#until then i shall crumble to ashes

[eky11]

HELLO I'M NOT DEAD I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT I MISS YOU ALL

[soullessdianthus]

Please, Kylo Ren x reader (noncon). I'm so excited to read it!!!

A/N: I was obsessed over this ask and created a whole lore for this, haha! Just be aware of the warnings!

Warnings: age gap, humiliation, violence, brief gore (description of mutilation (not reader)), dead dove: do not eat, nsfw (noncon, kidnapping, sexual slavery, objectification, forced orgasm)

Word count: 4.6k

AO3 link ⟶ 𝕏

Every night darkness was trying to corrupt your mind, to burn everything that is left of you to ashes. Those eerie forces pulled you into a deep void of endless fear just for a ray of comfort to sneak through the horrors of the nightfall. 

With a layer of sweat on your neck you dreamt of home. Floors of polished, bright stones, stained glasses and neverending gardens blending into the outskirts of the capitol. Marble arcades, columns and many thermal baths – tranquility, warmth and security. Everything that kept you sane was just a memoir. 

The First Order has taken over most of the galaxy. With an iron fist they wiped out the rebelling nations and those who collaborated or supplied them. Planets who stayed neutral yet seemed suspicious were forced to bend the knee to the Supreme Leader – Kylo of the Knights of Ren. His path to power was paved with sacrifices and corpses. The edge of his lightsaber was soaked in blood and lives of thousands. 

The heroes of the Rebellion became legends, tales of the past. Those people were gone, hiding or buried six feet underneath the soil. There was no hope.

The persecution of the collaborators reached your home planet and even your family. The father of yours that happened to be a senator was accused of treason. However, nothing actually could be charged so therefore the Supreme Leader was merciful enough to spare the noble family of the senator from disgraceful death.  

But there was a small catch.

Which happened to be you. 

In order to keep your father in line and prevent further conspiracies against the Empire, Kylo Ren took you as a hostage. “No harm shall happen to her only if you remember where your loyalty lies” the tall man said. How foolish of you both to take his word for it. 

You were taken from the gardens with such force that would leave purple bruises along your arms. One of the masked knights of Ren pulled you up and dragged behind him. Your bare feet still wet from the bath in the pond barely kept up to his long strides up until the spaceship waiting for you. It was the last time you had seen home.

From that day you were a prisoner of war. Surprisingly, you were not being held captive inside a cell, locked away without further purpose, starved and beaten. You were granted a position of being Supreme Leader’s personal servant, which you were told was “a great honor for a mutt like you” by the red haired general. You assumed it was supposed to degrade you from your nobility status, which in that case did not happen. 

Your parents raised you pretty well – to respect every type of labor and appreciate the opportunities. “There is no shame in hard work”, they used to say and you couldn’t argue with that. 

But.

Your sharp tongue and young spirit caused you more troubles than actual work beneath Kylo Ren. It never was the case of doing the chore wrong – bringing the wrong stash of clothes, messing up his meal or disrupting his meetings. It was the untamed, bold temper of a girl who had never been really hurt before. 

Whenever you spoke without his permission he would slap you across the cheek until it bloomed with crimson color, his favorite. Sometimes his strikes would send you crumbling to the floor and he wouldn’t hurt you again until you straightened up. “Stupid girl”, he would call you. When you would look into his dark eyes, you could recognise that very primal need to see you break and cry. So you promised yourself to never let your mask slip and grant him that honor of your liquified fear and pain. 

Soon you began adapting to the situation. The stiff and coarse clothes you were wearing became bearable and then unnoticeable at all. Modest robes in colors of First Order’s sigil – black and red. Every burden became lighter. Except from the people surrounding you. 

After months spent in the Supreme Leader’s mercy you have noticed that his temper changed. From a bad-tempered, unpredictable boy he changed to a more stoic and calculated diplomat. Perhaps as the time went by and the First Order gained more control over the Galaxy he became more… calm. Kylo Ren wouldn’t throw a tantrum over small mistakes. He wasn’t a fool, he knew he needed the support of his generals, knights and senators to stabilize the position of power.  

Yet his change of demeanor did not depose his cruelty. Under the cloak of a calculated man, Kylo was still a brute ruler with little to no mercy for those who made a mistake. 

You were a witness of punishment served from his hand. The red blade of his lightsaber mutilated a lower ranked military for not only denying Ren’s order but also for treason. The scream of agony filled your ears and you turned away from the atrocities.  

— Look, girl — the raven haired man told you and you heard him clearly, but consciously decided to ignore him. You were petrified of such a violent act and yet he screamed from the top of his lungs — I said LOOK! Watch what happens to those who betray me. 

Lord Ren used the ability that only Force could provide to make your head turn against your will and kept your eyes wide open, so his servant could watch as he dismembered the traitor into pieces. The Supreme Leader was feasting on your tears running down your face and the expression of pure terror. The smell of burnt meat made your stomach twist. Till this day, sometimes you can see the chopped limbs beneath the council table even when they are long gone. 

And it wasn’t the last time he forced you to watch such brutality. 

The council meeting ended as its members slowly left the room. Lord Ren was seated at the very top of the long table with General Hux by his side. You placed two cups in front of them and slowly poured the wine. By this time you learned to move swiftly, barely noticeable yet still with grace. When the vessels were filled you returned to the spot close to the wall, waiting for further instructions. 

— Come back here. — Lord Ren commanded you with a subdued tone, not revealing the cause of his call. But so you did, gently putting aside the vase with wine and stepping closer to your master. 

— What do you think of today’s meeting? I saw you listening very closely. — Armitage asked, one of his fingers tracing the cup’s form, not even bothering to look at you.

— My opinion doesn’t matter, General. It’s not my place to speak of such matters. 

— Weren’t you a child of a senator? Well, he must have taught you something?

You couldn’t get a single word out. Clearly, the general was provoking any type of reaction from you, but by now, you have learned to keep your mouth shut. Otherwise you might have ended up with a split lip and blood on your tongue.

— You trained her well, Ren — Hux smirked, eyeing the servant girl from head to toes. — She recites those phrases like poems. But does she really mean it? Or does she think we’re fools?

The Supreme Leader hummed before there was silence in the room. Your eyes were transfixed on the table, but you could feel his dark globs piercing through your skin. Or trying at least. 

— She’s smarter than she looks, she knows her place. Her father told me she was an obedient daughter, isn’t that true?

Kylo looked directly at your face, tilting his chin up. There was a threat in the way he looked at you. Through heavy lids sagging over his eyes, a challenge could be noticed. He was testing you. 

— Yes, my Lord.  

— It would be a real pity if she decides to disappoint me one day. 

Ren took one of your palms and gently rubbed the back of the servant's hand. The circles he was drawing over your veins were almost soothing. His careful approach caught you off guard. You were trembling and he could feel it. 

— You can go.

He released your hand and you left the room in a hurry. Your body was tense and therefore the movements seemed stiff, lacking previous grace. Obviously he noticed it, he knows everything. He’s the head of an Empire.

— I don’t understand why you still keep that girl. You have no good use of her. I bet you can still fold your own clothes.

— You’re forgetting yourself. 

Ren took a mouthful of the wine, still keeping eye contact with the pale man sitting in front of him. Armitage was getting bolder every mission he had positively completed. Red haired general was in Kylo’s favor at the moment, but he could always stumble and fail.

— If I was to advise you, Supreme Leader — he started again, much more careful this time — I would suggest you to display the power and possibilities the Empire posseses, so every rat that is left out there knows, we can bent their fucking spines backwards. 

— You want me to torture and get rid of my servant? That’s what you’re trying to tell? 

— Do you even need one? 

“No”, Kylo quickly came to the conclusion in his head. The truth was he never liked anyone touching his belongings, he didn’t need a “mother” to bring him clean robes nor a cupbearer. Especially a young woman of a noble status that only attracted his generals’ attention during the meetings. 

She was useless to him.  

— Killing her would only give the rebel scums another martyr to use as propaganda against us. First Order won, what we need now is stability – strong military and senator’s support. I took her as a hostage, if she dies, I might lose the entire system of her planet in the senate. 

There was a long silence between the two men. Then Hux approached the subject differently. 

— What makes you think that after you perish one day, the Empire won’t collapse? What comes after you, Supreme Leader? Perhaps you should, after all, make them fear you. 

Despite every ounce of hatred Kylo Ren had for his general, the raven haired knight knew his advisor was right. Armitage was a sneaky bastard, but he was right. The Empire needed a firm ruthless ruler with a legacy to leave behind. 

Two stormtroopers let the girl inside the Supreme Leader’s private rooms. You obviously weren't there for the first time, but the circumstances were somewhat new. He called for you very late in the evening, so you came to him wrapped in a long robe. Passing through the entry section, you noticed him standing by the desk, reading some files. 

— You called for me, my Lord. 

— Come.

Kylo Ren stood tall and still dressed in his daytime attire. You pulled the robe’s edge to cover your nightgown entirely and slowly made it to his side. You couldn’t hide the fact you felt uneasy. He never called for you this late, could that mean you were in trouble?

You stopped next to him. Knight of Ren was towering over you with his height and build. His dark eyes were focused on the files on the screen in front of both of you. Since the first day he hit you, he was intimidating enough not to seek trouble. 

— Have you ever heard of Zyggerian Empire? 

— Yes.

You looked at the records on the screen. Few of them were pictures of said empire – huge gatherings, auctions, labor camps. Everything under the master's whip. 

— And what do you know about it, hm?

— It was located in the Outer Rim — you swallowed with great effort, saliva barely passing through the throat that was tightened from anxiety. — They were slavers. 

— That disgust you, doesn’t it? — Kylo leaned his neck down to look closely at your expression. — And don’t lie to me, I can tell when you do. 

— Yes, my Lord. It disgusts me. 

— Sometimes the end justifies the means, their power was upheld for a thousand years. Flourishing and unshaken, even Jedi were afraid to confront them. Do you know why? 

— Credits?

Kylo stepped behind you and his breath on your neck made you shiver. 

— Because some people are born to be submissive, to be told what to do — his thick fingers combing through loose strands of your hair. — To serve a greater purpose. 

Feeling Ren’s knuckles touch your vulnerable neck, you turned around on your heel to confront him. You had to lift your chin up to meet his darkened gaze. 

— I was made aware that I was too indulgent with you from the beginning. You are of traitorous blood and I should have punished your family more severely. 

Your blood started to boil within your veins, fear pushing aside tranquility and careful judgment. You were scared. You saw all the tremendous, horrifying things he has done to others, what was he trying to do to you? 

— I thought you were content with my work, my Lord. I d-don’t-

— I found you a new purpose, as I don’t think you deserve such privilege of being a servant. You will be my pleasure slave. Nothing worrying that pretty head of yours than your Supreme Leader. Just waiting patiently for me to call you in.

Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, your own chest weighed on you. One of his hands cupped the side of your pale face, but your eyes kept escaping from Kylo’s mean stare. Deep inside you knew this monster was enjoying your fear. 

— You are nothing. Forget about your past, because your only use is to obey me, do you understand? 

Your body froze and you couldn’t move nor speak. Ren asked a question again, but you only shook your head, denying everything that was going on. Tears flooded in the corners of your eyes, before you finally whispered a single “no”. You managed to take a few steps back, creating a space between you and him. 

— Do you really want to find out what will happen to you if you disobey me? Are you this stupid? Have you learnt nothing?  

— Please, I don’t deserve this. Please, I’ll do better, I promise! — You tried to reason with him. 

Every step he took in your direction, you took one backwards – to get as far from his reach as possible. Your body was moving on its own, you couldn’t think straight, tears blurring your vision. A prey stalked into a corner by its hunter. 

— Stop it! — Within a quick few strides Kylo reached you and pressed his hand over your mouth, while the other painfully twisted within your hair. You squealed and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. — Quit your whining, before my patience runs out. You need to learn, but you better do it quickly, before I get tired of you. Do you understand? 

When he didn’t receive an answer and you continued pathetically crying, Knight of Ren shook your entire body just to squeeze an answer out of you. 

You didn’t know why and when, but your head nodded. 

Kylo Ren released his grip on your face. His strong palms tore the robe off of your body and only when his grip tightened around the cleavage of the nightgown, you recovered. You tried to stop him, your hands curling around his wrist and forearm, pushing him away. 

— Don’t do this, no! NO! 

Two loud smacks filled the private chambers of the Supreme Leader. The man slapped you quite hard, impact making your head turn and spin. Your cheek burned. It burned deep below the muscle tissue and your skin was on fire. The pain ringing in your head, blinded you for a moment. Ren seized the opportunity and ripped the nightgown that was covering your naked body, leaving you bare and vulnerable. You weeped when the cold air of his room swept across your skin, leaving goosebumps. 

— That’s how you repay my good will? — Kylo grabbed your throat and lifted your body slightly, so you were fighting for the ability to breathe on tiptoes. — Should I rather give you to my knights and let them train you, hm? All six of them, sadistic fuckers. Would you want that? 

— N-No… Please, no.

— That’s what I thought. 

The dark haired man forced you to fall on your stomach over his satin bed sheets. Before you even got the chance to crawl away or turn around, he was already straddling your hips from behind, his upper body leaning over and caging you beneath him. 

— Please, please. Mercy! 

You were chanting quietly in between sobs for him to stop this madness. But Kylo had you pinned down by your arms, his grips so tight it would leave deep purple bruises. You felt him struggling with his belt and trousers, before he pulled them down. You were hyperventilating, when he rubbed his crotch over your ass.

You could feel his erection clearly on your bare skin. Kylo Ren pushed your thighs apart with his knee, his strength was incomparable to yours. There was no way you could overpower or throw him off. 

He was bigger than you, meaner and more brutal than anyone you knew. The Supreme Leader was taking some sick satisfaction from belittling and tormenting you, his dick excited to taste your tight, warm cunt. 

— At least you’re pretty, huh? Will you sing for me, bird? — He whispered next to your ear, strands of his black hair tickling the side of your face.

When he got so close, you could smell his scent. And all you felt in your nostrils was blood, death and destruction. 

You felt disgust when you noticed the leaking head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He didn’t bother to prepare you anyhow, you were nowhere near being wet enough to take him, but you knew Kylo was intending to hurt you, to cause you pain and discomfort. It all was just to humiliate you, to show where you belong. Beneath the feet of the greatest Knight of Ren. 

So when he forced himself inside of your cunt, every one of your muscles tensed and you wailed in pain, spine bending backwards. 

When he pushed himself to the hilt, you thought you were going to tear. He was thick and stuffed you to the brim. The sudden stretch burned, the head of his cock prodding against your cervix causing further discomfort. 

— And you’ve been hiding this sweet body from me, all this time? — Kylo groaned, the feeling of your pussy squeezing around him causing mighty Ren to stutter. You were so tight. — I should have listened to my advisor sooner. 

Kylo Ren wasn’t generous enough to give you the time to accommodate his size, before he started thrusting brutally. Each time his hips met the curves of your ass, you felt like he was fucking the air out of you. Or perhaps it was his weight pushing you into the mattress. 

The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled your ears and you wanted to disappear. His cruel words echoed on a repeat, his strong hands crushing your forearms just to keep you in place. 

Tears ran down the sides of your face, making a wet stain on the bed sheet. The salty taste of them spreaded over your lips and your cheek pulsated from the earlier punch. 

— Your only purpose now — he spoke out of the sudden, maneuvering you onto your back and pushing his cock back inside causing you to whine — is to serve me and give me pleasure. 

Kylo brought your legs over his hips, spreading them wider, before he leaned over your form on his forearms. He was so close and you couldn’t escape him. Every ounce of strength left your bruised hands as they found their way to his chest, slightly pushing against his muscular chest. 

— Some would find it an honor, yet you’re just crying and whining. Wasn’t I good to you? At least you’re alive.

He slowed down the thrusts and your wails finally quietened. You were breathless, struggling to keep focus on the sentences he was forming. One of his hands started to caress the top of your head, almost like you were… a pet. 

— After everything I’ve done, which you witnessed, wouldn’t you call yourself lucky? Although I have to admit I spoiled you. You’ve got too comfortable. 

And then Kylo started to rut against your core once again with a ruthless pace. You gasped, when he buried himself deeper within each thrust. But this time you could feel the wetness that gathered between your folds and thighs, you could smell it up from there too – blood. 

You cried out as your sensory system was overstimulated. Every inch of your existence hurt — sex, muscles, skin, eyes and mind. And on the top of your excruciating pain and discomfort there was a tickling sensation sneaking in your abdomen, a forming knot that was going to eventually burst.  

— Oh, you’re getting off of this? — You heard his mocking voice above yourself. You turned your head to the side and pretended to curl in a small ball. Just to be invisible and to disappear. 

— N-No.

One of his hands swung quickly towards your face. Afraid of another hit, you pressed your eyes together, but the impact never came. Ren gripped your jaw and shook it, to catch your attention back to him. 

— Don’t fucking lie. I can feel you squeezing around me, I see the lust in your eyes and not a single thought. And those wet sounds — Kylo chuckled — that’s not you, huh?

He wasn’t even focusing on bringing you to the edge, why would he? Your pleasure wasn’t his concern. His on the other hand was your job. Within this brutal act Ren had one goal in mind – to humiliate and belittle you. So when he noticed you were holding yourself back somehow, he gritted his teeth.

— Cum, bitch. Your master commanded you to cum. 

A couple of thrust more and with a sorrowful wail you came around his girth. Your limbs went numb, head tilting backwards, tangling your hair further. With a great effort you managed to swallow the saliva gathered in your mouth and tried to breathe, to calm down. But then there was this brute between your legs, still pounding into you, chasing his release. 

— Thank me when I’m spilling into you — but you bit your lip instead, closing your mouth shut. Kylo reached to your nipple and pinched it painfully with his thumb and forefinger. You screamed in agony. — I told you to fucking thank me, dumb slut!

— T-Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…

You were like a stuck chatterbox, repeating the same phrase over and over again just for his grip on your sensitive nipple finally released. 

With a few more thrust, the Supreme Leader groaned and spilled his warm, sticky cum inside of your cunt. He halted his movements in the air, face hanging low above you – his hot breath swept over your blushed skin and his dark strands of hair tickled your forehead. 

All you could feel was disgust. Towards him, towards yourself. Especially towards yourself. How could your body possibly enjoy in any way what he has done to you? The embarrassment heavied in your chest and you couldn’t find the strength to look at him. 

Without a word he pulled out of you and got up. Then he disappeared in the bathroom, meanwhile you were lying there defenseless, body spasming from adrenaline and pain. Only after a while did you manage to sit up and examine the mess between your legs. And when you did take a look, you wanted to puke.

There was so much blood. 

Blood from the bruising he caused upon you mixed with his spent. It was rubbed all over your inner thighs. Your hands were shaking, throat sore from all the crying. Since the First Order rose to power, you knew the world became a brutal place. But you never thought something as cruel and vicious might actually happen to you. And now, you were Kylo Ren’s toy sentenced to his wicked desires. 

Ren walked out of the shower and placed a stack of folded clothes in front of you. He told you that these are your clothes now and you’re expected to put them on after the night. Then, he proceeded to sit back down next to you, as you wiped your face from tears. 

— Come closer —Kylo patted the bed sheets next to him and slowly you scooped closer. You didn’t want another beating, you were tired. — You’re going to learn other ways to please your master. 

The night was long. 

It seemed endless and even when the sunrise enlightened the bedroom of the Supreme Leader, the pain remained as it was. When you awakened, still in his private chambers, your nightmare was gone. 

You were sitting in a new dress – with cuts on both sides revealing your thighs and ribs, deep v-line barely covering your breasts, sleeveless so everybody could see the yellowish and purple bruises on your arms. Simple slippers and a head piece of small, golden plates separating at the bridge of your nose to the sides. It was an exotic type of fashion you had never seen before. 

The only thing that was missing for now was a collar. 

Kylo Ren wanted to put you on display like a trophy, so everybody could see his new slave girl. Every sign of your struggle and disobedience was imprinted on your skin. A lesson or a warning perhaps for the others.

There was one of the knights that came for you at some point. He escorted you to the throne room in complete silence, the man didn’t even bother to look at you. Kylo stated clearly last night that you were forbidden from looking at the others, so maybe his soldier boy was not allowed to do so too. 

You gathered all of your pride and grace to appear unbothered. Although the walking part was a struggle, your crotch was still sore. 

There was something that slipped through the Supreme Leader’s lips last night that gave you a glimpse of hope. He told you that you were nothing but his slave, yet with time, maybe in a couple of years you would give him an heir. And only then you would become his concubine, never the empress. 

You were young and inexperienced, never really eager to step into politics like your father. However, life can be surprising and nobody really knows what the future holds. After all, we are the masters of our fates. Do you choose to be a meaningless pawn in a tyrant’s game?

No.

You’ve become a player. And with time and careful preparations you were going to take back what’s yours – freedom. But for now, you had to sing for him nicely just as you were told. Slowly, step by step. 

Right now your priority was to survive. 

The throne was on a pedestal and mighty Kylo Ren was sitting on it – proud and cruel. He curled his fingers pointing at you, he was calling you. You walked through the room, the Knight of Ren went in his own direction as you sat down on a cushion beneath the feet of the Supreme Leader. The man grinned and petted your head. A reward.  

The legend of a raven haired boy named Ben Solo of a Skywalker ancestry was all a lie. There was no savior for the Galaxy, no messiah. That boy was long gone and a vile monster was born in his place. 

The Supreme Leader, Emperor Kylo Ren with a little bird by his side.

[acearcane]

June of Doom, Day 20

"I can handle it." | Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect

@juneofdoom

Word count: 2718 Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV) Content warnings: Brief passive suicidal ideation, language

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56801968

I Don't Know Why I Bite

Five woke with the taste of ash on his tongue.

He shot upright, narrowly avoiding braining himself on the underside of the top bunk. His breath came in short gasps, his body trembling violently. He curled his fingers into his scratchy blanket, his mind flying too fast to think.

Everytime he closed his eyes, the memories nipped at the back of his brain, carving fresh wounds into his mind.

Ash, settling across his shoulders like freshly fallen snow. Drifting into his eyes, biting and burning where it made contact. Coating the inside of his mouth, his tongue, and choking the back of his throat. Filling his lungs, until he couldn’t speak without coughing, blood splattering the hand he raised to his lips.

It was all he could see. All he could taste. All he could feel. The apocalypse had been a fire, the earth its fast-fading ember. Nothing left in the world, save himself and the endless sea of gray that crunched and shifted beneath his feet as he walked.

For you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

How long until he crumbled along with everything else he had known and loved?

Five rubbed anxious circles into his chest, desperately trying to slow the fluttering pace of his heart. His pulse surged in his eardrums, drowning out anything and everything, his vision flickering in the dim lightning of the room. He wasn’t there anymore; he had gotten out. He wasn’t there anymore; he was home, he was safe.

Or… however close to home he could be, after their last ill-planned attempt to escape the apocalypse.

Five fought the urge to cough, trying to reason with himself. He wasn’t choking. There wasn’t any smoke or ash. That taste, the one in the back of his throat… it was all in his head. His lungs were fine, mercifully replaced by the same accident that left him stranded in his younger body.

His heart rate began to slow, his breath evening out as the terror relinquished its claws from his chest. Five hugged his knees to his chest, letting the reality of his situation wash over him.

He was in a hotel-- Hotel Obsidian, if he was remembering correctly. One of Klaus’s old haunts. A predictably peculiar place, considering the brother that recommended it. Their home, the Academy… wasn’t gone, per say. Just under new management, ruled over by an angry batch of superhumans that called themselves ‘the Sparrow Academy’. The old man’s new pets, Five thought grimly. Good riddance; if he had to spend another second of his time trying to barter with that sardonic old meatbag, he might as well kill himself.

The apocalypse was over. They had escaped it once again. They were safe.

He wondered how long it would take for him to truly accept that.

Five kicked back the sheets, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The bunk above him creaked as Klaus rolled over in his sleep, murmuring something under his breath. Diego’s rattling snores rose from the futon where he had stretched himself out. And Luther… Five curled his lip. Whatever Luther had eaten for dinner clearly wasn’t agreeing with him.

The room suddenly felt suffocating, and not just because of the smell. It was too crowded, too hot. Five could hear his brothers, all breathing out of sync, and the sound made his skin prickle. He just needed a moment of fresh air. Sleep was out of the question anyway.

Grabbing his robe from where he’d draped it next to the bed, Five bundled up and made for the door. Careful not to wake his brothers, he eased the room door open and stepped out into the hall, his shoulders relaxing the moment the silence washed over him. Letting the door shut behind him, Five found that he could breathe easy again.

He paced down the hall, worrying with the sleeve of his bathrobe. His body still felt heavy with exhaustion, but his mind was moving too quickly to relax. He would’ve liked to sleep--Five couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full night’s rest--but the idea of slipping back into that wasteland was enough to keep him moving.

He could almost forget it from time to time, all of those years spent trapped in the apocalypse. When the problems in front of him consumed his vision, or when the heavy weight of liquor muddied his thoughts, Five could almost ignore the ghost in his mind. Then he would try to slow down, try to rest--whether by choice or by the harsh reality of his body giving out--and the apocalypse would rear its ugly head again, trying to drag him back into the nightmare from which he had barely escaped.

Five shuddered, struck by a sudden wave of dizziness. He gripped the wall, his heart speeding up again as the acrid tang of ash wormed its way back into his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ride out the wave of panic that washed over him.

I can handle it, he thought to himself, his inner voice tinged with desperation. It’ll be over in a minute.

He needed a drink. Something to slow his mind. Maybe if he drank enough, the alcohol would lull him into dreamless sleep, although he wasn’t sure if the hangover the next morning would be worth it.

More than anything, Five missed Delores. He missed having someone to talk to, someone to help him rationalize the fear that threatened to choke him. His siblings wouldn’t understand; they were too naive, too emotional. They’d get worried and patronizing, and that was the last thing Five wanted.

No, he wanted Delores. He needed Delores. He shouldn’t have left her, two timelines ago. Now she was gone, and no amount of wishful thinking would bring her back. Once again, Five’s lack of foresight had screwed him over. For someone who could jump through time itself, he found that he could be painfully nearsighted.

Five sank to the floor, his head cradled in his hands. God, he was so tired. His teenage body was heavy with exhaustion, throbbing from scrapes and bruises sustained in their earlier fights. He didn’t have the stamina he used to, even if he did have the vitality of youth. But everytime he tried to close his eyes, even to blink, a burnt-out landscape would flash through his mind's eye.

“Five?”

The soft voice jarred him out of his thoughts, and Five nearly broke his neck when he whipped around to see who had spoken.

Viktor stood a few feet away, still dressed in the same clothes he had left the 1960s in. He looked about as exhausted as Five felt, his freshly-cut hair tangled and mussed, dark circles carving half-moons under his eyes. He was hesitating visibly, as if he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to approach. It was sweet, Five had to admit, but the cynical part of him griped that Viktor was old enough to know to take initiative.

When Five didn’t respond, Viktor pressed, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Five shook his head slowly. “No.”

His brother seemed to take that as an invitation to join him. Slumping against the wall at his side, Viktor admitted softly. “Yeah, me neither.” He looked so tortured, his brown eyes glassy and unfocused, that Five couldn’t help but feel concerned.

“Do you miss…” Five trailed off, desperately wracking his brain for the woman’s name, “...Sissy?” He had met Viktor’s lover a grand total of once, but he could tell the blonde woman had meant a lot to his brother.

Viktor winced, his face clouding over. “I do,” he said with a wry chuckle. “Which is stupid, because I know it was safer for her to stay in 1963, but…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers together anxiously. His eyes flicked to Five, and he asked, “Are you okay, though?”

What an odd question. Five shrugged. Of course he was okay; he and his family were finally some semblance of safe, and they had managed to leave the apocalypse in the 1960s. Five was the most okay he had been in decades.

So why didn’t it feel quite right?

“I’m fine,” he answered after a few tense moments, staring down at his hands. He could almost swear there was still blood crusted beneath his fingernails, a final trophy from the Board’s massacre. Five swallowed, suddenly nauseous.

“Are you sure?” Viktor pressed, scooting closer to him. “Five… if… if you want to talk about it, I…”

“I’m fine, Viktor,” Five repeated, his voice mercifully stronger this time. “I… I just had a nightmare. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Five,” Viktor repeated gently, “You know you don’t have to go it alone, right? You can talk to us. You can talk to me.”

“Talk about what?” Five laughed incredulously. “My nightmare? I’m not a child, Viktor. It was just a dream; I’ll get over it.”

Viktor was studying him thoughtfully; Five could see an idea forming in his brother’s mind, and he didn’t like it. Leaning forward, Viktor asked, “Have you ever thought about seeing someone? Like, a therapist?”

Something about this conversation felt uncomfortably familiar. Five could almost remember Viktor saying something similar, the night Five had jumped back to 2019. “What, in the two weeks since I got back?” he snapped. “No, it hasn’t crossed my mind. Can’t really say I had time for it, what with trying to stop the apocalypse and saving your sorry asses. Why do you ask?”

“Everything you went through…” Viktor furrowed his brow, searching for the right words. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re carrying a lot with you. You know you don’t have to do that, right?  You don’t have to be miserable all the time.”

Five bristled. “If you’re trying to scold me for being an asshole-”

“I’m not!” Viktor cut him off, his voice tipping up defensively. “I promise I’m not. God, I’m too tired for this-” he paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I mean, if you’re hurting, you don’t have to keep hurting. It’s not weak to get help.”

Preposterous. That sounded immensely weak to Five. He had never had time for feelings, ironically enough. All they did was get in the way, slow him down. It was primitive to allow oneself to be controlled by their emotions. They were a distraction and nothing more. He could be at peace, whatever that meant, when he was dead.

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “I can see you disagreeing with me.”

“I’m not… necessarily,” Five hedged, unwilling to set his brother off again. Perhaps, if he kept nodding along, Viktor would grow tired of this therapist schtick and move on. Not quite his usual method of winning an argument, but he really wasn’t in the mood to keep fighting.

“One of the smartest moves someone can do is recognize when they need help. And really, all it does is make you a better person,” Viktor continued, scuffing his sneakers against the faded carpet. He cast Five a soft smile. “And I know you’re all about smart.”

The show of affection proved too much for Five’s already tender nerves. He shied away from his brother, equally compelled and repulsed by Viktor’s concern. Pressing his hands together, eager to shut down the conversation, Five told him, “Viktor, I appreciate it, I really do. But I honestly don’t have time for-”

“What scares you so much about needing other people?” Viktor interrupted, his gaze intensifying.

His heart rate quickening, Five hissed, “I’m not scared.”

And he wasn’t. He was being reasonable. The only person you could truly trust was yourself; Five had learned that lesson time and time again. Friends, family… They were all walking potential disappointments. They abandoned you, betrayed you, made idiotic calls that hurt you and everyone else you loved. No, Five was more than happy to rely on himself and himself only.

“Five,” Viktor’s voice softened. “That’s our dad talking in your head, telling you to bottle it all up. Stop taking his shitty advice and let yourself feel. Maybe you’ve got powers, but you’re still human.”

Five’s mental tirade hiccuped to a stop. He had the strange desire to laugh, which he smothered by burying his face in his hands again. God, was he human? Five wasn’t so sure sometimes. He had spent so long isolated from everyone and everything, including himself, that he almost felt like an alien when tossed back into ordinary life. Not to mention the blood staining his hands, staining his soul, the blood that he could never quite wash out…

And what had Viktor meant, bringing up their dad like that? Five had done everything in his power to be the opposite of Reginald; he had spat in the old man’s face time and time again, fighting back against his orders and his training. Of course, doing so had landed Five in the equivalent of hell for forty-five years…

Oh, god. Maybe he was more fucked up than he had thought.

Five hadn’t realized he was shaking until Viktor’s arms closed around him, oh-so gently. That urge to fight back, pull away, had completely evaporated. For once in his life, Five so desperately needed something to tether him back to reality. Still trembling, he leaned into his brother’s chest, his hands pressed against his pounding heart. Viktor’s arms were warm and heavy, their comforting weight dragging Five back to earth.

“Fuck,” Five breathed out shakily. His mouth tasted like ash again.

“You’re not alone, Five,” Viktor whispered, his chin bumping against the top of Five’s head. “You’re not alone.”

The warm prickling at the back of Five’s eyes was entirely unfamiliar, and it set off alarm bells all across his body. He carefully extracted himself from his brother’s arms, rubbing his hands across his knees to soothe himself. Turning his head away, Five forced the words, “Thank you,” between his lips.

“Yeah.” He could feel the weight of Viktor’s sad smile, boring into the back of his skull. “Of course. Any time, Five.”

“I… don’t want to talk to anyone,” Five murmured, still refusing to meet his brother’s gaze. “I might traumatize the shrink.”

Viktor gave a soft laugh. “You might actually have a point.”

Five allowed himself a small smile before turning back to face his brother. “But,” he continued, letting the word hang in the air, “I’ll try to stop being so much of a stubborn asshole.”

Viktor held up his hands in protest, a grin tugging at his lips. “Hey, your words, not mine.”

“You were thinking them.”

“I promise I wasn’t.”

Five leaned back against the faded wallpaper, waiting for the last of the panic to trickle out of his veins. It left him feeling exhausted and hollow… and in desperate need of a pick-me-up.

“I think I need a drink,” he announced, pushing himself to his feet. He wobbled there for a moment until his shaky legs remembered how to work.

Viktor gazed up at him, bemused. “At 4 am?”

“I think,” Five repeated, crossing his arms, “I need a drink.”

His brother narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I know I should tell you no, but…” he trailed off, sticking out a hand. “Help me up.”

Five jerked Viktor his feet, patting his brother’s shoulder as he stepped away. “Let’s go get blackout drunk. I need it after that shitshow.” He started off down the hall, refusing to look behind him but secretly hoping that Viktor would follow.

His brother caught up to him a moment later, and Five willfully ignored the way his spirits lifted, just slightly. “What, me talking to you about your feelings?” Viktor teased, a warm grin on his face. “Or everything back in 1963?”

Five waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Yes.”

He hesitated, then added, “And Viktor… I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell the others about…” he trailed off, the thought of verbalizing what had just happened making him sick to his stomach. So what if he had trouble admitting weakness? His brothers and sister still didn’t need to know about every little nightmare or panic attack. It wasn’t that big of a deal, truly.

To Five’s relief, Viktor didn’t press it. “I won’t,” he promised simply.

“Good. Then let’s go get that drink.”

[marvelmaniac715]

A Paulkotho poem I wrote, from Pokey’s perspective, that could also be a song (picture a slow ballad, almost the tempo of ‘Fairytale Of New York’). It’s set after Paul goes through the apotheosis:

Heart of my heart, press your lips now to mine

And as my breath is stolen let our fingers entwine

I’ve waited for forever just for this moment, for us two

And I’d wait longer still if it’d let me love you

Don’t weep now as I hold you, let my melodies drown out

Every measly care your poor heart frets about

For I do love thee and that shall always be true

Even as your eyes become a brighter shade of blue

I come from a world where they cannot understand

The longing I’ve felt just to hold your hand

I’ve been mocked and teased, love, I swear, endlessly

Until I see you and my pain begins to cease

I’ve loved you since the moment you first scorned what I adore

I knew that your brave spirit was worth fighting for

So kiss me once more as the town in which you reside

Turns to ash before us, watch it crumble and die

We’ll make our marriage bed from the rubble left behind

So that the scholars and historians, our love they shall find

Your eyes are still bright, but they’ve lost their sharp gleam

This level of subservience, from you I’ve never seen

Which now begs the question, as you emotionlessly stand

Do I love the idea of you or do I love the man?

[webanglikethat]

My writing: “I want to save myself from this friendship even tho it feels like I’ve sold myself to keep this friendship”

— based on this message one of my best friends sent me. (not about me tho!!!!)

𐙚⭑𓂃────────𓂃⭑𐙚𐙚⭑𓂃────────

after all these months, one truth resides in the graveyard of your deception. I’ve given every last drop of my blood for you, but you were a vampire who couldn’t get enough — well, not of me, I’ll clarify that in your place so don’t worry. I won’t stain your name with mine, so you can live as if you didn’t desecrate the temple of my body, as if you didn’t slain my head.

fact is, you couldn’t get enough of my begging, 

of the white in my eyes matching 

the white on my skin. 

you craved my pleas, my cries so raw, 

devouring each whimper, each agonizing draw.

your thirst was unquenchable for my agony's flow,

drinking in my terror with a sinister yet sweet glow.

my heart was a canvas for your morbid design,

and now all there’s left is a fine line.

what is an artist, if not a madden man?

what is love, if not a comical shattered land? 

you craved to see me crumble, drop after drop, as you watched it descend like a greedy tourist 

that admired the Niagara Falls. 

(or maybe that is just my selfish wishful thinking, 

to be loved by you like I’m some kind of tourist attraction and not a mere distraction, and for this to not always be a mere spectacle but a full love transaction. to be cherished without hesitation and not just viewed through a lens of fascination. I yearn to be your everything, your glove, but I fear I'm just a passing thought thereof.

i longed to be seen, not just as a sight,

but as a living creature cherished by you, 

bathed in your sweet love's light.

a person, a soul or a spirit within,

but in your eyes, i was the monster, the sin.

you painted me as darkness and as the beast,

until all my beauty was deceased.

a graveyard of my being, a funeral of my own, 

as you reveled in the terror you yourself have sown.

i sold my light for you, 

yet you blew the candles.

i offered my glow, 

but you extinguished it eagerly leaving emptiness to grow.

i would’ve given you all of my midnights, 

all of my 11:11, every star's soft highlights.

every wish and every candle, 

i offered to you on a platter,

but you dismissed them all, 

leaving my heart shattered.

but i continued and offered my heart on a platter

with the blood still fresh and warm 

so in the winter you wouldn’t freeze 

because even then? you’re all i wanted to please.

(but in the end, it was my soul that felt the squeeze.)

but instead of tenderness, you chose to scorn, 

ripping it apart, like flesh and hope. 

bloodied hands and a twisted grin, 

leaving me hollow, beneath my skin. 

yet, i still would’ve kissed your dimple, 

even as your cruelty made my heart tremble.

you never were a monster to me,

even as you bared my veins free. 

“but stain me with your blood 

and I'll repent because it wasn't mine that spread”

this is what I had promised you as you forced me to fled. (I no longer have a homeland) 

but what else can i sell to make you stay,

when all my deals have turned gray? 

shall i start a fire with the flow of my tears 

that, akin to boiling water, weave agony 

onto my dear body’s fears? 

if i tear my flesh and burn it on an altar’s pew,

will you finally grasp the depth of my rue?

will you care or leave me bare? 

as crimson rivers flow and flesh turns to ash,

will you stay by my side, or leave in a dash?

if you’re an empty cup, i am the burned cloth,

ragged, torn apart, in torment, I'm loath.

yet, still — i wash you, though my threads fray,

even as my essence begins to decay.

in your emptiness, i find my role,

a martyr to love, a broken soul.

you’re the spilt milk, the stain that won't fade, 

and i am the sponge, absorbing memories in vain.

i rip open pieces of my body as a desperate attempt,

to search for the good in me but it is all unkempt.

all which greets me are inutile streams of my blood and fragments of my flesh, and your face, haunting, refusing to delete or refresh.

you, you, you

you linger in every corner and every cell of my being,

transported in every blood cell — a residing evil unseeing.

you promised the world 

then put its weight on my shoulders 

and I mistook it for a gift, 

like some kind of stockholder. 

you, you, you

the problem remains that I'd hold your burning body with its flesh melting off the bone and the smell of tender muscle in the air, because maybe maybe maybe then you'd love me, maybe then you'd see the depths of my care, the extent of my love’s despair.

as your skin would char and peel in the searing heat,

i would hold you close like a dear treat. the flames would lick at your skin, and i would be jealous of them. (yearning for the touch that leads to your doom? or yearning for the touch in which love could bloom?) if I cannot be the cure, should I be the poison? and if I cannot heal, should I destroy and rejoice? 

with each blistering pain i’d whisper my love away like a desperate refrain. i would remain, i would remain, i would remain. and there would be nothing for me to gain. forever a maid in your tyrannical reign. 

yet still, i would cling to hope in the flames' cruel dance, for even as I burn all i would worry about is your body temperature’. for even as I suffer consumed by the flame's roar, your well-being would be the love i still fiercely adore. i would burn myself to keep you warm, give you my last breath, my last touch, my last word, my end. but i wasn’t even mentioned in the footnotes of your life, so what a fk silent fife.

in the final moments as the flames engulf my soul,

i am left with the bitter truth, that i’ll never be whole.

for in loving you, i lost Myself, as if i was some kind of forgotten note on a bookshelf.

i sold my own true Self to entertain Your theater,

i danced to your tune, played the role you assigned,

but in the end, it was my own soul I resigned.

i was but a puppet, trapped in your lies.

i sold Myself for you but what did I gain?

nothing but heartache, nothing but pain.

yet, yet, yet (the story begins again)

i care not for my wings of wax, 

nor the fragility of each leap's tracks.

nor the physics of this realm's flow,

nor the low success rates that show.

if i shatter because i lack you near,

what difference does it make if i disappear?

i’d rather fall and turn to ash after having you near,

(even if just for a minute, a second, a fleeting cheer)

but i will never be the same, 

for i have learned that your love 

will always be just a game.

apollo, your icarus awaits you. 

𐙚⭑𓂃────────𓂃⭑𐙚𐙚⭑𓂃───────

note: thanks for reading this if you can see this <3 I don’t expect anyone to read this or care, but if you’re here it means we are gonna get married actually 😼😼 also I’m never trying to rhyme again

[starry-blue-echoes]

The final OP of stone ocean gave me the silliest idea. Essentially I saw how they made callbacks to the Phantom Blood OP, having Pucci and Joylne fight in the crumbling remains of the Joestar mansion, just as Dio and Jonathan once did. Well let's make this literal, shall we? 😉 The end of the old universe goes exactly as canon, Pucci kills all his enemies but Emporio escapes. Except what awaits him after the end... isn't the prison. Instead he finds himself in a home richer than anything he's ever read in his books. And it's on FIRE. Two men he's never seen before are locked in a fight to the death, screaming and lashing, and with everything he's already gone through, now THIS? His heart is about to give out- until the Priest shows up in the door frame. And says they're in the new year of this universe's 1889. As Emporio forgets all about the two strange guys and decides to fucking HOOF it for dear life, he can hear Pucci tailing him ever so steady, despite the horrible heat from all sides, explaining what heaven REALLY was, how he and Dio planned this for so long, how all his enemies were gone except one, and he was gonna finish it in the place where it ALL started. Through ash and embers, the last hope of the joestars will die with their ancestral home. The hallways are a maze, and he can't even breathe. The child pitifully is reduced to a crawl, lungs heaving the smoke, and the priest closes in on his final victim, not noticing how Dio and Jonathan's attention have turned to them the moment their presence became known...

OOOOOOOOOO YESSSSSSSSSSSS

Oh my god I ADORE this and I had a fucking THOUGHT

because of course Jonathan is going to be concerned. He's just spotted a child being chased through a burning building, absolutely terrified

but Dio...... with Dio it's going to feel more personal :)

normally Dio wouldn't have cared. By all means, he shouldn't have. He had no idea who this child was and therefor would have no investment in his safety or wellbeing

but then through the smoke and ash, Dio manages to make something out

Blonde hair and gold eyes with a man looming over

"Ironic, is it not. That with her final breath she futilely kept you safe from me." the man speaks, and just over the din of cracking wood and snapping fire Dio can make out the words. "And just like her, there will be no one left to mourn you."

And Dio remembers soft hands keeping him safe and holding him close being brutally ripped away before his eyes, remembers his only protection and happiness being cooling and dying while he did nothing, remembers the sharp scent of alcohol and the ache of bruises, remembers trying to get away but always being pulled back, remembers begging, pleading for it to stop but it always falling on deaf ears, remembers remembers REMEMBERS-

and Dio

sees

red

his battle with Jonathan is all but forgotten as he bolts across the room, the man's neck easily found in his grip and hauled up into the air. He doesn't even attempt to drink the man's blood, doesn't want the filth that reminds him to much of his father staining his stomach, and instead stares into him with every ounce of hatred he has. The carnal part, the predator part of his mind that had been heighten to an incredible degree and lusts for his death

so he does. Barely gives the man a chance to react, to speak, to comprehend what was happening to him. Looking back Dio almost thinks he saw something akin to recognition in the man's eyes, but he just waves it off as something conjured by his clouded mind

and Emporio...... he can only stare. Pucci, Whitesnake, the man who'd been haunting him since he knew how to walk, who'd killed EVERYONE...... was simply dealt with just like that

he should probably be afraid of the man who killed him. After all, obviously the man was a Stand User, there wasn't any other way to explain how fast he moved or how strong he was or the slitted eyes

But Emporio honestly couldn't care less

he'd seen monsters. You didn't grow up in a prison without learning very quickly how to tell the monsters apart from the rest

and right now....... this man wasn't a monster. Monstrous maybe, but not a monster

"What's your name, boy?" he asks, his voice deep but also quiet, as if he can't believe what he's seeing

"My name is Emporio." he says back

(tl:dr, vampires are just murderous cats with opposable thumbs and Emporio has obtained One(1) new father figure and Dio, who doesn't want to be a shitty dad, is Doing His Best To Make Him Genuinely Happy and if that means having to get along with Jojo then so be it)

((doesn't mean he has to like it though))

[ponder-the-orb]

Snippet Sunday!

I actually got tagged last week by @alpydk but had literally nothing to share (plus I was DYING after Comic Con) so I'm starting off today with a snippet from the next chapter of Broken Things:

“I know thy request. And you, my answer.” Withers speaks with the same moth-soft drawl she remembers, like echoes in some infinitely large library, ancient and interminable. And annoying.

Ciri crosses the room until those unsettlingly bloody eyes are just inches away.

“Bring him back.”

“No.”

“That’s it. Just, no?”

“Yes.”

Her fists clench against her cloak. Deep in her gut she’d known this would be his response, it’s the exact reason she hadn’t sought him out herself, even if she had known where to start. It does nothing to stop a fresh anger roiling like hot oil through her. 

“You resurrected us countless times. We perished for so many ridiculous, and frankly, unavoidable reasons and you still did it– easily. You puppeted the corpses of dead absolutists for us, watched as hundreds died at our hands, died for us or alongside us and yet only we were deemed special enough to be brought back. What’s changed?”

“The path of fate required thine allies to live and thwart the plan of the Dead Three. This task is now complete. So too is mine,” he answers flatly. 

“I have gold.”

“The matter of coin is irrelevant. My charge now is to simply remain until once again I am called to rest. This cannot be changed.”

She turns away from him with shaking lips and an acid tongue.

“You once asked me what the value of a single mortal life was. I told you what I truly believed at the time: that none is worth more than any other.” Her voice is quietly even, almost as flat as his. “It seemed like such an obvious answer at the time. With every job I had taken before, I had always tried to avoid killing– so sure there was always another way. And yet barely a day later I was killing without a shred of guilt, burning through people as easily as parchment in my hearth. I was skilled at it. And I told myself it was for the greater good, to save the world and then later, to save the people I cared about. But does that really change what I did? Change the judgement I’ll receive when I finally leave this plane?”

When she turns back, her hands are wreathed in flame, itching to lash out. “So I don’t care what I have to do now to claw back the one life that matters most.” She imagines the withered bark of his skin burning and crumbling, catching faster than summer’s driest wood. It’s always the stench that lingers the longest, that pungent scent of charred skin and bone– then again, she has no idea if there’s even any flesh left to smell.

Withers doesn’t move. “Rend me to ash if thou please. It shall change nothing. No matter the power of the magic or the divine, everything shall become dust and bone eventually. All of Iraxys’ fire in thy blood cannot rewrite the laws of this world.”

Her hand trembles but she closes her fist before the flames can leap.

“Fine,” she whispers, extinguishing the fire in her palm. “If the path of fate is truly set then… then tell me that I can do this. Tell me that I will succeed.”

“That which is yet to come is not one straight road. It branches and splinters each time a new day dawns.” Withers holds out his arms, gesturing around as if painting that road himself. “There is no certainty that I can give for how thou shalt live.”

She slaps her hands to her sides at his non-answer, one step away from pulling him close and shaking him until all those bones rattle and fall apart before her. “But is there a way? Please, tell me.”

Withers stays silent for a long moment. Ciri waits, almost sure he’s simply given up on the conversation before she catches something in his face. She wants to call it a trick of the light or her own eyes adjusting from the brightness of her flame, but she is almost certain that his eyes flash, drawing focus to her for the first time ever.

 “Yes,” he answers. “It would be long and marked with sacrifices perhaps unimaginable to thee now, but yes.”

***

Tagging @alpydk and @mellybaggins!

[flyingwide]

@cruelfeline replied to your post: Make me suffer.

Ask and ye shall receive

Frey limped away as fast as she could, hand pressed to her sluggishly bleeding waist. It didn't matter. It didn't matter at all, not when she could finally, finally feel a familiar presence inside her again.

The twinned desperation she had felt when he'd rushed back to her was gone, replaced with the steadiness of a clear goal. She got what she came for and now it was time to go.

"Sorry to rush you," she said, feeling his haziness as if it were her own and hating the bastards that had done it to him, "but I really need a way out."

"I..." he said before trailing off. She hadn't realized how much she had needed to hear his voice again until he spoke. "Yes. Let me..."

There was that familiar rush of shared magic as they reached out together for a path. But it felt wrong and Frey realized why almost immediately.

Instead of golden birds rushing around corners and towards the exit, they got mere feet from her before they turned black, dropping like lead weights before they burned to ash. Once it began, it didn't stop, dead birds dropping from him before they crumbled to nothing.

"I'm sorry," he said weakly. That, more than anything made her breath catch and her eyes sting. "I have to rid myself of what has... atrophied."

[desertdollranch]

In one week's time, I will become the lady of this house. This news has come quite suddenly, and I be as surprised as anyone else. But Mother gathered us all around her this morning, to tell us of her dream, or rather a vision, in which she boarded a ship that crossed unknown waters to an unknown land. Upon disembarking, she set her foot on land and did behold the dead and barren vegetation, laid waste by mold and rot, that seemed to crumble to ash under her feet as she walked in the direction of a mighty mountain, far in the distance. But as she turned to gaze behind where she had trod, indeed her footsteps did leave a trail of vibrant and resplendent greenery, that did grow more rapidly than a garden in spring. She may have dismissed this vision as merely a dream, if she had not been awoken, hours before dawn, by the sound of a vigorous knock on the front door. It was her friend, Mercy Jarrett, who had to tell Mother about the dream she had dreamt, in which she sailed to a strange land overrun by dead vines, which had sprung to new life at her touch. 'Twas a dream entirely like Mother's. Mother takes this to mean that God hath called her and Mistress Jarrett to be Public Friends. That is, to travel together as itinerant preachers, as many other women like them have done, and share the Quaker faith to those whose hearts would hear it and be moved by it. In seven days shall they depart, and I will, as I said, take Mother's responsibilities as my own. She did reassure me that it will only be a little time, maybe less than a year. Until then, she trusts that I will care for the home in her absence, not only in the the household duties but as a loving caretaker for Saul, Amos, and Henry, who are too little to understand why Mother has left. I know not if this will be an easy task for me, or if I shall find it frustrating. But if Mother be so brave as to heed a God-given vision, then surely I can shoulder this much less difficult burden.

I'm pleased to remember that only the day before yesterday did I complete a piece of fancy stitchery, which Mother praised for its beauty in its simplicity. I think she might like to bring it with her, for it will be a small consolation to me, knowing that Mother hath received a memento of my stitchery. Just as she hears the whisper of God's voice when she looks upon her heart, she will hear the whisper of my love and admiration when she sees my gift.

[kettlequills]

more miralda.

It is a rare clear day in Winterhold when Faralda seeks Mirabelle out in the courtyard. A pale grey sun is wan in a brilliantly blue, breathtakingly cold sky. Ice cracks when Faralda puts her shoulder to the door from the Hall of Countenance; the cold instantly slips needy nips into the seams of her clothes. She breathes deep and ignites the fire-wick inside herself, feeding it and fanning it with morsels of magic. Smoke wisps from her nostrils when she exhales, curling over the tips of her ears like the warm licks of a summer breeze.

The outspread arms of Shalidor are daggered with icicles. The wind whistles between them like they are the grinning teeth of ice-wraiths. The ghosts from the sea reaching up to the lonely College on its bulwark perched on the crumbling edge of the abyss find no purchase today, the courtyard is salted, sweet and lovely, melting ice making mirrorlike pools to the sky, blue within blue. Salt-grit sparkles on the pathways and crunches beneath Faralda’s boots.

Mirabelle is perched on a bench beneath Shalidor, leaning back against the carven robes with her face angled to the watery sun. An empty teacup, no longer steaming, sits politely at her hip. Her eyes are closed against the light, but a book rests in her lap. Her finger holds her place, tucked between the pages. 

“Mirabelle!” calls Faralda, and Mirabelle twitches. Sheepishly, she blinks her eyes open, shading her eyes against the thin, sharp light with her hand. 

Faralda stops short, her robes swirling around her ankles, and something cold and thin in her chest curls up to die. Mirabelle, who never rests, let herself sleep in the sun - until Faralda woke her.

“Faralda,” Mirabelle says at last, squinting up at her. Consciously, Faralda sidesteps so that the sun does not silhouette her tall figure quite so dramatically. Her shadow falls over Mirabelle’s cheek, wiping the sun-sparkle from her deep brown eyes. 

“How can I help?” asks the Master Wizard professionally, straightening up. Faralda’s gaze falls to Mirabelle’s nimble hands, sliding her omnipresent scrap of parchment out of the back of her book and leaning it against her lap. She shakes a quill from her sleeve, wetting the nib with a flick of magic. Her slender finger slips free of its place, Faralda watches the book fall shut and wonders if it misses her touch, her warmth. 

The chance of any remark or apology turns to ashes on her tongue. Stiffly, Faralda clasps her hands behind her back before they get any stray, stupid ideas about the dark lock of hair that tickles Mirabelle’s cheek.

“The room scheduling came out yesterday-” she begins sternly, and Mirabelle pinches the bridge of her nose. Her fingertips turn white at the end when she puts pressure on. Her hand drags over her cheek as she drops it back into her lap, exposing the secret softness of her palm; Faralda’s ear tips warm.

“Ah, yes,” she interrupts, wearily, “The Archmage’s efforts were-”

“-Appreciated, quite,” Faralda adds, staring rigidly at a shrunken snowberry bush, “But I am afraid I cannot have remedial Destruction students sharing class-space with ‘Alchemical Approaches to Combat’. I should think the issue is clear. Bombs do not mix well with uncontrolled fire.”

“Certainly, Professor,” says Mirabelle, “I shall have an updated schedule that takes into account our preexisting risk assessments sent round by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank you,” says Faralda, grimacing over that near-disaster. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Mirabelle asks. She checks her list, quill dancing over the neat, tidy scrawl. “Ah - did you sign for the shipment from Birna this morning…?”

“She is expecting the delivery at the end of the week, now,” Faralda says, “I took the liberty of informing the cooks already. The menu has been adjusted.”

Mirabelle blinks, as if startled to find a job already completed without her input. She smiles, small, spidery lines around her eyes crinkling up. 

“Well, that is a relief,” she says lightly, and the line of Faralda’s spine itches. 

She stirs the embers turning over in her gut to a flare of magic which settles around Mirabelle’s shoulders, a flameless cloak that radiates a heat so strong it distorts the air. Mirabelle shivers pleasantly, leaning back against the statue.

“Oh, don’t,” she says, not sounding as if she minds in the slightest, “You’ll have me dozing off.”

“If you are at risk of such anywhere outside in Winterhold, perhaps you ought to prioritise your rest before you freeze to death,” Faralda retorts, “Unless, of course, you are so eager to resign your position that any death will do, in which case I may remind you that you are hardly the only capable sorcerer with a head for paperwork in the College.”

Unexpectedly, Mirabelle snorts at that. It is a peculiarly graceless sound; she covers her mouth when she does it. Her hand is trembling finely, worse than usual. When the sun catches her short, round nails they gleam, and Faralda’s stomach flips. The folds of skin over Mirabelle’s knuckles and the joints of her fingers are lined with creases, as delicate as the smile lines by her eyes, lips.

Decisive, Faralda sits quickly beside her, fussing with the fall of her robes. The heat from her spell radiates off Mirabelle and glosses the ice garlanding Shalidor’s steep and stern face. Mirabelle moves the teacup to make space. Faralda’s eyes fail to make their way back up to her face, instead, she lingers over looking at Mirabelle neatly folding the parchment back into book and tucking the quill away, absorbed by her efficient movement. 

She has a scholar’s hands, lithe and soft, with wide knuckles and sturdy wrists; hands that could be strong, if she wanted them to be. There is a long-faded magic burn on her left hand, barely perceptible from the natural warm shade of her skin, the only sign of Mirabelle casting once long ago a spell too great for her reserves. It is perhaps just the right size to be kissed.

The silence that falls between them is not uncomfortable. Faralda watches the ice melt on the tightly-furled leaves of the withered snowberry, dripping into the ashen dirt. Out of the corner of her eye, she observes Mirabelle fiddling with the book; On Oblivion. Her fingers delve in and out of the pages, feathering them against her skin as if she enjoys the sensation. Mirabelle suddenly glances up; caught before she can look away, Faralda’s ears pink and pin back. 

Quietly, Mirabelle asks, “I’ve seen you looking. Do you like my hands, Faralda?”

Faralda flushes up painfully; her stomach is lumpen and leaden with cold dread. Ice slides down her spine in thick, ashen clunks, like dropping failed experiments off the bridge into the deathgrip of the churning black water. Her grip on her robes turns rigid; she wishes, abruptly, to plunge into the sea or erupt into flames - whichever would be the speedier death. “You mock me.”

“No, not at all,” Mirabelle says at once, insistently earnest. Faralda senses she is looking at her with her big, dark eyes, but Faralda cannot bring herself to raise her gaze from the pathetic snowberry bush; she stares at its twisted, shrunken branches and sees not a thing. “Not at all,” Mirabelle repeats. There is a softening in her voice; something like gentleness, something not bearable at all.

Faralda wars with herself; she strangles lightning behind her teeth, swallows bile rancid as tar. Her muscles are tense; she realises, dimly, she is shaking, and on the heels of that awareness comes a sudden and intense surging of something too incandescent for rage. She balls her hands into fists and forces the angry sparks of magicka into a smooth, controlled burn of smoke out her throat. Her nostrils fog like thready campfire.

Mirabelle waits, unmoving except the over-exhausted tremor in her hands clasped neatly in her lap. “I may be mistaken, of course,” she says, very kindly. 

Faralda’s lips cram into an agonisingly thin line. She is silent for a long, dragging moment, for she cannot quite bring herself to speak.

“Nothing would change if I was,” Mirabelle adds, “I believe, perhaps, I-”

“You are not,” Faralda’s voice grinds out from some horrible, wretched pit, “mistaken.”

Shoulders slumping, Mirabelle’s breath whooshes out of her. She presses a hand to her heart. Faralda braces herself.

“I had hoped so,” she replies softly, and Faralda’s toes scrunch inside her sensible boots. “Faralda.”

Faralda receives the sound of her own name with a flinch. She stares down at Mirabelle, wild around her eyes, bounding heart in her chest.

“I admire your cheekbones,” Mirabelle says, quite simply, “And I’ve always liked your eyes. Fierce and kind.”

Something on Faralda’s face makes her smile a little, not ungently. Mirabelle, quite deliberately, cups her own cheek in her hand. Mirabelle’s soft cheek fills her palm, her thumb tucking under the curve of her jaw. She traces the curve of her cheek with her nails; Faralda swears she hears the rasp of keratin on skin. 

Molten, Faralda shudders, and Mirabelle’s cheek darkens, but the smile lingers, small and pleased. She tangles her hands together in her lap again, fidgeting her thumb over her knuckles.

Faralda opens her mouth, but nothing sensible presents itself, so instead she wrestles her gaze to the dying snowberry bush and thinks that someone really ought to take responsibility for it. Perhaps she should put a bulletin up.

As the prickling feeling of exposure ebbs, the silence becomes different, resting but speaking. Mirabelle’s presence is companionable, even when she draws her quill out and presently begins to work on a mockup of the schedule she promised Faralda, apparently from memory. Faralda refreshes Mirabelle’s warming-spell, and, murmuring thanks, Mirabelle angles her shoulder so that Faralda can watch the balletic movement of her hand and wrist as she writes. She does not glance up to check if Faralda takes the offer, makes no mention of the conversation Faralda turns over in her mind like a jeweller scrying for diamonds.

 After a while, Mirabelle sighs, apologetically. She does not need to speak; Faralda already knows that their stolen moment is over, sacrificed to Mirabelle’s ever-looming workload.

“I must prepare for a lecture,” says Faralda, so that Mirabelle does not have to.

Rising to her feet beside her, Mirabelle says, “Very good, professor. I will see you later, I’m sure.”

“At the dinner bell,” Faralda says.

“Yes,” says Mirabelle, with a touch of that gentle amusement. Her eyes shimmer a thousand hues of rich brown in the sun. “At the dinner bell.”

“I will see you then,” Faralda repeats, then “Do not freeze to death, Master Wizard.”

Mirabelle’s lips quirk, but before she can say anything more, Faralda turns on her heel and strides away, salt-rime shining on her boots like everyday diamonds.

[that-angry-noldo]

3 & 4 for ashes!

(fanfiction ask game)

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

another favourite line of mine is this:

He could kill her, Eönwë thought, half-amused; he could slice her chest open with his talons and pick out her heart; he could look until she screamed, until each part of her fell and crumbled beneath his eyes.

Maybe some of his thoughts reflected in his stare, as the woman's smile faltered a bit. Eönwë's feathers rustled, the slightest breeze sweeping through the tent.

I have thousands of eyes, it breathed. Pray none of them gaze at you.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

from chapter 7:

Eönwë's face did not move. "No one shall benefit from his absence, least of all you. Beleriand is living on borrowed time; there is no guarantee your land would survive two weeks. Take your men and flee east, if you are keen to take advice; or surrender your sword and come West to face the judgement for your deeds. There are only two ways before you, Fëanorion."

"Two weeks seems enough time to get a word to Ingwion, and surrender the Jewels rightfully belonging to us," Maedhros replied coldly. "Quit hiding them in shadows like the thieves you are; they were meant for everyone to see."

Eönwë slowly arched his eyebrow. "Look at the sky, son of Fëanor; the only Silmaril the Valar got shines brightly for Dwarves, Edain and Eldar alike. The Lords of the West are not thieves, nor murderers; the Silmarils were wrought from Enemy's crown. Many have bled for them, kinslayer. Many had found the courage to do what you and your brothers had not dared."

i feel it was v funny from m&m (depending on your hcs about their involvement in the WoW, of course) to roll into the camp after the victory like "hey these shinies are still ours by the way"

[everlastingdreams]

Weeping Monk x Reader : The Forbidden Apple     Chapter 25

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Father Carden begins to notice how his Weeping Monk starts to question all he was raised to believe in. In an effort to distract him, he has his Red Brothers bring him a 'gift.' The Monk is skeptical when he hears of this, Father never just gave him gifts. But when the Monk enters his tent in the evening he understood what Father had meant by 'gift'. You, a fey girl, were the gift.

Chapter Title: A Lover’s Bliss.

Notes: !!! Just so you’re warned. This contains a spicy scene. !!!!

Warnings: There's a list of warnings for this story: Stockholm syndrome (?), lima syndrom (?). Rape threats, sexual assault, murder and violence. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor's guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Mention of menstruation.

Other warnings: ! Smut ! Jealousy. Enemies to lovers (?). Romance. Pining. Thigh grinding.

Word count of this fic: +140K

Chapter:  25 / 27

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Of course, as faith would have it, the following days proceeded to be terribly busy with little time for romantic trysts. He was often gone with Arthur or Gawain and you ended up sleeping alone in your room. Only once had you woken up in your bed with his arms around you as he was still vast asleep, he must have gotten back in the middle of the night and decided not to wake you. The work he often did was exhausting, you could even see the others look tired during the day and you didn’t have the heart to wake him up when he finally got some rest. A few stolen moments was all you were granted until an opportunity presented itself.

Gawain had asked one thing of Lancelot “Can you go to this area on the map and see if the roads are correct ?”

The Ash Man’s stood over the maps, watching how the knight pointed at an area near a river “I shall take our mapmaker with me.”

The Green Knight took note of how he did not even plan to discuss this “Do you need the help ?”

He deadpanned “No. But she made the maps, she knows them better than anyone else. If there are mistakes, she will detect them.”

Gawain was unimpressed with the poor excuses the Ash Man could give “I see, so this does not have anything to do with you sneaking into her chamber at night ?”

Instantly his eyes snapped up to the knight.

Once…he had done it once…

Only because he was exhausted and drained from a long day and wanted to have you near.

He cast his eyes back to the map to divert them from Gawain’s inquisitive ones “Uhm-”

The knight looked at him expectantly “Go ahead, tell me your excuse for that.” then he offered some “To discuss the maps ? Mistook her room for yours in the dark ?”

He wanted an answer ? He was getting one “I have no excuse. I wish to sleep next to her at night, not be out in the forest until dawn while she rests alone and waits for me.”

The knight realized that these past few days had been heavy on all and sometimes he forgot that the Ash Man was one of the last to let this be known, he carried burdens in silence until coming close to crumbling beneath them all. However, this meant that his friend had made progress in his personal life “She waits for you ? Am I correct to believe that this means you are…”

He waited for Gawain to finish his sentence but the knight clearly hoped he would guess it “We have decided to explore our connection further.”

The Green Knight let out a warm chuckle “That is a polite way to describe having a romantic entanglement. I am happy for you, my friend.”

He tilted his head to acknowledge him.

After thinking about it, the Green Knight agreed “Alright, take our y/n with you today. I still expect you back before dark.”

Our y/n…

It was how almost everyone seemed to address you. Red Spear, Pym, Gawain and Arthur…

Proof just how much they loved your company.

He agreed perhaps a bit too quickly “Of course.”

Did the Ash Man think him a fool ? “Before dark, Ash Man.”

He send him a daring grin in return “Of course.”

The Green Knight let out a loud sigh, the Ash Man sounded more and more like the spirited Percival every day.

Their attention returned to the map as he once again explained what needed to be done today.

  ooOoOOooOoooOoooOOoo

  You were busy in the stables, Percival had gotten a splinter in his finger and you were trying to get it out.

Arthur was there to give emotional support to the young knight who kept wincing in pain every time you so much as looked at the finger.

Arthur found it necessary to joke around “Do you think we will have to cut it off ?”

Percival looked up at him absolutely horrified “WHAT ?!?”

Great, that would make things easier “Arthur !”

He gave the boy a reassuring pat on the shoulder “Just joking, Percival.”

The boy didn’t find it very funny “I’ll cut your finger off !”

You hushed the boy and brushed a hand through his hair “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll get that splinter out. Ignore Arthur’s foolery.”

The boy looked at you the second you called him ‘sweetheart’ “It hurts.”

It wasn’t often that Percival verbally admitted to pain or fear “I know. But it’s going to be alright, I promise.”

Lancelot walked in and had heard the Manblood, he jested “Are you frightening the children again, Arthur ?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the Ash Man with suspicion “Again ? What’s that supposed to mean ?

He ignored him and went to Percival’s side “What is wrong, my boy ?”

Percival pouted up at him “I was climbing over a fence and a splinter got stuck in my finger.”

Then he switched his attention to you as you sat on your knees in front of the boy “Is it swollen ?”

You squeezed Percival’s arm “No. And I’ll get that thing out before it can happen.”

It took a clean thin needle and a lot of patience to free Percival from the evil wood splinter and then you gave him a hug, which he pretended to dislike because the others were watching.

Percival was more than a little happy to be free of the thing “Thank you, y/n !”

The boy’s good mood changed quickly when Arthur asked him “Why were you climbing a fence exactly ?”

Lancelot shared a look with Arthur, already guessing what the answer would be.

The cheeky boy answered dismissively “To get inside a place.”

Lancelot scolded him for it “If this place was guarded by a fence, it was there to keep others out, not be climbed by a nosy young lad.”

The Ash Man proceeded to pat down the boy’s vest until he pulled something out that certainly did not belong to him.

A knife with silver hilt was hidden in the pockets, he held it out for you and Arthur to see and then told Percival what had to be done “Go to the Green Knight, return this with him to the people you took it from.”

Percival was less then eager to tell the Green Knight of this “Can’t you come with me ?”

He gently nudged the boy’s shoulder with his hand “You were brave enough to steal. Now be brave enough to admit your mistake. Go.”

The boy mumbled under his breath, knowing how much the Ash Man hated it, but did as told.

He waited until the boy was out of sight, otherwise Percival would insist on coming along “Y/n, the Green Knight wants for us to head out and see if some roads on the maps are still correct. Is that alright ?”

You brushed the dirt from your trousers and rose from the ground “Sure. Not a problem. Do we leave now ?”

Right away he went to Goliath and loosened the reins from where they were tied to “Yes. He expects us back before dark. We will have plenty of time if we leave now.”

Arthur offered his help “Shall I come ?”

You were about to say ‘yes’ but noticed the look Lancelot send your way.

Oh…

You declined the offer and gave an alternative “Thank you, Arthur. But I think two people will be enough for something like this. Red Spear might need your help ?”

It sure got the Manblood thinking about it “You’re right. I’ll stay here and see what help I can be to her today.”

Lancelot had already mounted his horse and you went towards yours.

He stopped you before you could walk further, reaching out his hand for you “Come on. Up.”

Oh ?…

Well, you were not going to reject riding together with him.

His hand curled around yours as he helped you mount his horse, seating you in front of him.

Arthur gestured to the both of you, visibly entertained by it “Doesn’t she have her own horse ?”

Lancelot grinned like the devil, deadpanning “She has.”

Then he made Goliath turn and you rode off together, leaving Arthur to speculate what was going on between the two of you.

  ooOooOoOOOooOOoooOOOooOOo

  Lancelot had made sure to bring along two flasks of water on this trip, never forgetting how you had once fainted from dehydration.

Your eyes rested on his hands, they held the reins loosely but it was still enough to show the signs on them of the manual labor he had done all his life. Tentatively you let your hand slide over his, feeling his calloused but delicate ones, the same ones that you had missed holding you during the night.

Sometimes your thoughts wandered off and imagined things that would undoubtedly make many a person blush and those thoughts always included him. You doubted you would ever be brave enough to tell him of this, especially with how he was raised, you couldn’t imagine how he would react if he knew.

Besides, imagination was not reality, your daydreaming did no wrong.

He said nothing when you eagerly caressed his hands, someone seemed in need of some physical closeness today…

Your hand felt so temptingly warm to him…

It left him far too fast to his liking.

Reaching back, you placed your hand on his thigh, highly appreciating how it felt under your palm. You heard him swallow hard behind you and proceeded to give it a playful squeeze.

At this point, he did not know how to react. So far the both of you had moved slowly into this entanglement, neither truly daring to be very physical yet. Not like it had once been before Gramaire. This love was being grown and would blossom when the time felt right for both.

With a cheeky smile you looked back at his face and let out an approving hum, seeing him look down at your shoulder shyly because of it.

Bold…

You pulled your hand back and behaved yourself…for a few minutes.

He rode beside the river, thinking back to that one particular night again where he had first been quite familiar with you. Recalling how you had allowed him to do so and given permission for it to happen in the future.

Just when he was distracted and enjoying the view of the forest, you tilted your head and gave a chaste kiss to his cheek “Your eyes are gorgeous when the sunlight touches them.”

And those gorgeous eyes locked on yours upon hearing the compliment.

Was the beautiful weather bringing out this lovely mood you were in ?

While still holding the reins, he brought a hand closer to rest against your abdomen “What have I done to deserve this flattery today ?”

With an extra dose of charm, you replied “Is it flattery if I am just telling the truth ?”

When your hand returned to rest on his thigh, he began to believe something more than the weather was causing this.

It could not be… or could it ?

Recognizing these signals was something he was yet to learn and it was not simple.

He brushed a hand over the back of your neck and felt you lean your head back into the touch “What is causing this ?

Honestly, you weren’t sure. You had woken up that day craving his attention, especially his physical attention. And so far he had not even kissed you today, an odd frustrated feeling was growing in you and you didn’t really know how to handle it.

You leaned into his chest more, wishing you could just blend with him like this “I just missed you, that’s all. Wish you could have slept in my room last night.”

Last night he had been up terribly late with Arthur to handle some issues in Gramaire and had slept in his own room because he feared waking you up at such an ungodly hour.

As you leaned into him more, it caught his attention that you smelled even better than usual, was it just a trick of the mind ?

He took your hand off of his thigh and raised it to brush his lips to your wrist before letting go of it “I shall come to your room tonight. You have my word.”

You were counting on it “If you don’t, I’ll come to yours. Just so you’re warned.”

A smug smirk danced on his lips, was that frustration he detected ? “Is something bothering you ?”

You denied it “Of course not.”

He halted Goliath, deciding to walk the remaining short distance to where Gawain had send him off to.

With eyes narrowed slightly, he leaned his head down, mouth ghosting over your neck.

Testing a theory he had…

Feeling his breath move over your skin there caused you to lean your head back and to the side, eagerly presenting him the spot. A wistful sound escaped you when you never felt his mouth connect to it.

Well…

Even with little experience he could not miss the clear longing you showed him now.

He could feel his heart quicken it’s pace and distracted from the situation “We will walk from here. It is not far anymore.”

You felt him move you a little forward, a signal for you to dismount, which you did.

What was that strange feeling you kept having today ? Being near him was making it stronger and you went to walk at the other side of Goliath, next to the river.

Even though he obviously noticed this, he said nothing of it.

Deep down, he already knew what was bothering you.

It was bothering him too…

But there was work to be done.

  After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you looked past Goliath at him “Do I smell good right now ?”

The question puzzled him, but he replied truthful “Yes.”

With a coy smile, you casually said “Oh, alright. I guess I don’t need to take a quick plunge in a river this time.”

His brow arched, picking up on the teasing.

You saw him look at you from the corner of his eyes, lopsided smirk tugging at his lips.

While gesturing around himself, he asked “Do you remember this area from the map ?”

Oh gods, you did, this part was a nightmare to draw “I do. I hated finding a simple way to draw the shape of the river.”

He knew you could be quite the critic about your drawings “You did well. Your drawings are the only thing that makes it bearable for us to stare at the maps for long.”

That was a nice thing to hear “I feel like I have finally found a purpose. To help our people.”

Lancelot gave a nod “So do I. It feels like we are building something. Very different from how it used to feel.”

It sounded like he felt much better doing what he did now “All of us together, we will build a better world.”

You walked towards the riverbank, kneeling down to fill the flasks with water again.

He knelt down beside you and splashed some water on his face to refresh himself.

It felt impossible not to stare at him now, the water drops fell down from his nose and some passed over his lips.

Gods, he looked good today…

He must have noticed your stare as he send you a curious look.

You cast your eyes back on the river, feeling silly for responding in such a way.

Lancelot, circled his hand in the water once and then proceeded to shake his hand dry in your direction.

The drops ended up all over you “Lancelot !”

Cheekily, he remarked “You were not afraid of water the last time we were near a river if I recall.”

You shared a look, teasing “Do you think about that moment a lot, Ash Man ?”

Daily…

He got a bit quieter when admitting “Sometimes.”

Gods, he could lie really poorly “You would have been the first person to see me bare. But you were respectful.”

He gave a tilt of the head “I wanted to show that you could trust me.”

It had been a good thing of him to do “And I did.”

You fumbled with your sleeves a bit “If this keeps going well between us. You can still become the first…”

His mind had gone blank completely for a moment.

Then you confessed to him “I would like for you to be… when we are ready for that step. I will understand if this is something you feel no need for. I know you took the vow, I won’t expect this of you. You are enough and I love you either way.”

He could not lift his gaze from the grass beneath his feet.

For you to trust him enough to conjoin with him intimately…

For him to be the one…

And for you to be his…

It nearly silenced him.

Quietly he repeated “The first ?”

You reached out and placed a hand on his “And preferably the only one for as long as I shall live.”

He rose from the ground, helping you up and taking both your hands in his, letting it be known that he was not against the idea “Know that I have thought of this, of us. We shall talk about this more later ?”

You nodded, glad that he was not against speaking of it.

Work had to be done today but this was not the end of this conversation “Let us see if the roads on the map are still correct, we shall go home afterwards. Perhaps we will have a chance to have the rest of the day for ourselves.”

You started to walk beside him and he even let you lead Goliath along “That sounds lovely. Have any plans ?”

He shrugged his shoulders slightly “None other than spending time with you.”

Of course you jested “Bold of you to assume I have no other plans myself.”

You could have sworn he rolled his eyes when turning to face the other direction.

He inquired about these plans that did not include him “What plans do you have ?”

It was rather funny to see him try to pretend he did not mind you excluding him from your plans.

Now you shrugged your shoulders “Maybe I’ll read a book.”

He had an idea to put himself in your plan “I have a suggestion.”

It sounded rather suspicious “Which is ?”

He sounded so casual about it “You can read a book and still spend time with me.”

Your curiosity towards it grew “How ?…”

It was a risk to suggest it, but one he was willing to take “You could sit on my lap while reading.”

You tripped over the tiniest of rocks and nearly fell, thankfully you regained your balance “What ??”

He bit his tongue, believing he had been too forward and too quick “Forgive me.”

You felt rooted to the spot for a moment, not really knowing what to say and he proceeded to walk again.

The idea of sitting on his lap, those strong arms around you while reading, did not sound bad…

To break the tension, you teased him “You think you can handle sitting still long enough for me to read ?”

His eyes snapped to your face in surprise “If that is what you wish.”

Were you considering it ?

You hummed “I would not mind having you near. Alright.”

His voice wavered “Alright ?”

With a smile you explained “I accept your offer.”

Really ?

You enjoyed seeing that slight pink hue coming on his face “But that’s for later. First let’s make sure that Gawain will be happy when we get back.”

He gave a nod and gestured in a certain direction “This way.”

You didn’t move and pointed in another direction “You mean this way ?”

After a pause he cleared his throat awkwardly, it had been a good idea to bring you along “Uh…yes.”

Well, it seemed that even one of the best trackers could get just a little lost sometimes.

Or maybe, just maybe, he was thinking of that reading session that you had agreed to.

  oooOOooOoOoooOOooOoOo

  ~“Wait here with Goliath, I will be back in a moment.”~

It was all he had said before wandering off on his own minutes ago to see if that broken bridge nearby was fixed or not. You had rolled your eyes at him, not keen on staying behind alone, but he would not have done it if he considered it a risk. If there was a risk, it would have been paladins near the bridge, therefore he preferred to inspect it alone.

He could move far more quieter through the forest than you so he had a point.

You leaned against a tree while waiting for him, eyes up at the sky to see the few clouds that were forming above.

By now you knew that if he went to inspect something, it could take some time, because he always had to inspect every single detail.

More minutes passed and you were getting worried.

Quite footsteps and crunching leaves pulled your attention.

A sigh of relief escaped at the sight of him “That took you long.”

With a cocky smirk he remarked “You do not sound happy to see me again.”

You rolled your eyes at him “I don’t like waiting and I don’t have a book or anything to keep myself busy.”

With overly exaggerated steps, he got closer “Forgive me for leaving you unattended to for so long.”

The sarcasm was dripping all over his face.

You ignored it “Is the bridge repaired ?”

Lancelot stopped a few paces in front of you “It is. I saw two of Uther’s soldiers pass by near it. Uther must be reclaiming some of the land under his control again. We should put this information on the map.”

It worried you to hear of soldiers so nearby “Alright, I will. Are we safe here ? Or do you think they will head in our direction ?”

He had stayed near the bridge until he was certain they headed into a different direction “Do not worry. They headed south, they will not cross our paths.”

It put you a little more at ease “Let’s hope so. Well then, I guess we can go home ? I am looking rather forward to reading that book.”

The sudden seductiveness in your voice caught him off-guard.

And then there were the signs that he prayed he was reading correctly.

Your body language…

Your behavior and even your scent today…

And then that conversation…

Back in Gramaire, Gawain would surely wish to debrief this trip and god knows how long it would take before there was a moment to be alone again.

He watched as you leaned against the tree, eyes on him so intensely that it awoke what he had tried to ignore all day.

The whispers of The Hidden faint in your ear should have been the warning that something was about to happen.

When the first vines snaked around your stomach it made you jump.

“What-” It moved around you, it’s embrace tightening until it rendered you unmovable against the tree.

The next wrapped around your wrists, forcing them to remain at your sides “Help !”

He was quick to sooth your fears “Do not be afraid.”

Your eyes snapped to his, he was doing this ?…

Had he really just used the power of The Hidden to tie you to a tree ?!?

He had been practicing and they seemed quite willing to indulge him in ‘catching’ the woman who had brought his heart back to the Fey.

Lancelot stood before you, looking rather pleased with himself.

You tried to break free, but every vine you managed to break simply restored itself. A groan fell and you rested your head back against the tree “Seriously? This is how you use an ancient power? ”

He slowly stepped towards you, closing in on his ‘prey’ “Festa and Moreii were lovers. I believe they have no objections to me using their power on my own love.”

You send him a dark look, he send a smirk back.

He reached out for you and with his thumb and index finger, massaged your earlobe, leaning into you to claim what was reserved only for him.

A polite kiss…

Another followed and you felt his mouth curve into a smile.

When no objections came, he closed the space between you, a hand resting on your hip while the other moved into your hair. Gods, he had a way of kissing that left you helpless against him. Those markings of his tingled against your skin.

Still, you struggled against the restraints and he saw it happen with amused eyes. You couldn’t even move your arms.

Finally you told him while looking unimpressed “Release me.”

He actually tsked “Say ‘please’ " and went to kiss you again.

But you did not say ‘please’ to the smug oaf, biting down on his lower lip instead, just hard enough to not draw blood.

The hope that it would cause him to be startled and release The Hidden’s power on you vanished when you saw the look in his eyes.

If this was how you acted, he would do it more often.

While ts-king again, he gripped your chin, taking control effortlessly.

You could not move your arms, the movement of one of your legs however was not blocked.

Just when he was growing more bolder in the kiss, you jerked your knee up, it did not hit his groin but it was a warning.

He moved so quickly, placing one leg between yours to prevent it from happening again and pinned you to the tree with his whole body.

The magic restraints released you, the hands he placed on your hips instead did not.

You nearly forgot how those tender hands were also strong and skilled, his leg and hands prevented you from moving much.

He leaned into you, chest meeting yours, his thigh feeling the warmth of your own “There is a lot of fight in you today.”

Playfully you tried to push him away but it only caused him to move against you more.

In an attempt to gain more free movement, your lower self brushed over his thigh.

A quiet noise that you tried to swallow, caught his attention.

Calm eyes found yours, seeing a look in them that he had not yet seen before “Did I hurt you ?”

You had never shook your head so quickly before “No.”

Quite the opposite…

You drew his face to yours, kissing him slowly. Gods, having him near was amazing.

It became a pleasant challenge to find out how to make him become as flustered and heated as he often made you feel.

Sucking on his lips, fingers softly tugging at his locks and a hand rubbing over his abdomen seemed to have quite an effect.

Your bodies were flush against each other, moving together as the passion increased.

A throbbing sensation started between your legs, catching you off-guard.

Your legs were trembling, hands grasping at his waist to keep him where he was.

By timidly moving against his leg, you hoped to silence the feeling. It quickly became obvious that this was increasing it and even made it feel rather good.

Arousal had started and begged for attention, his attention.

Your scent was changing and he wanted nothing more then to trace his tongue over your skin to try and taste it.

Why did you smell so divine to him today ?

His mouth dove into you neck, sucking at the skin beneath your ear.

Slowly your lower self brushed over his thigh, legs closed around it and positioned to increase the stimulation your bodies moving against each other brought.

When he started to notice, he gripped your hips and offered some help “Enjoying yourself ?”

Never before had you been so flustered “It just feels…good.”

Oh ?

He gently moved you by the hips over his thigh, watching with fascination “Good ?”

You hummed and nodded, letting him choose the rhythm.

Gods, how could this feel so good ?

Lancelot dipped his head down, tracing his mouth from your jaw down to your shoulder.

It was incredibly arousing to see you act so lewdly, to have you use a part of him to satisfy your carnal needs.

Had you ever acted on them before ? Was he seeing what your first experiences were ?

Gently he moved his thigh, keeping it against the place that was causing you to breath shallowly.

Muffled moans threatened to escape but you pressed your lips shut, feeling him actively participate in your search for stimulation and gratification was making your head spin.

You hide your face against his shoulder to muffle your labored breaths, his own hardness was very noticeable as he moved against you more fervently.

He was relentlessly nipping at the skin of your neck, heavy breaths for air betraying just how aroused he had become by this.

It was that mix that pushed you further, a tightening in your core rapidly beginning.

You had only heard stories of what it felt like to become unraveled, never actually experienced it.

You rolled into each other, seeking out every single second of stimulation and contact, then you found out for yourself how it felt to come undone. Right there and then, in the forest by nothing more than his leg between your thighs.

The whimpering cries of pleasure were released against his shoulder.

He held you by the hips, feeling you tremble and shake against him to the point where you barely kept standing “I have you.”

That uncontrollable little shocking of your body was what made him certain you had come undone.

God, to see it happening while holding you…

Your face remained hidden against his chest while your heart’s pace returned to normal.

What would you even say after that ? Was it normal to feel embarrassed ?

While you recovered, fingers were massaging the back of your neck and scratching lightly at your scalp.

He did not know what to say…

A minute must have past before he whispered to you, guessing “First time this happened ?”

You simply nodded, pressing your nose against his chest.

The feeling that had been bothering you all day had vanished.

Holding on to him was all you could do and you held him as close as you could get him.

Part of you felt even guilty for this happening, was it selfish ? “I’m sorry…”

“Why ?” He breathed in your ear.

Quietly you explained “I used you.”

He on the other hand sounded quite content with that fact, cradling your head and pressing his nose into your hair “I wanted you to.”

At that, your eyes went to his. That blue in them was almost completely drowned out by his pupils “Yes ?”

He slowly nodded, never breaking eye contact.

Sheepishly you admitted “I never felt that before.”

He could not say the same about himself.

Not even he was innocent of this, although it had been quite some time ago since he had given in to the urge to help himself.

But you had never experienced this before… he had just witnessed your first height of pleasure.

He confessed his desire to not let this be a one time occurrence “I hope that I can make you feel it again sometime.”

You felt like hiding again “Lancelot…”

He needed to clear his head and hoped his lower self would soon calm down.

It would be rather awkward to ride a horse together if part of him risked poking into your back…

No. He needed a moment.

He let go off you when certain that you could stand on your own again, you leaned back against the tree and he proceeded to lean against it with his shoulder “We will head back to Gramaire in a moment. I just need some time…”

His hand was grasping the bark of the tree, a visible sign that he was trying to stay composed.

You couldn’t help but let your sight drop but snapped your eyes up to look at his face quickly again “Oh.”

With an apologetic smile, he put a hand on your abdomen and rested his head against your shoulder.

You turned your head to press a kiss to his temple, letting out a shy giggle “I feel guilty for causing this.”

His mouth twitched, he had not thought this could feel and happen so naturally “If only you could have behaved yourself.”

You smacked his arm playfully “You’re the one who tied me to a tree. It wouldn’t have happened if you had behaved yourself.”

Fair, he had started this after all “I do not regret it. Do you ?”

Of course not, but you did worry about how his past as a monk affected him now “No. How do you feel about this happening ? Do you still consider it reason for being punished ?”

There would always be that voice inside of him that reminded this was a sin, but that did not mean that he would listen to it “The Church considers this a reason, I do not. But perhaps I am biased now.” he let his hand wander over your abdomen “I do not want to live my life fearing the punishment of a God who never cared for what or who I am.”

You locked eyes with him “What do you want ?”

He did not even have to think and admitted while squeezing your abdomen a little “I want this. All of it. For us.”

Your gaze dropped to the eager hand that rested on your stomach “All of it ?”

His voice dropped to a whisper “All of it.”

Now you had your answer, he did not intend to keep himself to the vow he had once made.

You shared an idea, one that would work for both “We could explore this further… see what we both like or don’t like ? Take our time…just enjoying each other…”

It was an alluring plan, to begin to know each other more intimately…

He was interested, for things to grow from this to more, fingers squeezing again “To learn together ?”

You hummed and saw him give an agreeing nod.

The prospect of exploring these carnal urges together did not help his state “I would like that.” he made the timid request “Will you take Goliath to the river so he can drink ?”

Someone still needed a moment to clear their thoughts “Of course. We will return home then ?”

He was grateful “Yes.”

As you walked over to Goliath, you smirked back at him over your shoulder “Alright, I’ll handle this while you try to calm yourself down.”

With a tilt of his head he showed his agitation at the tease and you swallowed a laugh.

  Minutes went by and you petted Goliath while he drank from the river.

Lancelot strolled around the place, body calmed by the lack of further stimulation.

You could still feel his eyes on you every few seconds and send him a playful smile.

It made him turn his eyes away before it could tempt him again.

“Let’s fill our flasks !” A voice suddenly echoed through the forest close to where you were.

Your eyes snapped to Lancelot.

“Hide !” He urged and tried to get closer to you but the strangers were closer than anticipated.

You both ended up having to hide behind a tree as they approached.

From the corner of your eyes, you saw red.

Paladins. Dammit.

You remained hidden behind a tree, as did Lancelot, praying they did not spot Goliath.

A group of five walked towards the river bank, flasks in hand to fill with the river’s stream.

He watched them like a hawk, tracking their every move.

They just spoke of nonsense to each other as they filled their flasks.

Loud footsteps suddenly approached your left side and you didn’t know what to do, if they got closer they would certainly find you.

If you drew your sword, they would hear it.

Lancelot had his sights on the one closest to you and send a signal for you to remain still.

‘Do not flee’… he tried to mouth it.

If you fled, it would become messier than it would otherwise be. Now he had the advantage of knowing where all paladins were without them knowing that he was even there.

A paladin that saw something trivial in the river called out to the one close to you “Oi! Come look at this !”

The paladin mumbled something and you heard his footsteps descend.

Lancelot kept his eyes on them and gestured for you to come to him.

With hesitation you sneaked towards where he was and the moment you were close enough he turned the both of you so you were with your back against the tree.

He waited until the right moment to take your hand and began to lead you away from the danger.

You reached Goliath and just when he told you to mount, you saw a paladin take aim with a bow.

You pulled him out of harm’s way, the arrow narrowly missed Goliath and him but it did scrape your upper arm.

There was no time to process it, Lancelot just grabbed you and ran.

But they were hunting the both of you down and there were only very poor hiding spots around.

A large bush next to a tree is where he helped you hide.

He hid behind a tree close to you, he could smell the blood on you…

And let that be why he thirsted for theirs.

That arrow was meant for him and had you not just pulled him away out of it’s trajectory, it would have certainly killed him.

Why was he waiting for them to come to him ?

You saw Lancelot move out of cover and attack two of them.

The grass was covered in blood seconds later. Of course the other three attacked him all at once after that.

You seized the opportunity when one walked past your hiding spot and grabbed his ankle, the paladin fell hard to the ground.

Good. Eat dirt.

He grabbed the arm of one of them as they swung an axe, in one swift movement he used their weapon to his advantage and cut the paladin’s throat.

He did end up in a struggle with the other one when they tried to get a hold on his sword to disarm him.

Before you had a chance to help Lancelot, the other paladin was scrambling off of the ground.

You punched him square in the jaw when he got to his feet and turned his anger on you, just like Arthur had taught you once, thumb not in the fist.

That rotten bastard did try to attack you with a sword and you were left to defend yourself against it.

His attacks were brutal, he kept lashing out at you, trying to hit any side of you.

You had to quickly defend yourself against them, over and over again, leaving you little chance to counter attack.

The paladin cursed you out, calling you things so vile that it only made you want to attack him more.

And then, the extraordinary happened.

Tree vines shot out from the ground and grabbed the paladin into a choke hold, pulling him roughly to the ground.

The only sign of Lancelot using the Hidden’s power now was the green leaf pattern spreading across his left hand, it grew higher unto his skin and eventually covered one side of his face.

You were perplexed by the speed of it, so stunned that you barely registered the other paladin’s scream when Lancelot defeated him.

He stalked over to the paladin held to the ground by the vines, controlling his powers to let them release the scum.

The paladin coughed loud and gasped for air, but he had little time to process as Lancelot pulled him from the ground.

He slammed the paladin against a tree, lifted and aimed his short sword to end the miserable bastard.

The paladin began to reason with his former Brother “Brother ! Father would not have wanted this !”

The tip of his sword stilled at a small distance from the paladin’s chest.

Father…

He could this still halt him ?

How could this still hurt ?

This was betrayal to his own people, to the Fey…

You saw him halt, saw those mournful eyes search for yours. Gods, this had hurt him…

He had spend so many years trying to live up to Carden’s expectations, and now he was faced with it all again. The pain, even when buried, could always reach the surface.

No one could ever fully escape the broken shards of a traumatic childhood.

The Ash Man’s eyes landed on what had once been a ‘Brother’ to him.

The man played on his past “Spare me ! God will have mercy on you, Brother ! Repent and all shall be forgiven !”

Mercy ?

Again his eyes flickered to yours, then landed on the blood staining your sleeve.

His glare was cold when speaking to the paladin, answering all his statements “No.”

The sword was sunk into the paladin’s chest rapidly, twisted and pulled out again.

The Ash Man took a step back and let his former Red Brother fall to the ground as he took his last breaths.

His eyes were burning from holding back the tears that would have spilled otherwise.

How could part of him still want the approval of one who had caused so much suffering, even his own.

And you must have seen him hesitate now, what must you think of him ?

That he still held Father above his own people and those who suffered at the hands of the Church ?

He could barely look you in the eyes after this “I am sorry.”

No. There was no reason to apologize for this after everything he had been through, after all that manipulation Garden had done to him.

With a few quick steps, you pulled him in an embrace, praising him for how far he had come “There is no reason for it. I am so proud of you, look at how well you control the power of The Hidden already. When we get back, I will tell Gawain all about it, he will be so proud as well.”

He may never have Father’s approval, but he received the approval he cared most for.

Yours. His friends and sometimes he believed even Percival approved of him.

He only broke the embrace to look at your bleeding arm, holding it delicately “Let me take a look ?”

You did not want to linger in the area longer “Let’s get home first. Pym will probably be able to help with this.”

Reluctantly he agreed and hoped it would not bleed too much before reaching Gramaire “Alright.”

The two of you returned to Goliath who seemed rather unfazed by everything that had happened and you wished you could be as relaxed as that horse was in the face of danger and death.

   OoOoOooOOOo

  Back at Gramaire, Pym practically dragged you to the infirmary after seeing you return wounded.

There went your reading opportunity…

Reading a book was changed to sitting still while Pym stitched your skin back together.

Lancelot and Percival spend a moment in the room and the Ash Man took note of just how much more careful Pym was with you than she had been with him.

You winced when she pulled the needle through your skin again and were then startled when Percival came over to hold your hand.

The boy consoled you like you had done him earlier that day “It’s going to be alright, y/n.”

Aw…he could be awfully sweet sometimes.

Percival continued, well, no one could say he was not optimistic “I’ve seen people with only one arm. They seem to be doing fine.”

A scoff fell from the Ash Man at hearing the boy’s poor attempt to ease your nerves.

You stared at the boy a little, he looked oblivious “Great. Good to hear.”

The young knight felt jolly after ‘successfully’ comforting you.

Lancelot considered it best to send the boy out of the infirmary before he could give more of these ‘consolations’ “Percival, will you go and see if Goliath needs to be fed ?”

Percival was smart enough to know he was being dismissed, but he liked spending time with the well trained horse, so he did as asked “Fine.”

The boy left the room and Lancelot send you a look, you laughed at the sight of it.

The young knight meant well, but he needed a guiding hand.

The Green Knight walked into the infirmary after being informed of the problems that had arisen on the trip.

The knight walked up to you, regretting that he let the Ash Man take you along “How is your arm ? I hope it does not hurt too much.”

You looked up at him as he placed a hand on your shoulder “It doesn’t feel too bad.”

Pym scrunched her nose and blurted out “Really ??”

You almost laughed at how shocked she sounded, she couldn’t really believe it “It sort of burns. But that ointment you put on it makes it feel better.”

The knight gave your shoulder a squeeze “Better not take any trips again soon. Let that arm rest.”

Of course you were disappointed to hear it.

The Ash Man saw the saddened look “If she had not been there. That arrow would have been in my back.”

Gawain looked impressed “You saved his life ?”

You didn’t want the praise for protecting the one you loved “No-”

Lancelot did not let you deny it “Yes.”

Gawain was surprised and pleased to hear it “Keep being so brave and I might even knight you.”

You gestured to Lancelot “You didn’t even knight him yet.”

The Green Knight was quick to shift the blame on the Ash Man “I asked. He keeps refusing, the stubborn mule.”

Immediately you looked at Lancelot, this was the first you heard of it “What ?!?”

He clearly had not wanted this to be known “I cannot be a knight of the Fey, Gawain. What would they think if someone such as I would become a knight ? They would believe the title could be given to anyone.”

Gawain was ready to fight him on this “It can. To anyone worthy of it. You risk your life every day for our people now. You saved that Fey boy that just walked out of here, you saved a knight ! You are worth the title.”

Lancelot’s eyes darted from you to Gawain “I do not want to have this conversation now.”

You were quick to understand that he did not want to talk about this with others present “Lancelot-”

He stepped away from the knight at the mention of his name, walked over, tilted your chin up and brushed a feather light kiss to your cheek “I need to speak to Gawain. It will only be a moment. Alright ?”

You nodded, aware of the stares in the room.

Pym pricked your skin with the needle by accident, looking between you and the Ash Man flabbergasted “Wha-…did you just kiss her cheek ?!?”

The Green Knight was not as surprised by it, but still did not expect the otherwise reserved Ash Man to be openly affectionate with you.

Lancelot looked at Pym, gave a smug tilt of the head to confirm it and headed out the door with Gawain.

Pym intended to smack your arm but ended up smacking your knee when remembering the wound “That was not the first time ! You didn’t tell me you were snogging with the Ash Man.” she paused, then turned almost even more shocked “You’re snogging the Ash Man !”

You felt yourself become quite flustered “Gods, Pym…alright. Yes, we’re…snogging.”

After another pause, she blurted out her question “What’s it like ?”

Of course she was curious how kissing a former monk was like “Pym.”

She pushed for an answer “Oh, come on.”

Fine. There was no way she would stop her interrogation “It feels like nothing else exists when we kiss.”

It was an answer Pym did not expect “Oh.” then she blurted out “Strange.”

Rolling your eyes, a laugh escaped you.

She held your arm in an iron grip now “Now sit still, I need to finish up your arm.”

You arched a brow “Yes. Ma’am.”

“I will prick you again.” She warned.

It was enough of a warning to get you to be quiet and still so she could focus on the task.

  ooOoOoOoooOoOOoOoo

  You laid awake in bed that night, watching the moon cast light into your room.

The door creaked open, it closed barely audible.

Well, someone intended to keep his promise of coming to your room that night.

You were laying facing the window, hearing how he took of his cloak and boots.

Then you felt the bed dip a bit, a second later you were finally in his arms.

You turned your head and he captured your lips briefly.

Sadly, he came with bad news “Gawain wants for me to join him on an excursion tomorrow. He wishes to go and speak to someone in a village.”

That hesitant tone of his did not go unnoticed by you “Excursion ?”

He shared the ‘bad’ part of that news “It will take us three days.”

You let your head fall back on the pillow and eyes back on the moon in disappointment “Three days…”

It was to be expected that you would not be happy to hear it. He was not pleased either. But he had a duty to his people.

With a brush of his lips to your temple “I promise we will return as soon as it is possible.”

Your eyes met his “When do you leave ?”

Another regretful thing to share “Dawn.”

Only a few hours from now ?

You sighed deeply and made him hold you just a little tighter “Rest then. I don’t want you to be tired when you leave.”

A delicate hand caressed your arm, careful to avoid the bandage that covered the healing wound “When I return, shall we share our nights together again ? Like we once used to.”

That sounded like a splendid idea, although there was one problem “That would mean we would have to tell Percival, even Arthur and Red Spear if they do not suspect it already. If we don’t want to keep having to sneak to each other’s rooms at night.”

He wanted to make an agreement “I will tell the boy and Arthur. If you tell Red Spear.”

With narrowed eyes you saw right through him “Of course you want to be the one to tell Arthur.”

There was a cheeky grin on his face now “He is my friend.”

You weren’t impressed “Of course.”

He tried “If you wish, you can be the one to tell Percival ?”

You arched a brow at him “Good try.”

With a little more persuasion and a charming smile, he tried again “I see how you are with him, the boy likes your company. He is more willing to listen to you without complaints.”

It wasn’t going to work, he was not going to push this to you “Are you trying to make me believe that you don’t enjoy his ‘complaints’ ? Would you rather he follows every order ?”

He adored that fighting spirit the boy had, often wishing to have been the same at that age.

His own defiance had only come with age “No.” a sigh “Very well. I shall be the one to tell him.”

You snorted a laugh when seeing how nervous he was about it “Have faith. If Percival hears I am the one you are… courting ?” he gave a nod “He won’t be disappointed.”

This time he was the one to chuckle, knowing it was true.

He deadpanned “He might threaten me for it.”

With a grin, you jested “He’s so sweet. I never met anyone so brave and willing to protect me.”

He squinted his eyes, detecting the jest “It is true he is braver than I. But we are both willing to protect you.”

You giggled when he took a little feigned offense to it “I suppose you are sweet too.”

He considered it a small victory and leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss that proved just how sweet he could be if you let him.

With a tug at your waist, he made you lie on your back fully, seizing the moment to hover over you.

For the first time since long, he touched your thigh, kneading it ever so lightly to his leisure.

You put a hand to his chest, breaking the kiss and reminding him that dawn was nearing “Nuh-uh. Rest.”

His fingers dug into your thigh a little more to test if you would not swat his hand away, you did not…

He made you turn on your side and moved you closer, chest to chest, nuzzling into your hair to make himself comfortable.

Your thoughts rolled out of your mouth “I am so glad I stole you away from the Church. Now I got you all to myself.”

He barely withheld a chuckle “Stole ?”

Your voice was sweet like honey “I was captured by red drapes and walked away with a clever and handsome Ash Man. Worth it.”

You tried to squirm out of his arms when he proceeded to duck his head in your neck and devour the spot.

The jest was no more than a breath of hot air near your ear “Greed is a sin.”

You quipped “Don’t mistake me for a saint.”

He grinned against your ear “Never.”

You had never felt safer, to be held like this as you both dozed off to sleep.

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[headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne]

Dark Souls Chain 4

Prompt: The Demon War from the perspective of a black knight @fateoftheundead

There was a lurching feeling in my dreams, my formless dreams, uncomfortable.

 Voices as well- a high drawling one that echoed yet with malice, and another that was deep and resonant, the voice of a burgomeister or aged inquisitor. Their words were unclear, at least until the lurching became more concrete. I felt myself lifting through some dense sand or powder, puffs of it launching off into the darkness that crowded within very close to my vision.

 “Your power, my lord, and your prerogative,” echoed the deep voice.

 “We shall see.”

 I felt lighter, the lurching seeming to taper as I became less solid, owing to leaving the crumbling substance behind and seeming to float in the air.

 I was floating in the air, a feeling of limbs flailing, but of limbs having fallen asleep, heavy and prickly. The light in my eyes increased, marginally so, to reveal a kneeling figure before me. It was clad head to toe in heavy plate armor, blackened by some unknown conflagration and topped with an imposing horned helmet. The lurch returned and I felt myself floating towards the figure, slowly, then faster now, and faster again, until I thought I would collide, but…

For a moment I saw charred bone behind the visor of the helmet, but the moment I touched the figure the world shifted, and I realized that the figure was me.

 With a body now, I felt muscles knit together in mute agony around my bones within their metal coffin. Senses returned. The helmet was claustrophobic, and I could taste now. The powdery stuff- not sand. Ashes. As my protesting muscles cramped and pitched me over sideways, I heaved. Dry, again and again.

 “Are you done, sirrah?” The high voice somehow combined friendliness and contempt. “I have things to do.” On my side I found I could summon the strength to nod silently then attempted to rise.

 The agony persisted but I found something in myself, a hot core of determination, unfamiliar as if it had returned from a long journey. Inch by inch I shifted position and lifted myself, first to my knees, then to one knee. Obeisance. I would rather have saluted but I was not vertical enough. The plates of the armor clattered when I first shifted but they were so finely fitted to my body they were otherwise silent.

I summoned more strength, raw determination, and lifted my head to gaze upon the one who had wrenched me from my sorry state.

 A human! Despite sitting on a low throne seemingly carved from scoria our faces were level, even with my kneeling. Despite my confusion and… tinge of disgust, I still felt the habit to remain at rest before a superior officer.

 The human was garbed in unfamiliar uniform over unfamiliar armor. Both were perfectly fitted, but battered and filthy. The top coat was ripped in a particular way, and I could see that there had been insignia and braid once, now ripped off. Before seeing this I would have guessed the human was some gentleman officer, discharged upon his side losing the war, but now… A deserter. I fought the urge to spit since I still knew very little about this person.

 “Do you have something to say, sirrah? Out with it.”

 “Leftenant Vittorio reporting!” My brain was foggy and yet it knew what to say. Something was bothering me about the situation- beyond everything else that seemed strange.

 “Vittorio?” The human looked to his right and my eyes followed.

 There, looming in the inky dark, was a serpent.

 I had met one before- there were several who had appeared at various times throughout the latter history of this land. They appeared as if some mad demiurge had put a dour mastiff’s head atop a snake’s body the size of a full-grown oak. Its horrid face grinned and I knew it to be the owner of that deep voice from before.

 “A disgraced lineage,” it boomed, “squires from an estate in the far western reaches of Lordran. Of this specimen I know nothing.”

 “More than I needed to know, Prunt. Thank you.” He made a dismissive gesture and leaned forward in his throne. “What do you remember, Leftenant?” I couldn’t tell if he pronounced my rank facetiously.

 I searched my memories and the first that surfaced was from my time as a ghost. Or was I just a memory myself? I had been drifting in a fugue, wandering the ashen ruins in what I now knew was my armor, or the ghost of it. My focus had a short span but I noticed something alarming: the door to Lord Gwyn’s tomb was wide open. The ash crunched as I ran through the doors into the rough-hewn space.

 There was only the briefest glimpse of the Sun God's form dead on the ground, before it faded into a few short-lived sparks, and standing over the vanished corpse was the human who stood before me now, wielding an enormous- for a human- broadsword. Still wielding it, he had turned to the center of the tomb and examined its bonfire. The first bonfire, fruit of linking the sacred flame.The human had gazed upon it, and I had felt a momentary burst of excitement- he was going to do it! He was going to link that universal flame and carry on Lord Gwyn’s legacy.

 Instead, he had kicked it apart in a shower of sparks, putting the fire out like he was breaking camp. At least he hadn’t pissed it out like an irregular.

 The memory ended there. My hesitation seemed to irk him and he rapped impatiently on the arm of his throne. I was grateful for the helmet concealing my slack jaw. “My Lord, I-”

 “I’m no Lord, soldier. Remember that.” He pointed a soot-stained finger at me. “And close your mouth. I meant, what do you remember about your last posting.” The helmet had concealed nothing. And my mind seemed as transparent to him as the metal was.

 “Iodelath Blightwald, sir. The Battle of the Dun Cliffs. We had started calling it that.”

 He nodded. “What was the status of your unit? Did you seize your objective?”

 I clanked a gauntlet against my helmet in salute. “The day was ours. The cliffs were ours. There had been significant casualties among the infantry as we maneuvered through the forest- scampering imps flinging envenomed sherds of flint. When they emerged upon the cliffs the grunts were very nearly overwhelmed by the force of demons- Chuppies and Roarers mostly. Until we showed up, sir.”

 He laughed “That’s what I wanted to hear about! Now that you’ve got your wits back, I need you totell me about your unit. The Blackened Brothers. But first, what happened on the Cliffs?”

 “They were nearly crippled, but at least the infantry had moved the force of demons towards the cliff. Some of us advanced and managed to bait some of the demons into jumping off the cliff. Those of us with shields or halberds pushed most of the rest off, and we even let the infantry kill some of the stragglers.” I held myself slightly more erect. “I remember looking over the cliffs and I could see the deposits of those crystals stretching all the way down the precipice. The reason we were there, sir.”

 “And there was much rejoicing. I expect you held your position?”

 “As long as we could, sir. A contagion had appeared among the infantry, some parting gift from the demons, I bet. By the time the Silver Knights had appeared to relieve us, dysentery had killed almost everyone. The rest of us were nearly incapacitated with runk.”

 “Runk?” He kept leaning in farther. Hopefully he didn’t fall out of the throne.

 “Sorry, sir. An intoxicating liquor. We stole some of the spirits from the wizard lamps, mixed in raisings and red blossoms and left it to brew. Quite potent.”

 Another surprisingly genuine laugh from the strange human. “You might think me a halfling halfwit, Leftenant, but it was not long ago I was a soldier like you. I was a Colonel in the Warlock Corps in an army you’ve never heard of. We took black powder from the petards, mixed it with moon-grass and mucilage, then rolled it into little pills. One or two of those between the cheek and gum was sufficient to keep you up through days of battle. And helped replenish the magic, of course.”

I was a soldier and I wanted there to be a chain of command. Needed. But I was damned if I was going to get chatty with a human usurper and feel better because he had fought in some stupid human war somewhere. “I don’t need sorcery to know you don’t want to get chummy with some human… what is it that they call us, Prunt?”

 “Pygmies. Furtive, Easily forgotten. A miserable pile of-”

 “Enough, enough,” he snapped, standing from the throne. The human stretched, his back popping. Finally, he reached up and removed his helm. The face beneath had clearly been used to hammer pickets into the dirt, more than once. There had been a short military cut and shave once, but it was about as fresh as his tattered uniform. “I also don’t need a hex to do what needs to be done.”

“Hexes, sir?” The perpetually grinning serpent didn’t seem to be in on the joke.

 “Dark sorceries this world isn’t ready for.” He looked at me. “Your descendants are going to love it.” And with a grin that didn’t belong with his battered face, the human launched a prodigious kick at mine.

 My helmet didn’t come off. It might never come off and I hope he didn’t try. As it was my skull rang inside of it like the clapper of a bell. “I don’t need any magic to stomp out insubordination. I don’t need anything!”  A harsh burr modifying the drawling voice. The bark of an NCO, or perhaps of a rogue general. I felt two implacable hands grab the tall horns of my helmet, and pull. Lord Gwyn, please, no. There was a yank and I could feel vertebrae start to pull apart, then… release.

 “Arrrrrckhhh,” I said. I saw stars. Not even sure what I was trying to say.

 The human knelt down beside me, ash fouling his trousers.

 “Does this armor… come off?” He almost sounded concerned. I coughed.

 “Chaos affects everyone differently, sir. Beasts, Lords, men… My unit had tracked a coven of enemy pyromancers, into a steaming caldera we’d just cleared of demon grunts. We should have known better. They wouldn’t have been able to resist a group of sitting duck elites. We weren't the Black Brothers then, but it wouldn’t be long. Everything was fine at first, we advanced and the pyromancers retreated. We were ascending the far slope of the caldera and suddenly there was one pyromancer.” I sighed.

 “Get on with it, soldier.” He wasn’t so concerned now.

 “One of the Queen Bitch’s daughters. She had the simple robes and ball-busting smile of an abbess, but she spread her arms wide and… it wasn’t fire, or lava, or vitriol, just a hot wave of luminous corruption. It burned. Swept us down the slope and we were submerged in it. Boiling  like molten pitch. You’ve seen what it did to our armor. Our flesh, though…” My flesh prickled and seethed as I thought about it. “It wasn’t all bad. Flames can’t hardly hurt us anymore- well, they still hurt. But no injury. Saves time on showers and delousing- just stand in a fire for long enough and all the sweat and vermin burn away.”

 “Along with your sanity, you poor dumb bastard.” He rose, planted himself in the chair again, and shook his head. “But now the armor is permanent. I’ll have to see what I can do about that.”

 What? The soldier in me reacted. “Thank you sir.”

 “Don’t thank me yet, fireneck. Now- what I really want to know is how the chain of command operated. After that- well, we’ll get to it shortly.”

“Even before we wore black, us elites theoretically answered to the Silver Knights. They were from the good families of Lords, and some human janissaries brought into those families. We had control over our operations, though the Silver decided who got credit.”

 “Same song, different verse. That’s war.”

“Yes sir. Above them were the four Captains- more like what the human nation would call a general- who led the really important attacks, when they weren’t on their own initiative. And of course the Lord of Light himself. But something… happened.” I hesitated. “Before we won the war, drove the Demons underground. Everything was going to shit, and something changed in the Silvers. They withdrew from many of the front lines, and didn’t seem to give an argent-smith’s cuss about what was really going on.

 There was a time when we were glad to have the Silver archer knights at our back. A rain of death from behind our backs, mass carnage. But then there were less arrows- seemed like they just didn’t fire, to conserve ammunition. Then we started to get arrows in our backs. One of them clipped Captain Artorias, and boy was that a mistake. He climbed to the parapet the knight was occupying, leaping up like a damned ape. That knight got chopped. Up. Into Catarina-steak.”

 The human laughed. “I’ve fragged an officer or two, when it needed doing. No shame there, but you do have to be careful if you don’t kill them immediately. But I can see your distaste for the silvers. Umbasa, Bohica… it’s always the same.” He turned to the Serpent. “Prunt, I think we’ve learned about as much as we need. Bring our guest’s arms over.”

 The serpent complied, disappearing in the shadows before returning shortly, my sword and shield held gently in its teeth like a newborn kitten, before depositing them in the ash between us. “My lord.”

 “Thank you, Prunt. Now,” he said to me, “this is clearly more than meets the eye. Tell me its secret, and I will tell you why you are here.”

 “One of the generals- a glorified quartermaster- was always trying to reinvent the wheel as far as our tactics were concerned. This actually turned out to be a good idea for once, and I bet it contributed to our inevitable victory. He brought in some grizzled old tinkerer from a city I’d never heard of, who spent a month sequestered in our armory before producing his work. ‘Cunning weapons,’ he called them. Glaives with spinning blades, greatswords with mercury channels inside to increase their heft, and for the shield-bearers, something truly ‘cunning’.”

 “Show me.” He was impatient now, and I scuffled over to the swords and shield in a storm of ash. I took up the shield and twisted a steel rosetted in the center. The shield split in half and I inserted the sheathed sword into the center. The edges of the shield made a passable flanged mace, though one that looked like the anchor of one of those huge ships in the Londo harbor. “An anchor indeed!” I’d already forgotten that his sorceries could ensnare my stray thoughts.

“He assembled it the same way for us, and despite being a frail old human, he was almost as tall and strong as us. ‘Now go forth and crush some demons into pancakes,’ he said. ‘It’s what soldiers do. Should it please you!’ The weapons were effective, I’ll give him that, sir”

The human nodded, and stared at me for some time.

“You’re as alive now as I could make you, Leftenant Vittorio. So you have a choice. Lay down in the dust and ash and die. Make it quick, and I’ll let you fade away to blissful nothing. Otherwise… and maybe this is less a choice than you want, but take up your arms and swear service to me. Live.” He let the silence take over for another long moment. “If there is chaos, or fire, you will snuff it for me. If any Silver Knights remain loyal to a dead king… you’ll snuff them for me as well. Do that, and do whatever else I bid, and we’ll see about getting that armor off you.”

 I nodded. I did want that. Perhaps he could restore the flesh beneath it as well. And beyond that… I wanted to serve again. With distinction, instead of at the whims of weaklings and cowards commanding from luxurious chairs in a fortified city.

 “Very well.” He launched forward and grabbed my wrists, as a mephitic indigo vapor poured from him, gusting darkly from every pleat and tear in his uniform. It felt… wrong. His breath reeked like the greasy ash of a crematorium, as I’m sure mine smelt of bile. At least there was  no pain, but it felt wrong. Wrong. What had I expected… the twin taps of a sunlight blade on my shoulders? The hurrah of my family and friends the last time I ever saw them? I felt it cease as he released my wrists and stood over me. I was oathbound- without swearing anything- to a presumptive human filth.

“My lord.” I would have to be careful of my thoughts still.

 “Don’t worry about those thoughts, he smirked. “I’ll accept some traitorous sentiments, Leftenant, so long as they stay thoughts. I haven’t exactly been kind to you. I will be fair, though, so long as you obey me as you would one of your famed ‘Captains’. But disobey… you can imagine there will be some consequences.”

“It will be so, my lord. You have nothing to worry about from me.”

“Good. Prunt, escort the Leftenant to the barracks.” He strode off into the darkness himself, and I found myself standing and saluting until he disappeared.

 “My apologies, Leftenant. Things are operating a trifle differently under the Dark Lord.”

 The Dark Lord. Holy hell. “That seems plain, ser- Sir, I meant to say. How should I address you?”

“Follow me,” the serpent intoned, as I disassembled my weapon and stowed its components at my back and belt. Then his laughter rang out, muffled strangely by the darkness. “Sir Prunt! Keh heh heh heh. Can you imagine…” I followed him through the drifts of ash. Here and there through the great bowl-shaped ruin I caught glimpses of pathetic phantoms of knights, striding through the space aimlessly.

 That had been me, before I was snatched from the jaws of unlife by the “Dark Lord” and his dark sorcery. It felt strange, as I got a strange feeling of vertigo seeing them. It was as if my memory of a phantasmal state was more real than what I was at the moment.

 “One moment, Prunt.” I smiled beneath my helm, thinking of what kind of rank a Serpent would hold. They had been advisors and oracles to some extent, with no authority to their own. I was glad he didn’t expect titles or salutes. Prunt nodded in response, his leathery ‘ears” flapping along.

 Turning back to whence we came, I got a better sense of the scene we’d left. It was an ancient space, filled with the ruined bones of once-domed structures surrounding the throne and ancient bonfire. The sky was a dim, sickly yellow, hazy with gray clouds and I had an impression that it had been that way for the excruciatingly long time I suffered there as a ghost. Something seemed off, but what was it? After some further study I noticed that the far horizon was tinted a deep indigo, which seemed to be very slowly enveloping the rest of the sky.

 It was the same color as the dark magics that human Dark Lord had wielded. “Let’s go.”

 I followed Prunt again and for the first time noticed that the glistening bulk of his serpentine body was passing through the ash like the prow of a ship through churning water. Curious. At last we had woven around some circular paths of ancient, crumbling stone, to stand before a huge iron gate. It was wide open, and beyond it an altar topped with a golden brazier that blazed with a supernatural flame. Again, it had taken on the faintest indigo where the tongues of flame disappeared into the air.

 This was the Lordvessel, which I recognized from many a midday devotional, back when I was alive. That it still bloomed with holy fire was encouraging but I had a feeling every bright side at the moment had its cost. Prunt did not stop to reflect so I followed close behind him as we left the fire and the gate behind. The path moved along in a very straightforward manner past this point into a shadowy space that was unmarred by ash or dim light beyond the firelight that lay behind us.

 Prunt turned to me and grinned. “Now, young Leftenant, step into my mouth and I shall transport thee out of this dark place and to more comfortable accommodations.”

 “Your… mouth?”

 “I’m teasing, of course.” He looked around theatrically, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “I would not subject you to the ignominy as I have to every chosen fool seeking fame and Flame. Simply close your eyes and we shall leave the abyss.”

 I complied, and for a moment I could see the darkness deepen through my eyelids, and suddenly my eyes flared with an unaccustomed light. Opening them I found myself in a palatial room, one I had not been in though I remembered its like from my first days as a silver knight, guarding the family of one of the satraps who administered Anor Londo for Lord Gwyn. For furnishings there was little but paintings on the wall, dust and scraps of wood.

“What happened here, serpent?”

 “You have slept for many, many years, Leftenant Vittorio. This city is all but deserted, save for the last remnants of the knights and a few mad stragglers. In his sacrifice to save the world, Lord Gwyn’s legacy has faltered and faded. Our new Dark Lord… well, we shall see what happens.” He favored me with a cryptic nod. “Enjoy your accommodations, such as they are. There is a bed in one of these chambers, which I’m sure you shall find. The rooms look much the same to me.”

 “Thank you, I think. What task do I have in his service?”

 “For the moment, wait. I’m sure he will call upon you soon.”

 And with that, he was gone.

 I had rested long enough in that ashen sleep and had no desire to bed down in the dusty fabric on the floor that was scarcely thick enough to merit the term bedroll. Instead, I decided to take stock of my surroundings. The furnishings were a tragedy and I assumed I should ignore them. This was correct- the other two rooms I could immediately glance into were very much desolate and deserted.

 Then- for a moment- I caught a flash of movement as I turned away. The helms of my unit are not good for peripheral vision but for a moment I thought I could see the figure of a human warrior, as if made of steam or smoke. It was gone even quicker and I didn’t know what to make of it.

 I passed into the next room and to my surprise a Silver stood there as if frozen in time. Not frozen, just very still, as he shifted his body only slightly as his head turned towards me. He bore the brass filigree of a leftenant on his gorget- the same filigree on my armor had melted at the first exposure to a pyromantic attack.

“Leftenant Vittorio, brother. How fares it?” I had about as much love for a silver as I did for a human, but they were much more helpful with honey than vinegar.

 There was no answer. No further movement. “How fares it, leftenant? Is your post secure?”

 Nothing in response, but then… a raspy groan and the Silver drew his broadsword.

 “You madman! You dare draw on your fellow?” It took a tentative step forward and I knew that was my sign. I had slept for countless years and felt as if I had fallen down a mountain, but I would never forget how to fight. I took a long step backwards through the doorway of the room I had just left and kicked the door shut in the Silver’s face. That gave me a moment to draw my own sword and insert it into the shield, giving it the specific twist that transformed it from sword-and-board to a huge mace. Just in time.

 The Silver didn’t bother opening the door, and instead just walked through it, its wood simply giving up its structure. Despite the dust and flinders I didn’t hesitate for a moment, swinging my mace up and letting gravity aid me. It crashed into the Silver, pressing him to the stone floor with a terrifyingly loud noise. That groan issued from his helm again but this time followed by a gurgling death rattle.

 I had squashed him flatter than the suncakes taken by the Royal Family at breakfast.

 The armor clattered pitifully as a faint vapor emerged and the body within vanished. I had seen this before- some fiends and cannibals consumed a glut of souls leading to large size or great strength. Even humans could do this, though they tended not to grow, but to increase in density. Of course, cut the thread of life and the souls trapped in bodily tissues boiled away like sun-kissed rain on a marble parapet.

 You’re getting poetic in your old age, Vittorio. I shook my head and left the room. Did I just think that? Or was it… The urge to wander seemed mostly to be my own, but my “random” movement through the rooms of the palace might not be. Eventually I found myself climbing stairs and arriving on a wide roof with a splendid balcony overlooking the vista of Anor Londo and beyond. There, standing up against the railing at parade rest, was the Dark Lord.

“Thank you for answering my summons, Vittorio. Not that you had a choice.”

 I walked over towards him, saluting. I stood there for a moment waiting for him to speak, and tried to follow his gaze. Out in the far distance of the sky, some creatures were circling a thermal current. Winged, clawed humanoids, these semi-demonic servitors were a supplicant’s only way into Anor Londo from the lands below. They had always made me uneasy, though I of course had never had any reason to fear them.

 “My lord.”

 “Disgusting things. How can a creature grin if it has no face? Gives me conniptions. These clutching, tickling night-gaunts have no place here anymore. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of course, sir.” I had a momentary vision of my black metal boot kicking the Dark Lord over the railing, presumably to his death. He barked a laugh as soon as the thought passed through my head.

 “Ahh, you are always good for a chuckle, Leftenant. Now, I hope you had a moment to let your thoughts settle before we proceed with the real work. I promise not to get too sentimental, but there is one more thing I want to know. What was the absolute worst you faced during your war with the demons?”

 There was no question, the moment he asked that. It took me more than a few seconds before I was able to answer.

 “My unit was assigned to clearing out one of the demons’ warrens- a maze of cyclopean stone mortared with the writhing roots of living trees. We expected a lot more opposition than we saw- a token force of demons guarding the outer area of the labyrinth. Those we dispatched with no problem. The whole maze seemed like the bastard child of a waste of time and deathtrap dungeon, but the brass wanted us to clean it top to bottom. The corridors of the thing got more and more narrow and soon it was harder for us in the armor to move very quickly.

 “I was cursing every divine name I could think until it seemed like we’d cleared every claustrophobic inch, when I stumbled on a young demon. Demons aren’t born, exactly, more like transformed, but they could be pretty small before they absorbed enough souls. This one hadn’t absorbed many at all, and I could hardly tell what sort of bestial thing it was supposed to be. Like a thrice-damned idiot I hesitated- I had a brief recollection of rescuing a budgerigar as a child- then the young demon produced an object it had been hiding behind its back. It was an urn, which it hucked over my shoulder into the knights behind me.

 “There was no room for us to maneuver, as I said, and we were helpless when the urn shattered and released a blast of sorcerous lightning. It had clearly been handmade and only killed a couple of us, but the lightning wrapped around our metal armor and stunned everyone. Had there been more demons available we would have been cut down where we fell. As it was, with all that happening we considered the location clear and had some sappers take the place down for good.”

 The Dark Lord nodded. “What about that little demon?” I said nothing. “Well?” I’m sure he could read my mind. I wasn’t going to say it.

 He turned and gazed at me.

“Yes, my lord?”

 “Kneel, Leftenant.” I complied. No compulsion necessary. Despite our heads being level to each other, he loomed over me. The indigo vapors began to curl from him again, and he reached out to place his hands on my epaulets. The darkness transferred from him to me and it surged in my peripheral vision, tendrils of it pulsing, and for a moment I could see a vision of the city around us as a dark, silent vista that had never seen the sun. All these faded after only a moment but I felt different. More solid. Stronger.

 Indigo filigree glowed faintly on the black metal of my armor. As I studied it in surprise, the Dark Lord reached out and grabbed the horns of my helmet again. I felt shameful of my corruption and was terrified of revealing it. I would have shit my armor had that been something possible in my not-quite-alive state.

 Instead of a wrenching feeling like before, the helmet came clean off in the Dark Lord’s hands and I felt a sweet breath of wind pass my damp hair and pallid face.

 “You’re a brave woman, and you’ll serve my purposes perfectly. Now rise, Captain Vittorio. It’s time to get to work.” @theschneckenhouse

@dbzespio

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Artorias announced, eyes upon the ceiling. “For Oolacile.”

The man beside him shifted before rolling over to face him, though he could hardly see Artorias there, his eyes bleary with sleep. And when he finally spoke up, his words slurred a little. “Wait. What?”

Artorias repeated himself before turning his gaze to him, and the knight commander smirked, letting loose a little laugh. “Look at you. If it weren’t for me, you’d sleep forever, I bet.”

Reaching for his companion’s face, Artorias pushed away his long, sweeping curls, still in disarray from last night, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Artorias teased, smirking again. “You know it’s true.”

Too tired to come up with a worthy response, the man merely yawned, and Artorias hopped up from bed to search for his clothes. He was already half-dressed before his companion finally found the energy to form a coherent question. “So then… where is this Oolacile?”

“No idea!” Artorias beamed, broad chest bare as he tightened the belt of his breeches. “But I’ll be certain to consult a map or something before I leave.”

With another yawn, the man watched Artorias dress, his armor glistening a little within the weak early morning sun. “What is happening in Oolacile that requires a presence such as yours?”

“Not certain.” The plume upon his helm was proud and tall as he set it upon his head, and it bobbed to the side as he turned to face his partner. “But their messenger was beside himself, practically sick with fear.”

The man finally rose from the bed, hurriedly tossing aside the blankets. “I’m going with you.”

Artorias shook his head, his plume seemingly dancing as it swayed side to side.

“No, your duty lies here…”

He stooped to retrieve his partner’s helm, tossing it to him.

“With Lord Gwyn.”

Frowning, the man placed his hand upon his helm, fingers resting between the dual horns. He hadn’t polished it in a good while, yet it still shone with a glimmer of silver, even within the faint light that barely penetrated their window.

“Don’t worry so much.” Artorias kissed his fingers and waved before turning to leave. “Whatever they need, it won’t be a problem for me; of that, I’m certain.”

And with a swish of his cloak, he was gone. 

~~~

Artorias was a hero. He had conquered the Abyss and saved the township of Oolacile (and thereby, the entire world) by stemming the encroachment of the darkness of the Abyss, and ultimately, he died to the wounds he had sustained.

It was a believable enough story, though entirely a sad one.

But how had Artorias managed to save the day, so to speak, if he had taken so much damage? Wounded so badly that he lost his life? Though improbable (particularly for one as powerful as Artorias), it still was certainly possible, but questions like these continued to nag at him.

Perhaps he was simply unable to cope…

A clipped bark startled him from his thoughts.

Artorias’ wolf seemed to grow larger every day, and now she was baring her teeth at him; evidently he had overstayed his welcome.

“Easy, Sif…”

He tucked his helm under his arm and held up his empty palms before backing away. Yet she still followed him a few paces, growling.

“Enough,” he muttered. “I’m leaving, okay?”

It wasn’t until he left the graveyard entirely that she finally seemed to calm down, though her eyes were still very much watching him, two flashes of light within the growing darkness of the coming night.

He bit his lip as a distinct feeling of unease began to sprout within his chest.

Sif was merely a pup when Artorias had befriended her, so perhaps this newfound aggression of hers simply came with age; but a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with Artorias. She guarded his grave day and night, it seemed, only allowing him but brief visits now and then. 

He let loose a sigh, replacing his helm, now blackened from flame, upon his head. He removed his sword from his back to balance upon his shoulder, at the ready should he require it.

More often than not, his very presence as an elite knight of Lord Gwyn was enough to discourage any undead, hollow or otherwise, from engaging him in combat, but there was always the occasional fool to deal with. Not that it mattered much to him, either way.

Back to the Kiln with him…

It was a long march, but it was one he was accustomed to by now. Admittedly, visiting Artorias was, no doubt, a distraction from his duty, but he knew he had to do it; it was the only thing that kept him from throwing away his responsibilities entirely.

He didn’t even want to think about what might come of that…

Today he found himself returned to the Kiln unhindered. A good thing too, for he was not quite in the mood for further strife.

At the top of the stone steps leading down to the Kiln, he paused to take a breath before making his way down to his usual post.

Along the way, he passed his fallen brethren, line upon line of ghosts, whispering their truths as they marched, onwards for all eternity. Their bodies would phase right through him if he happened to cross paths with them, a feeling not unlike a slight but very chill breeze. A sensation he was once unnerved by, but now, wholly accustomed to.

Similarly, he was used to their voices, even sometimes recognized several of them as his fellows; others were much too faint for him to decipher.

Chaos Demons, Lord Gwyn, laments for their families, their regrets… All were familiar themes from his fallen comrades.

So when one mentioned Artorias… He froze in place.

Artorias… not… hero…

Helm whipping towards the voice, he nearly dropped his sword. Did he just–?!

Artorias… consumed… Abyss…

The black knight rushed towards the source of the voice, stopping just short of the edge. “What did you say?!”

But the ghost trudged onwards, deeper into the cruel darkness of the Kiln.

A place he could not reach and yet hope to still live.

“Wait!” he hollered, desperate. “Tell me more! About–!”

But the next ghost phased through him then, startling him with the bitter chill.

He sputtered for a few moments, starting a few different sentences before finally settling upon one. “Can any of you tell me about Artorias?!”

He whirled about, examining each of the passing ghosts in turn.

“Please!” he exclaimed, voice breaking. “I need to know what happened to Artorias!”

But none paid any heed to him, let alone answered him. They merely continued marching, muttering and whispering their damn secrets.

He dropped his blade, not caring when it fell to the ground in a loud clatter of noise.

“Please…”

He could feel his eyes begin to wet with tears as he cradled his lowered helm in his hands.

“Artorias…”

~~~

Artorias was not a hero, he had said. Artorias was consumed by the Abyss.

Those words turned about in his mind, replaying, over and over again, while he made his way through the ruins of New Londo.

It was rumored that the Abyss yet lingered here, but he knew that could not be true. For Artorias had conquered the Abyss. Therefore, it simply didn’t exist anymore. And he would prove it.

He would clear Artorias’ name, no matter what it took.

It was the very least he could do, for the hero of Oolacile. His hero.

Before long, he found himself standing atop a literal mound of bodies. He openly shuddered upon the realization, his stomach turning a little at the sounds beneath his feet and the smell.

He had small doubt that the forces of the Abyss had struck upon multiple fronts. New Londo’s demise had most certainly been long underway before Artorias had managed to tame the darkness in Oolacile.

It was a shame then that Artorias had not been alerted to the trouble there sooner... Perhaps then these people might have been spared such a fate.

Gritting his teeth, the black knight of Gwyn inched his way down from the mound, careful not to lose his footing. Eventually he found solid ground, and the dreary tomb opened to fresh air.

However, that path was littered with dwarven dragons, their claws and wings practically sizzling with sparks of electricity.

Without a bow, he wasn’t quite equipped to handle them, so he scanned the rest of the area carefully before deciding upon another route, one which led him through more ruins and rolling hills of corpses.

He had just turned a corner when something rushed at him, seizing his waist, and a burst of light overwhelmed the narrow visor of his helm. The sheer brightness blinding him, he soon lost his balance and fell to the ground, and his attacker, whatever it was, followed him down, firmly pressing on his helm.

He tried to grapple with his foe, but he couldn’t actually see them; so his efforts resulted in naught but a strange sensation overtaking him as the unrelenting light continued to flood his vision.

Finally, with a sickeningly delighted hum, his attacker released him, his touch surprisingly gentle as his thin hands left him.

The black knight staggered to his feet, blinking furiously to clear his eyes.

The man before him was rail-thin and outfitted in a ghastly attire; his armor was practically falling apart, yet its stark, pale streaks, resembling bones, nearly seemed to glow within the dreary dark of the tomb. A ragged hood obscured his face, masked by what appeared to be a skull. The man’s thin fingers, looking not unlike actual bones, continued to caress his seemingly skeletal face, still humming obscenely.

A darkwraith knight.

He had heard of them before. Mere vestiges of the Abyss. Not heralds.

Adrenaline sustaining him, he gripped his blade tightly, perfecting his stance. “To hell with you!”

His foe answered by holding out his palm, his hand now awash with faint red light. His favored arm made ready his own blade, a straight sword that looked to have actual human bones serving as its hilt.

Looking to avoid the eerie glowing mass, the black knight swung his blade to strike the wraith’s side; but the strange red light was apparently larger than he realized, and it blocked the hit. It felt as if he had struck a wall rather than a mere shield.

With a little laugh of delight, the darkwraith rushed forward, leading with his sword. But the black knight didn’t so much as flinch, and now that his foe’s “shield” had dissipated, he struck again, aiming for the heart. The wraith recoiled, and the black knight did not let up, dealing his opponent two more blows; as true to form as if he were battling a mere training dummy rather than the frightening foe he actually faced.

Hissing through his teeth, the darkwraith knight finally made to match his pace, lashing out with a few strikes of his own. But the black knight met them with his shield, a true one of blackened steel. And when the knight moved to attack again, the wraith held up his formless red shield, blocking him again. But the third slash broke his stance, allowing the black knight the opportunity to thrust his blade directly into the man’s chest. He crumpled to the ground soon afterward, dead.

Gwyn’s knight took a moment to catch his breath, unwittingly finding himself staring down at his foe’s lifeless body.

Now that the battle was over, and he had subsequently calmed down a little, he could tell; he did not feel right.

His chest felt hollow, and his body, strangely light. However, his every step felt heavy, as though his greaves were leaden with heavy stones. Even simply lifting a foot was difficult; it was as though the earth was a jealous lover, clinging to him so tightly that he felt it might never relinquish him.

While he didn’t like this strange new feeling, he couldn’t deny that it had certainly helped him with that last encounter. With his arms free to move with such ease, striking down his foe felt as simple as slicing up mere vegetables for dinner. And with his feet grounded so, it would be difficult, if not impossible, for him to lose his stance, much less for anyone to topple him.

Beneath his helm, a smirk pulled at his lip. 

None would stand in his path now; he would see to Artorias’ good name and rid the world of these monstrosities himself. 

It wasn’t long before another darkwraith knight accosted him, placing his newfound abilities to the test yet again. And now he was ready for their tricks; he was careful to avoid the wraith knight’s mysterious left hand. This one fell even faster than the first, and knowing that sent a surge of satisfaction to his still-empty chest.

He wanted more.

Grinning with pride, he hurried onwards, when yet another stepped out from the shadows. The black knight rushed up to meet him, greeting him with a heavy thrust of his blade straight into his gut.

And when yet another attempted to slink up beside him, he licked his lips, his newly powerful arm driving the blade up from his foe’s gut and straight through his shoulder; he delighted in the way he tore through the wraith’s body, muscle and bone and blood and everything giving way to his strength, like a boulder parting even the swiftest of rivers.

The second darkwraith’s head nearly left his shoulders, his opponent only barely managing to hop backwards at the last moment, just as his blade arced to meet him next. The black knight barked out a laugh while the darkwraith openly recoiled, momentarily stepping even further back to reassess the situation.

“What’s wrong?” the black knight demanded to know, swinging his blade through the air to free it of blood and gore. “Is it true then? Can a monster such as yourself know fear? I wonder…”

Seemingly provoked, the wraith knight bolted towards him, snarling, his left hand awash in a blinding light. But the black knight bashed his hand away with a blow from his shield, his sword rising up to cleave him in half.

The blade crushed the wraith’s shoulder as he continued to carve a path down to his heart, the hapless wraith shuddering and shrieking as he went.

“Ah, so you do feel fear…” he breathed, before driving the blade further down, silencing the darkwraith entirely. “That is very good to know…”

The knight of Gwyn was indeed quite pleased to learn this, wrapping his shielded arm about the darkwraith knight in a twisted semblance of an embrace. He inhaled deeply, releasing his sword in favor of caressing the dead wraith’s skeletal face.

He closed his eyes as a nostalgic feeling overtook him, and he began to hum a tune he recalled from long ago… one which…

He startled, immediately backing away from the corpse. What the hell was he doing?!

He stared at the corpse, at his hands, bathed in blood and with his arm still draped about his foe, as though they were lovers… instead of enemies who had just fought one another to the death.

To the death…

Yes, he gazed down at his bloodied hands, suddenly wanting very much to lick them clean.

He had nearly brought his armored finger to his lips when he startled again. What was happening to him?!

He hurriedly backed away from the corpse, fear coursing through his veins.

But this fear only sent a surge of delight through him, and he openly laughed, only stopping once he drew his hands to his heart, feeling it clattering beneath his armor.

Something was not right.

But his chest felt empty.

Oh, so very empty…

He clenched his hands into fists, swallowing his fears with immense difficulty. He stared at his bloody hands, desire pulsing through him, giving his hollowed, empty chest a surge of life.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head furiously.

These last vestiges of the Abyss… Could he be succumbing to them?

Now he understood how Artorias had died. This power… it was so great… So… enticing…

Suddenly he realized he was breathing quite heavily. In… and out…

After he had calmed a bit, he opened his eyes, only to realize he had clenched his hands together so tightly that he was drawing his own blood. The smell sickened him, enough to clear his head.

He needed to destroy these last few remaining monsters. So that the Abyss would be gone forever, and Artorias’ name cleared.

Yes. For Artorias…

Thinking of him spurred the knight to his feet again and off to hunt down the last of his foes. They fell quickly, and easily, so much so that he needed to again take a moment to calm himself before proceeding, his own blood again serving as a sort of smelling salt, pulling him back to reality, and away from his wild urges.

Finally he seemed to have cleared the area of darkwraith knights and naught but stony, spiraling stairs awaited him, leading down. The way ahead faded to darkness, so he peered from the edge, though naught but an eerie, inky blackness lay beyond.

It reminded him of the Kiln, in a way…

Frowning, he kicked a loose bit of stone down into the pit below, and he did not hear it reach the ground. A long fall, should he happen to lose his step.

He crashed his blade to the ground, hoping to lure any lingering darkwraiths out from hiding, for he did not wish to engage them in such a narrow and perilous space.

But none emerged to challenge him.

Swallowing heavily, he tentatively made his way down, wondering what perils he might encounter next. But the stairs were devoid of disturbances, and an eerie calm enveloped him.

And then he reached the end.

The stairs just… ended.

Panic flooding his veins, he wildly looked about, searching for another way.

But there was none.     

Shoving his blade into the ground, he nudged another bit of stone loose and then kicked it, holding his breath so that he might hear its landing.

But he waited. And waited.

No sound…

Chest empty and heart sick with worry, he collapsed to his knees, his upright blade still within the ground the only thing keeping him from folding in on himself.

How would he clear Artorias’ name now?

He failed.

Artorias… his one and only… and he had failed him.

Of course not!

He startled, blinking away the tears that were already filling his eyes. “What?!”

Of course not, sweetheart. You could never fail me.

“Artorias?” He coughed; his own voice sounded hollow and hoarse to him. “Is it… is it really you?”

Who else?

He searched his memories, ashamed to admit to himself that the sound of his beloved’s voice was distant to him, hard to recall. Maybe it was thanks to that damn hollow feeling, that emptiness in his chest.

He took a hardy sniff of his blood, still flowing freely from his palm. That was a little strange, wasn’t it? How was it still bleeding?

No matter. Artorias. Artorias was here, somewhere.

He peered over the edge, searching, searching with his eyes. “Artorias? Where are you?”

Come down here. Let us talk… face to face…

“I… can’t…” he feebly protested, though his body, driven by the need to quell the emptiness within his heart, was already perched upon the edge, ready to plummet down into the depths below. “I’ll… I’ll die if I do that.”

Artorias didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to; for his body jumped down seemingly of its own accord. He barely had the sense to drive his sword down below him, leading him in a plunging attack.

But when he reached the ground, his blade gave way to empty air, and he realized he was somehow aloft, seemingly held up by darkness itself.

And that was all that surrounded him. Darkness.

The Abyss…?

He wildly shook his head. Surely not!

His heart squeezed, seemingly gripped by an invisible hand, crushing it in an oppressive hold.

He couldn’t help but cry out, folding in on himself, his grip on his blade keeping him from collapsing entirely yet again. He began to breathe heavily, suddenly fearful he might perish from this immense pain.

“Artorias?!” he gasped, struggling to speak. “Where are you?!”

Right here…

He looked up, and his breathing evened as he took in the form of his love, slowly drawing closer to him. Artorias was rail-thin; his legs and feet, in particular, seemed as if they might wither away entirely from whatever neglect that plagued him. But worse of all, his left arm was in terrible shape, twisted and hanging there limply, as though he had lost all ability to control it.

He couldn’t see his face beneath his hood, and somehow, a part of him feared to see it.

“Artorias…” he finally managed to whisper. “What’s happened to you? Are you hurt?”

Artorias shook his head, the plume upon his helm trailing after him.

“Artorias…” His breathing quickened as the man continued to approach him. “They told me you were corrupted by the Abyss, and I knew, I knew it couldn’t–!”

Farron…

Artorias reached for him, the fingers of his right arm caressing his jaw. Join me.

Finally, finally… that emptiness in his chest felt satisfied, filled again by the love of his life, and Farron rose to his feet.

“Of course. Anything for you, Artorias.”

@shadowsheik14

@omelevate

The Loyal Knights of Gwyn

Long ago, Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight, and his Knights went down to the Kiln of the First Flame. The Flame was choking on its dying breath, a flicker of its former self. Gwyn, out of desperation, threw himself into the flame in hopes of rekindling it, a sacrifice that engulfed the loyal knights that followed him, burning their armor black.

The Black Knights, as they were now known, were harbingers of violence and death. They lingered on, symbols of Gwyn's sacrifice, warped, twisted, Hollowed.

Upon the steps leading up to the Kiln of the First Flame, smoke and ash furled about a Black Knight, one who remained as a stalwart guard amongst several of its kin. Memories drifted about it, smoke swirling around its legs, twisting and warping into visions of its fellow Knights, treading upon the very steps that lead to their doom.

One such vision paused by the Black Knight. The Black Knight glanced over at the memory, a vision of one of its fellows, a ghost of its former self. The phantom lingered, the two staring at one another. Time dragged on, and perhaps to an onlooker, it would appear that the two were lost in memories.

Memories, the bits and pieces of our lives that mold who we are into being. Neither knight nor ephemeral ghost had much of themselves remaining, except what the solid knight's body knew, the memory of how to fight. Perhaps…

...perhaps the knights had trained together. Once as children, wielding what looked to be sticks to an onlooker but were, in fact, the mightiest of swords. How they sparred, laughter mixed with wild yelling, running in the forests around Anor Londo, sticks clacking together, valiantly slaying any dragons (which were really fierce topiary) standing in their way.

There, in that forest, which cradled and nurtured them, they promised one another, an unbreakable assurance, to work together and achieve their goal as friends and allies. It was a simple plan for each of them, to become the knights they dreamed to be. The vow was made with solemn faces, grim as they knew adults could be, before grins overtook their seriousness and, with giggles, they went home to their families with their promise in place.

Years would pass, and the induction as official squires would see the two knights learning the ways of a knight. Their teamwork and ability to coordinate attacks, even as simple trainees, was not lost upon their commanders. In an effort to have the two teach their fellow squires, the two were often separated, much to their annoyance. And, as youth often do under stress, there were fights; between the other squires, many of whom were tossed into this life not of their own will, fights with others who simply had different views of the world and, once, a terrible once, with each other.

The last fight saw one sneak out of the barracks to meet with the other. Together, they left the walls behind, returning to the woods that raised them. Surrounded by lush green, the sharp smell of the pines enveloping them in nostalgic remembrance, they talked. They talked of their fears, their triumphs, their angers and, most of all, of their vow. Free from the eyes of those they were loyal to, free of the pressure to succeed, they shared their tears, safe with each other.

Once all was said and, throats raw from unabashed sobs, they reinstated their vows, their promise. They would be knights, damn the trials and damned be those who thought less of them. While it would not get easier, they vowed, again and again, to be there for one another.

Perhaps...as pure conjecture, they may have even shared a kiss, though this memory, too, is lost to time.

Years, years, years again, the two would achieve their dream. The reality was less wondrous than the dreams they had as children, as they would find; tasks often gruesome and deadly and not at all the heroic, majestic visions they had as youths. Still, they took pride in being able to call themselves Knights of Gwyn, knights who had gone through such rigorous training, knights who refused to fall in battle and knights who always had each other's backs. Their camaraderie led to many of their victories, both knowing one another in such intimacy that their fellows would say they had the same mind, the same heart, the two inseparable and all the stronger for it.

The two knights, once their duties had been attended to, would often sneak out to the forest alone together. Some would say it was for more rigorous training, others that the two took to patrolling for scoundrels, while others would simply give a knowing look and turn a blind eye. For their part, the knights let the rumors flow freely, for each would be met with a laugh and, with a twinkle in their eyes, a...

...perhaps.

The dragons, their fearsome foe, had been destroyed. Naught but lesser cousins existed, and those were hunted with not nearly the determination as their first opponents. However, a darkness crept into the land, rumors of the flame beginning to dwindle taking foothold amongst the populace. Fear oozed into the minds of the people, and into the hearts of the knights; without light, could there be life? Could they live on, or would they fade away, as the embers of their once powerful flame...?

The order was given that the knights would be joining Lord Gwyn on his mission to rekindle the flame. Rumors abounded, but the consensus, spoken quietly and gravely amongst each other, was that this would be a one-way trip, which none would return from. Their loyalty would stand as a symbol to the people, a reassurance that their king, their god, was as mighty as the warriors beside him.

Another night to sneak out to the forest, the forest that had cradled their dream, their childhood, and the hours spent together. Time stolen from their duty, such valuable hours, a lifetime of fears and friendship between them. One such fear, a fear of stepping into the unknown on the morrow, was expressed by one of the pair. A fear that brought into question loyalty, loyalty that they owed their lord and should never be examined nor thrown into doubt.

Not even if it meant throwing their lives away. A break, between the two; one walked away, the crunch of leaves beneath heavy boots. Both held their breaths in their throat, breaths once shared, tight, tight, as though letting it go might…

The heavy crunch of boots followed after, a break in the stillness preceding . With sighs, they marched on, together, knowing they went to their dooms.

 All of these, perhaps, memories of what could have been. Of the time they trained together, fought side by side. Perhaps theirs was a friendship that became something more, something intimate. An intimacy that would lead them both to a tragic end, one guided by a loyalty to a desperate God driven to act against the end of his reign.

Would they have spoken to each other, there, near the heart of the kiln? Whispered their wants, their desires, their misgivings of what had become of them? Would the ghost have pleaded with the other to flee, to leave and explore the world, unbound and untethered from their once lord, now nothing more but a husk?

One could only conjecture at the relationship between the two, if the two were even the knights who had known each other. One, a phantom, a mere memory of what it once was. The other, ravaged by Hollowing, its thoughts and sense of self erased, leaving behind only its body's knowledge of how to fight, to kill.

A moment passed, two, and then the ghost moved away, ash swirling about it, leaving but loneliness in its wake. The Black Knight straightened, gaze looking out over the ash covered distance, its body knowing what its mind did not.

[observeroflaplace]

D20 - Grave

CW: violence

Under the cover of night, a Miqo’te skulks ruins of Belah’dah in Southern Thanalan. Though a sun seeker, his eyes have adjusted to the dark through training, patience, and the faintest assistance from magic outlining his feline gaze. Across hollowed shells of buildings and streets, greyed and rotten corpses shambled aimlessly. Aimlessly enough, to put them down without a struggle.

“That which was torn from its rest shall be returned. May those lost in the dark find the glow of your fire’s light.” A prayer muttered under bated breath, as the man draws a dagger, around whose hilt is tied a nigh imperceptible wire chord, which close enough to perceive, faintly gleams with the red of spilled voidsent blood. The prize of another quarry, but not the quarry he was sent for tonight.

Silently, he hurls the dagger towards one of the animated corpses, and its twin at another. He pulls the chords taut, and a bright, near-white flame traces across the length, briefly outlining the wires until they reach the blades buried into unloving flesh.

The corpses immolate with barely a hollow roar of pain, crumbling to ash quickly thereafter.

“…From dust you came, and to dust, you shall return.”

More sentries ambled the area, but with the cover of crumbled walls, these too, were easily dispatched. An ordinary assassin might simply circumvent them in favour of the true quarry of the night, but to the Miqo’te, he was obligated to return these abominations, these tortured souls, back into Thal’s embrace.

Deeper within the ruins, towards the remains of the buried temple of Qarn, wherein Azeyma was once revered alongside the divine kings of Belah’dah, a weeping Hyur is hunched over a corpse laid on an altar. Flames nearby were lit to shed light as the grieving man did his blasphemous works.

Adorned in armour befitting the Sultansworn, this body was considerably more recently deceased; and with the acrid smell of alchemic preservatives, almost certainly fresher than time’s grasp would ordinarily allow.

The Miqo’te treads quietly, trying to take advantage of the plentiful and long shadows cast in the room by the quarry himself.

However, the lack of direct cover meant that on approach, the Miqo’te being revealed was inevitable.

“I’ll make it right. I know the guards were failures in one way or another, but I promise you, my son. I’ll make up for my mistake. Please come back to me.”

The Miqo’te stands over the Hyur’s back, blade in hand, ready to strike, when his shadow barely slips out of that of his target.

“Wait, who’s there-“

Wasting little time, the Miqo’te brings his blade down into the man’s neck. Blood splatters onto the floor and is quickly singed dry, and sparks briefly banish what darkness remained from the lit flames. Ozone fills the air.

Solemnly, the Miqo’te dug two graves that night.

[eriellesudario]

Why I like Hatrið mun sigra by Hatari

I’m currently in conflict with a few people in the Eurovision community (mostly on Facebook) due to one reason – I like and enjoy Hatrið mun sigra by Hatari.

I understand that everyone has different taste in music but if there is a common argument to why people don’t like this song, it’s because of either of the following:

Constant screaming – it will put people off

The message of the song – too much hate + they’re bad rolemodel

It also have been revealed recently that the scores they’ve received during the national selection were somewhat near to double compared to what others have got.

There is a reason why I like the song – and no, it’s not only because it’s very different, but it’s the meaning behind the lyrics and the way it’s performed, as well as looking at the current political climate in various countries.

Who is Hatari?

Before we go to the nitty gritty, we need to know who the band members are. Hatari consists of 3 band members: Klemens Hannigan, Matthías Tryggvi Haraldson, and Einar Stéfansson. They’ve released 1 EP (Neysluvara) – which contains 4 songs, and one single (Spillingardans)

According to twitter user @leanderkills, the lead singer- Matthias, was a journalist for RÙV.

I don’t know if the journalism aspect of his career played a role in his songwriting and performance but for me, it makes sense to why the song was written the way it was.

So I guess one dumb reason why I like Hatari – they’re the Icelandic version of MCR! Except rather than writing songs that help deal with mental health, they write songs that describes our corrupt society.

What is the song about?

Hatrið mun sigra is very open to interpretation. A lot of people who are against Hatari just view the song as “giant screaming fest” that promotes hate and it shouldn’t be performed on the Eurovision stage.

But I’d like to differ – I see this song as a realistic commentary on our society. A song that’s unapologetic and just says it how it is. But also saying that the incoming ‘hate and war’ is a good thing as it will unite us all – in a sense.

One of my favourite lines goes as follows:

Hatrið mun sigra (Hate will prevail) Evrópa hrynja. (Europe will crumble) Vefur lyga. (Caught in its web of lies) Rísið úr öskunni. (Rise from the ashes) Sameinuð sem eitt. (United we shall be)

I’d see this line as way of saying that the world we live in is filled with hate and corruption – HOWEVER… we will arise from the warfare that all this hate as brought and become a newer society – more united than before.

Now compare that to our current society. USA elections where it caused more division (based on my observation), Russia vs Ukraine, Palestine vs Israel…

Even in past events like the World Wars, People Power Revolution in the Philippines, and probably so many other events of rebellion/revolutions…

Our entire society is filled with hate and people uniting to put an end to it, and in doing so – creating a newer society (until the cycle repeats itself).

Hatari expresses this message in a more… extreme way – more in a way of a power balance. The ‘screaming’ represents a dictator/leader who is rallying people to join his cause. The falsetto part that’s done by Klemens represents some weird sense of ‘hope’.

Every translation I’ve found of the chorus pretty much says the same thing –

Allt sem ég sá. (All that I saw) Runnu niður tár. (Tear begin to fall) Allt sem ég gaf. (All that I gave) Eitt sinn gaf. (Once gave) Ég gaf þér allt. (I gave it all for you)

“I gave everything to you” – like they’re doing this for us. Like it’s for our own good or something around those lines. My views on that line is how after seeing the world we live in, they want to do something about it. All this conflict was all for us.

Yes, this song is not as ‘pacifist’ and may have some political undertones in them, BUT AT LEAST IT’S SUBTLE!!! But you know what song ALSO has some political undertones (and it’s very very obvious) – Ukraine 2016.

Past Icelandic Entries

Past entries in Iceland has been a rollercoaster. Some songs made it to the finals like “Coming Home”, “Is it true?”, and “No prejudice”. Some fan faves like “Hear Them Calling” were robbed to be in the final. And there were songs that… we’re not that good (IMO).

Iceland hasn’t made it to the finals since 2014 and a lot of their songs have either been constant low-key power ballads. They’re good but not enough to make it to the finals.

If Iceland wants to stand out in the contest, they need to take a risk. One of the appeals of Hatari is that they provide the ‘risk’ Iceland needs to qualify to the grand finals. They have sex-appeal, the genre post-industrial/electronic and the message of the song is contrasts to what the majority is being sent.

The reason Hatari became the fan favourite is that, out of all 10 songs that competed in Songvakeppnin – Hatari stood out from the rest. Their music reminded fans of ‘Lordi’ and ‘AWS’ but in a more twisted way.

To me, this song is ‘Occidentali’s Karma’ but darker and sinister.

“But Hatari are bad people/role models”

Please watch this video underneath and tell me again if they’re bad people.

One of my Icelandic online friends have told me that Hatari is an “art group” and this whole thing is an “instalment”. They’re giant hypocrites btw! They claim to be ‘anti-capitalist’ yet they do ‘capitalistic things’.

Here’s the thing – there aren’t that many bands and artists out there that talk about the issues of society or the individual. Only a handful like My Chemical Romance and Muse were able to use their talents to appeal towards those who needed it the most or tell their views of the current situation using music.

Most songs that are shown on mainstream radio are either about love, loss, or sex. Yes, it’s a good escape but there are times I’d like to hear something different, something that’s more realistic and appealing to how I view my life. I have friends who enjoy MCR for the same reason as well – that their music reflects our current life.

Hatari does this by composing songs with darker undertones on what society has become and whether you agree to it or not, you have to admit – it does hold some sort of truth.

Hatari is the opposite of a Eurovision entry

Hatrið mun sigra is a song that not only reflects our current society but defies what Eurovision likes to promote. Yes, the idea of Eurovision was to calm the masses after World War 2 and most of the songs are either about Love and Peace (and in some cases, loss), but we can’t keep sugarcoating what our world has become.

One of the common things I’ve heard whilst I was a journalism student was the term “the media feeds the masses” – which means whatever the media gives, we the people just accept it as fact as it’s the ‘journalists’ job to tell us what’s happening in our society’. However, we are all aware of fake news and how it affects elections. According to Vox – there is this thing called the ‘October surprise’ and it’s a way to sway people on how they vote during elections

Hatari’s intension as a band is to bring to light the dark sides of our current society. That not everything is all ‘rainbows and butterflies’. Yes, it’s not the ‘ideal song’ that we want to hear in a song contest and some may see it as a ‘political entry that should be disqualified’ but it really isn’t. It’s just a reflection on what our world has become.

I love Hatari’s song because it aligns to how I’m seeing the world and the society we live in. I love my dark and edgy music (like MCR, Far Away Stables, and Muse). And the message and music style attracts my demographic – the “Woke” Generation – those who are self aware on the issues and want to fight for change.

Music is subjective. People will have their own taste.

According to the r/eurovision sub reddit, some fans have noticed that it’s a divide between the older and younger demographic in regards to their thoughts of this song. I just think that for once, Iceland is taking a risk and we finally have an entry that’s unique. And the fact that it got double the points in Songvakeppnin and the amount of love it’s been given through YouTube comments, Reddit, and Twitter – I just know that it has a chance it could make it to the finals.

Will Hatrið mun sigra win Eurovision – maybe?

But will it reach Top 10 – I sure damn hope so.

So love or hate the song – in the end… Hate will prevail. Their song holds some truth into what kind of world we live in. You can say it’s a ‘political protests’ but I believe it’s a reflection on the world we live in and that we have the power to change things.

I am glad Iceland is taking a risk and I do hope this song does very well in Tel Aviv. Love or hate the song – in the end, hate will prevail…

Before the hate wins – remember to loveMatthías Tryggvi Haraldson

[spacedoutwitch]

Tribble Month 2022 Day 29: The Great Golden Drake

He will send his legions down the mountainside in waves upon waves, will blot out the sky above that blasted forest with the width of all their wings.  He will tear up their entitlement by its roots, shred even the smallest of budding plants that dare assist them.  And when he reaches that towering tree, its branches aching under the weight of their prideful, paranoid leader, he shall bring upon it fire so bright that it burns the very memory of it to ash, so it will peel apart his greatest enemy layer by layer, until her bones crumble.  He will have his way.  It is destined.

So says, and has said, for the past hundred years, and for several hundred more before that.

I had a day that probably shouldn't have drained me as much as it did, but my brain is mush regardless, so have some questionable leadership.