Miqo’te. "But what's done is done. Make sure this is the last time I have to deal with you and your recklessness, K'thalen." Without another word he dropped him onto the grass, turned his back on the duo, and began making his way to help his team identify the bodies.

"Never heard him so calm before…" Thalen sighed, rubbing at his shoulder. "Gonna be sore somethin' fierce tomorrow. No payment neither… but at least we saved the girl, aye?" He glanced up at Osric while he strained to stand, cracking his back with a wince and a gasp. "Good jumpin' by the way, Oz. Couldn't a pulled this off without ya. And… thanks for not lettin' me splatter. My next scheme'll be less risky for sure."

“Your next ‘scheme’? The company has plenty of work - couldn’t you take one of those jobs if you’re low on gil?” Osric crossed his arms over his chest as he took a step towards Thalen - giving the individual from the Conjurer’s Guild space to do their work.

He simply shrugged at Osric halfheartedly, like he always did. "Newbies been floodin' in recently, and there ain't enough solo jobs to go 'round. Plus…" Thalen paused as his ears lowered a bit; the telltale signs that a Miqo’te was undecided to reveal something personal. "Bah, 'nother story for 'nother day."

"Who… are you guys?" A timid voice called from behind. The woman they rescued was sitting on a fallen log, revived from her stupor but still clearly trying to process what happened today. She reached up and brushed her pastel blue hair away from her deep purple eyes, and her focused gaze darted between Osric and Thalen inquisitively. "You're not Twin Adder…?"

Osric turned around, giving a small bow in the woman’s direction. “No, we’re not. I’m Osric Slater - this is K’thalen Tia...we’re members of the Ashen Wolves.” She slowly blinked at him, appearing more coherent with each passing moment.

"I'm Coroh… Coroh Veldha." She gave Osric the faintest of smiles. "Thank you… for saving my life. I um… I don’t want to think about what would have happened to me if you two didn't show up when you did… I've never been so scared in my life."

"Gonna get worse with all this madness goin' 'round, darlin'. You outta learn to protect yourself… these'r some real dangerous times we live in." Thalen stepped to Osric’s side so he could get a better look at her. "Good job givin' Kiban that revolver I kicked over, aye? Woulda been messier if you tried to play hero."

The woman began to tremble as she wrapped her arms around herself; the adrenaline must be wearing off. "Are you adventurers? Bounty hunters? … mercenaries?”

Osric gave K’thalen a pointed look as he motioned towards the women. “It looks like giving the young lady your jacket for a moment or two wouldn’t be the worst thing...don’t you think, Thalen?” He turned back towards Coroh with a nod, as Thalen gave him yet another shrug before pulling off his weathered leather jacket. “Adventurers...At times I suppose we’re bounty hunters, and I did work with a mercenary company or two before I signed on with the Wolves.”

“Thank you…” She timidly murmured, almost disappearing under his jacket. “I wish I could be as brave as you guys… I might be stuck in this dead-end job for the rest of my life...”

Osric tilted his head. “What job is that?”

“Working here… at this mill.” Coroh gestured to the rundown town surrounding them, and the billowing smoke from the wreckage of that tower. “I just… push lumber through saws all night. I want… I want to be like you guys.” She paused to gaze up into Osric’s eyes. “You know… like heroes.”

Osric blinked, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “‘Heroes’ may be a bit strong.” He tilted his head. “Well - if this job is no longer meeting your needs, what stops you from finding another one?”

The woman opened her mouth to answer, but the words never came. Her gaze dropped to the ground and she fell silent for a long time, seemingly struggling to find a reason why she couldn't just leave. Thalen decided to clear his throat to break the awkward silence they were all trapped in. "Ain't nothin' gonna change unless you take charge, lass. Me n'Oz here… we didn't wake up one day n'just become adventurers. 'Slotta work… sometimes dangerous, sometimes scary. People die in this profession too… good friends and wicked foes alike. But there ain't no courage without fear. And if'n you don't chase your dreams, then…" Thalen gave Coroh a gentle and sympathetic smile. "You'll regret it for the rest a your life."

She seemed to light up a bit and sit up straight, but she was still slightly trembling; she would need some serious time off to work through this traumatic experience. "Thank you both again… I'll never forget your kindness!" Coroh lifted Thalen’s jacket off her shoulders and handed it back; turns out she wasn't cold after all.

"A pleasure." The Gunslinger turned to Osric to pat him on the shoulder. "Let's get outta here 'fore the Deputy decides to give us some trouble. First drink's on me."

Osric hummed thoughtfully, gaze shifting to Coroh for a moment. “Would you like us to walk you home before we depart?” His eyes narrowed as he felt the hand on his shoulder and turned to look at the Miqo’te man once again. “Are you sure you didn’t mean to say ‘drinks are on me’? After all - you’re not currently a stain on the ground - seems like that fact alone might be worth more than one drink.”

“I know a place nearby.” The woman chimed in, shooting to her feet. “Buscarron’s Druthers is only down the road!”

“Fixin’ to be a ramen and tap water kinda night…” Thalen could feel the last gil he had left burning a hole in his pocket, but the temptation to throw it away for drinks was too great to resist. “Bah… alright, alright. We kick it for a few bells, then I gotta head back. Deal?”

“Deal!” Coroh sang, looking to Osric for confirmation.

He nodded, waiting for the woman to turn and lead the way to the Druthers before pulling a small pouch of gil from his pocket and handing it to Thalen. “For drinks this evening....” He whispered in a low voice. “And try to save some of it for food. It should last you until the next decent job comes in.” Thalen blinked at the Dragoon, as his smile slowly returned.

“You know what, Oz? I don’t care what people say about you. You’re alright!”

---

Collaberino: @osric-slater-ffxiv

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zahneundklauen-retired · 3 years

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Take My Claw || Joey and Alcher

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @joeydarling and @zahneundklauen SUMMARY: Alcher chances upon Joey at a bar and talks her down from taking rash actions. CONTENT: Alcohol

Joey bit hard enough down on her lip to create a divot in the skin, the taste of her own blood pooling between her teeth. She reached up to aggravatedly swipe at it. Normally, Joey didn’t get angry. Things were different now, though. There was a beast inside of her, it threatened to unfurl. She needed to leave, because if she didn’t, she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t rip out the still beating heart of the man in front of her. The anger she felt scared her-- it was abnormal to her usual calm demeanor. She hated what she had turned into, but she couldn’t reckon with that, not here, not now. He stood there, his lips pulled into a smirk. The very sight of it made Joey’s skin crawl. Joey thought back to how many situations she had felt pressured to be in, by her parents alone.

The longer she looked at the man, the more she felt the fear fade away, only to be replaced by a distorted sense of anger. “Move,” Joey whispered harshly, it being the only audible thing in the room. There were a few pairs of eyes on them already-- individuals who held the necks of their beer bottles close to their chests, gaze filled with the hope that they would see something to talk about for weeks to come. When the man didn’t move, Joey repeated herself, this time more gruffly. “Move, or I’ll move you myself.” The laugh that echoed from him made anger coil in the pit of her stomach. She could feel it beginning to trickle over her skin. She flexed her fingers, unable to contain the shift that was threatening to bud from her fingertips.

Bars were not places Alcher frequented. They were too human and they smelled too human and the stench often stuck around her for days, even after bathing. But the world had shown Alcher that there was still something inside of her that she could not control. And the pain of it would not go away. She’d heard many a person say alcohol could drown out the woes, and so she had simply been looking for a way to do that when the girl had stumbled into the bar. Well, the wolf. Even dilapidated as she was into her fourth beer, Alcher could sense her. Smell her. Feel her. A young wolf. She hadn’t immediately gone over to her, wondering if she could finish off the rest of her night alone and find the girl tomorrow. Maybe she could shirk her duty and her responsibility for one night and the world wouldn’t stop turning.

But that would not be the case. Because in the middle of this bar, the young wolf looked ready to shift. With the moon close, she would likely have very little control. And while Alcher did not care to protect any of the filthy humans in this bar-- especially not the drunk man who kept trying to hit on her-- she cared for the young wolf’s safety. If she changed here, only death would follow. She moved quickly through the crowd, beer still in hand, and grabbed the man who was hovering next to the young wolf, shoving him away. “She said leave,” Alcher said firmly, making sure to deepen her accent. She found most men found it rather intimidating. In this close proximity, the young girl would surely know, too, what Alcher was.

Joey stared at the man who stayed put, the sloppy grin tantalizing enough to let her body crumble under the will of the wolf. She had felt this, a month ago-- the call of the moon, the way it purred at her, threatened her. The only difference was, she had been alone then-- she was not alone now. Logically she knew she couldn’t lose control. It’d cost her life, and the life of many others. She had grown up protecting others from what she had become-- from what she was infected with, and even though this man was deserving of no respect, he did not deserve to die. At least, not by her hand. The longer she stood there, the hair on her arms beginning to prickle, the harder it was to listen to those thoughts. The interruption of something-- somebody, had Joey whipping her head around. Another wolf. She smelled like alcohol and wet dog, and suddenly, she felt her stomach drop.

She looked between the woman who stood at her height, to the man who was much shorter than either of them. The anger that she had felt previously simmered. She flexed her fingers again, wondering what it’d feel like to let them turn into talons, to allow herself to shift. No, she couldn’t fantasize, couldn’t give in. What choice would she have? She blinked back the anger, running a shaky hand through her hair. The man looked between them, seemingly sizing them up, before letting out a breath and shaking out his shoulders. He turned around, acting as though he hadn’t taken up more of her time than he should’ve. Joey stared after him, the anger and tension rooted in the set of her jaw. She quickly looked at the other woman before she glanced at the door. It’d take her approximately seven steps to get there, and another twenty to get out from under the prying eyes from the windows. The hum of conversation resumed shortly after the man turned his back, and Joey took it as an opportunity to make a break for it.

The pup was running. Just like Luis had when he’d first encountered Alcher and not wanted to face the truth. Alcher’s heart broke all over again. But if she ran, that meant she knew, and that was a step in the right direction. And while the child was fast, Alcher was faster. She caught the girl’s arm before she got to the door and held on tightly, staring directly at her. “We can leave this place,” she said to her, “but we need to talk.” Her eyes were even, steady, but she was trying a different approach now-- they were soft, comforting. She just wanted to help and she wanted the wolf pup to know that. Slowly, she let go of her arm, keeping her eyes on her and her expression light. “I just want to help you, okay? I know what you are, and I can help you.”

Joey hadn’t made it out of the bar in time, the woman grabbing onto her arm. She whipped her head around, her gaze dropping to the hold on her arm, then back to meet the woman’s eyes. Everything in Joey told her to run, to rip away from this stranger and disappear into the night. Both her muscles and head ached-- everything begged her to unfurl. Joey’s lips twitched downwards as she looked past the woman, only a few individuals letting their gaze linger on the two. The woman let go of her arm and she held it to her torso. She splayed her hand out behind her, awkwardly reaching for the doorknob. She found it and turned, spilling out of the bar and onto the three-day-old snow ridden grass, the crunch of it beneath her shoes loud in her ears. She kept her gaze on the woman as she backed up, her gaze flitting from side to side-- which would be a faster escape route? She couldn’t do this, not now. She had to leave. This is why you came, why are you trying to run? She had wanted so badly to find somewhere to belong, but hadn’t taken into consideration what would happen if they found out who she really was-- what she really was. “I can’t,” Joey shouted as she turned to run.

Perhaps being outside was better, anyway. Alcher still couldn’t help but sigh when the girl spilled from the bar, then began to run from her again once they made it outside. Her long legs carried her rather far away before Alcher decided to take off. She wasn’t fond of chasing someone down, but she was not going to let this pup, who clearly needed help, run away so easy. Normally, she would have transformed right then and there, but the languid fear of hurting this pup coursed through her like poison and she fought back the urge, turning a corner and cutting the child off. She stepped in front of her and held out both her hands, grasping her shoulders and stopping the pup from bolting again. “Can’t, or won’t?” she asked, staring her straight in the eyes. She could sense the fear, the uncertainty, the anxiousness. It rattled through her and made her tense her muscles harder, preparing for the push back, the fight. “You nearly lost your calm back there, from one little thing. What do you suppose would have happened had I not been there to stop it?” She paused. “You are not a monster, and you can learn to control it.”

Joey attempted to lose the blonde, as if running down the sidewalk and not making other efforts for less vulnerable exits would have actually worked. The smell of the wolf behind her burnt her nose, wet dog loud and clear. Joey wasn’t sure what kinds of connections could be possible in this town. Truthfully, Joey had thought she knew all that there was to know about werewolves, but she had been sorely mistaken. Could this woman know the very wolf who bit her? How could she? She was miles away from home, in a different state. The woman appeared in front of her and Joey staggered back, the heel of her shoe stopping her from narrowly tipping over. “What does it matter if it’s either or?” Joey said, her gaze unmoving from the woman’s face. She listened closely to the beat of her own heart-- to the beat of the stranger’s. It was something new she wasn’t used to, and it still terrified her-- to be able to listen to the body’s mechanics. She tensed at the woman’s words about control, “Well I didn’t.” She almost did-- this stranger was right, but Joey didn’t want to admit it, even if it was something that kept her up at night. “Control it?” She tasted the words before they left her mouth-- it sounded like bullshit. She had never seen a wolf in control of themselves. Joey had hoped, obviously, that there’d be guidance in White Crest, but now that it was being offered to her, she wasn’t sure she wanted it. Her heart pounded in her ears, uncomfortably so, “then I’ll figure it out on my own.” What if you know what I am, Joey asked herself, her lip quivering.

“Intention matters,” Alcher said evenly, still staying close to the girl. Whatever fear was gripping her, it was heavy and it was powerful. Alcher was not sure she could lift it from her on her own, but the urgency is making sure this pup stayed safe was clawing too loudly at her chest. “You didn’t because I stopped you. How many people were there in there? A couple dozen? You would have torn through them all. Is that what you want?” She could feel that spike of anger coming on, but she tried her best to quell it. She needed to be even, steady for this pup. She needed to show empathy, the compassion she felt for her pain, her struggle. She needed to show this pup that she only wanted to help. “You will die if you do that,” she said evenly. “I simply want to prevent that from happening. Tell me--” she started, looking the pup square in the eyes, “what have you got to lose to try?”

The woman’s words made Joey wince in response. The last thing she wanted was to hurt anyone-- that would prove her parents right-- her upbringing right. She tensed her shoulders, then relaxed them. “I don’t want to,” Joey admitted after a moment, her voice thick with fear and aggravation. She didn’t want this stranger telling her how to do something, but it was obvious that the woman knew what she was speaking about. The smell of dog was loud around her nose and it made Joey want to rub it away, to pretend that she didn’t know. She didn’t want to know, didn’t want to be faced with the idea that she could kill. She was supposed to protect people like that-- to protect people from the very thing that she now was. “I don’t--” She swallowed thickly, pulling her sleeves over her hands as she tucked them against her chest, her nails digging into the fabric. “I don’t know.” Everything, Joey thought. If anyone were to find out who she was prior to White Crest, she would lose everything-- she’d be cast aside once again. “Nothing.” She looked up at the blonde, her eyes glossy with the hot tears that began to build. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Then let me help you,” Alcher practically pleaded. She could tell the pup was giving in, that she knew what Alcher was saying was right. But she needed a bit more prodding. She needed a bit more trust. Alcher let go of her and backed away, but stayed close enough in case she thought to try and bolt again. She worried if she let her go tonight, she would wake to news in the morning of another dead wolf or someone having stumbled upon the body of a young girl. “I mean you no harm. But I am like you, and I can help you. I want to help you.” She held out her hand this time, an offering, and hope the girl would take it. “My name is Alcher,” she said slowly, “I have been a wolf my entire life. And I”m here, now, to do exactly this-- find wolves who need my help and guide them. This world is terrifying and will turn against you, try to cut you down. But you don’t have to be alone anymore.” She urged her to take it, spreading her fingers. “You’re not alone here.”

Joey glanced behind the woman, equal to her height-- it was hard to avoid eye contact. She hadn’t ever liked to demand it-- looking in somebody else’s eyes, and now that she wasn’t… human, she felt it more challenging than not. She cleared her throat, willing the sudden moisture from her eyes and brushed the back of her hand against them, nicking the bridge of her nose with her nail. She winced slightly. How do I know this isn’t a lie? Joey thought to herself as she looked at the woman-- now named Alcher, intently. She glanced back towards the small crowd that poured from a neighboring restaurant and she shrank away from them as they started towards herself and the blonde. She looked down at Alcher’s hand apprehensive before reaching out with a shaky hand, hesitant to touch her palm. She took hold of Alcher’s hand and kept her gaze locked on their palms, now clasped together. “Don’t make me regret this,” Joey whispered-- though, she knew that Alcher would be able to hear it. She looked up to meet the woman’s gaze again, “please.”

#chatzy #chatzy: joey #wickedswriting #take my claw #joey

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indurarinks · 3 years

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stygian dagger

a sneak peek Like clamouring thunder intimidating a planet during a hot summer day, a small group of highly trained Tavali, the renowned pirates and travellers of the Universe, quickly dissolved themselves in the crowd as if each individual had always belonged to the scene. Bursting at the seams, the makeshift arena placated the savage desires of the rowdy public through violent, gruesome fighting. Their bellows demanded blood and guts from the unwilling practitioners of cage fighting, sold to this business for the purpose of serving the sick pleasures of the rich. Filling the pockets of greedy masters with abusive hands. Though illegal, the fights were wildly known throughout the Nine Worlds, beckoning hefty wallets with the promise of a night of indulgence. The three Tavali, fearless and unrelenting and heavily armed, approached the round stage, a fenced cage that had been electrified to discourage any contestant from trying an escape. Ushara, Davel and Trajen slowly descended the rows of stairs with a single purpose in mind. Rescuing Jullien eton Anatole. The bastard of the Ichidian Universe. “How do you want to do this?” Davel, Ushara’s older brother turned to her. Ushara Altaan, Vice Admiral for the Gorturnum nation (one of the four nations of Tavali) and the bastard’s best friend, thirsted for vengeance the moment she learned of Jules captivity. But despite the spiralling emotions, she led the rescue operation with military expertise. The Fyreblood in her was built for war, after all. Her breed of Andarions possessed the talent of pyrokinetics with their fiery breath that put them at great advantage in battle. “We have to find where they’re keeping the fighters. We grab Jules and get the hell out of here before I burn this shithole to the ground and cause Trajen here even more trouble.” The glance she threw at her boss and friend catapulted them both to a few months prior when she flew without proper papers and authorisation into Steradore to rescue her son and executed ruthlessly her son’s kidnappers. That was also when Jules crashed into her life. “Let’s start by looking for cells underground. I bet my money that’s where we will find him.” Trajen added quickly, the air of ancient wisdom surrounding him like royal robes as his eyes held a faraway look. Returning to the task at hand, the group proceeded through the darkened corridors, merging into the shadows like fading mist. Away from the main event and prying eyes, the three of them advanced into the house of horrors’ lowest pits where its security relied mostly on a few guards, now lying unmoving after quickly being neutralised, and the highest technology one could acquire in the black market. The collective tension thickened the atmosphere with Trajen’s warning. “I don’t know how long I can keep the interfering with the system’s security.” Visibly concerned for her boss, Ushara, who marched at front, turned back and gave him a look that silently asked him if he was alright. Though his expression had now been contorted into one of extreme suffering, Trajen nodded with a dismissive shrug. “Let’s keep looking.” Expecting the alarms to go off any second, inevitable frustration was slowly mounting between them as their options to find him grew scarce with the nearing of the end of the row of cells. “Where is he? Titana ræl. He has to be here somewhere.” Trajen’s curse surprised the others. Their Admiral was nothing but an infinite well of wise ponderation and heedful shrewdness. But this restless, almost sloppy version of him gave the others a marginal idea of the potency of the bond he shared with Jules. And where his loyalties lied. His purpose was clear. Despite Trajen’s many efforts to remain isolated from those under his protection, Jullien eton Anatole quickly wormed his way into their secluded leader’s heart with his wits and scars. In him, he found a brother, a kindred spirit. Both, a product of the brutality of their pasts. Drenched in darkness, Ushara refused to let old fears roar back to life as she searched each cell thoroughly. Those demons poked their incessant torment on her mind but she wouldn’t give way. No way in Tophet. “Jules! Jules! Dammit, dark heart. Where are you?” Her desperate bellow echoed through the hall. “Ah, shit.” Followed by a string of mouthful expletives, Davel run both hands through his tousled hair in evident denial. “What have they done to you, drey?” Terrified by her brother’s words alone, Ushara moved slowly toward Davel. Suddenly her legs weighed a ton, and all her instincts screamed at her. She wasn’t ready for what she was about to see. Her gasp of horror came without warning. Lying on the filthy floor of the smallest cubicle of that hellhole, he was in fetal position, back curved and head bowed to make himself smaller. His eyes resolutely shut, Jullien remained eerily motionless. Almost as if… “Jules..?” Low and soothing, her voice wrapped itself around him. “Please.” She begged. No reaction still. Lost to her panic and petrified by the shock of her best friend’s predicament, Ushara’s angry tears fell like an unexpected hurricane. This entire nightmare began when one of her cousins and his crew sold him as punishment for something he played no role at. Hate is an ugly creature whose talons infect the soul upon their impaling. And there is no recognition between right or wrong. There is just the ugly need for vengeance, the hunt for a twisted form of justice that’s justifiable through past suffering and grievances. Davel’s strained grunts catapulted her back into reality. For the time being and Jules’ sake, she vowed to abandon her thirst for retribution against those who sought to harm her best friend. Both her brother and Trajen joined their efforts to break him out. Between mighty brawn and refined brain, the electrified door of his dungeon held no chance against them. At the first opportunity, Ushara crawled toward the entrance on hands and knees. She outstretched her hand toward Jules. “Jules?” She tried once again. Only then did he shift his position, daring a tentative look at her as if afraid she might be only a mirage. “It’s me. Shara.” Her body ached from the awkward angle of it. “Come on, let’s go home.” When a single tear rolled down his face, her entire world shattered along with her heart. The agony and misery reflected upon those beautifully hybrid eyes, a mix of human and Andarion, clutched her insides before twisting them until she felt what she could describe as a poor replica of the same pain. Yet bravely, he offered her his bloodied fingers, silently accepting her strength to escape this house of horrors. As he dragged himself along the ground, Ushara confirmed all her fears. After the years of unthinkable abuse Jullien had fallen victim to, she feared he would resort to shutting everybody out to deal with yet another trial in his lonesome road of redemption, one he endured after she had promised him he was safe with the Tavali. She failed him. And she hated herself for that failure. Stoically, his face an unreadable mask of indifference, he stood awkwardly as Ushara embraced him in relief despite her reservations regarding his mental stability. “We better get going, guys.” Davel interrupted their reencounter with good motive. It wouldn’t be long until the alarms went off. “I sense trouble incoming, too.” Trajen added with a distant look. His impressive powers at work. As if on cue, the blaring sound of sirens threatened to awaken even the dead. “Let’s get out of here!” Ushara’s hand sought Jules’, tugging him behind her as the others hurried before them. Without uttering a word still, he followed after her. They were halfway down the hall when he broke contact with her fingers, turning toward a group of inmates, all female, as his fingers curled ferociously around the metal bars of the cell. His knuckles white, Jules tugged at the bars with a frightening growl. Eyes now full of untamed fury, he kept yanking and yanking. Unable to understand the source of Jullien’s outrage, Ushara spared a glance at her brother and Trajen before joining her best friend. He was clearly set on opening this specific cell. Mildly confused, she helped him by unleashing her fiery breath over the unyielding lock. It took some work as the ancient metal resisted more than first predicted but once it fell apart, he was quick to get pull the door open and venture into the room’s darkness. Tempted to go after him, she bit her lip. She shouldn’t. Right? Jules knew what he was doing. He had to. Right..? Praying for her friend’s mindfulness, she raked her fingers through her white hair while readying herself for the swarm of hostiles. “Shit.” Unholstering both blasters, Ushara aimed them ahead, patiently waiting to feed her need for violence. To sate her hunger to spill enemy blood. Surely enough, the first party showed up next. An eerie smile descended upon her lips. “Come get some, bitches.” She murmured dangerously, mostly to herself. Her blood singing in delirium for a chance of revenge. It was then Jules emerged from the shadows of the dungeon with a female stranger leaning heavily against him. Vulnerability surrounded this woman, obviously injured during her captivity. She was a vision, absolutely breathtaking. And totally human, it seemed. Golden skinned and green eyed, she beckoned every gaze in the room like a siren singing to her sailors. Finally, all hell broke loose. Ushara’s first two shots came as warning. After that, she was all business, no play. She went ahead of Jules and his companion, assuming her offensive stance before engaging in further confrontation. With envying expertise, she blocked every attack while ensuring their inevitable escape from this shithole by counter attacking tirelessly. She was an animal in the game of warfare. When every opponent lied lifelessly on the ground, Ushara released a breath of relief before holstering her blasters again. The barrels still singed her flesh if she were to touch them directly. Her babies were well used today. Collecting their breaths, the five of them exited the house of horrors without so much as a backward glance. Only Jullien hesitated briefly to bend his upper body forward so he could pick the woman up and carry her in his arms, regardless of her protests that claimed she could walk on her own. Once safely inside her ship, Ushara urged Davel to initiate the flight commands to get them all back home and far, far away from there. Trajen, the silent watcher, joined her while the both of them observed from afar the exchange between Jullien and the woman he refused to leave behind. “Is she trustworthy?” She whispered her concerns to her boss, hoping he could give her some sort of endorsement. Instead, he shrugged. “Time will tell.” Helpful. She grumbled quietly on her way to the pair. Despite Jules current inability to interact with the world outside of his well of misery, he still managed to put the human’s needs before his. A feat she probably can’t even begin to appreciate but Ushara’s version of a very malicious green monster was quickly suffocated by her immediate thought to not throw judgements before gathering proper insight. “Hi there. I’m Ushara.” The female warrior extended her hand toward the other female before pointing at Trajen. “That’s Trajen, and the mountain of a man at the front of the helm is my brother, Davel.” She finished with a sincere smile. “I—I’m Bonnie. Bonnie Bennett.” She cleared her throat to mitigate the hoarseness in her voice. “It’s nice to meet you all.” As she took Ushara’s hand in hers, she couldn’t help but noticing Jullien’s retreating form as he sought solitude to quiet his roaring demons.

#charmeddelicacy #stygian dagger

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chaoswillfallrpg · 4 years

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ALEXANDRA ROSIER is TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD and a FASHION EDITOR AND STYLIST in TRENDS AND PREDICTIONS at WITCH WEEKLY. She looks remarkably like ANYA CHALOTRA and considers herself aligned with THE DEATH EATERS. She is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: death, blood, mental instability

Calculating and reserved, Alexandra Rosier is the ash off abandoned cigarette stubs, the bitter taste of red wine and the curl of smoke across the silver moon at twilight. Born to AXEL and ADELE ROSIER, Alexandra grew up in the shadow of her older brother EVAN. The first born, their parents idealised him as the air to the Rosier name. Raising him so high that despite strenuous efforts, there was little that she could do to compete against their prince. Her mother’s daughter, Alexandra is as deadly as a viper. If Evan was the solider, Alexandra was the leader. Outcast and overshadowed, she holds her mother’s elegance, cunning nature and insanity. With grace and a regal sensibility, intellect matching if not outshining that of her brother, nothing ever compared to his achievements. Despite the close bond the siblings shared, an underlying jealousy began to brew. Bitterness building from years in the shadows, the witch was left to try and grow in darkness as Evan consumed the light of their parents' love. Andra was cared for, but not the same regard. Despite the divide slowly pitting them against one another, they stayed close by each other’s side; knowing that above all family was everything. Insular compared to other Pure-Blooded families, their father insisted it was because he’d rather spend his spare time away from Wizengamot among family than waste his breath on others. When they decided to grace high society with their presence the family was adorned in french finery. Rich black velvets, beaded gown, silks befit a family that walked like they belonged in the stars. Encapsulating an idealistic image, they presented themselves how Rosiers always did. Powerful, resilient and as beautiful as the roses they were named after.

Adamant to keep their standing within both the English and French aristocracy, the Rosier’s choose to send one child to Hogwarts and another to Beauxbatons. Knowing the connections they would gain would be invaluable to their futures; they made it apparent that the years spent at school would be imperative to their social standing. Quickly Andra became the socialite of the school. Knowing how to manipulate situations in her favor, she was just as calculating as she was beautiful. Holding characteristics common among the Rosier line, she was determined to forge her way no matter the costs. Following the family mantra ‘Si vous ne trouvez pas de chemin, faites-en un’ translating to: if you can’t find a path make one, the witch held the words dutifully; all in an effort to make her family proud. Forming an elite social network consisting of individuals from high standing families, the group were notorious for their social power, elusive gathers and selective mingling. Among them were: MIRA IYER, ALEXANDER TREMBLAY and SEBASTIAN FONTAINE. There was no questioning, Andra was the queen, with Mira in particular following in her shadow. With elegance, quick wit and intellect incomparable to others; many fell in her favor. An exception to this, was CLAUDETTE DELACOUR. Their feud was renowned around the school. Born from Andra’s found enjoyment in uttering remarks that fell off her lips like venom at JAQUELINE LEJEUNE, Mira giggling dutifully at her side; the witches feud became renowned around the school. Few stood up to Andra, knowing that doing so was social suidice. Apart from Claude being a thorn in her side, Andra still reigned over the school. But the reign of a queen was only more public when she fell to ruin.

Never could any of the Rosier’s have expected the turmoil that was to befall them. Fifteen and free from Beauxbatons for the summer; she exchanged meaningless conversations with her mother as they watched France disappear in a blur on their way to their second home in Lyon. Only to be greeted with Auror’s lining the gates to shield prying eyes from the scene. White roses stained red and her father’s body laying limp in the dirt. Evan clinging on for dear life; for a moment, he looked like a boy again. Not the seventeen year old heir to the Rosier name, but a feeble meek child who had just lost one of the people he held most dear. Andra didn’t just lose her father that day, she lost her whole family. Evan slipped into a state of disarray, a shell of himself he was unreachable no matter how many times Andra tried to confide in him and share the burden of their grief. Wails of heartbreak echoed in the hallowed halls of the Rosier mansion as their mother became inconsolable and fragmented. Rolls reversed with every member of her family falling to grief, Andra became the thread holding the fabric of their existence together; simply because she had no other choice. Axel Rosier had been a renowned wizard in the community, the death was public and high profile. Betrayed by the very people he’d served, The Ministry claimed the death was a mere ‘accident’ to not arouse panic. Instead, for their silence and discretion, they paid the Rosier family to keep quiet. But one look at the autopsy, it was clear that the fatal wound had been from a Muggle gun, despite the false allegations that declared otherwise.

Childhood stolen from her grasp, while her days were spent organising their fathers funeral with the help of her aunt DRUELLA BLACK, at nights she fell apart. Mascara stained her pillow and muffled her sobs as she was left to mourn alone. The weight of grief, too heavy of a burden for anyone to carry let alone so young. Comfort came with their relatives' company. Though they despised the pity, the shared grief was eased with holding a confidant in cousin NARCISSA BLACK. However not all the blacks were welcome in Andras eyes. BELLATRIX was as conveying as she was deceitful. Digging talons into Evan, she was the only one that managed to get through to her brother. A bitter jealousy grew deep in Andra towards Bella. Hurt that Evan chose their cousin as a confidant over her, Andra was left to watch from a distance as her brother’s heart turned black. Twisted with hate and grief, his anger boiled like a disease casting a dark hue over the family. While he played the part of the broken boy, Andra ws left to pick up the pieces. Caring for their distraught mother, commenting for the newspapers, attending social gatherings; Andra single handedly kept the name of the Rosier’s from falling to ruin. Knowing it’s what her father would want, she played her part. Disguising her distress in blush to hide her breaking heart, the witch fell in line, head held high as she was forced to leave her childhood behind; becoming the leader of the Rosier house. Alexandra was never the same after that fateful summer

With eyes like daggers, her once social attitude turned cruel from despair. Labelled cold hearted, one person that seemed to melt her icy exterior was Sebastian. While the pair had been together since their second year, he was the only one that seemed to break through her barricaded heart. While Andra turned harsh even to her own friends particularly Mira, Sebastian saw beyond the elegance, perfect eye liner and styled appearance. Few harboured the chance at catching a glimpse of who she really was. Merely a discarding girl trying to prove she was worthy of love. Despite encouragement from him to share her insecurities and heartache with Mira, being exposed and vulnerable terrified her and was met with dismissal. In the end, only turning her more insular. Sebastian had been her savior through her grief. Though with Andra’s growing integration into high society, insecurities for their relationship’s appearance grew. Molding herself into the idealistic image of a Pure-Blood, Andra learned to care more for her vanity and how people perceived her than the value of her own heart. Knowing that being attached romantically to a half breed would raise concerns amongst her family; particularly the Blacks, her duty to her family outweighed the deep love she held for him. With growing philophobia and the tantalising fear of being discarded from the Rosier name when she needed it most, their relationship fell into stolen glances and passionate moments in the shadows. Falling apart in their early twenties with Sebastian needed more than a girlfriend who had grown ashamed to love him. Andra threw herself into her work within the French Fashion industry, hiding her darkening heart with beauty, never fully admitting she’d grown her own thorns.

Moving back to their home in Kensington, under the instruction of CYGNUS BLACK Alexandra handed care of her mother to The Society for Distressed Witches. Cygnus assuring they could ease her growing insanity and keep her from causing any more damage to the family reputation. Harbouring the information from Evan, Alexandra fears that the knowledge would only push him further over the edge, creating a deeper rift between them. Instead she visits her mother as often as she can between her new job working for Witch Weekly, holding status as a socialite and keeping watch on her family's ongoing exchanges. In an effort to keep Evan from Bellatrix’s clutches, Andra joined The Death Eaters to make sure she didn’t lose both of the most important men in her life. Though joining their ranks was not as easy as she’d hoped. Tasked to reconnect with her old best friend from Beuxbatons, Mira, THE DARK LORD has instructed her to place Mira under the Imperius Curse to gather inside information from within The Ministry. Despite the guilt she feels, in her eyes she doesn’t have another choice. While joining the Death Eaters had originated in an effort to save her family, the longer she stays in their company the closer she can feel herself attaching to the same ideologies. With every passing day it is becoming clearer to her why Evan fell to Bellatrix’s notion of a new world and the justice it could finally bring to the memory of their father. What scares her is the lengths he will go to find his own revenge, knowing he won’t stop until he brings The Ministry and everything they know to its knees. With it, will come the choice between safeguarding herself or losing her brother and everything she knew along with it.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Pure-Blood

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female

Sexuality → Bisexual

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

Family → Axel Rosier (deceased father), Adele Rosier (mother), Evan Rosier (brother), Cygnus Black (uncle), Druella Black (aunt), Bellatrix Black (cousin), Andromeda Black (cousin), Narcissa Black (cousin)

Connections → Mira Iyer (ex-best friend/adversary), Alexander Tremblay (close friend), Sebastian Fontaine (ex-boyfriend/potential love interest), Camille Rowle (colleague/friend), Andressa Parkinson (friend), Regina Rowle (romantic liaison), Claudette Delacour (adversary), Jacqueline Lejeune (adversary) Evangeline Selwyn (adversary)

Future Information → N/A

ALEXANDRA ROSIER IS A LEVEL 7 WITCH.

#alexandra rosier #anya chalotra #marauders rp #rosier rp #death eater rp #witch weekly #magic #tw: death #tw: blood #tw: mental instability #death eater #taken #taken death eater #taken witch #taken lgbtqia+

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writers-blogck · 4 years

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BNHA Imagines - MISC 01

Meeting for the First Time

Hitoshi Shinso:

He was pissed that he was put in the General Studies, he should be in one of the hero courses! Those tests weren't made for a quirk like his so there was no way for him to show off how powerful it could be. Plus, just to top it all off and piss him off further, he could hear a couple of students whispering about him. He could tell they were all support heroes, huddled up and gossiping. He thought that this would go away when he got into U.A. but guess jerks would always find a way. He was used to it by now. "He looks super creepy, it's like he wants to be known as a villain." The one girl spoke, obviously frightened by the purple-haired boy. "I know. Mind control is always bad, how could a hero have that quirk?" "I bet he'll drop out and join the League of Villains. He already fits the part." The words filled him with both anger and sadness. He had lived his entire life with those words and worked every day to prove them wrong. He had thought that since U.A. would be different since he had expected the students to be smarter but it was obvious that he was wrong. The three years here would be filled with voices and hidden stares just like the rest of his life. Why should he expect anyone to think differently? "You do realize that the number three pro-hero is a man-made up of fire, right?" A new voice spoke up, bringing Shinso out of his thoughts and made him pay attention again, "That seems pretty villainy to me. What about thirteen? I'm sure people thought that her quirk could only be used for villainy. Plus it has been scientifically proven that a majority of villains were students who either failed or kept being told they could only be a villain instead of a hero. So please, be my guest if you want to keep berating him but don't be upset when he treats you like a villain. Even the best person will be a villain if they are diminished enough. All it takes is one bad day." Your eyes glowed a medium blue as you stared at the girls. You were part of the support class as well but still had a powerful quirk. It was called Memory Card, allowing your brain to reach super-genius levels for up to fifteen minutes. You would remember anything you had ever been told and could use this power to access all of that knowledge. It helped that you were just super smart, to begin with, knowing your brain was made to support such knowledge. As your eyes slowly changed back to (e/c), the group of students scurried away. Before Shinso had the chance to talk to you, you were gone. At that moment, he made it his duty to go find you and at least learn your name.

Mirio Togata:

Panic began to fill your chest as you crumbled against an alley wall. The dim street lights were the only thing lighting up the world around you. Everything seemed so dark and like there could be anything just around the corner. Whispers swirled around you and you could feel she was on her way. Why did it have to be like this? You would prefer not having a quirk to having to go through this. It made your entire body want to shut down.

Most of the time you were able to control her. As long as you were able to keep yourself calm and collected, she couldn't take control. You were able to use your quirk as it should be used. It was able to make people see their biggest fears, something which kept you from training with it as much as you should. How could you train with someone when you would have to make them feel that way? You had vowed from a young age to only ever use it in emergencies and against bad guys. Yet, due to your lack of training, she was able to take over every now and again.

Nightmare felt like a demon at times. You had no clue how these types of quirks worked. The only other person who you knew who had something like this was Tokoyami and he didn't understand himself. Dark Shadow got stronger when he was in the darkness, Nightmare got stronger the more you lost control of your thoughts. Breathing hurt as you gasped, fingers scratching at your neck as if something was choking you. You had medication to keep these episodes from coming on but you had run out. The doctor said he could see you in a few weeks and that you shouldn't have any attacks. Well, obviously he was wrong.

Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, one of the only things you were able to feel at that point. The rest of your body felt like it was numb and wasn't in your control anymore. No matter how many times you reminded yourself it wasn't real, it didn't help. Her sharp talons had attached themselves deep in your back and were planning on staying there. She had never gotten control of your body but you were terrified one day she would be strong enough. "Hey!" An echo reverberated around your skull, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It was a male voice and while Nightmare could mimic someone, this sounded different. It felt hot, unlike everything around you that was freezing you to the bone. It seemed to only strengthen due to the voice but a patch of warm spread on your shoulder, shaking you. Loud thunder rumbled from above - she was angry. The talons tightened but you forced yourself to focus on the soft warmth until you felt your eyes open again.

The alleyway faded away as the light returned, bringing you out of your attack. The sun was shining down at your crumbled form against a tree on school grounds, your skin suddenly becoming quite warm. How long had you been here with the hot sun shining down on you? As you sat up properly, you could feel the sweat under your blazer and made a mental note to get some water as soon as you were inside. "Are you okay?" Your attention shifted to the boy standing above you, his voice exactly like the one you heard before. He was larger than you overall, suggesting him being an upperclassman. He wasn't part of 1-B, the class you had been assigned to. They told you that if you had more control over your powers, you could have made it into 1-A. You wanted to but you had no idea how to train without using someone else. What class was this boy in? General Studies? Support? Your mind was in a daze, slowly shifting your attention to the blue worried eyes looking down at you. Blonde hair was pushed back, though it was beginning to get messy with the heat. The first thought in your head as you saw his face for the first time was: Can the sun be a person?

Tamaki Amajiki:

Japan was so different than America. You knew you were lucky to be one of the transfer students to U.A. but it was intimidating with the entirely new country. The manners were so different here, they had so many ideas of what was polite and what was disrespectful. How would you learn it all? Would someone get mad at you because you were a foreigner? These thoughts filled your head until a shout rang out and you felt a large amount of force push against you. It was easy to regain your balance after stumbling back an inch or so. The sound of metal crunching up filled your ears as you began to focus back in on the present. What had happened? "Oh my god, are you okay?" A purple-haired boy that was much taller than you asked, running over in your direction before slowing as he got closer. His eyes moved from your figure to the crumbled car in front of you. A mixture of confusion and panic washed over his face as you casually looked down at the ruined vehicle. Luckily, no one was inside. What had happened? You glanced toward the direction it came from before you felt pale hands ghosting over your skin in search of some type of wounds. "I'm fine!" You smiled up at him, causing him to stumble back to put some space in between the two of you again. "That's a full car that just hit you. Maybe you have a concussion...Hm, you need a medic but the villain is still attacking...What should I do?" He mumbled the last part to himself, body rocking back and forth on his heels. This reaction was normal for you when someone saw your quirk for the first time. You were small, just reaching 5 feet (a symptom of your quirk), which often caused people to see you as fragile. It was rather ironic when they finally saw what you could take.

"I can take it. I am like super dense, you definitely can't pick me up. I'm 300 pounds if you can believe that!" "What...?" "My friends from home call me Buggie because of my quirk. I'm like an ant, do you know about them? I'm sure you do but some people don't think about how strong they are. They can carry up to 1,000 times their weight! I can do that too, isn't that really cool? I mean, lifting 1,000 times my body weight is straining but you know what I mean. " "Yeah, alright. If you're not hurt..." There was doubt in his eyes but he needed to get back to the battle. He would have to trust you if he could get back to Fatgum and help him. What if he was being hurt right now? His stomach twisted and he felt like he was ready to throw up. "No, I'm fine! I can move this car if you need, I could easily pick it up and-" "Ah- I don't have time. I'm sorry, I need to get back to that villain." A simple nod was all that you got as a parting before he was running off, white cape fluttering behind him. You wondered if he was a student of U.A. as you walked away, looking down at the address of the school that you were trying to find.

Nejire Hado:

When Ryuku decided to take you, along with Tsu and Uraraka for your internships, you were shocked. You were a quiet and shy individual, feeling a lot smaller than the two other girls. Both of them weren't afraid to speak out about what they think or how people are going to react. To you, this was your everyday life. Your quirk allowed you to see the future, multiple versions of the future. Sometimes it was good but you often saw so many terrible and dangerous things. Such simple things could hurt so many people. It had left you filled with anxiety, wishing you could turn off your visions. What was even more shocking was the member of the big three that also was part of your group. The three of them had spoken to your class, though you had a hard time paying attention, you still were able to remember her. Nejire, that was her name. She was so much nicer than you thought. She was so patient with you, it had to be due to Tamaki. She was used to dealing with someone with a fast-acting mind.

"Senpai..." You spoke softly, catching the attention of the blue-haired girl. The first time you had called her that was an accident but she seemed to like it. You couldn't help but wonder if she paid more attention to you than the other two girls. Was that fair? Were you just overthinking it and seeing things that weren't really there? "Yes?" She smiled and your heart couldn't help but skip a beat. Nejire was just so pretty and sweet, it was hard to keep yourself from getting flustered around her. She was what you dreamed to be but you doubted you would ever be as good as her. You didn't even have a chance, why did you keep trying? Shaking your head ever so slightly, you pushed those thoughts away to focus on the task at hand. "Are you sure you want to take me on patrol with you instead of Tsu or Uraraka? I'm certain they would be more suited for it...I don't want to mess up and make something-" "You are perfect for patrol, my little kohai. Plus, I want to get to know you better and you seem to be less nervous when there are not many people. Don't worry about it, I'm certain about my choices. I like to think I make pretty good ones, you know?" Her arm flung over your shoulders, leading you forward as you were left in silence. How could your face feel this hot? Was the air thinner? "O-Okay..."

How were you going to survive this girl?

All-Might:

The two of you were much younger when the two of you met for the first time. It was hazy to remember how it all went. It was strange to think there was a time you didn't know him or Aizawa or the others. They felt so permanent in your life now that thinking before them felt wrong. All-Might was one of the top heroes and the others were rising in the ranks just as much! Why would you want to focus on the past when the present was so good? It wasn't as magical as the press tried to guess. They said he rescued you from falling off a bridge or you had been a hostage but it was nothing that fancy. The two of you had met your first day of U.A. because the two of you were in 1-A. Toshinori attracted the attention of most of the other students and you would be lying if you said you didn't check him out like the others. He was handsome- a strong body with a dazzling smile. The full package. When lunch rolled around, you would be surprised when he approached you first, asking if he could sit with you. It wasn't that you approached him first and fell in love like the media believed. It was the exact opposite. If anyone asked him to this day, he would be willing to gush about you for hours if they let him. At first, it was a simple adoration as a friend who was proud but it began to change. It would all be out in the open when he ended up kissing you while a camera was pointing at the two of you. That was when all shit went loose. But it was much simpler back when the two of you were in school. It was no different than any puppy dog crush between two people. The two of you had no clue of the chaos and pain that waited for the two of you in the future. Who would expect their happiness to be on a timer?

Aizawa Shouta:

It wasn't rare to find Aizawa drinking at a bar in his free time. He was stressed and it was only getting worse as the year progressed. His students were being put in more and more danger and there was nothing he could do about it. These villains were getting ahead of the pro heroes and it was increasingly becoming hazier on if they could win. One would like to believe the good guys always will win but Aizawa knew better. He had lost that innocence long ago.

"Are you alright?" A soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, making him look up to see the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. They held no grief or guilt in them and instead sparkled in the dim bar light. They were holding a small glass of wine, their lips dyed with a faint hue of red. "I'm fine." He grumbled, eyes drifting to the whiskey in his cup. Was this his second glass? He didn't keep track, he just drank until those thoughts left. It was one of the only ways he was able to get some sleep recently. It wasn't healthy but he didn't know of another way. So much was happening and he was in charge of making sure his students were safe. Bakugo had gotten kidnapped, who knew what else was coming? They were children...

Without any warning, they sat down in the stool next to him silently. Nothing was said between the two of them at that moment or the rest of the night. Aizawa didn't have to do anything and yet, the person stayed. He had expected to get annoyed but the presence of another person helped. His mind was able to relax if only for the few hours they were able to spend together. The minutes passed as they sat together, drinking their respective drinks. The sun soon set and the darkness began to cover the city. The time of the villains. He needed to go, he had work in the morning. He may not get a lot of sleep but he was going to take advantage of the warm liqueur in his stomach and the calmness this person provided. As he stood to put his jacket back on, his eyes glanced over at the dark streets again and couldn't help but think about how dangerous it was outside. He was a hero, after all, he was trained to go out when it was like this but when he looked at the other person, they looked just like a citizen. Before they parted, he took a chance and offered to walk them home. He was considering taking it back but once they agreed, he was too far gone.

Hawks:

For your first two years of attending U.A., you were an intern under Aizawa. He would never admit it but he had a soft spot in his heart for you. When you first entered the school, you had no family and had self-esteem about as good as Tamaki's, one of your juniors. You could remember seeing him get into 1-A as you were finishing up your last year. That had been a hectic time for you but you were part of the top three of your own year and had to give a speech. You were proud when you heard the shy boy was in his own big three. You knew he had talent when you met him.

Most of your time was spent in your internships as you had two to do, something extremely rare. Your official internship was under Aizawa and you were training to become a teacher at U.A. but you wanted some more fieldwork under your belt. When you first started, Aizawa did have you go on missions and such but it had declined the older you got and the more concrete your goal of working at U.A. became. It was true but you wanted more. That was when you met him for the first time. He was amazing to watch! When hearing that he was only twenty, you decided that you would internship under him.

Aizawa tried to talk you out of it but he knew once you had something on your mind, you wouldn't stop until you got it. It took a lot to finally get the boy to agree to take you under his wing. He gave a long list of reasons why the two of you would be a terrible pairing but you kept coming back with reasons that destroyed his complaints. In the end, it was your determination that made him agree to let you tag along. What would your life be if he rejected you? Once you finished your final year in U.A., you were given a position as a teacher's assistant, to Aizawa as was expected. When you got a few years under your belt with him, Nezu would then allow you to teach first years. It was a dream come true! Training future heroes was amazing but you did have that tug every now and again where you wanted to help with more hero work. Hawks decided to let you come with him on patrols whenever you got that way, the two of you going through many sleepless nights together. The press even dubbed you as Hawk's 'semi-sidekick'. You weren't in the front lines a lot but you really appreciated what Hawks did.

Hawks had no clue what to expect when he took you in. He had never been a mentor to someone and it was strange when they were only three years his junior. The mentorship morphed into a strange friendship that only strengthened once you graduated. What he didn't expect was to begin feeling differently about you, no longer seeing you just a kid. Aizawa had accepted his soft spot for you during your second year but Hawks was still in denial about how he really felt. The two felt different types of love for you but without you even knowing, you had them wrapped around your finger.

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vesuviannights · 5 years

Text

Julian/You. AFAB reader (no pronouns, just genitals). Lemon.

“He came for you in the witching hour, a shadow that lingered and watched when the darkness was already suffocating you in every way you knew. Tilting your head up to meet his blackened gaze, he had promised you safety, love, affection, to never want for anything again, eternity.”

When Julian's eternal punishment is to preside over the Devil’s realm, you - in every sense of the word - are all he desires.

Featuring: Devil Julian, super public sex/exhibitionism, Big Dick Devorak

AMAB version can be found here | Banner edit by me!

I normally don’t put any commentary before my fics, and I won’t put too much here, but I just wanted to say that I had so, so much fun writing this. I have been playing with the idea of Devil Julian for so long, and I wanted this to have a specific vibe. Most of all, I wanted to make sure that it was accessible to people of all genders - and not just in the way where I changed pussy/cunt to dick/cock and called it a day, but one where I really described the individual experience of each body. I hope I captured that, and if you’re reading one version, go ahead and read the other just for some extra thirst! Love you all, and I hope you love this 🖤

He came for you in the witching hour, a shadow that lingered and watched when the darkness was already suffocating you in every way you knew. Tilting your head up to meet his blackened gaze, he had promised you safety, love, affection, to never want for anything again, eternity.

“I will give you everything you so desire, my love,” he had crooned into your neck, his lips to your pulse, his taloned fingertips raking at your stomach with an edge that made you shiver. “Every morsel of food you crave, rooms of splendid books, musicians who will play any symphony for your wanting ears, any trinket you could imagine with your dizzy mind.”

Still locked into the abyss of his gaze, you felt his hand slide further down your stomach, talons retracting until he found you between your thighs, wet and aching and trembling. His fingers had made such fast work of you as he spoke, seeming to know every inch of your being, as though he were born for the sole purpose of making you whimper his name.

“I will make you scream,” he had murmured against your lips, though never with a kiss, he would not have allowed you such a gift without a bargain. “And sigh and cry out and arch against me, so happy and loved and filled. Oh, you will never want in this vile world ever again. All you must do, my love, my sweetest poison, is agree to be mine. Won’t you be mine, for an eternity and a day?”

You had accepted his offer without thought, before he had even had a chance to make you gasp and tremble, letting him steal you away in the night and away to his domain, never to be seen again.

You had learned quickly that he could not lie, and that every word he had whispered to you that night in his delicate croon had not merely been to woo and weaken your will.

The gifts he presented you with were boundless, and every thought or whim was seemingly read by him the moment it entered your consciousness, ending in you being presented with the solution a mere moment after.

Exotic foods, crackling woodfires, endless rows of tombs and trinkets, the finest of silks, musicians who would play until their fingers bled just to hear you sigh in the delight of their sounds—anything you so desired, and every part of it was for you.

But his gifts to you weren’t merely objects, or people to puppet and taunt at his will. His appetite as this being knew no bounds. This demonic beast with curved horns and blackened eyes and a soul that faded piece by piece with each passing day delighted in making you shiver and keen, in tasting every inch of your aching cunt whenever he pleased. Enjoyed fucking you for hours on end under the stars that stretched out above his black silk sheets while you writhed and cried out beneath him.

His stamina was preternatural, an inhuman and almost feral feature to his new body. He came as often or as little as he liked, as much as he needed to, filling you with his seed, listening to you whimper at the warmth of it. Nothing seemed to turn him on more than the flush of your cheeks as he watched it drip out of you, as he patted the swell of your stomach after filling you for hours, or as he ran the sharp points of his talons over the streaks of it that were still dried along your inner thighs hours later.

But in his eternity of torment and punishment as the ruler of this new monstrous realm and its demonic dwellers, he wanted nothing more than you, to please and hold and have you whenever he so desired. And in giving yourself to him – in agreeing to come here, to be his, for an eternity and a day – you had never once wanted for anything in return.

He calls for you one evening with a soft croon, a low voice that seems to carry on the whispers of magic that linger throughout his palace and between the bodies of his chattering court, out to where you are standing on the balcony overlooking the city.

My dearest love, won’t you come join me on my throne?

You would have answered him, in any version of your world even without the pull at the base of your throat, the magical tether that kept you his.

Your fingertips curl around the frame as you step into the room, his glorious throne looming in the center, casting shadows along every wall and edge and face in the room.

And perched upon it is your love, your devil, your eternity, shadows spilling from his eyes, curling around his body, seeping out into the room and holding every member of his court prisoner, forced to watch as the object of his affections—the only true thing he cares for—steps into view.

As you wait for your orders, feet held by an unseen force that is part you, part him, your eyes drag up the dais to where he is perched. His chin is propped up on his arm, his knees spread, and he is looking every bit a man—a devil, a beast—that has always wanted to be where he is.

“Will you crawl for me, my pet?” He speaks in a lazy murmur, as though your entrance has woken him from a slumber, slowly rousing his interest in the world around him. “Will you let me see how those delicate chains swing and pull on your breasts as you move, how you whimper and sigh and make every eye in this room turn green?”

There was once a time where you might have flushed at his words. Where you might have tried to stutter out an apology to people listening. Or turned away so as to avoid their attentions when they heard what he wanted from you. Where you would have looked down to avoid his gaze so that it couldn’t wrap itself around your throat, your heart, your soul.

But the reality of it was that he was already in all of those places, his lingering shadows woven so intricately throughout every heartbeat and breath that if you ever tried to turn away, ever tried to deny him, something might break that you would never be able to fix again.

And so you—dressed in nothing but heels, nipple clamps, a collar—get down on your knees to crawl. It’s a slow but practised movement, one you know how to do so perfectly, so exact, to ensure his attentions and pleasure.

He seems to grow ten times in size as he eyes you in your approach, the air thrumming and crackling with the tendrils of his power as it reaches out to every corner and being in the room, seizing control of them.

You feel your lips curve in a smirk at the envious looks his court throws you as you climb your way up the stairs to settle at his feet. Each movement you make—the stretch of your arms, the content little heave of your chest—pulls at your nipples, the tiny string that leads down your stomach and connects itself to the hoop pierced through your clit. You whine and falter, elbows bowing as a bolt of electricity runs through your entire body.

A matching shiver runs through Julian’s body, his gaze keeping yours locked as you finally arrive at his feet, where he tilts your head back with a long, pointed talon.

You know this dance well. Can read each look in his blackened eyes, each twist of shadow that seeps out of him.

He wants a show.

He wants to be enthralled.

He wants to be reminded of his place in your life, that you do want to be here, that his existence here isn’t a punishment but a reward, a chance to have you all to himself.

And so you sit up onto your knees, shift your hips forward, and begin to grind your cunt on his leg.

The thing about this world, about Julian’s tendrils of power that slink throughout the realm and follow you wherever you go, protecting you, letting him know where you are…it all keeps you bound to him in more ways than one, including those in which he feeds your arousal whenever he needs you, always keeps you on edge and wet and yearning for him. As though it were one last attempt at keeping you with him, even though you’ve told him so many times he doesn’t need those measures.

And so within moments, you are dripping with arousal, wet and aching and shuddering and whining against his leg, using the roughness of his hair, his skin, the hard length of bone to get yourself off.

Your noises carry out into the chamber, a symphony for all to hear and a soothing song for Julian’s racing heart. It caresses the tiny part of him that is still human, that doubts whether you truly do want to be here, even though he asked, even though you said yes, even though for however many days or weeks or years since, you have never once denied him.

When his hand curls into your hair, you cease your movements, turning your head to nip the skin at his wrist. Your eyes are wide, begging, lips parted and waiting for him.

He tuts, he laughs, he croons, and when he speaks, it carries out into every corner of the room for all to hear.

“Would you like me to finish you with my mouth, pet?” He asks. He traces your bottom lip with a single finger, and you greedily wrap your tongue around it, suckling it into your mouth to the second knuckle, moaning softly. “I’ll place you on my throne and part your pretty little thighs for all to see…to show them I will only ever be on my knees for you.”

You shake your head, suckling a second finger into your mouth. You begin to grind once more against his leg, up and down motions that make the chains connected to your nipples and clit shake and pull, making it perfectly clear exactly what you want.

A wicked grin curves Julian’s lips, his obsidian eyes shifting down your body. They watch the movement of your lips on his fingers, the heaving movements of your chest, the desperate little movements of your hips as you try so hard to get yourself off.

“You want my cock? Is that what you need, my pet?” You nod. “Will you take it in front of my entire court, will you writhe and scream and beg while they watch?” You nod again, and Julian growls, pulling his fingers from your mouth and taking hold of your neck, tilting your gaze up to his. “Use your words, pet.”

“Yes!” You gasp out, clawing at his hand, your hips still grinding shamelessly against his leg. “Yes—I want your cock, I want—I want to show everyone who I belong to—”

Belong. Yours. Own. Any combination of those words, murmured from your shaking lips or screamed out for the entire realm to hear, were always enough to set him off.

In a blur of movement he has you off the ground and pinned to his body, your back against his burning chest, his cock standing proud before you nestled in a thatch of dark curls.

You don’t bother to hide your desperate little whine as your gaze falls to it. Of all the things you love about him in this form, his cock is perhaps your favourite. It is…huge, there is no other sweet or kind or wordy way to put it. It is impossible huge, and wide, and long, and can last for as long as you are able to—which, with the magic of the realm and the magic Julian feeds you for your energy and arousal, is seemingly forever.

As his teeth sink into your shoulder, you feel a shudder erupt through your body, a fresh wave of arousal dripping down your thighs, joining the pearls of pre-come gathered at the head of his cock as he gently ruts against you.

“Part your pretty thighs, pet,” Julian murmurs into your ear. His voice is so quiet, barely-there, and just for you, and if you hold your breath, you can just barely hear him in there, the man he was before, and the sound makes your eyes sting.

Exhaling softly, you move as asked and he moves your hips, holding you above the weeping, swollen head of his cock. The arousal from your greedy little cunt is dripping down your thighs, more than enough to allow him to begin to stretch you, but you still feel his magic settle over you once more, easing any last tense muscles, making you just that little bit slicker and ready to take him, and you murmur your appreciation to his waiting ears.

And as he begins to lower you down onto his cock, the movement an exquisitely slow torture to would not wish on any being, you taste blood in your mouth, tongue caught between your teeth to stop you from babbling and begging and crying out for him to move faster, go deeper, tear you apart.

His face is buried in your neck as he murmurs to you, soft words and soft kisses and soft groans, letting your whines and keens be the only music to your joining movement. His grip on your hips tightens with every inch he sinks into you, until you are resting against his thighs. His cock is completely seated inside of you, and his talons have sunk into your skin, causing little beads of blood to form, shudders of pleasure replacing the pain that should be there.

You begin to move, not needing his words to know when your performance should start. You shift, a low groan erupting from your body as you squeeze around him. You hear the clinking of metal, followed a moment later by the pull of the collar around your neck, the chain wrapped securely around Julian’s fist as he settles back into his throne.

You can see the smirk so clearly in your mind, the languid rake of his gaze as it moves along you. Your shoulders, your back, your ass, every inch of you that shifts and bounces as you ride him with sweet sighs and strangled moans.

He cannot take his eyes from you; this court, this throne, this place, it bores him, you are what he wants. He could watch you ride his cock for hours, and sometimes he does, holding off your orgasm and feeding you magic so that you never tire, just listening to your delicious little whimpers and pleas as you bounce on his cock, skin slapping against skin.

Sometimes, when court has ended and the throne room is empty and shrouded in darkness, he’ll have you curled into his chest and neck while you cockwarm him. He’ll rake his talons up and down your back in an almost gentle touch as you shudder around him. It’s always so silent, so still, so quiet. It’s the most human you ever see him.

This won’t be one of those times, though. You can feel his magic weaving its way through your body, fuelling your energy, ensuring no movement is too much or too painful for you to handle, only pleasure, every loss of his cock as you lift off it painful, and every stretch as you sink back down euphoric.

You come apart when his teeth sink into your neck, bruising and bleeding you with his sharp little teeth for all to see. You scream, throat hoarse from the sound, crackling in your chest as you claw at him, hands in his hair, nails sinking into his thigh, each action causing him to shudder and twitch along with you, filling you with his seed, marking you in every way he can.

Once you have come back down—once your breathing has settled, and your greedy little cunt has stopped twitching around him—you lean back with a quiet murmur. The world is a muted grey, a little foggy, his magic and your arousal still scratching at your veins, warning you they won’t stay silent for long.

And so until they do, you lounge in his lap, head resting back against his shoulder while your hand is back in his hair, scratching and soothing while he purrs into your neck.

His shadows have receded. He is almost pliant after he has fucked you, especially after doing so in front of his court, marking you, staking his claim. He draws his own power from showing them all that he hates them, that they are nothing, that you are everything.

With your Devil sated, and your body aching, and your stomach full of his cock and his seed, there is nothing more for you to do than cast your gaze down at the wide-eyes and curious stares, the parted lips that have been forced to watch so many performances, who have seen the horrors that befall those who dare comment, who dare look away.

You smirk, and then you quirk an eyebrow at the court below you, silent and unmoving as you address them, Julian purring quietly behind you.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You call out, an icy lilt to your voice. “This is a court, and your Master grows bored. Please him. Or he’ll leave you to me.”

And with a flurry of motion, the court comes to life.

🍑 Requesting | Masterlist | My Ao3

#The Arcana #Julian #Julian Devorak #Julian/Reader #Lemon #Writing #AFAB reader

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overdrivels · 4 years

Text

Faint of Heart

You throw up your hands, waving them in a large sweeping ‘X’. “Nope! Nope, noppity-nope-nope-nope. We’re not doing this. No.”

“We must.”

“Are you crazy?” you hiss frantically between clattering teeth. You swing your arm at the scene outside the window, the one of mysterious packages getting loaded into nondescript delivery trucks heavily guarded by plain clothes mercenaries packing more heat than one of Soldier’s barbeques–omnic traffickers. “Look at these guys. No, we’re on a scouting mission, not a rescue one.”

Hanzo heavily resists the urge to roll his eyes or sigh or even shove a hand over your mouth just to shut you up. This is just a rehash of a conversion that you always seem to have with them. A suggestion comes up for something only slightly more dangerous than jaywalking across a street and you’re up in arms, claiming it’s too ‘dangerous’ or too ‘risky’.

Hanzo’s upper lip curls in disgust. A damn coward. Not just any coward–a coward without any conviction. What the hell were you doing here–in Overwatch, arguably the riskiest thing anyone could do in this climate, with some of the most dangerous people on the planet (and space)–when you were too scared to even leave your room half the time?

He glares at you, feeling nothing when you flinch. Hanzo adjusts the strap of his quiver. “We’re going.”

“We have to leave them. I know it’s not a good look, but we have to just take this info and go.”

“Then I’m going. You can stay here or go back.”

Leaving you behind would make his mission easier anyway. But you cling onto the sash around his hips like a child, refusing to let go. “It’s better if I’m with you.”

“Suit yourself,” he says briskly, yanking the sash away from your hands. He jumps out the window, scaling the building, not caring as you inch your way carefully onto the fire escape. He’ll be finished with this before you even manage to get halfway up to the roof. (Then he might have to be burdened with carrying you off the ladder–what a joy.)

Here, he has a clearer view.

There are ten goons out in the open. Two of them–drivers–are shooting the shit. He counts four more hidden, trying to be discreet as the others continue to load up the truck. From the looks of it, they’re a little more than half finished with their work. They can be taken care of last. Fourteen total.

This was originally a scouting mission (“Please use your discretion,” Winston told them. “REfrain from engaging except when necessary.”), but if they continue scouting without taking action, the omnics in that truck might never be found again. While he has no strong love for omnics, being around people like Tracer and Winston may have softened his opinion of them a little. Where a robot and machine once stood in his eyes, there is a glimmer of humanity, more so than what he has in himself, that’s for sure.

Hanzo nocks an arrow, pulling it back and waiting for the wind to sway. Once he gets them, he can swipe their devices, place them in a faraday bag, and bring them back to the base for analysis. If he can do this in the time it is supposed to take the shipment to reach its next destination, they could intercept it.

He takes a breath, the calm settling in his veins. The wind nudges at his hands. He releases his arrow.

Two of the goons go down. The others are slowly realizing. He has another one down before they’re able to draw their guns. The carriers drop their boxes, one of them opens, revealing an unresponsive omnic inside. A brush of anger sweeps past him. It’s gone by the time he has his next arrow ready–that one takes down another and pierces the hover mechanism in the truck, driving it into the ground and unable to move.

They’re turning round and round wildly, unsure. None of them meet his eye or even think of looking up here. At this rate, he can probably take down the rest of them without issue.

Something grabs Hanzo’s ankle.

“No, please! I don’t wanna die!”

Hanzo barely stops his foot from stomping your head in; the muscle in his thigh bunches so hard it aches. How did you manage to sneak up on him? You’re on your belly, covering your head with your arms, looking like you’re ready to be sick. Instinctively, he glances back down at the enemies–one, twothreefour…five—

Another tug at his ankle–didn’t you learn the first time?

“Ha, Hanzo. We can’t do this. We–we have to go.”

“Silence! We still have a chance.”

A slow sort of muted panic creeps into his bones as his mind scrambles to spot the last person. Where—?

You yank at his sleeve and he shrugs you off a little harder than he means to, but you’re insistent, a constant, desperate hiss in his ears. “I have a bad feeling; this is–this is an order. We have to retreat.”

Ignoring you, he prepares another arrow. He could place a trick shot and make it pierce two targets. That should lure out the last.

His eyes catch sight of an object flying upward. It takes him a half-second to recognize it.

They wouldn’t—

With his mouth agape, he barely manages to close it before you slam into him with your own body, almost making him bite his tongue off. Above him, a blast of light and sound rocks the skies, and it throws him off balance, his ears ringing without sound and vision bludgeoned by dust and debris.

Screams of “I fucking told you so, damn it!” accompany the ringing in his ears when the sounds finally become recognizable.

Shoving you off of him, he grabs at another arrow. He needs to find that last person–they must have more on them. He can’t let them slip away like this. But among his calculations of contingency plans, he didn’t expect you to groan, “I don’t feel so good.”

The sound of retching brings him back to reality–you’re slumped over, holding your head and throwing up what remains in your stomach.

Between the remaining goons who are trying their best to haul the rest of the ‘merchandise’ into the only functional truck they have and you who is more of a liability than anything, he huffs in annoyance as he comes to a decision.

He finds himself having to haul your limp body back. It is not guilt that adds urgency to his step.

---

“You take unnecessary risks–”

“My risks are calculated,” Hanzo shoots back just as sharply as any arrow. The bandages across his face dampens his claims.

“And they put the team in danger,” Soldier finishes firmly, slamming a fist on the table. The reverberating bang stuns everyone except Hanzo into silence. Hanzo, not one to be cowed by such messy tactics, only glares at Soldier over his nose.

“No. It is people with weak resolve who put themselves in danger.”

Winston raises a hand to silence them both. “That is quite enough. Agent Hanzo, I believe you were sent on a reconnaissance mission. Why did you feel the need to engage?”

“And you are comfortable with these omnics being sold illegally?” Hanzo asks coolly, challenging.

This is not the first time since Winston has taken the seat at the head of Overwatch that people have backsassed him or gone against his order. He doesn’t know if it’s because of his inexperience or because he’s simply not human, but dwelling on the individual prejudices of people never really helped him any.

“The mission, Agent Hanzo,” Winston says slowly, curling his hands together, “has a specific purpose for a long-term strategy. By saving these few omnics, we’ve now lost the trail on the entire operation. This sets us back several months of hard work. I believe you are aware of this.”

The conference room is ice cold and tense. Hanzo glares at him with a look that is half guilty and half irritated. Haltingly, he utters, “I…apologize. I will reflect upon my actions next time.”

“See that you do.” Winston then turns to the rest of the room. “We must have a back-up strategy ready. McCree, please get a quote from your friend in the shadows. We will have to pay her price for additional information. Tracer, please ensure the Orca is charged, I expect us to ship out in short order.”

“Yessir.”

“You’ve got it.”

“You are all dismissed.”

The room is quickly emptied of people with Hanzo being the first to leave, likely to train himself into exhaustion. With the door closed and himself alone, Winston lets a giant sigh escape him and he slumps in his chair, picking up his holotablet and turning it on.

Winston carefully thumbs the edge of the screen where your portrait–a half-nervous smile–and Hanzo’s–stern and threatening–look back at him. The two of you are a bad matchup on a good day. Neither of you get along, the difference in ideology drives a chasm between the both of you greater than the distance between Earth and Horizon Lunar Colony.

It was his idea to send you both on this mission. It’s his fault that you were being treated for a concussion. Winston heaved a fur-raising sigh. This is just another facet of management, he supposed. Even so, he does not regret his choice. For Hanzo who faces death like he thirsts for it, you’re the very best partner for him.

Many people questioned his judgment on the matter. McCree threatened to leave again, his tenure to Overwatch 2.0 held together only by the barest of threads and a promise that he’s going to protect you. Soldier: 76 berated him for inviting back people like you and Mei. He’s held back only by Shrike who laughs and says with painful familiarity, “I’ll take care of him.”

He rubs his eyes. Alone, in this dark, cavernous room where nightmares and doubts eat up every bit of space available, he can’t say he feels good about every time he sends everyone off, not knowing if such bright, talented people would ever return.

But that’s precisely why he accepted when you called them with shaking voice and hidden conviction.

Your mission is never to fight Talon. Your sole mission is to get everyone out alive.

---

The kitchen is only occupied by one other person when he leaves the gym showers. Mei is by herself slurping down the remains of what smells to be instant beef noodles. She offers him a smile which he vaguely returns and another bowl which he gladly accepts.

The impromptu dinner session turns into a rare venting session for him.

“–and I would have ended their entire operation if a certain someone wasn’t such a coward,” Hanzo barks, slamming his fist into the table.

Mei whispers, looking down at her folded hands, “You say ‘coward’ like it’s a bad thing. I’m not the bravest either.”

A strangled, inarticulate protest makes its way out of Hanzo’s throat. All the anger evaporates and he’s left with the strange urge to placate her. No. Mei is not like you. She’s here because she has something she believes in. She may be shaking in her boots when she’s forced to fight, but she believes in something and she has something to protect, made into a soldier, a criminal, when she could have had a respectable job elsewhere doing less dangerous things. She’s here in spite of her fear.

But you? You’re here—

The realization gives Hanzo pause.

Why are you still here?

There is no mission that you take that you do not voice your fears against.

You could have turned tail and ran away when he told you he was leaving you behind. You could have just not boarded the train with him to your destination.

If you really wanted to, you could have asked Winston to take you off the mission, and Winston–bleeding heart as he is–would never make you do something you strongly opposed.

No. Even before that. If you were truly so afraid, why did you come back to Overwatch in the first place? How did you wind up here?

Something isn’t adding up.

Your fear and hesitations and reservations are real—they’d better be for all the grief it’s caused him. But what was compelling enough to bring you here into the heart of danger? What is so magnetic that you have not yet left?

What is he missing?

“Hanzo? Are you okay?” Mei asks. He realizes he’s been quiet for far too long and attempts an awkward facsimile of a smile.

“Apologies. I was lost in my thoughts.”

“That happens to me, too. Especially when—” She chatters on and on, the solemn mood from before lifted between them. Inside, his doubts only grow stronger. Even after his conversation and cleaning up the remains of his impromptu meal with Mei, his questions are incessant and loud in his head, to the point they drive his feet away from his room in search for an answer.

When he arrives at your room in the medical bay, Ana is already there with a book in hand–she always did like paperback more than tablets, enamored with the way a story moves with the physical turn of a page, like a long journey that she herself is participating in.

She smiles when he walks in.

“You just missed visiting hours,” she says, gesturing at your prone form on the bed, breathing slow and relaxed. “We were having a nice chat up until ten minutes ago.”

“I see.”

“Did you have something you want to say?” she asks, almost knowingly.

Hanzo does not look at her, finding the bed sheets to be much more interesting. “No. I just came to…follow up.”

You don’t even have bandages on your head or any excessive external injuries to speak of. He probably looks worse off than you do, and that sets off another pang of irritation inside him that almost chases away all the questions he has.

The older woman chuckles behind her book, but not unkindly. She pats the empty seat beside her and Hanzo cautiously lowers himself into the seat as though he were sparing her some of the time he does not have. He does. She probably knows.

From here, the half-drawn curtain prevents him from seeing you and perhaps that’s a good thing. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Is it serious?”

“Angela said it was just a mild concussion, nothing to worry about.”

He nods. A mild concussion. That’s nothing–he’s had his head split open before and still managed to kill three people and make his way back home without blacking out.

“You’re wondering about the choice in staff.”

He only grunts in response.

So it was that obvious. He supposed he never made it much of a secret that he didn’t like your demeanor. It is not a conducive one, especially not in an organization like this. You may gather and compile data, but anyone can do that from the safety of their own home. You didn’t have to come here where you’re a literal sitting duck, unable to defend yourself if the base were to be raided.

So what brought you here?

Ana smiles mysteriously as she closes her book. “Such staffing choices are necessary.”

“Is that so?”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” is his automatic reply. There’s no point keeping secrets from Ana. Age has only made her intuition sharper, he suspects.

“People who can sense danger and run at the slightest hint of it can save more lives than just their own. We need people like that if we want Overwatch to survive longer than the last time. They see the writing on the wall the fastest and find the quickest way out. It’s a vantage point that we”–Ana waves at the room with a good-natured chuckle–“do not have.”

“Is that so,” Hanzo says again, not entirely convinced of her reasoning, but unable to refute it so easily either.

“You should think about it. Variety is the spice of life, and goodness knows Overwatch is full of it.”

Hanzo sneers to himself. Full of it. Yes. Full of it, indeed. He takes one last lingering look at your shadow from behind the curtain, doubt and irritation painted in a newer light with Ana’s musings. He still does not agree someone like you should be here. He is no closer to figuring out why either, but it’s unlikely he’ll get an answer.

“…I will consider it,” he says finally, getting up from his seat. “Good night, then.”

“Good night to you, too. Sleep tight.”

After he leaves, Ana’s smile only grows.

“He’s gone.”

A dramatic sigh of relief comes from behind the curtain and she chuckles softly to herself.

“I thought he’d never leave. He’s scary as fuck,” you grumble. “I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up again.”

“Good job; you held it in.”

“Don’t expect me to do that again.”

Ana opens her book again, leaning into her chair. “You are their leash. Until they learn to take your concerns seriously, I’m afraid these are the methods you’ll have to resort to.”

You grumble something unflattering beneath your breath. The curtain may as well not be there; Ana can guess what sort of expression you’re making. “Rest now. There will be much to do when morning comes.”

#my writing #my clients are just being unreasonable now #i was inspired to write this after reading a chapter from Sousou no Frieren #where a coward can be strong #it got me thinking about how Hanzo probably hates those types of people #but you know it's not always a bad thing to be afraid #that ensures survival #anyway i'm just rambling and trying not to go full professor mode on my cleints

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