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heywardsarchive · 3 years

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Before You Go - [Harry Potter]

Warnings: angst, grief, death, insecurities, anxiety, sadness, alcohol, if I missed any pls let me know!

Summary: Harry lost his lover to the second wizarding war and his mind is uneasy and filled with regret and sadness as he goes through the last of her belongings.

a/n: Letters are in bold and italics, memories are in italics

Word count: 2.3k+

Based off of ‘before you go’ by Lewis Capaldi for @iliveiloveiwrite‘s songfic challenge! I hope you like it:)

Pairing: Harry Potter x female reader

*****

Harry sat on the sofa of his apartment, nursing a bottle of beer in one hand, staring, dazed at the television screen, not paying attention to the movements of the characters. His mind was wandering. The war was over but he was still reeling from the effects of it. He lost so many people he loved, it wasn't his fault but he couldn't help but blame himself. If only he was quicker, smarter. If he didn't let voldemort in he could have stopped sirius from dying. If he just surrendered himself to the dark lord, he could have stopped Fred's death, remus' and tonks too. So many others would have been saved.

The deaths of Fred, Sirius, Remus, Hedwig and others killed him inside but none hurt him as much as hers did. Y/n l/n. The only woman he truly loved. He loved her with every inch and fibre of his being. There was no part of him that didn't ache for her touch. He didn't want her to die. He would have done anything to stop her death, but he couldn't help it.

He tried convincing himself that he hated her. Hated her for leaving him, hated her for saving his life giving her own instead. Hated her for putting his life over her own, which in Harry's eyes was a hundred times more worthy then his. He tried, but he knew he was just kidding himself. How could he hate someone as perfect as her? She put everything above herself.

Every memory of her faded in his mind. All harry could think of was what he should have said when he had her in his arms, feeling her touch on skin. Staring into her (e/c) eyes. Shining with love looking into his emerald green ones, her fingers in his unruly raven hair. If he thought hard enough, he could still feel her lingering touch. But it wasn't enough. He thought of everything he could have said to her. How he could have told her that he loves her, how he wanted to marry her one day, have children of she wished, how he would give everything and everyone to the devil for her. But alas, there were many things that were left unspoken.

Regret. That was all Harry felt. No other emotion but sadness, grief and regret filled his body. He didn't know how much you were hurting inside, too wrapped up in his own head, forgetting the one he loved. Y/n took care of him although she herself was broken, beyond repair with the heartache she had suffered. Losing her older brother and parents to a death Eater attack wasn't easy on anyone. She smiled like nothing was wrong, it was as if everything was okay in her life, as if no pain filled her heart . Her smiling face plagued Harry's mind. They said time can heal, but that was a would that Harry doubted would ever heal.

Harry wished that there was something he could have said to her before she died and left him and all others behind, going to a happier and safer place, or so Harry liked to think. In his eyes, she deserved nothing but love and support. He wished he was more present in her life, wishing he could have done something to ease her pain.

He took another swig of the beer in his hand and closed his eyes. He thought that her death was worse than anything in the world, but in reality it was the idea that she died hurting inside, completely broken and with the thought that she was alone was what killed him more.

He walked to his room clumsily, not really drunk but a bit tipsy. He walked to his dressing table and removed a box from the drawer. He lifted the lid and went through the contents. It was the last piece of y/n that he possessed. Having no kin left behind, she left all her belongings to Harry, Ron and Hermione.

In the box Harry pulled out a few letters addressed to him. He opened the first one and read it for the tenth time since he got it. It was dated 1994, their fourth year. As he read the contents, his mind flashed back to the day the incidents occured. He remembered it clear as day, the Yule ball. He was clumsy and didn't know how to dance, but with y/n as his date, how could he not have fun?

Dear Harry, I know I will never have the guts to send you this letter, but maybe one day you will get to read this.

Today you took me to the Yule ball, we went as friends, I guess we'll never be anything more than that. I guess that's ok though, atleast I can still be around you. Wait, that's creepy. But you get the picture right? I really like you Harry. I want nothing more than to be your girlfriend but I don't know if you even like me that way. Maybe I'll confess to you one day, who knows? You looked really good today Harry. In the green dress robes, they really bring out your eyes. We matched too! Mother sent me a dark green dress which I love. I hope I get to wear it soon. Hermione is calling me to sleep now, I will see you tomorrow Harry. Lots of love, Yours, Y/n.

Harry closed his eyes and a tear fell from his eyes onto the paper, blotting the ink. He missed the way you smiled when you read a good book, or danced along to sweet music, or how you convinced him to make a snow Angel when it snowed back in 5th year. The memories filled his mind, he didn't know if he was happy about it or if it was too painful to remember.

It was 4th year, the Yule ball was in a few days. Harry still had not got a date. There was only one girl he had eyes for but he was tok afraid to ask her. He saw multiple boys her out but she seemed to decline all of them. He gathered his gryffindor courage and walked up to y/n. "Hey, y/n do you wanna go to the ball with me?" She was about to reply when Harry's nerves kicked in and he quickly added, "as friends ofcourse." He noticed her face fall but he didn't think much of it. "Yes Harry, I'd love to." She smiled and walked to her next class. Harry stood there happy that she agreed but also internally slapping himself that he asked her as friends when he wanted more.

Harry then remembered the time her asked her out, it was their fifth year and y/n had stood up for him against the toad face umbridge. He had to resist the urge the urge to kiss her then and there during class.

Harry stopped y/n outside class. He grabbed her hand and pulled her aside. "Harry, what's up?" She asked him, cocking an eyebrow. "I actually have to ask you something." She gestured for him to go on. "Willyougoonadatewithme?" Harry looked hopefully. "What did you say?" She looked confused. Harry took a deep breath. "Will you go on a date with me?" He repeated, slowly. "Yes." She grinned. "I have potions now, but I will catch you later." She kissed Harry's cheek and left. Harry watched her retreating figure with a smile on his face and his hand on the spot where she kissed him.

Harry was now lying on the bed rummaging through the box, finding y/n's belongings. His breath hitched when he found the pendant that he gave her in their sixth year for their one year anniversary. All their memories filled his mind and all he could think of was y/n's face, which in his opinion was the most beautiful face in the world.

He closed his eyes, dropping the box in the process. He bent down to pick up the contents when he saw a picture fall out of a book. It was a picture of him and y/n. He smiled at the sight of the picture. It was taken in their sixth year after he told her he loved her. He missed the old days when things were a bit better.

He opened the diary and flipped through the pages. It had notes on y/n's life, some random pictures here and there. Harry then reached the date may 25th 1997. It was the date she lost her whole family. He read the words written with blue ink. Each word on the paper was a gaping wound on his body issuing life blood.

I lost everything today. I don't know why I am writing this down but maybe it will help me cope. I can't break down now. I need to stay strong for Harry. For Ron and Hermione too. They're counting on me. I have to fight with my life against that horrid dark lord. I have to. To avenge the death of my family.

I can't be weak. Not now. I can deal with my own problems later on, after the war. I can't let my anxiety and insecurities take over my mind. Not now. Not now.

Once the war is over, things will get over. I know Harry can defeat him. I belive in him. He's so strong, faced so much loss at such a young age. I could never survive that much trauma. I admire his strength, I wish I was that strong. No point dwelling in my faults now, we have a war to win.

Harry shut the book, unable to read further. He didn't understand why y/n felt that way. She never showed it. He couldn't comprehend how someone so strong and brave could put themself down like that. She called him brave, when he was far from that. He kept lashing out, removing his anger on everyone. But she didn't do that, she didn't cry, kept everything inside for his sake. She was the strong one in the relationship not him. Harry felt guilty once again, like it was his fault. He felt he didn't do enough to help his love out of her cage of insecurity.

Harry wished he had done more, said more and stopped her hurting, or reduced it. He wished there was a way for him to reach her once and ask if he could have stopped her pain. He blamed himself for being distracted, leading her to let herself be taken instead.

Harry was dueling a death Eater, not paying attention to what was happening around him. Another death eater snuck behind up behind him and blasted the wall he was standing in front of. Y/n saw him and pushed Harry out of the way, taking the brunt of the falling bricks herself.

"No!" Harry cried, pushing the bricks away from her frail body. "No no no." He whispered. He finally freed her from the bricks and cracked her in his arms. A few tears rolled down his cheeks. "Don't cry Harry." This only made the tears fall faster. "I'm not worth your tears haz." She weakly reached up and wiped the tears off his dirty face. "Why?" Harry croaked. "You didn't have to die for me. I don't want you to die for me." He cried. "Oh Harry, I'd give my life a thousand times over to save yours. I'll love you forever and always. No matter what, I'll always watch over you."

"Don't leave me." Harry pressed a feverish kiss to y/n's lips, forehead, hair , cheeks. She was getting colder every minute. "I'll always be with you. In here." She placed her hand on his heart and smiled. Her hand become limp and dropped down. Her last breath of life taken. Harry freely cried over her dead body.

When voldemort called Harry to his death, he freely went, knowing it was right. He had to avenge the deaths of all those who were killed in the war. But a small part of him yearned to see y/n's smiling face again, and he hoped that he would see her again when he was no more. So he went, went with a brave face to the one he loved most.

Harry sat down on his bed, leaving the box aside. As he closed his eyes he wondered if there would have been a different outcome, a butterfly effect of sorts, if he hadn't been so closed off. If he let his walls down, been vulnerable around y/n, maybe she wouldn't have felt so alone and weak. If he let her in fully he could have let her know that he too was weak in a way, he too needed to let out his emotions. But it was too late now. She was gone and there was nothing Harry could do about it.

He drifted of to sleep, one thought lingered in his mind. If there was something he could have said to make it all stop hurting her. If he could have eased her mind before she went. It truly killed Harry how y/n's mind could make her feel so worthless.

But she was gone. There was a gaping hole in Harry's heart, one that could only be filled by love from y/n. But she was no more with him. He would never hear her voice again, never feel her touch, all that was left in him was guilt, regret and sadness and there was nothing anyone could do to fix it. *** A/n: I am so sorry for the angst, I hope I didn't break y'all too much;) I will be posting a new year fic tomorrow!

It's new years eve y'all! I hope you guys have a fantastic new year and here's to hoping 2021 is better than 2020!

#harry potter x reader #iliveiloveiwrite3.5k #harry potter angst #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x reader angst

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tipsydipsydo · 3 years

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Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Angst; Fluff; Smut

AU: Historical/Middle Age! AU

Warnings: arranged + forced marriage; gender roles according to the period; sexual themes + sexual language; Praising; Body-Worship; Nipple Play; Fingering; First experience of an orgasm; Loss of virginity (unprotected Sex)

Summary: You're getting married tomorrow and you want to say goodbye to your mare. There you met the stable boy Taehyung for the last time, who's your best friend and childhood crush at the same time. You will experience a stormy night full of love and passion and you'll give the biggest proof of love to him...

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With a thumping heart you peep around the corner, but the cold hallway with high stone walls lies quietly in front of you, only a few candles in their stands lit up the long corridor. The servants must have finally retired to their own rooms and even the last noises in the courtyard has fallen silent. It must be close to midnight, but you couldn't sneak away earlier. The danger of being caught has been too big. But now you grab the thin skirt of your white night gown and lift it a little bit up, so that you could walk as silently as possible along the corridor, across the courtyard to the horse stable. Light-footed you quickly put one foot in front of the other, the bright Full Moon guides you with its light the way to the stable. Quietly you open the small side door and slip in, where you’re greeted the familiar smell of horse, hay and leather.

Here, too, the torches were extinguished late. Just thinking about what a momentous day tomorrow will be will make you sick and silent tears run down your cheeks. Tomorrow you will be your wedding with a man who was already over thirty years old when you were born and whom you didn't even really know. He was here once two months ago so that you two could „get acquainted" with each other. Theobald, as he is called, has a bald head, an ugly potbelly and with every, almost frightening smirk you could get a glimpse of yellow teeth. At your first meeting, he had already patterned you with such a disgustingly lustful look that a cold shudder ran down your back and still makes you nauseous at the thought of it.

Your eyes are slowly getting used to the darkness, fortunately some Moonlight falls through the small ventilation hatches, so you can reach the last Box without tripping over something. Securely you open the door and gently push the butt of my beloved Grey Mare Estrilda to the side. Curiously, she lifts her big, noble head and turns a little to you. As if she knows what will happen to you tomorrow, she tenderly presses her head against your chest. Until now you had only cried quietly for yourself, but now, you bury your face in her soft, long mane and let your feelings run free. Why didn't your mother, when you were born, take action against being promised to such an old man?

But every time you asked her, she just shrugged with her shoulders helplessly and murmured softly,"that's just how it is, Y/N. I wanted to talk to your father, but he only saw the opportunity in finally reconciling two hostile Empires. With this marriage. You have to believe me, dear. I was hoping for something different for you. That you will be happier than I am. That you can live your life more in more freedom."

You have always been different, your curiosity, your stubbornness and your self-confidence do not correspond to the expectations one has of a daughter of the noble family. You love horses and riding, you can't do anything with jewelry, dresses out of expensive silk and velvet or perfumes. You loved to ride in the big hunt at least once a year and go hunting with your falcon Alan. You are not interested in the easy, comfortable life as the wife of a nobleman. You would much rather have helped once in the kitchen and learned how to cook a meal. But this was strictly forbidden to you, after all you are not a maid! Your wish is simply to be allowed to be as you want it to be. You do not care whether it is appropriate for a woman of your rank or not.

Your body slowly calms down from the convulsion and one last time you take the smell of your beloved mare deep into your lungs. Because she will stay here while you return to his estate with your new husband. That would become your new home. Although the wedding party will be celebrated here... but you will spend our wedding night with him on his castle. Then you will be trapped in the clutches of a sadistic, cruel and heartless ruler. You have heard some whisperings and rumors from the other Kingdom. The thought lies like a bitter, putrid taste on your tongue and your stomach twists at the thought that you have to show yourself naked to this disgusting man. You would rather burn at the stake as a wicked whore than surrender your virginity to him.

Suddenly, you hear the clatter of a fallen bucket and a dull cursing behind you, which is why you‘re startled and push yourself out of instinct into the darkest corner of the horse box. In vain, because the shadowy figure steps closer and opens the box door. Your heart beats fast, who is that and would he betray you for wandering around in the stable at night? But your anxious heart romptly calms down as you look into the soft and gentle face of Taehyung, the stable boy.

"Y/N? What are you doing here, wouldn't you have to sleep since a long time? After all, tomorrow is your wedding.", the last sentence spit Taehyung literally out. A relieved smile comes to your lips when you see your only and best friend. "Taehyung...", you murmur and fall into his arms, trying your best to suppress a sob. His muscular arms are wrapping themself around you, holding you and run tenderly his fingers through your hair.

The first time you met was on your eleventh birthday when you received Estrilda as a birthday present and he was assigned to look after the welfare of your horse. At that time he had already been fifteen, and now, nine years later, he has matured into a handsome twenty-Four year old man. He is the only one who ever understood you and even offered to run away with him when you found out about your marriage. But you would be looked for all over the country and everything would be more like a deadly skewer, which is why you sadly but thankfully refused. Above all, you do not want to expose your beloved mother to the cruel anger of your father, he would blame her if one morning you could no longer be found. It is inevitable that you must marry this disgusting, sadistic devil, whether you like it or not. But one thing you will decide for yourself...

Taehyung's masculine smell of sweat and horse calms you down more than ever and you snuggle up sobbing at his chest, steeled muscles from the daily hard work. You let your feelings run free and enjoys the gentle caresses he gives you. He is even more against the wedding than you and you have already guessed the reason for a long time. He develops feelings for you, which would go beyond your normal friendship-relationship. This assumption triggers a gentle flutter in your stomach and you wish you could be even closer to him than you already are. You both knew it, but you have never really said it out loud. For this fact requires no words. You’re in love with each other.

It was clear from the beginning that this fragile love has no future, and yet it feels so right, even though it is completely wrong. But he gives you the affection and attention that even your own mother could never give to you. Tonight, you want to give something to Taehyung that would belong to himcompletely alone. Nobody could ever steal it from him, this gift is irreplaceable.

It would be your virginity. If you have to marry such a cruel man, you want to give your innocence to someone who has proved to be worthy enough. Taehyung is worthy for it.

You detach yourself a little from his chest and look up into those beautiful dark brown eyes in which you‘re threaten to drown every time. Your fingers glide up to his strong neck, through his soft, black curls and tug on them gently until he moans softly.

“Tae... From tomorrow we will not see each other again. We only have this night left. I have already given you my heart, it will remain yours forever. But tonight I want to give you something else... My virginity shall be yours.”, you breathe softly against his lips.

Taehyung startles and looks down at you in disbelief. "B-But Y/N...I-I could never accept something like this! Such a thing like your virginity belongs to Theo-", he rambles overwhelmed and want to turn your opinion against that idea,but you just press your lips almost violently onto his.

"No. It should never belong to Theobald. If I already have to make the marriage covenant with him, then I want to be able to decide by whom my virginity will be token!", you reply to your lover and bite him hard into the lower lip.

He is still visibly surprised, but now your passion reaches him too and he respond with the same desire to your kiss. Your tongues find each other and starts a wild catching game. Heat rises in your bodies, reaches every pore of your body and makes this unknown feeling of pleasure pulsate through your veins. You long for Taehyung's love, one last time you want to feel his affection before you go to hell tomorrow. At least once you want to see heaven before you are banished to hell for the Rest of your life. The breath of your loved one becomes faster, he is panting, this kiss alone pushes you both in such a tremendous passion, which you have kept so forcibly hidden from each other otherwise.

"L-Let‘s go to the hayloft...", Taehyung murmurs at your neck in a deep, hoarse voice. You nod breathlessly, you are completely overwhelmed by the feelings that a simple kiss can trigger in you if you just love someone with your whole heart. Securely, you climb one by one the narrow wooden ladder up to the hayloft and you two throw tightly wrapped up into the hay. Your lips can hardly keep away from each other. The desire and longing for Taehyung increases every moment.

"Please...", you whisper in a whimpering voice, your body feels like it's on fire and this unknown longing for union drags you into a swirl. But Taehyung wants to get to know you and your breathtaking body, trying to memorize as much as possible. He never wants to forget how you look, feel, smell and taste. The cords of your nightgown are opened unnoticed by him, suddenly you just feel the scratchy hay under you and his loving hands on your skin.

"Beautiful.... So beautiful...", he mutters again and again under his breath. His eyes wanders over your exposed body, blown out eyes lingering on your breasts. Taehyung admired you silently since you’ve met for the first time, you always took his breath with your beauty away. Especially the last few years he realized what kind of effect you have on him, how you’ve grown up from the little wild princess to a confident young Lady. How his own and your Body has changed of the years and with it, how his maybe not so innocent desires awakened in him.

You are gorgeous, he can’t even describe your majestic body in words properly, you leave him speechless. You look better than in his sinfully fantasies he has at night, tossing his sweaty and needy Self around in Bed, trying to prevent those indecent thoughts about his own best friend. Well, his love of his life. He shouldn’t think that way about the princess, is he insane or something?! Still, he couldn’t reject his feelings for you, neither you could.

You both will end up in hell, you’re doing so sinful things right now but why they’re feeling so good? Why is it a sin to have such desires, to have the need to feel so close to each other, why are you sinning when you feel so much love, desire and pleasure that you couldn’t bear it anymore? You couldn’t understand and you would never.

„My royal highness, m-may I ask if you allow me to touch your Breasts?”, stutter Taehyung out, gulping hard and biting his lower lip in desperation. He knows he would hurt you somehow through fusion of your bodies but alone the thought of it hurts him right in his heart. Taehyung doesn’t wants to be the one who’s hurting you, he wants that you’ll keep this night as good as possible in your memory.

„O-Oh my god, Taehyung... d-don’t call me that, please just call me by my Name. ...and please, oh please touch me, I want to feel your Hands all over my Body!”, you pant out whimpering, arching your spine to encourage Taehyung in his actions.

A deep, longing moans leaves his lips, finally touching and kissing every conceivable part of your body. For the first time and probably also for the last time in your life, you will learn what this true love is. Something of which so many Minnesingers always sing about. It feels so indescribably good that the tears are just running down your cheeks, you can’t hold them anymore, you feel too good, too loved. Only this night you want to see heaven before you have to burn in hell as a deflowered whore until the end of your life. But this one time is worthy for you to sin. A lustful moan escapes your lips as his lips enclose one of your nipples and caress them tenderly with his tongue.

Countless whispers and pleads are falling from your slightly parted lips, you’re chanting his name like a mantra. Every noise that comes from your tongue let Taehyung‘s need to pleasure you even more grow. Almost helpless, as if you’re drowning, you grab Tae‘s strong Biceps and look up to him. Your eyes are sparkling from the tears which ran down your cheeks, the unconditional love in them is crushing Taehyung‘s Soul.

"Oh Y/N, I love you so much... I don’t know how to express them so they would portray the pure feelings I have for you in my chest, in my soul. Please let me show you something else...", he wispers into your ear, nibbling tenderly on your earlobe.

His other hand glides through the valley of your breasts, over your stomach down your sweet and hot center. You whine softly, you’re a little flustered, nobody touched you down there in such a way before. Almost automatically your thighs want to close again, just Taehyung’s gentle and caressing hand keep you from doing so.

"Shhh, my precious Angel, don’t be ashamed... you’re gorgeous and so beautiful, you can’t imagine how bad I want you. You smell so delicious, you’re driving me insane! Would you like to continue or should I stop? I will do whatever you want, just tell me..", murmurs Taehyung’s low voice, you can clearly hear the tremble of arousal in it. After you took a few deep breaths to calm your oversensitive nerves, you’re spreading slowly your thighs for him.

Taehyung‘s eyes are fixated on your face, watching patiently your facial reactions for any discomfort. Now, his hand is coming to life again and moves forward until it disappeared between your legs. His fingertips moves incredibly gentle over your soft pussy lips, slowly parting them and let his fingers soak in your lust juice. They run up and down, teasing your clit and preparing your entrance for his length.

Waves of Lust electrify your whole Body, every fiber and nerve is pumped full of sexual desire and you’re gasping for air. You’ve never felt that way before, you have no clue what kind of sweet spot that is but you want Taehyung to touch it over and over again.

Why does sinning feels so incredible good? You’re fallen for the devils work, you love sinning when it feels that amazing.

"Please, please, please... Taehyung, do that again, it feels so good-", you sob out, holding on his broad shoulders as if your life depends on him. Honestly, it does.

"Yeah? Does that feel good, my Princess? Do you want more?", rasps your beloved Taehyung. His fingers speeds up, flicking your cute little pearl with his thumb in a rapid pace now. His middle and ringfinger is pounding into your tight, pulsating channel and is stretching you open. His movement creates lewd squelching noises which makes you a little blush. The coil of lust in your abdomen grows unstoppable, you don’t know to handle this unfamiliar feeling. Your Body is shaking, whimpers and choked out whines filling the hay loft. You don’t understand what is happening, just pure unfiltered need and desire clouded your mind and you can’t think straight anymore.

"Oh my- Oh my god, Tae... I-I am... I don’t know what is happening-"

"I know Baby, everything is okay, just let yourself go... I‘m here, I will catch you when you’re falling apart..."

It just needs a few more strokes of his thumb on your oversensitive clit until the ball of pleasure bursts open and fills every pore of your body with pure ecstasy. You can’t hold your tears of pleasure back anymore, the small and so precious diamonds are rolling out of the corner of your eye until Taehyung’s Lips are catching them.

"Baby... are you alright? Did it felt good?", he asks quietly and rubs soothingly over the top of your thighs. Avoiding your center on purpose, he doesn’t want to overstimulate you even further.

"T-Tae... that- that felt so good... h-how did you do that? I-I can’t hold my tears back, I am sorry!" A weak sob leaves your lips and you bury your face into Taehyung’s chest. He caress you gently, whispering sweet nothings and praises into your ear, worshipping you to the fullest. Promising you to show you how you can make yourself feeling that good, teaching you how you can make love to yourself.

After you came down from your high, you gently grab the soft baby hair in his nape and move his face towards you.

"Taehyung, I want to feel you as close as possible, I want to merge with you, I want to make love to you- ...I want you.", you whisper and hold his face in your hands, looking him deep into his eyes.

"Oh, I will... I will serve you with everything you wants,my Dear. Please lay down and spread those beautiful legs for me again...", he answers and smile softly at you. The sweet love names he picked for you makes your stomach flutter und the blush on your cheeks is darkening. Taehyung gives you a last sweet smile full of love before your lips meet again and he pushes into you.

A short, stabbing pain flares through your body, but that was all. He holds still into you until you give him the permission to move. At first, it was a slow and gentle rhythm but your sweet moans and whimpers encourage him to go faster and in the end he looses all his control over his suppressed sexual needs. Making love to you in the most passionate way possible.

He shows you the heaven on earth and love takes on a whole new meaning for you. You trust him unconditionally and he shows you that you are equal. You are an equal woman, an equal person for him. He loves and respects you. All this is the most beautiful thing you have ever experienced in your life. You have given him your virginity and he has given you a son with these wonderful brown eyes and dark curls.

"Mother, why do you always cry when you see me? I didn't do anything today... ", asks your little six-year-old son and looked at you questioningly with those chocolate brown eyes that bring you to tears every time.

"You look so much like your father. Your real father."you say quietly.

"Did he hurt you, Mommy?", he asks with big fearfully eyes and you quickly shake your head.

"No, not at all! H-He had been the only man who had ever really loved me...“

„...the only one to whom my heart will forever belong."will you bring barely audible over your lips.

#btswritersguild #bangtanhq #bts smut #taehyung middle age au #bts x reader #bangtanarmynet #taehyung smut #bts medieval au #thehouseofbangtan #taehyung x reader #purplearmynet #bts x reader smut #bts angst #deflowered #bts fluff #bts x reader medieval

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land-of-classpects-and-analysis · 4 years

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Mage of Hope

Everyone has their own struggles and battles, big and small. It’s a fact of life that there will be times of hardship and suffering, but it’s simply how we handle these moments that can help to define who we are as people. There are those who constantly fight without ever showing signs of giving up, others who try to find an answer or dig down to the root cause as to why this is happening, those who take their pain and make it into something beautiful, and so on. Then there are the people who simply feel as though there is no point in any of that, and instead are more willing to allow themself to wallow in their misery. Some people who know of them may claim that it is a rather sad sight to see, but may be just as quick to mention how, if they just tried a little harder, life wouldn’t be so bad. It’s hard, though, to look for a silver lining in the stormy clouds when the sky behind that dark gray blanket seems to only be darker. It’s hard to look for that one star in the sky when it has the dullest glow. Even if it could be seen, everyone knows that not only is it billions of light years away, but it’s been dead more than millions of years. Such a feeling of dread and helplessness is one the Mage of Hope is extremely familiar with, and it is, unfortunately, the main driving factor for them to reach the beginning of their journey.

The case for the Mage of Hope is not that they are lacking in their Aspect entirely, much like all the other Mages, but rather that they don’t know how to look for it. If one were to ask the Mage of Hope to grasp the thought of their Aspect and what it means, or try to explain it, chances are that they would say that they can’t do that. Granted, they may also say that Hope is dead and it means nothing to them, or that it only ever brings them great pain and suffering - so they don’t try to think about it. The biggest struggle for the Mage of Hope is that they don’t know what their own Hope looks like, if only because they have never been able to find and experience it. This is to say that the Mage of Hope may find traces of other people’s Hope and mistake it, quite easily, for their own Hope. A book, show, or movie having a happy ending and a promising moral may give them Hope to live a happy ending such as the characters within it, but once the memory of that ending leaves their mind, that Hope follows with it. A friend may have hopped over to a grand milestone in life, such as moving out, getting married, graduating, or getting their dream career. The Mage of Hope may get some momentary Hope from this and believe that their life will get better, but if that does not happen sooner than they like, then they once again may find themself feeling lost and hopeless.

In a way, there is a fine line the Mage of Hope walks between struggling with their own personal demons and being downright petty, envious, and/or jealous of those around them. After all, why is it fair that their friend gets to be happily married while the Mage of Hope continues to struggle with their love life? Why do all of these seemingly perfect characters get to have happy endings, go on grand adventures, and make incredible memories, while the Mage of Hope has to work countless hours, deal with horrible people and a stressful environment, and constantly be beaten over the head with the idea that they will never be enough? Why, pray tell, will they never be enough? Such thoughts often cross the Mage of Hope’s mind, and it is these thoughts that are necessary in order for the Mage of Hope to become fueled enough that they will finally seek out the answers they so wish to find. However, it is the wording of these words that bring the Mage of Hope to teeter a line so thin and delicate, yet strong and sturdy. Perhaps that is another question they have buried deep within their heart; is the world against them, or are they against the world?

One of the biggest dangers the Mage of Hope faces, though, is someone coming along and taking advantage of their lack of Hope. While the Mage of Hope may insist on handling these battles on their own, there may come a time where they have allowed themself to fall into desperation. When one finds themself in such a state - when it feels like the world and reality itself is falling out of your grasp - it is best to try and grab onto anything that can act as an anchor, yes? Technically speaking, it would indeed be wise to do so. However, it would also be even more wise to be wary of what is considered to be a good, healthy, and truthful means of protection from the storm. It is highly likely that the Mage of Hope is someone who will encounter at least one horrific person - a devil dressed like that of an angel - who will see the Mage of Hope as only another person to use and twist and mold into exactly someone they can control. They will promise the Mage of Hope a far more concrete and sturdy understanding of their Aspect, but as the Mage of Hope will eventually discover, only they can teach themself what their own Hope looks like rather than blindly following someone else’s. It will take a long, long time for the Mage of Hope to come to this discovery, though, as Hope-bound are often known to be rather late-bloomers amongst all the other Aspects.

There is no doubt how tragic this period of time will be for the Mage of Hope, but little does anyone know that this experience, or perhaps even experiences, will help to finally set off the explosion that the Mage of Hope needs to finally be set loose on their journey. Much like how there are many ways for the Mage of Hope to go about handling their Aspect, there are just as many ways for them to begin their journey. Let’s begin with the Mages of Hope who choose to go about seeking out knowledge through Hope. These Mages are ones who have a rather interesting journey ahead of them, as their entire approach to their Classpect is quite peculiar. After all, they are known to be ones who don’t know what Hope is truly like - at least in regards to their personal Hope. It can be well assured that in the beginning of their journey, they still do greatly lack such awareness. Therefore, it begs the ultimate question of: what Hope are they using to seek out this knowledge? It is an intriguing question with an even more intriguing answer. The Hope that they are using is that of the Hope of everyone else around them. What the knowledge they are seeking out exactly may vary from Mage of Hope to Mage of Hope, but an overall knowledge they may be seeking out is answers to the questions they feel burning inside of them. The Mage of Hope is not completely blind to their Aspect, but rather their Aspect inside of them. For all anyone knows, the Mage of Hope may not even believe them to have any hint of their Aspect inside of them. Everyone has a little bit of Hope inside of themself, though, even if it isn’t their defining Aspect. If everyone has even a trickle of Hope within their blood, though, then why does the Mage of Hope struggle so much to understand and know their own Hope? This is one of the most defining traits of the Mages who go about seeking this knowledge through Hope, all the while unaware that, having such conviction to know and understand has small inklings of Hope within it.

As the Mage of Hope goes around to those they know and inquires about their own visions of Hope, though, little do they know that they are slowly building up their own vision. It may start out with something small, like a flinch or pinching sensation at the way someone phrases their own convictions and beliefs - a knee-jerk or instinctual reaction to want to make a counter-argument to what they said. This is not on the same level as a Mage of Hope who actively seeks out Hope, as that is a far more personal journey, wherein these Mages use the people around them in order to gain such knowledge. Indeed, the more they question people and gain these answers, the more often they may feel that knee-jerk reaction to what some people say. Another means of gaining such knowledge could be from books that relate to Hope, whether it be a book of motivational writings, religious texts that promise a pure and just outlook on life and morals, or a law book that lists down to them all of the rules and norms put forth by society. These are all examples of Hope, and although there will be times that the Mage of Hope wishes to gnash their teeth in anger, stomp their feet, or even cause some vandalism, that is simply a means for their journey to continue. Where their suffering truly comes in, though, is having to learn to deal with the knowledge that they learn and how to live with the Hope they have found within themself. Changing from a life of dread and hopelessness, to now having become so aware of all the harshness in the world, some of which they do not approve of, can be quite a difficult change indeed.

However, it is with this new-found Hope that they may gather even more knowledge, as they have a stronger sense of their morals, convictions, and how they view the world. They gained their initial knowledge through everyone else’s Hope, but now that they have their own Hope patched together, they can truly begin to find what they deem to be the best and most truthful answers. For the Mages who have come this far in their journey, they now most cross over another thing line. They may use their Hope as a civil and polite means of gaining this knowledge, using it as possibly a plea for someone to give them the truth. On the other side, they can use it as a way to twist someone’s arm, manipulate them into getting what they want, or even going as far as to try and black mail someone. After all, Hope-bound are known to do right for right’s sake, and if the Mage of Hope finds that they have to play dirty in order to fulfill their version of doing what is right, then so be it. They are someone who could make an excellent interrogator, capable of playing both good cop and bad cop all on their own. If someone they love has been hurt, as well, and they must find that assailant, then the Mage of Hope will stop at nothing until they find who has brought upon such pain and travesty to someone they deem to be an innocent life.

The rest of that is for later on in the analysis, though, so let’s check in on the other group of Mages, yes? They are the ones, as mentioned before, who go through a far more personal journey in regards to their Aspect. The previous group of Mages found their own Hope through everyone else’s and all recordings of past generations of Hope, but these are the ones who must look towards the bigger world if they wish to come to an understanding of their own Hope. They actively seek out knowledge of Hope, and the reasons for this could range from a great number of things. Perhaps they were horribly hurt by someone who promised them Hope, they encountered and rekindled a relationship with someone - someone who gives them happiness, confidence, and eventually Hope - they lost touch with, or they simply got tired and frustrated for always getting stepped on by life and misery, so they took the initiative to finally find out why they have been struggling so long. They have heard of this silver lining in the clouds, or the diamond in the rough, yet whenever they try to seek out these things, it often leads to them becoming hurt and disappointed. The biggest point of suffering for these Mages is having to realize Hope is not a solid thing - it fluctuates and changes its form from person to person, culture to culture, and more. This is a rather easy way for the Mage to become not only frustrated, but sometimes even downright aggravated. All they want to do is find their own Hope rather than rely on these small, fleeting feelings of it. They don’t want constant emotional one-night-stands with their Aspect, but rather a far more committed and real relationship with it. The Mage of Hope hates feeling hopeless, but they also hate having to chase after the knowledge of something so fluid and metaphysical.

What the Mage of Hope needs to realize, though, is that they can look towards places full of instances of Hope and never truly know what their own Hope looks like. There are so many forms, shapes, colors, and faces that Hope takes on, that the Mage may drive themself mad trying to wrap their head on all the physical forms of Hope. No, the only way these Mages can seek out knowledge of Hope is by looking within themself and reflecting on who they truly are as a person. There are most definitely Mages of Hope who do follow other people’s versions of Hope, which has left their vision clouded or even blind to what their own Hope looks like. Sure, they have an understanding of someone else’s Hope, but what about them? What do they truly believe? What do they really want in the world? Are they really mad at their friends for seemingly being so flawless and successful, or are they just upset with themself for not meeting society’s expectations? It is these thoughts that highlight the Mages of Hope who actively seek out knowledge of their Aspect, if only because they are tired of following in someone else’s footsteps, playing to their expectations and rules, and now wish to know what it is like to have autonomy over their convictions and how to deliver them.

A rather cheesy way to describe their journey is that of a spiritual one, wherein they must traverse the landscape of their own mind and heart to discover what they truly want. This is the biggest point of trouble for many of these Mages of Hope, as there will always be the lingering fear that they are betraying those who promised to give them Hope - who sheltered and loved them when no one else will. Very few people wish to become an outcast of a group, one who is cast away from a place they once knew as home and shunned by the people they saw as family. No one wants to be truly alone. However, such a sacrifice is necessary for the Mage of Hope to fully achieve the completion of their journey, even if it brings great mental and emotional turmoil for the Mage of Hope. Even after that hurdle has been leapt over, there will always be that constant voice whispering in the back of their head, promising them that if they turn back now, maybe there will still be a place for them at the table of false Hope and promises. Those with a weak will and heart will most definitely succumb to this voice, no matter how far into their journey they are. While some may be welcomed back with open arms, ready to pull them back into their old, false beliefs and harmful practices, there are those who will forever be turned away and shunned, leaving them to be a lost wanderer or a hopeless vagabond. As for the ones who do manage to power through it - through all the sleepless nights filled with nightmares, endless tears, and whispered prayers for forgiveness - they are the ones who come to find their own sense of Hope. What that looks like exactly, as the Hope Aspect is known to do, fluctuates from Mage to Mage. No matter what, though, they are now fully aware of the Hope inside of them, and have started to learn to embrace it. Whether it is for the better or for worse, though, is yet to be determined.

The Mage of Hope is one who begins their journey feeling lost in life and having no real idea nor motive to try and turn their life around for the better. Wallowing in their misery, they lend themself to be easy pickings for any vultures who wish to swoop in and try to win over the Mage, preying on their lack of stability and sense of misfortune. While this may seem like a blessing to the possibly desperate Mage, it is, unfortunately, anything but. It is through this misguidance of their Hope, though, that lends them to become tired of feeling so lost and not truly knowing what their own Hope is. Even if they have a comfortable living situation, and are surrounded by people who claim to love and care for them, deep down the Mage knew it was only a conditional love that forced them to play by and follow rules that perhaps left them feeling a tad bit uncomfortable. Whether it be the path of seeking out knowledge of their Aspect or knowledge through it, the ultimate goal and endgame for the Mage of Hope is to not only discover their own Hope, but embrace it as who they are as a person - even if it goes against all the other Hope they were taught to follow and believe. It may greatly hurt the Mage of Hope to turn away from the comfort they knew, but deep down they know that if they ever truly wanted to move on in life and begin to recover, they would have to leave the nest eventually.

In terms of their powers and how they interact with a group of people, the Mage of Hope takes on the role of being a fascinating and somewhat highly inspiring, while also posing the threat of being a stubborn and overwhelming, person to be around. For the Mages who actively sought knowledge through Hope, they are the ones who are often far more protective of their flock. If they find out that someone within their flock has been harmed, they will do everything they can to bring that person to justice - specifically the Mage’s own version of justice. Depending on just what that justice looks like, it would be heavily advised to not harm those the Mage of Hope holds close. In a way, these Mages of Hope also pose the promise that, in some fashion or another, they could be like that of prophets or messiahs - capable of getting knowledge through their own faith and convictions. However, whether this knowledge truly does come from a being of higher power than the Mage of Hope, especially if they achieve Godhood, or if it is their own imaginative voice speaking to them is something that most likely will never be answered for certain. With the Mages who sought out knowledge of their own Hope, they play a far more supportive role to their friends and allies. They are the one you would go to if you needed to confess to something, vent about an issue, or look for guidance in a rather troubling time. These Mages of Hope are true miracle-workers in that, no matter what, they will always be capable of guiding anyone out from the darkest of moments. Being knowledgeable of Hope itself, they would be able to see all positive outcomes to a situation, or at least the ones where justice prevails. However, this doesn’t exactly mean for certain that such a thing will happen within the Alpha Timeline, as the Mage of Hope will most likely only see in-the-moment images and glimpses into these possible futures. As long as they are capable of bringing peace to a loved one, though, then they are perfectly fine giving them a promise that may never come true.

While the Mage of Hope has the most promise to be a force of warmth and comfort, they pose themself just as much to be a threat and force to be reckoned with. They are simultaneously the most non-judgemental person, while also holding a great skill in putting others under a sense of heat and pressure, as though expecting a diamond of truth to be made from their foes. Even if they pose themself to be someone free of all sin and imperfections, anyone who truly knows the Mage of Hope will know just how dirty and devilish they can truly be. If the Mage of Hope is one with a good heart and a kind soul, then they will do whatever they can to help anyone they deem worthy of their help while bringing those they deem sinful to beg for forgiveness from a person who has no more pity for them. However, if they so wish to be someone riddled with envy and hatred, then they could easily picture a world, a timeline, where they are at the top of the food chain with no one around to question their authority. If that is a future they believe to be better than the one they know now, even if they are not that of a Bard or Prince, all Hope-bound are allowed to have a little destruction not only as a treat, but a reward if they deem their vision to be better than the reality they live in. The Mage of Hope is a person of mystery, and chances are they know this - even if they have a rather large following of friends, allies, and strangers. Despite being slow and cautious to open up to most people, if you prove yourself to be someone in need of a place to rest and recuperate, and perhaps even in need of a flock to be a part of, the Mage of Hope may just deem you worthy enough to rest beneath their wing. They are someone who knows what it is like to be lost and alone, to be left without a flock, and it is a loneliness they do not wish unto anyone. Being a monolith of hope, love, kindness, and warmth - that is what the Mage of Hope strives for.

#Mage #Mage of Hope #Homestuck #Hiveswap #Mage of Hope Analysis #Hope Aspect #Oculus October #Hope

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vesuviancourtthirst · 4 years

Note

What kind of yandere do you think the courtiers would be? How could MC survive if there is a way to survive? An escape?

I don't know much about yandere things bc I kinda stopped being a weeb but i'll do my best ( full offense to my weebs followers )

also i DO NOT do rapey shit, i'll never write anything with dub-con

Again, THIS IS ABUSIVE BEHAVIOUR WHICH I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT CONDONE, THESE HC ARE NOT MEANT TO BE ROMANCED, IT'S MORE LIKE A HORROR/BAD END SCENARIO

TW : ABUSE

Valdemar

obsessive and dangerous

most likely to kill you and keep your corpse so you can't ever leave them

valdemar has a thing for taxidermy don't ask me

or maybe they'll try lobotomy on you,but they're a 100% gonna be hella violent, like they could also sever your limbs or something to make you dependent and just lock you in their lab

Vulgora

Will probably murder anyone that talks to you

They'll act awfully sweet in front of you, and you can litteraly see that they're faking it but you don't have much of a choice, they could crush you right there

so they isolate you to keep you for themself

they will probably murder you if you try to run away

Volta

Volta is sweet and I don't really see her as a 'yandere' type but she could definitely be so obsessive that she'd cross a LOT of boundaries

Like, she'd be with you 24/7, no intimacy whatsoever

she wouldn't really want to hurt you but she's so obsessed with you that she wants to stay with you at all time

she'd kill people that get in her way

if you tried to leave she wouldn't hurt you she'd be absolutely devastated and she'd probably try to guilt trip you

Vlastomil

Sneaky

would slowly get closer to you, make you fall in love with him and then he would act

slow

distance you from everyone else, keeping you in his estate for '' your own security''

he'd be manipulative and psychologically abusive but not physically

It's hard to leave that kind of people, the abuse is balanced with sweetness and love and it's really complicated

(A/N : IF YOU FIND YOURSELF IN SUCH A SITUATION PLEASE SEEK HELP, THIS ISN'T ROMANCE THIS IS ABUSE)

Valerius

He'll make a deal with the Devil so you love him forever and never leave him

other than that he wouldn't treat you badly

but still, yikes

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kbstories · 4 years

Text

Contingent

con·tin·gent (adj.) Dependent on; conditional.

There’s only one thing Trafalgar Law is truly afraid of.

(Or: Bepo will be damned if he loses Law just when he got him back.)

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Nakamaship, Amber Lead Syndrome, Medical Inaccuracies, Childhood Trauma, Medical Procedures, Bepo Needs A Hug, Recovery, Law whumps well and I have no excuse

Read Chapter 1 here. Content warning for discussions of medical procedures.

***

Two minutes.

That’s how long Bepo gives in to the panic building inside him, back pressed against engine-warmed metal and his head heavy in his paws. Two minutes in which his lungs struggle under the imperative to keep breathing, and guilt reaches for his heart with clawed fingers and squeezes. One beats, two, stumbling, unable to catch the inevitable fall–

Kikoku is with him, the red string slung across Bepo’s chest and its guard digging into the meat between his shoulders, an unkind pressure that’s not-quite-pain. Behind him, he can hear Law mumbling indistinctly in his sleep even through the closed door.

Two minutes since he sent the distress signal to the other two Pager Snails that exist on the Polar Tang and Bepo tries not to feel disappointed because nothing about this is fair. Shachi is just following orders, getting their guests settled on the other side of the submarine and Penguin knows it falls to him to keep an eye on the helm when Law isn’t there to do it himself.

Of course it’s Bepo who should’ve paid attention, who should’ve realized Law is walking around exhausted and near-delirious from fever – and who knows how long that’s been going on. It’s no secret that Trafalgar Law is a terrible patient for all that he’s a medical prodigy and it’s always been Bepo’s job to counteract that.

None of the excuses bubbling up his throat like bile can change the fact that Bepo failed Law.

And yeah, he’s going to have words with his captain once all this is dealt with: They might’ve spent the past few months apart but that doesn’t mean Law has to shoulder everything himself. Not anymore. Not ever again, if Bepo has any say in the matter.

For now, all he can do is drag in a breath that feels like it’s dripping fire all the way to his gut and–

Footsteps echo down the hallway, sure and carefree and unfamiliar, and Bepo’s gaze snaps to the sound with the intensity of a predator.

“Oh, it’s you”, says Roronoa Zoro with some relief, like he hasn’t wandered by at the worst possible moment. His lips twitch upwards, into something akin to an amicable smile. “That’s our room, right? No offense to your ship but all these hallways look the same to me.”

He wanders closer still and Bepo–

Bepo growls, low and rattling in his throat, fangs bared. With one harsh step, he’s between Zoro and the door, instincts roaring to life as Zoro’s hand immediately falls to his swords and a wave of something hits Bepo.

An eternity passes in the span of a second; Bepo huffs, loud in the icy silence, not to be cowed. Something softens in Zoro’s eye then, and the pressure eases.

“Something happened”, Zoro states, voice calm. His smile is long gone.

There’s concern there, though, meant to be read plainly like lines on a map. Bepo’s ears perk up first, rising tentatively where they had been pressed flat – he tempers the heat in his blood to a dull thrum, shaking the snarl off his face for good measure.

“Sorry, I– You startled me.”

Zoro merely blinks, waiting for more. There’s a careful edge to his gaze that wasn’t there before and Bepo really can’t blame him. It’s shameful, for a mink to lose themself like that.

Bepo rubs at the fluff of his cheeks and then his eyes, noting with grim satisfaction that they’re dry, untouched by the emotions whirling within him. Dragging any of their guests into this is the last thing Law needs right now.

“It’s nothing we can’t handle. This is Captain’s room, though. You guys bunk all the way across, over there.”

Zoro doesn’t track the direction Bepo points to. His look flicks to the door entirely blocked by Bepo, mouth going flat with tension.

“Traffy doing alright?”

A beat of silence follows the question and, well, Bepo never was the best at lying. “He will be”, he settles on, shoulders stiff and hackles ready to bristle despite himself. “Any chance you met Shachi on your way here? Penguin, maybe?”

It occurs to Bepo that Zoro might not have memorized all their names yet; before he can start explaining Zoro tells him, “No”, simple and honest. Then: “They’re coming, though.”

And perhaps Bepo should start believing whatever the swordsman says in that serious voice of his since, not a moment later, the two burst around the corner, all but running towards them.

“Bepo!”

“Sorry! We came as fast as we could.”

It takes everything Bepo has not to catch both of them in a hug and crush them close to his chest. Their presence alone makes the buzz of anxiety in his veins dim to a bearable level.

“You guys!”

Penguin practically crashes into him, followed half an instant later by Shachi. Tears jump to Bepo’s eyes but Zoro is there and so he blinks them away. The embrace is brief but exactly what Bepo needed – while Shachi throws a confused glance at Zoro (“Seriously? All you had to do was turn left once!”), Penguin ruffles the fur between Bepo’s ears and whispers, “You or Captain?”

Bepo gives him an unhappy frown and well, that’s an answer in itself. “It’s just a scare, I think”, he says vaguely, Shachi’s attention returning without a second’s delay and Penguin’s ever-present smile fading. “I hope. I have to do research, find out what’s– Yeah. Stay with him?”

“Of course”, Shachi promises without missing a beat, and Penguin nods emphatically. “Bart is watching Command and Umi’s keeping everyone busy with the suits. Just give us an update when you can.”

Gratitude swells inside Bepo, one big ball of love that makes his throat feel tight. He nods too, out of words to say but he knows there will be time for those. Later, when the desperation on Law’s face doesn’t haunt his every step.

Penguin and Shachi disappear through the door quickly thereafter. A few feet away, Bepo catches Zoro scratching his neck and turning to leave, and he’s taking a step towards the swordsman before he can stop himself.

“Zoro, wait.”

He does, one eyebrow raised. “Hm?”

“You guys – Franky, Usopp, Robin, you – you were there, right? At Dressrosa. You saw what happened.”

And Bepo knew that Dressrosa was a mess, but to see a warrior as infamous as Pirate Hunter Zoro grimace at the mere mention of it is… Well. Not a great sign, all things considered.

It only serves to solidify Bepo’s resolve, though. There, with his captain at his back, Bepo bows his head, ears folded to the side as he humbles himself before Strawhat’s first mate.

“I know you’ve already done plenty – you brought my captain back alive, and I can’t ever repay you for that – but… Please. I need your help.”

There’s a flash of surprise on Zoro’s face, then he shakes his head, slowly. Bepo’s heart clenches, paws turning to fists inside the orange sleeves of his suit.

“Raise your head, Bepo. Did you forget? Without you, Luffy wouldn’t be out there, off to fetch our idiot cook – and I wouldn’t be here. Alliance or no, it would be foolish of me to go back on a life debt like that.”

Bepo looks up and catches a glint of anguish, hidden deep in that singular eye of Zoro’s. It’s been years and yet, the question why the Strawhats didn’t follow their captain into war returns to his mind like an old acquaintance.

There’s a time and place for that, too. Perhaps one day, he will be lucky enough to hear the story from the source itself.

For now, Bepo swallows it all down. He whispers, “Thank you”, and he doesn’t apologize: There is no regret in his heart, for any of it.

“I need to know what happened. All of it.”

The Strawhat Pirates share a look among themselves, expressions ranging from mild surprise to sympathy, and Zoro nods at Bepo when their eyes meet. In that measured tone of his, he tells them, “Traffy’s sick”, and it seems to be all the context the others need to comply.

Franky says: “I wasn’t there for most of it. Luffy told me to go all out on that SMILE factory, so I did.”

Usopp says: “Same here. I saw flashes of them fighting their way to the palace and I helped where I could but… Well, I’m a sniper, y’know? ‘s not my job to brawl.”

Zoro says: “Law got shot by that bastard Mingo. Looked pretty gruesome. Lost track of ‘em after ‘cause Captain needed his back free.”

Robin says: “I know what happened afterwards”, and Bepo takes a moment to react because he’s still processing the information that Doflamingo shot Law. He shot him. After all he did, he shot–

Law is powerful but his Devil Fruit is a paramecia-type. Underneath it all he’s still human.

Law is strong but there’s a reason why he flinches at the sight of guns, and Bepo hates Doflamingo.

Robin’s eyes are calm, her smile small but kind. An exhale shudders out of Bepo’s mouth.

“Tell me. Please.”

The story, for all it’s full of heroics and victories all around, is not a pretty one. Bepo remembers Law’s voice when he told Bepo, pretty fucking horrible, he had said but there’s horrible and then there’s that.

Robin speaks, and Bepo detaches himself from the mental images rushing through his brain and focuses instead on the list Law gave him. Viruses, iron deficiency, infection– Amber Lead.

“Traffy was barely conscious for the part with his arm but he insisted on doing his own medical care, afterwards. Chopper wasn’t with us so there was no reason to deny him that.”

Chopper.

Bepo’s head snaps up from the blank-eyed stare he’d slipped into while listening, and Robin’s brow moves with subtle emotion. “Do you want to talk to him? They should be at sea still.”

There’s a choice to be made there, one Bepo never even considered because Law’s past is theirs and nobody outside the original three of the Heart Pirates should ever know, much less without Law there to consent to it. Even thinking about it feels dangerously close to betrayal and Bepo would rather run to the next-best hatch and let the ocean crush him into nothingness than go behind Law’s back on anything.

But.

“Did Law… Did he say why he wanted that asshole dead?”

Bepo is nervous the answer will be a resounding no, and all four Strawhats look a little puzzled by the question. Again it’s Zoro who speaks first, humming pensively.

“Luffy wanted the guy gone, too. That was enough for us but… Traffy told Luffy, I’m pretty sure. Captain was pretty vicious and that only happens when one of us is hurting.”

One of us.

It’s that that makes Bepo clench his jaws and blink rapidly, a few tears escaping regardless. Law didn’t just make allies, out there by himself. He made friends, and Bepo feels his doubts melt away inside him, heartbeat by heartbeat.

“Okay. Let’s call Chopper.”

Countless fathoms deep, the snail takes longer to connect. They use the customized one brought along by the Strawhats – a miniature hat is placed on its shell, crafted with a lot of care – and it awakens with surprised, brown eyes.

“Zoro? Is that you? What happened?”

Nami. Bepo motions for the receiver before Zoro can say much. The man shrugs and complies.

“Nami. It’s Bepo, navigator of the Heart Pirates.”

“Oh, Bepo. No need to be so formal, I remember you. We’re allies, you know?”

“Yes, of course. I apologize. Is Doctor Ch–”

In the background, someone asks, “Bepo?” and suddenly the snail’s expression shifts to one that’s unmistakably Luffy. “Future Pirate King here! Is everything okay with Traffy?”

Bepo’s fingers tighten around the snail. Damn Strawhat and his instincts. Around him, the Strawhats share a round of fond eye-rolls.

“Um. He’s not feeling too good right now. That’s why I’m calling, actually. Is Chopper around? It’s important.”

“Oi, Chopper! Traffy needs your help!”

For a third time, the snail adapts to a new speaker, eyes going round and curious. “Doctor Traffy?”

“Ah, no, sorry. It’s Bepo. I need to ask you something.”

“Oh! Sure, go ahead.”

All eyes fall on him. Bepo takes a deep breath, then: “Do you– Amber Lead. Do you know what that is?”

There’s a sharp inhale close to him and Bepo glances over to see Robin’s eyes go wide. That’s a yes, then.

“Amber–? I… think so. I read a paper about it once? It’s–”

“Poison”, Bepo says, voice flat and allowing no other answer. “It’s an ore that was mined at Flavence, North Blue. If… if you read about it then perhaps you know what happened there.”

A noise of protest, coming from Usopp. “Wait, wait, I’m out of the loop on history stuff. What–?”

“Flavence, also known as the White City.” Robin’s brow is drawn in subtle lines. “The town was rich but the population grew sick from being exposed to the ore for generations. The disease was said to be highly contagious and…”

“The Government locked everyone up and killed them all”, Bepo finishes, that old familiar heartache turning the words into a snarl. “All except for one.”

A stunned silence. Even Zoro looks a little pale at the implication, and Bepo closes his eyes and lets go of the tension in one breath, shoulders slumping.

“Amber Lead Syndrome, it… It shows as white blotches on the skin. The poison shortens one’s life span to nothing, and when I met Law, he should’ve already been dead but he wasn’t. He found a cure and lived.”

The snail is teary-eyed and Chopper’s voice is more wobbly than stable. “That’s… That’s incredible.”

“Bepo-bro… Why tell us all this?”

Franky had been so quiet that Bepo forgot he was even there. The cyborg is wiping his eyes furiously, mouth sloped downward but his gaze shines with the sincere need to understand.

“Because I need to ask. What are the chances of an illness like that coming back years later?”

It’s so quiet that the Tang’s monotone song is the only thing to be heard. Bepo’s vision goes blurry around the edges and he sniffs, the weight on his shoulder almost crushing him then and there.

“Don’t spare me i-if… Please. I just– I need to know. There aren’t any new spots but he’s running a fever and he can barely stand straight. Law said there’s no way to tell for sure without c-cutting himself open again and I won’t let him. Not unless there’s any other option–”

“Bepo. Traffy won’t die, okay?”

Even repeated by the snail, Luffy’s voice is strong, rock-solid with determination.

“I kicked Mingo’s ass so he can be free and live however he wants. There’s no way he’s dying after all that. Chopper, tell him.”

And Bepo knows, he knows that Luffy is aware things don’t always work out just because he wants them to; the man stormed a prison and fought a war and cried his soul out to learn that lesson. Hope lights in his heart all the same, flickering bright against the tears still rolling down Bepo’s cheeks–

“I’d have to examine him myself to say for sure but it is unlikely he’s still affected. Even dormant, chronic conditions tend to flare the worst under duress, not after.” Chopper hmms, pensive. “Did Traffy say anything else?”

Shaking his head, Bepo remembers belatedly they can’t see it. He rubs his arm across his snout, wiping away snot and residue tears. “No. Just that his body hurts and that he can’t focus.”

There’s a tap on Bepo’s shoulder and an hand next to his knee, gesturing for the receiver. Reluctantly, Bepo gives it away and watches it wander from palm to palm until it reaches Robin.

“Chopper.”

“Robin! Hey!”

She chuckles. “Hello. Could those symptoms be caused by an old or badly-healed wound? Traffy was already in quite a bad state before being dragged across the battlefield and fighting his nemesis to near-death.”

All Bepo can do is focus on his breathing. Still alive. He’s still alive. “Sorry ‘bout that”, comes from Luffy and he sounds genuinely somber about it.

Zoro huffs. “You did what you had to do.”

“Bepo”, Chopper talks over them without much hesitation, and Bepo straightens up, makes a noise of acknowledgement. “Traffy’s arm. Have you taken a look at it yet? The wound was healing okay last time I saw it but with those symptoms… Infections can always happen, especially given how the wound came to be. It would explain the fever, too.”

Bepo isn’t a doctor – and neither are Shachi and Penguin – yet all of them have served as assistants during difficult operations, the ones that take hours and leave Law wiped out enough to sleep through the night and the morning after too.

All kinds of things can happen to wounds, and Law’s arm was cut off by strings... It makes sense. The thought takes a moment to settle in Bepo’s mind. It makes sense. It’s not Amber Lead.

We can fix this.

“I haven’t but I will. What do I have to do?”

Through the snail, Chopper crinkles his nose. “You won’t like it. If it really is an infection, he needs a full dose of strong antibiotics and… Well, you have to practically re-do the stitches.”

Distantly, Bepo feels his stomach turn. “You mean…?”

“Yeah. If Traffy didn’t notice the wound festering it’s probably because the infection sits deep in the muscle. The wound needs to be drained and cleaned properly and that means cutting it open again. Sorry, I know it’s… not what you want to hear.”

All this time, Kikoku rested calmly against Bepo’s back but the mere thought of wielding it against its owner makes Bepo hyperaware it’s there. He swallows whatever complaints he might have and says:

“Okay. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.”

Suddenly, Zoro is there, gaze hard as he murmurs, “Don’t be stupid”, and Robin is offering him the receiver before he can snatch it out of her grasp.

“Captain.”

“Hm? Zoro?”

“I’m gonna cut up Traffy.”

Oh, that’s an even worse idea than anything Bepo could come up with. “What?! No, no, absolutely n–”

“Okay. Be nice though.”

Bepo gapes at Zoro and the swordsman stares back. “Look. You can either try your hand at using that without any experience – or you can leave it to me. Besides: Do you really want to raise a sword against your own captain?”

“… No”, murmurs Bepo, eyes dropping to his feet. He wrings the front of his suit with his paws, unsure what to do with the mix of relief and guilt and hope pulsing in his chest.

“I’m in your debt. Thank you, all of you.”

Zoro just groans. “This again?”

Before Bepo can do more than shoot him a disgruntled glare, Usopp speaks up next. “Man, are you kidding?” He looks at Bepo like he’s grown a second set of ears, lips pouted and brow creased in concern. “Traffy’s our friend. And he saved Luffy.”

“Yeah!”, comes from the snail, its head bobbing enthusiastically.

“It’s in our interests to keep our ally alive. Chopper, how much do we charge for medical advice?”

“Nami!” Chopper is laughing, though. It’s a good sound, full of optimism. “Things will be okay, Bepo. Let us know how it goes?”

“We will”, Franky promises in Bepo’s place, an easy-going grin on his angular face. “It won’t do to cut our adventure short. I still need to figure out how the Tang can dive this deep without getting crushed!”

One of Robin’s hands pushes Franky’s mouth shut, another patting Bepo’s back gently. Robin smiles and despite himself, Bepo does too, taking the confidence he finds in her and making it his own.

“Go back to your captain, Mr. Bear. I’m sure he’s already waiting for you.”

It gets worse before it gets better. Those had been Chopper’s words, tinny through the speaker of the snail. The pills should help him sleep through most of it. His body needs to replenish a lot of blood on top of everything else but… The worst is behind him. You did it, Bepo!

A part of Bepo’s brain had soaked up the information like much-needed water in a desert: Chopper had sounded satisfied with their work, relieved even, and on some level Bepo had been aware his previous reassurances had perhaps been more optimistic than the situation truly warranted.

Okay, he’d said, and thank you, and he’d promised Luffy to call in a few days time – after the date of the wedding, but that went unsaid. With Law’s life on the line, Bepo had entirely forgotten the other time bomb steadily ticking towards zero.

Bepo sits at Law’s bedside, eyes unfocused and head filled only with the rush of blood in his ears. The room is virtually unchanged from when he carried Law out (barely conscious, questions a half-coherent rasp against Bepo’s neck) and brought him back hours later, deathly still and arm wrapped in thick layers of gauze.

To call the operation gruesome would’ve been a compliment to it. The image of Law’s blood spilling across the tiles of his own operating room is one that will follow Bepo into his dreams for weeks to come.

Lethargically, his gaze moves from pristine covers to Law’s face. His features are slack with unconsciousness, the rings under his eyes bruise-like against the pallor of his skin.

Out of the three of them, Shachi has the calmest hands and thus he was the one to sew everything back in place while Penguin stayed behind to clean up the mess. For a while after, the captain’s cabin had held all four of them: Bepo at his spot at Law’s side, eyes fixed on Law’s chest that barely shifted with every breath; Penguin and Shachi all anxious pacing at first and nearly collapsing when the adrenaline inevitably gave way to bone-deep exhaustion.

Bepo practically had to throw them out to catch some sleep. That was the second time in 24 hours he’d had to yell at those he considers family, and it didn’t move a single thing in him. His heart hangs limp in its tangle of veins, wrung dry of any emotion Bepo had to give.

Now it’s just him and Law again.

Reaching out, Bepo ignores the tremor in his fingers in favor of pushing back sweat-soaked hair. His mouth twists unhappily at the heat he finds there. The fever has yet to break, Law’s cheeks tinged an uncomfortable pink – his brows draw together at Bepo’s touch, and he hopes the cool press of his palm brings him some relief, at least.

This is exactly what Chopper’s warning had been all about. It doesn’t make any of it easier.

“It wasn’t Amber Lead, Captain.”

The words come unbidden to Bepo’s lips, a rough whisper that is lost to the suffocating silence around them. Swallowing heavily, Bepo keeps combing ink-black strands and imagines that it makes a difference, that it helps ease some of the tension around Law’s closed eyes.

“You hear me? You’re cured, and it’s not coming back. You’re gonna be okay.”

A drop of sweat trickles down Law’s temple; carefully, so carefully, Bepo wipes it away. He rests the back of his hand against Law’s pulse point. Lingering, just to feel the too-quick beat of Law’s heart.

“B’po?”

Bepo’s own pulse skips a beat. “Law?”, he asks, voice hushed with quiet hope. His thumb traces along the line of Law’s cheekbone, paw pad brushing shifting lashes until–

Law’s eyes are molten gold, shining with fever, not-quite-there.

“B’po.”

Bepo smiles so wide it hurts, eyes crinkling with it. “Yeah, ‘s me. I’m here. Welcome back, Captain.”

Law smiles too, the skin on his lips a little cracked.

“’m alive.”

Bepo nods and he’s crying, tears leaving moist dots on the sheets. “You are. You are.”

With a slow blink, Law reaches for Bepo’s face, the tips of his fingers brushing his nose clumsily. “Don’t… Don’t cry, Bepo.”

Bepo holds his hand and presses it against his cheek, nodding weakly. “Okay, Captain.” He feels Law’s fingers twitch weakly against his, trying and failing to hold on to him, too.

“Hey, ‘s okay. I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know. I’m sorry, so s-sorry.”

It’s like he can’t stop saying it, apologizing over and over against the back of Law’s hand that’s wet with his regret, his guilt. There’s a quiet noise of distress and Bepo looks up to see one, then two tears drip from Law’s lashes, trailing down his face in glinting lines.

“I dreamed of Cora, Bepo. I saw ‘im. He… He looked so happy.”

Bepo whines in his throat but Law shushes him, smile growing, showing a glint of teeth.

“I’m glad. I missed his stupid smile.”

“Law”, Bepo breathes, because Cora is dead and so was Law, almost, almost. “Please. Please.”

What he’s asking for, he doesn’t know – Law understands him all the same, like he always does, like he always will. “Bepo”, and his name is so much more coming from Law’s mouth.

“Don’t be scared. Not leaving you behind, remember? I promised.”

And Bepo has long forgiven him for almost going back on his word. The important thing is that Law came back, just as he returns to him now too, rosy-cheeked and glassy-eyed but there, alive. “Honest?”, Bepo asks him helplessly, nuzzling close to Law’s wrist.

Feeling his pulse against his lips, beating, beating.

“Honest”, Law tells him, soft with affection and it sounds like always, like forever. A promise that paints the Polar Star in Bepo’s sky, ensuring he can bring them home each and every time.

#one piece #fanfiction #trafalgar law #bepo #one piece fanfiction #whoo boy this one got long #anyhow team wano took a nice long vacation after this 'cause gotdamn they deserve it #this fic is also on AO3!#my stuff

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shianhygge-imagines · 5 years

Text

[DMC Reactions] S/O Sacrifice

AN: Ooooh Angst. So early in the morning :D I’m writing this in an internet cafe.

Also, I’m sorry, but the first thing that came to mind when I read the request was the scene above where Dante’s VA had the voice crack. lmao

Real talk though. Vergil and Dante’s part is longer because I feel like they would be the two that would slip up this badly where their lover would sacrifice themself. V and Nero are too responsible.

|Masterlist Link|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dante

Dante had gotten too cocky while fighting multiple opponents, again.

Not that it should surprise you too much, but he’d allowed too many of the demons to land hits on him, and his clothes were practically littered with holes from the weapons skewering him...

His s/o had been by his side since the beginning, so it was a given that they’d tagged along with Dante to a new gig

Dante didn’t see the scissors waiting to snip his pretty head off, but you did.

In the blink of an eye, you’d parried the blow aimed at you and had sprinted across the room to shove Dante out of the way.

Dante turned as he tumbled towards the ground, and his eyes widened helplessly as you smiled, the scissor edges closing in at the perfect height to your neck.

snip... thud

It was like a car accident happening in slow motion, and Dante wasn’t able to look away... wasn’t able to pull the miracle that he was known for.

The world stopped spinning as Dante stared, face ashen as his lover’s head rolled away, and their body fell on top of his. A bad dream, Dante thought absently as he gripped your still body. It’s just a bad dream.

“I’m going to wake up, and Y/N will be sleeping right next to me.”

Dante blinked once... twice... and pinched himself... nothing.

The Death Scissor cackled maniacally, reveling in its kill.

“Not real. It’s not real,” Dante muttered, “Y/N... wake me up.”

You didn’t move... and Dante didn’t wake... his face scrunched up as he stood, sobbing as he pulled Rebellion out, an inconsolable rage consuming him.

Maybe if he killed the Death Scissor, he’d wake up...

Neither of you woke up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vergil

Vergil had been too obsessed with some fascinating/challenging opponent that he forgot to watch your back.

In the brief lapse of his attention, you’d been swarmed by lesser demons

Although you were much stronger than the runts, you started to have trouble from the immense number of them

“Vergil!” You’d called, jumping away from one demon’s attack only to have to evade another. The screeches of dying demons rose above your cry for help and you cursed your luck as you rolled out of the way to jump over the seemingly endless horde of demons.

Ahead, Vergil was taking on a demon that resembled a Chimera, though far too ugly for you to admire. It seemed as if your lover was having a ton of fun, his smirk noticeable from even where you stood.

The Chimera howled in pain as Vergil assaulted its torso with swift cuts from the Yamato, and suddenly the lesser demons turned their attention away from you, scurrying to protect their master, hundreds of them sprinting after Vergil... wanting... needing to tear the older son of Sparda apart.

Even though Vergil hadn’t had your back, you had his.

It didn’t take much for you to beat the horde in the race to Vergil, most of the demons were considerably sluggish compared to your agility.

You were suddenly stood between the horde of demons and Vergil, blade and gun drawn, ready to take on the forces of the underworld to prevent them from interrupting Vergil’s fun.

Slowly but surely, however, you began to wear down, unable to keep up with the seemingly endless number of demons that spawned from nowhere. One misstep was all it took for the demons to overwhelm you, pouncing, and burying you underneath their blows.

“Vergil!” You tried to call for your lover, reaching a hand out to him from within the swarm. Vergil, too consumed with his challenge, didn’t turn around.

All around, you could only see black shadows and glowing red eyes. There was no blue to save you.

Vergil grinned as he cut down the Chimera, flicking the Yamato free of blood before turning to look for your proud and loving eyes.

What Vergil saw instead, was the swarm of demons seemingly piled on top of a limp figure. The grin disappeared from the older son of Sparda as dread and rage overflowed. There was a flash of blue as Vergil entered his Devil Trigger, mowing down the lesser demons as if they were merely ants.

Once the pests were cleared, Vergil was able to reach your body, kneeling in his beautiful demonic form to lift your body, holding it to his as he called to you, hopeful that you would open your eyes and continue to breath.

After a few seconds, it became glaringly obvious to Vergil that you would never smile at him again.

After so many years of hiding his emotions away, Vergil felt his eyes burn, and allowed the tears to fall, his whole body shaking as he sobbed.

“I’m sorry.” Vergil apologized, clutching your body close and knowing that it was his fault for selfishly leaving your side.

“Don’t leave me alone, Y/N. Please.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nero

Nero had insisted that you stay out of the fight, quite sure that the giant demon before him was too much for you.

I mean, you resented that Nero seemed to think so little of your skills (you could probably take on a greater demon because of your demon lineage), but you weren’t a fool to see that Nero obviously cared.

He’d never want to see you hurt.

But that’s a sentiment you both shared.

And you knew that Nero had a tendency to run his mouth during fights, probably acting a little too much like Dante at times... so you had a right to worry...

Though admittedly, Nero didn’t have a habit of getting stabbed with his own sword like Dante did, he still got too cocky and reckless.

And while Nero fought the giant, you were forced to keep a good distance away... and by a good distance away, that meant you were with Nico in the van... pretty much across the map

The giant demon was similar to the Goliath that Nero killed, but its hide was too thick for his Red Queen to simply slice through and its tail was long with something akin to a stinger... All too quickly, he’d run out of Devil Breakers, and was forced on the defense, no doubt charging his Devil Trigger.

Nico was sleeping, as she usually did when waiting for Nero to finish his fights, but you kept a keen eye on your lover.

A flash of blue was all you needed to alert you that Nero had used his Devil Trigger, but as you watched him fight, you noticed that while Nero gave the demon a beating, he couldn’t get his attacks to pierce through the hide.

“Tch... should’ve brought a Helter Skelter.” You mused, getting up from your seat to get to the workshop in the back of the van.

You took a Helter Skelter and a Ragtime from the hooks, making a mental note to pay Nico back, before grabbing your guns and bursting out of the van.

Activating your own Devil Trigger, you practically flew across the map to stop the Giant from landing a solid hit on Nero.

“Y/N, what the hell? I told you to stay back!”

Holding the Giant’s fist in place with one hand, you threw the two Devil Breakers at Nero, “Here, you dingus! Gotta pierce its hide before you can kill the thing!”

“I don’t need your help! Now get back to the van!”

“Don’t need help, my ass! Weren’t you the one that made a big deal about being called a ‘dead weight’? How could you think I’d be fine just standing around and twiddling my-”

You didn’t get a chance to finish your question. The giant pulled its fist back and rammed it towards your unsuspecting form, throwing you up into the air as its tail whipped forward, skewering you through the stomach.

“Y/N!”

You grit your teeth, knowing that you might survive if Nero finished the fight fast enough. “Damn it, Nero! Just kill the damn thing!”

Angry with the need to protect you, Nero was able to activate his Devil Trigger once more, fusing the Ragtime with his arm and slowing time. A blink, and suddenly you were no longer skewered, finding yourself in Nero’s arms as he walked away from the giant demon’s lifeless body.

“My hero” you teased, feeling the hole in your stomach already start to close.

“You’re an idiot.”

“But you love me for it!”

Nero placed a kiss to the crown of your head, an affectionate grin on his face. “I do.”

...

“But don’t you dare do that again!” :|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite V’s hesitance, he’d let you fight by his side, knowing that you had his back (and he yours).

Unlike the other Sparda Boys, V all but abandons full-time demon hunting after he meets you. Yes, you can totally kick ass, but with his growing feelings towards you, V has been made to wonder if there is an end to the conflict that he has been a part of his entire life.

So, V settled down with you, giving up the demon hunting business with you so that you two could have a future that would last. After all, the world had Vergil, Dante, and Nero as full time demon hunters, they didn’t need V.

Still, there are times where it was inevitable that you and V would have to fight demons.

It is one of these times where you and V were forced to fight against the forces of the underworld, that you and V found yourselves outnumbered and swarmed.

You could probably go a lot longer than was needed, but V was tiring rather quickly having to dodge the enemy attacks so much. The enemy forces were nearly gone, but V had started to get clumsy, trying to conserve energy as much as he could.

Even though Shadow, Griffon, and Nightmare did their best to keep their eyes on V, you couldn’t help the way your eyes followed him as you fought. You just wanted to be sure that V was safe.

And then... V dodged left when he should have had Griffon carry him out of the mess surrounding him.

A demon managed to land a blunt attack on V, sending him stumbling forward into another blunt attack, but you were already there to parry the blow, signalling Griffon to carry your lover out of the sticky situation.

So intent on helping V, you didn’t see the blade aimed at you. A cry of pain... from your lips or V’s you didn’t know. And you were thrown into the awaiting blades of other lesser demons.

V could hear your screams from where Griffon had carried him. He was exhausted, but used what remained of his energy to summon Nightmare, his only thought and intent: to save you.

It didn’t take much for the combined efforts of Nightmare, Shadow, and Griffon to decimate the enemies attacking you, clearing a path so that V could reach your battered, but still breathing form.

“Why would you do that?” V demanded, using what little strength he had to prop you up in his arms, noting that your breathing was strained.

“Heh... I thought I could take them on... if it meant saving you.” You responded with a grimace.

“Next time, we fight together.” It was a firm statement, but it meant so much to you.

“Ha... sure...” you agreed without a fight... “Hey, V?”

“Hm?”

“When we go home... I want a bath.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

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turquoisemagpie · 5 years

Text

Truce.

(OCs story.)

(chapter one: When Peny Met Salli)

A tiny bottle. Like a liquid galaxy of blue and pink. Don’t take it’s cap off. Watch out for the man in black. Peny had repeated this list in their mind for so long it was starting to pulse to the beat of their footsteps like a bad rap song. They couldn’t believe how easy this mission was turning out to be; considering how many devils they had met had warned them of interloping with the notorious ‘man in black’, it was a surprise that they hadn’t been properly sneaking through his abode this whole time. Then again, they hadn’t technically started the mission yet. Once they got the bottle they needed, that was when they predicted the really fun would start. They began to wonder why the devil who asked this favour was too scared to retrieve this stolen bottle themself. And if this notorious man in black was such a thieving tyrant, why hadn’t the whole community of them decided to gang up and take him down themselves? And if he was that formidable, why the hell did they think a layabout intrusive ink demon would be more successful in returning what was taken from them? Peny guessed it was probably their own ‘personal reasons’; that dress looked too lavish to get covered in dirt when undertaking ‘such a monumental task’. Peny smilingly shook their head in concluding that since the Fraudulentus started actually using humans’ property, the devils suddenly became less ‘devilish’ in their ways. Peny then chuckled as they imagined a cult of humans, all darkened and serious in their satanic ways, summoning one of those devils; how gobsmacked the cult leaders would be as a devil in a beautiful dress sashays out of the flaming pentagram like a scene from Swan Lake. Humans expect devils to be the children of evil? They would probably see an eviller creature looking in a mirror. Peny shook their head as their thoughts went off topic, just in time to avoid tripping over another snaking length of wires. ‘All wires lead to a necessity.’, they reminded themself, ‘A tiny bottle. Like a liquid galaxy of blue and pink. Don’t take it’s cap off. Watch out for the man in black’. They decided to follow it down the maze of slim corridors in this old forgotten place.

The corridors didn’t have ceilings themselves but Peny could just about make out the roof of the place, very high above, and curved like the ceiling of a large cathedral. And from the high ceiling were a number of large rocky stalactites, and from the tips of them flowed thousands of cables that spread out to the mazes of rooms and hallways below like a huge spider’s web. They noticed how some of the wires collected into a cacophony of twisted branches that led to certain corners of the whole place. Where those branches hit the floor was probably where Peny needed to be. So they followed the wires as it grew to a larger serpent of snaking cables through the maze. Finally they reached a wide room. The cables and wires they had follower split off to crawl and slink onto randomly scattered roundtables that held messy piles of towered TV screens and thick large books. Some opened book looked as if they had many pages ripped out that had been either crumpled up into balls or left to float to the floor. Passing by them, Peny caught glimpses of what some pages read. There were diagrams of anatomies, of human, animal, hybrid and demon. There were instruction and blueprints from everything, from how to wire a computer motherboard, to how to hold a forbidden demonic ritual, to how to cook a great apple pie, to a scout’s guide in how to start a fire when lost in the woods. This man in black was clearly a man with a love of collecting information, that would probably explain why he steals from devils, and probably other demons too. But what was it all for? Peny headed for a table that was stacked with boxes of all sizes and shapes, some of them stuffed with files, some of them decaying and only holding moss and mould, and some of them closed up tightly as something within them was glowing out of the seams of their corners. Peny picked up one of the glowing boxes and began to tear them open. “A tiny bottle.” They muttered to themself, “Like a liquid galaxy of blue and pink. Don’t take it’s cap off.” They looked inside the box to find it full of rocks of different bright colours and cuts; they were sure some of them were diamonds and gold, and some of them could even be wyverns’ blood. The whole contents of the box alone would make a seller very wealthy indeed. They closed the box and pushed it aside, stuffing a few nuggets of emeralds and fools gold into their pocket. They were going to steal something anyway; may as well take advantage of the situation and get useful supplies. They opened another box. Luckier this time; bottles. They shuffled through them careful not to break any of them. “A tiny bottle.” They picked up the larger bottles and put them aside so only the smaller ones remained. “Like a liquid galaxy of blue and pink.” They found said bottle; a stubby circular-bodied vial of a gluey liquid that slowly swirled in a spinning disk of blue and pink glittery dust. Peny smiled on seeing it and picked it up carefully. “Don’t take it’s cap off.” They wrapped a short bandage around its top to keep the cap on when it would bounce around in their pocket. They began putting all the bottles away back in their box when the sound of a deep rumble stopped them. They looked above them as uneven rings of electrical light started swelling faster and faster from the tip of one of the wired-up stalactites. Before properly thinking Peny hid under the table, just as there was a flash of light and a soundwave of a fractured lighting strike and the wires that connected to the stalactite lit up like neon bars of every blinding colour possible. A surge of sparks flowed through the cables that led to the grounds of the room of tables, and there was a crash of thunder and lightning as a dark figure appeared in the centre of the room. Peny pulled the wires hanging off the table above them over like a makeshift curtain. “…And watch out for the man in black.” They finally whispered, as the dark hooded figure stepped out of the small light show of electricity.

As the man in black strolled towards one table to empty his pockets, Peny took out a shard of a white and red glowing crystal, and as quickly and quietly as possible, began to draw out circles and symbols on the floor around them, glancing up only to make sure the man in black hadn’t heard the random screeches of the crystal on the stone floor. The man in black merely took a few books from a pile on his table and began to flick through them. He clicked his fingers and the TV screen in front of him turned on instantly, showing only black and white flashes of static. He ripped out a page of a book and held it again the TV screen. After staring for a moment at the illuminated page his grip on it tightened to a fist as he crumpled the page up and threw it out of his way, growling in frustration as he did. He ripped out another page and did the same. This time he spun the page upside down and turned the dials at the side of the TV screen; the white static changed colours to a purple hue. The man in black then reached inside his pocket and took out his phone and took a quick picture of the page against the screen. As he slipped it back in his pocket he froze for a second. Then he turned and stormed toward the table Peny was hiding under. Peny quickly scribbled in the last of the symbols needed, the markings began to glow brighter and brighter on the ground. Just as the man in black reached under the table and flipped it out of the way, sending the boxes upon it flying through the air, the ground beneath Peny suddenly opened up to a beam of light and they fell through. “Adios bitch!” Peny called, their voice thankfully faded away as they fell.

They fell for, what Peny considered, a worryingly long time. The thick mist of static that flew past them didn’t seem to be on their side. Usually by now large blocks of light, meaning doorways, would show up in the spaces ahead of whatever direction Peny was traveling to. If not that at least the static would thicken to form some kind of solid ground. But this time the ink demon seemed to be falling for infinity. Something must have gone wrong in the Crosspoint markings they drew; the haste of the moment probably caused them to add an extra line in a ruin or miss a symbol entirely. They screwed up somehow and they could end up paying dearly for it; the looming silhouettes of the Keepers were getting closer and closer. Peny had to get out fast, they’d take any escape at this point. They began to glide further to the outskirts of the static mist to find crack and crude doors. Often demons would try to get into the astrum realm without the Keepers knowing; they’d all fail, obviously, but the results of their breakthroughs would always remain. Peny put a hand out to brush the surface of a wall of static, and suddenly jerked to a halt as their hand grabbed the edge of a crack in the astrum. As the Keepers’ monstrous winged figures grew close enough to hear their howls of a million whispers, Peny quickly crawled through the crack and pulled themself into a more real world. They rolled onto the dusty floor of wherever they were and caught their breath as they stared at the large decaying cracks in the ceiling above them. They felt about their pockets and sighed in relief as the small bottle was still safe and sound; the risk really was worth it. They laughed the regret off as they sat up and stood themself up, taking a good look around the place as they brushed down their coat. It looked like they ended up in a house of the human realm, but it was in no way a house for the living. Everything turned grey in thick layers of dust, the walls were peeling, and the creaking wooden floor was litter with peeled plaster from the dampened ceilings. The perfect place for a horror movie. A perfect place for a demon to take a rest. They took the bottle out to properly check it hadn’t cracked; the bandage used to cover the top had gone, but apart from that, nothing drastic had happened to it. Slipping the bottle back to safety, Peny tucked their hand in their pockets and took a stroll.

The house creaked and moaned as light breezes flowed through the broken windows and cracks in the walls. Peny found it a wonder that the house hadn’t been complete blown away in the storms of the past. As the slow steps of their heavy boots echoed along the decaying walls, Peny wondered what demon could possibly want from this place. The only reason why a door to this place was in the astrum fields would be that a demon regularly travels here. A demon that, like Peny, is very nimble in dodging the Keepers. Probably small, and quick, and very good at hiding. If that be the case, then Peny needed to be cautious treading on their territory and they kept an ear out for something following them. Peny reached inside their coat and pulled out a large golden framed lens, that looked like it once belonged on the end of a camera lens, and held it to their eye like a monocle. They looked around the place, in the shadows of corners, on the edges of doorways, on the broken lamps hanging from the ceiling. They sighed in disappointment as they saw nothing and put the lens away in their coat pocket.

They froze as the sound of sniffling became apparent.

Listening closer they realised there were soft whimpers and weak hiccups within the sniffles. Someone was crying. They sounded very young, and very small. The bandages around Peny’s boots slithered to wrap around the entire soles of their shoes, to soften Peny’s steps as they quietly snuck towards the corner were the weeping was coming from. They peeked their head around the corner. They saw the back of a young girl, sitting in the middle of the hallway floor, hunched over with her shoulders twitching with every small sob. Peny’s eyes widened. ‘Well,’ they thought to themself, ‘if I know any good horror movie, now would be a good time to take a 180 and just walk away from the scary girl in an old abandoned house.’ They shuffled back and turned to leave but paused as they thought further. ‘Although… the only reason people run away in those films is because they don’t want to die… That’s already out of the question for me… so what’s the worst that could happen?’ They turned back to take another peek at the girl. ‘If it’s a demon, I can reason with her. If it’s a human… I’ll probably end up scaring her out of this dangerous place. It’s a win-win situation.’ They quietly turned the corner and slowly strolled towards the girl. As they got closer, they could make out more of her, and wondered if this was some kind of set up. This child looked too ‘ghost-girl’ horror-movie cliché to be real. Long flowing black hair that most certainly would be covering her face, wearing a dress that was probably once white but became a dusty grey over time, and as Peny got closer to see over her shoulders, they noticed her hands were blackened with thick scars, almost like burns, and they held the remnants of a broken wooden toy. The wooden boards creaked as Peny took another step. The girl’s head perked up and suddenly the girl dived forward into the darkness of the hallway beyond her, completely disappearing. The girl left behind a piece of the toy she was holding and Peny carefully picked it up. It looked like an arm, the wooden arm of a string puppet.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Peny called out into the darkness, “You were crying. I was wondering if you were lost or hurt.” The was no response. “If it’s any consolation, I’m lost too. I’m not sure where I am. Do you know the way out of here?” Silence. Peny looked down at the doll’s arm and placed it back on the floor and took a few steps back. “You left this behind. You can take it.” Something shuffled behind Peny causing them to spin around in fright. Around the corner Peny had come from something small shuffled back to hide behind the wall. The fingers of a small scarred hand remained edging around the corner of the wall. “Is that you again?” Peny asked, wondering how she managed to get behind them without any notice. At no response Peny took more steps away from her, stepping over the doll’s arm so she could get it. Slowly the girl’s head peeked around the corner, her long hair hiding her face in utter darkness, except for the light reflecting off her eyes… or was it light glowing from her eyes? “I really don’t mean any harm.” Peny said calmly and honestly, putting their hands out to show no weapons of any obvious kind. The girl’s head tilted slightly, and in her cold bare feet she took a step out into the hallway. She took a few hesitant steps closer, her hands fidgeting the ends of her hair that flowed over her shoulders. As she got closer into the light Peny noticed how pale she was, almost like a corpse, and as the light hit her face Peny’s shoulders relaxed as they knew what they were dealing with. “You’re a demon, aren’t you?” Peny asked the girl. The girl stopped in her track, her blackened eyes looked at her in sudden fear. “It’s ok.” Peny said with a smile. They held up their hand and let a tickling flow of ink dribble from under their bandaged fingers, where the ink collected and morphed into the symbol of the demon realm in the palm of their hands. “I’m a demon too.” After a small pause, the girl took more confident steps towards Peny and stopped as soon she was standing over the doll’s arm. Her expression changed from shy fear to curious amazement. As the girl kneeled down to pick up the doll’s arm, she asked in a voice as humanly-childish as could be, “What kind of demon are you?”

“I’m a poison demon.” Peny answered, letting more ink gather in their hands until it formed a sluggish blob that they let weave around their fingers, “My poison is ink, so I’m an ink demon.” “I’ve not seen a demon like you before.” The girl said, “Where are you from?” Peny raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean, what realm am I from?” The girl nodded in response. Peny shrugged their shoulders. “Poison demons don’t have a realm. We just mooch about the place.” The girl giggled, probably at the silliness of the word ‘mooch’. She glanced up and down Peny’s body in admiration, not many demons look like Peny; this Peny knew as a fact, not really caring if it’s a compliment or an insult. Salli asked, “How did you get here? Not many people come here.” “I got lost.” Peny admitted, “I was crossing through from one dimension to another, and I must have made a wrong turn.” “Dimensions?” The girl asked quizzically. Her face lit up as she gasped and asked quickly, “Are you a spaceman?” Peny huffed a small laugh but stopped themself before they seemed dismissive toward the girl’s notion. They replied, “Sort of. I travel through a space. I travel through the space that no humans have travelled before.” “I’ve only seen space on TV!” The girl announced before asking eagerly, “What’s it like? Do you get to touch the stars?” Uncertainly Peny shook their head. “Not the space I travel through, unfortunately. I know of some friends who have travelled through the space you’re thinking of. I’ll be sure to ask them next time, and I could tell you what they say.” They smiled. The girl gave a small giggle. There was a moment of silence as the conversation came to a halt. Peny had never dealt with kids before, not even when they were alive, and only knew awkward silences as a cue to leave. They clasped their hand together, forgot the ink slug was still in their hand, apologised to it as it grumpily reform from the splatter marks, and finally told Salli, “I’m sorry if I’m intruding on your place. I can leave if you want this place to yourself.” Peny turned slightly in the motion of walking away. “No.” Salli said suddenly, stopping Peny in their tracks, “Don’t go. You don’t have to go… Not many people come here. Well… Sometimes humans come here, but I’m scared of them.” The girl nervously rubbed her hand along the rough surface of her arm. She looked to Peny and smiled. “But you seem nice. So you can stay.” Peny gave a small nod of affirmation. “Why, thank you.” Staying where they were, Peny couched down to her level. They let the ink slug drop onto the floor, where it flattened to a puddle and nestled into the gaps of the floorboards. Peny then hovered their hand over the floorboard where the ink suddenly ‘dribbled’ upwards back into the centre of Peny’s hand. With the ink back into a slug in their hand, they repeated this process. The demon girl watched in awe. During this the ink demon said, “My name is Peny. What’s your name?” The girl prized her eyes off Peny’s magic trick and answered, “Salli.” “That’s a cool name.” Peny said, smiling on seeing her smile proudly on telling her name. They looked down at the doll’s arm Salli was holding. “I heard you crying earlier. Was it because of your toy?” Salli looked down at the doll’s arm. Her smile fell. She then reached into the pocket of the side of her dress and pulled out the rest of the doll, which consisted of only a torso and a leg. As she stared at the broken doll, her lips quivered as she began to quietly sob again. Peny felt their dead heart sink on seeing how upset Salli had become. “Oh no. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Peny wanted to reach out an arm to comfort her, but thought that was a bad idea; they didn’t know if the girl wanted comfort. “Do you know how it was broken?” Salli sniffled and rubbed the tears from her eyes; her tears were blackened and stained her arm as she tried to rub them away before they could trickle onto the broken doll. She stuttered. “He was… He was broken… I fell. And he broke. I tried to get him back… I tried to get all his pieces back but…” She coughed out the last few words as her crying got more intense, “Something took his pieces away.” She buried her head in her arm and wept. Peny blinked a few times realising they were close to crying too. They took a deep breath and asked steadily, “When you say ‘something’, can you remember what it was? What it looked like?” Salli shook her head as it was still buried in her arm. “No.” She sniffed, “I couldn’t see them.” She pulled her head away from her arm, her tears stained her cheek. “I think… I think it wasn’t just one of it. I think it was a more than one. But I couldn’t see them. They were see-through.” Peny’s eyebrows raised. “Invisible?” they said with a dynamic bounce to their voice. They looked around the place, at the hallway behind them and at the ceiling above them. “Was he broken here?” they asked Salli, pointing to the floor underneath them. Salli shook her head and pointed to the darkness behind the ink demon. “No. I fell over there. At the stairs.” Peny looked to wear she was pointing and could barely make out a dip in the floor where stairs led downward. They turned back, to ask if they could check it out, but found the girl had vanished without a sound. They scanned the area she once stood, looking for footprint in the dusty floor, but saw nothing to suggest she ran. “Just here.” The girl’s voice called from the hallways behind Peny. Peny stood up and walked into the darkness toward Salli, wondering how she was able to get past them so quietly without them noticing. They reached the stairs and stared for a while at where Salli pointed. They looked up to see the house split into multiple doorways and corridors; whatever things took Salli’s doll had scattered to other areas of the house. They walked down the stairs and stood in the central cross-section of where the corridors split off.

“I think I might know what took your doll’s pieces.” Peny told Salli as the girl followed them, “It could be something else, though. You never know with things that dwell in abandoned houses.” They reached into the coat pocket and pulled out the golden framed lens again, the sight of it impressed Salli. Holding the lens in the air and looking through it through one open eye Peny finished, “But we can check to see what one culprit could be.” “What’s that thing?” Salli asked, reaching to the lens. Peny showed it to her, turning it in their hand so Salli could see all angles of it. “It’s called an Ambi lens.” Peny explained. “It’s so you can find creatures called Ambulans Caligo. Or Walking Mist as they’re know to few.” Peny held up the lens to Salli’s eye and the girl eagerly held it to gaze at the house through it. “They look like little people made of mist. They’re very light and move very quickly through the air, fading away as they do. You can only really see them when they are standing still, which they usually do in dark corners.” As Salli held the lens more confidently, Peny let go of it, but let a tendril of their bandage tie itself through the loop in the frame so it wouldn’t hit the floor if it fell; it was a very important device that Peny couldn’t afford for it to be broken. Then again Peny couldn’t afford it in the first place, they did steal it after all. Salli held the lens to her eye and used it like a monocle, the act of doing so made her pucker he lips slightly and hum deep mumbles; something a child would think a posh monocle-wearing gentleman would do. She giggled after doing so. She looked at the frame of it, letting her blackened scarred thumb rub over the delicate engravings of Celtic symbols in the gold. She looked up at Peny and asked, “What were they called again?” “Walking Mist.” Peny replied. “Do Walking Mist like dolls?” Salli asked. Peny shook their head and said, “Not usually. But they like small objects, objects they can carry. They like inspecting them for a while before moving on from them. They must have liked the look of your doll and wanted to inspect his pieces.” Peny looked into the rooms surrounding them. “If they are the ones who took your doll, we’ll find them hiding in the corners of these rooms. Let’s go and find them, shall we?” Salli nodded excitedly and unexpectedly took Peny’s hand in her, shocking Peny still for a moment. Salli led Peny towards the first few rooms as their investigation began.

The man in black stared at the crosspoint markings on the floor and kicked the powder of the symbols away into dust. He noticed one of the boxes had been opened as broken bottles had scattered everywhere. Whoever that was had taken something from him. Something he hadn’t used yet. Something he needed. Something he would get back before the thief has the chance to use it. As he coached down to take a closer look at the powdered crystal of the markings, a strip of ink-stained cloth blew onto his shoe. He picked it up and felt it in his hands, lightly flinching as he noticed the ink coming off into his fingertips. He knew who this was. He knew how to find them. And when he’d find them, he knew he’d enjoy making them pay.

#magpie writings #ocs #Peny #glitch demons #Truce

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mayadile · 6 years

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I don't know if I'm bothering you with this ask but has King Dice ever felt inner conflict at having an actual relationship for once in his life? Not that he regrets it, he's just never thought that it was possible? When he first started dating Connie, I mean, the absolute angel.......(I'm a hardcore Snake Eyes shipper but your art and ideas are so amazing......I was actually first introduced to the LGBTQ+ community by looking through your blog and I'm really thankful for it )

I DID WRITE A WHOLE BIG THING ABOUT THIS IN MY GOOGLE DOCS HOW EVERYTHING GOES AND HAPPENS WITH THEIR RELATIONSHIP!!!!! welp this is going to be long so lets pop in A READ MORE!!!

Ok so lemme give you some headcanons of mine HAHA so yes as you can see King Dice! He’s a big shot right? He can smooth talk his way to getting anything, it’s a talent of his! He attracts all sorts of people with his presence and he knows it! Working in the casino for years and years ( And stuff with King Dice’s backstory but that’s later but if you wanna know I can gladly write that for you too later! ) and being partners with the Devil himself, got a reason for it, being the right hand man, man got a rotten soul! Greedy,Egotistic,Nartisstic, etc ( I MEAN LISTEN TO HIS SONG! He basically thinks so highly of himself come on, even when working with the Devil he thinks noone can mess with him! ) Dice likes money and by god does he love making people’s life the worse! mostly playing around with toons he thinks deserve it...like you know he has so much charisma, he can talk anyone into anything, he has that face, smile, dapper look,HE’S GOOD LOOKING AS HELL!! he got an aura that draws you to him. Hard to see right through him but if you do, you’ll see some dark aura around the guy. He’s a nasty nasty man! manipulative and a snake HAHA everyone in inkwell knows him for that, pretty sure everyone in inkwell hates him.He’s very dedicated and devoted to his work, that was the deal, be here in the flames and rot, why not have some fun and pull in some suckers, that’s one thing him and the devil bond over and get along with, they love making deals and ruining lives. He can talk a drunk patron into playing a game and selling their soul, he can flirt his way into your heart and take your soul, he can be so friendly, start something with you and just break your spirit and take that damn soul of yours and act as if he had nothing to do with it and left you there speechless and does it give him pleasure to see the lights leave your eyes when you figure out when you notice you just fucked up your life into giving your soul to the big cheese! Hilarious! what a sucker! you really think you had a chance? you really think everything was going good for you here? Welcome to hell pal! Now that you see the negatives of King Dice, back to your question, yes it was confusing for him to ever have genuine feelings for someone, most of the time he plays around ya know? He can do whatever he’s the manager. I mean I’m pretty sure he had relationships before he got his soul taken from the devil! But guess all things were lose and consumed while working in the Casino, guess he didn’t have the need for it or thought it is necessary??? The only relationship he had all those years stuck in here was his partnership/friendship with the devil, don’t know if you can say it is a good friendship, but they are business partners??? same with his lackeys too! King Dice again thinks he’s a real catch, he knows toons fall for him and he likes the attention! But him attracted to someone he finds alluring as himself?? He can’t keep his eyes off? interested? curious? THAT’S A REAL RECORD SCRATCH, it confuses the absolute hell out of him.Like imagine being someone whos...King Dice and suddenly you start developing feelings? scary isn’t it? Chest starts to get heavy, your nasty nature turns into putty and you have birds singing, you want to see this person and hear their voice, you get tongue tied?? Something you never do? Mr.Big Bad Big Shot, Everyone adores me and hates me and this one person makes you weak to the knees!! an employee of yours? It’s terrifying for him and absolutely crazy, he doesn’t need this, he thinks he is better than that, love? HAHA WHO NEEDS THAT RIGHT? I’M THE GAMEST IN THE LAND WHO NEEDS THAT STUFF WHEN I HAVE ALL OF THIS AND-- Oh look Connie!Does he regret it? Nah, he actually likes it, it’s nice to feel something good! make that dark void in his chest sing and dance. His feelings towards Connie developed deep down since he did try to hide and deny it but coming from a guy who is actually a secret hopeless romantic it’s hard~ uhhh ok Dice’s first impression of Connie wasn’t good and mostly he thought that they were like every other magician, they do a image for themself but they’re actually nasty like why else would Connie come and also accept a job at the casino? He knows Connie isn’t a complete angel ( They were given a job at the casino for a reason and that reason is because the devil sees something in Connie he admires and so he lend them a hand and gave them the job here, Connie isn’t the ANGEL you all think they are, they’re actually awful lol but they repress feelings! ) but getting to know them further ( if you wanna know how feelings develop Ill give you that too and when connie came to the casino! ) But! Connie has that something, that really attracts King Dice, they’re like light, lighting up the room with their booming voice and enthusiastic personality, makes the casino more alive and tolerable. Another small headcanon, of course I base King Dice very much of Cab Calloway, so he isn’t always a nasty dude ( i mean he is ) but he has that feel of always dancing about and singing~ Back then in his better life Dice had a band and wow does he miss it..( Locks all of his past memories in a box hidden in his office ).. Being around Connie makes him want to dance and sing ( which he does ) sometimes together he will tune his radio and play some songs and sing, Connie would join and dance along side with him, brings back memories and it’s a good thing since Dice hasn’t had a dance partner in YEARS and mostly someone who can catch up with his rhythm and be in sync and have the same energy. So yeah he never ever thought he would make it this far and have an actual loving relationship with someone, I mean Connie and Dice are both broken toons and both aren’t perfect and have some conflict but they do have such good chemistry and love one another to make it whole! ( Wow that was cheesy but these two can be cheesy :\ ) Again apologizes for my rambling and run off sentences .... remind you that this is one of my ever first oc/canon I was ever invested in and seeing people like it really make me happy since Im a nervous lad....There is alot to their story and again I will say, they are a slow burn, feelings slowly develop and mostly fully happen after the casino went to shit, but not saying they don’t mildly flirt before then ;o; just conflicted feelings all around...uh..im not a romantic writer guys but I can say I do love the effort I put in these two so if you want more info just tell me and I’ll do the best I can? THANK YOU!

#Connie O'Clock #a huge ass wall of text im sorry #im like blushing writing stuff like this makes me flustered ok LOL #some TimeToDie nonense here #aimasup

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over-the-pink-moon · 6 years

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how to deal with naughty hands?

its shit its trash but im posting it nevertheless super quickly byeee

Her skin is taking slowly lovely caramel colour, Luna claims she only can get in Mexico. Matteo presses his lips to the back of her neck inhaling her sweet scent. Peachy perfume and sunlotion, he few hours ago was putting it here himself. He slowly moves his lips down placing small pecks along her spine earning a grateful purr. A few strays of hair free from a messy bun and are dancing around her back. Matteo carefully takes them between his fingers and tucks them behind the hairtie. He feels, how Luna shiveres under his touch and adoringly curles her toes. His lips find again their way to her spine and slowly reaches the strings of her bikini. Obviously, Matteo Balsano could now behave like a very nice, proper boyfriend, but he inside remains this chico fresa, that cant miss any opportunity to pull a little bit of jokes at Luna, even when she looks like a small, napping kitten taking in all the sun. He begins to slowly scratch her back and draws unknown patterns making Luna quietly moan under her breath. Meanwhile with his right hand he is working out her swimming suit slowly untangling the knot. Luna is sometimes the most trusting and very oblivious person and the thought, that her boyfriends intentions arent that clear dont even passes through her head. Taking in the moment as much as she can, Luna lets herself just melt into her beach towel under his touch. His face suddenly comes closer to her ear, Matteo takes a few strings of her hair aside and she patiently waits not making any attempt to move for him to whisper whatever he is meant to. However, instead she feels his teeth closing on her right ear and his tongue making its way around her earlobe. Why things that always disgusted her so much and was overall a big no to her, somehow Matteo makes them so hot. She might have just felt, how she is getting slightly bit wet and thats not okay taking into consideration they are at the pool, surrounded by many many people.

„Matteo” Luna murmurs in a bit raspy and weirdly deep voice.

„Sunshine, you need to get up a bit, cause I think a wasp tangled in your hair.” His voice very soft and calm regardless the dangerous information it contains.

„A wasp?!” Luna immediately gets up shaking every bit of sleepiness and starts to run her fingers through her hair anxiously. Then she feels something isn’t quiet right and her beautiful yellow bikini she chose two days before a trip instead tightly wrapping her chest is loosely tangling, giving Matteo best view possible at her breasts.

„You didnt-„ His grinn cant be hidden and he cocked his head to the side trying to get nice view from some other angle. He throws her symbolic kiss, mouthing „i love you” and lays again on his towel watching, how his girlfriend struggles to tie her bikini as quickly as possible.

„Matteo Balsano, on which earth you think its funny?”

„On every, sunshine.” If Luna was a super grown up person, she would now throw some insults and turn back to him to wait for some proper apologies. However, instead she just jumps on his stomach straddling him. Matteo couldnt expect it letting out a breath and takes off his sunglasses.

„What the fuck, Luna.” He manages to chuckle, when both her hands find their way to his hair, damaging his carefully put together curls. He growls in response and grasps both her hands to leave his poor hair alone. „Stop it, you little devil.” She gives him only pout in response and sticks out her tongue.

„You were the one to start this war.” As soon as she feels his grip a bit loosening up she reaches for his sunglasses. The warning look she can notice in his eyes doesnt stop her and suddenly his favourite raybans make a soft splash in nearby pool.

„You crossed a line Miss Valente.” Matteo serious expression doesnt startle Luna and she is about to ruffle his hair again, but he stands up picking up Luna with him. She shrieks and wiggles trying to free herself, but his arms mercilessly surround her waist tightly pressing their chests together.

„You are going to get them Valente.” His eyes try to be cold and unforgiving, but happy wrinkles around his eyes reveal her, he is as much in this game as she is.

„Never” She retorts proudly looking him straight in the eyes, trying to contain giggle.

„Okay then-„ Matteo takes last few steps and then stops at the verge of swimming pool. Luna last time attempts to free herself, but they are already in the air and the only think left is just to hug him as tightly as she can. They both fall into the water and find themself almost at the bottom of the pool. Luna opens her eyes under water and spots, that glasses lay peacefully on the side of the wall, but she knows thats not really what Matteo now cares about. He opens his eyes too and they just stare at each other for a second, when Matteo intertwines their fingers slowly and kisses her. Earlier he cofessed during one of full of sangria nights, thats one of his dreams. To kiss her underwater. Laying all the possible trust possible in Matteo, she lets him slip his tongue into her mouth and its the weirdest feeling ever. This the moment she understands, how special it is. People always claim its the sex, that brings them the closest, but sharing the air, the most necessary thing on earth makes her now think they are the only people not in this pool, even not on earth, but in the universe. Or maybe they are the universe then.

Eventually they need to pull out, both of them are taking hasty breaths looking at each other. She doesnt wait for their breaths to even and connects one more time for a short, but deep kiss.

„You know, I love you regardless your stupid acts.” One look from him its enough for Luna to get that he means the same.

„So you I wont mind that much, if you this.” On his face appears cocky smile and he bites his lip a bit. This thing always distracts and loud shriek comes out of her lungs, when she feels someone’s hands suddenly crawl a bit under waistband of her bikini panties.

„Matteo Balsano, you

are

dead.”

#soy luna #lutteo fanfic #luna valente #matteo balsano #mine

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cardhouseandthecage · 6 years

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Jealousy / Envy

Characeter ask meme, re @theghostisametaphor. Logus asks Oskyod: F. envy or jealousy

note: Λόγος (Logos) is Oskyod’s pet name for Logus, because naturally. ---

Jezebel shifted her weight pointedly. “We’ll see,” she said, and took her leave.

Once she had passed out of earshot, Logus laughed.

“Such a jealous creature,” he said. “Will she never learn?”

Oskyod tucked the card they had been examining back behind their ear, where it vanished from sight. “Jealous?”

Logus straightened. “Do you object to my choice of word? Clearly she resents me—resents my discovery—and irrationally so. This ought to be a cause for celebration, but to her there’s no true victory unless it’s hers. What would you call that?”

“Envy.” Oskyod did not hesitate. “I would call that envy.” “But that is a synonym! Don’t you stand there and tell me that it isn’t.”

“It is,” now Oskyod spoke more slowly, “but you asked what I would call it. To my mind ‘synonym’ is a fallacy: I do not hold any two words to be interchangeable. The connotations of envy, I think, fall much closer to the mark.” “Oh? And how do you distinguish?” Oskyod shrugged. “I don’t hold to any hard-and-fast rule. But I like to be consistent. I generally think of envy as a desire for what isn’t yours, and jealousy as a reluctance to share what is—or what is yours in part. Envy is ambitious; jealousy is possessive. Alternately (or additionally), jealousy tends to carry more intimate connotations than its counterpart. Jealousy is always personal; envy may be less so.” They paused. “That said, not everyone draws the distinction in the same way that I do. There’s a good deal of overlap, and your usage was certainly fair play: it’s just not how I would have put it.”

Oskyod left off, but they did not withdraw their gaze. All the time they had been speaking, Logus noted, they had not broken eye contact; he was not sure whether he liked this any better than the professor’s more customary evasiveness. Their braid uncurled in the air from left to right, and Logus had to suppress a sudden impulse to grab hold of it and make it stop—together with the curiosity that had welled in him. He put his hands in his pockets and looked away.

“Such a messy business, language” he said. “There’s no precision in it. But I do respect your attempt to bring some more rigour to the discipline. By your terminology, here, yes, I agree. Jezebel is insatiable above all else—as envy must be in its extreme—and that’s what rules her.” Still the curiosity pricked at him. He rocked back on his heels. “Would you say then…that some people are ruled more by one or the other? Envy, jealousy? Take Lux. She’s quite the opposite: I don’t think I’ve ever seen her envious in my life. She wants nothing. But lay one finger on anything that’s hers…?” he laughed. "Jealous as the devil, that one.” He stole one glance at Oskyod from the corner of his eye. They had not moved. “But I am curious, professor. You seem to have put some thought into this—which suggests to me that it is above all an important distinction for you.” He circled two paces to the left, vulture-like. “Tell me. Why is that?”

Oskyod followed him with their eyes as he paced, all else about them motionless. “You may ask me, Logus,” they said. “I am inclined.”

Logus stopped dead. There was a command behind that—something he had not heard before—and it chilled him. Oskyod pivoted to face him directly. “You may ask me,” they repeated, “but you must do better than that if you want a good answer. Language, I think you will find, only lacks precision if you don’t know where you are in it. You don’t. But one man’s mess is another’s filing cabinet: a mess one can navigate is no mess at all. Give me the context and I can give you anything: as intricately—as precisely—as you like.” They stepped in close. “Ask me again, Λόγος,” they said, “and don’t insult me. Do it right this time.”

Logus stood transfixed, his mind racing. Oskyod never did this. Oskyod never maintained eye contact for this long—not with him and not with anyone. They would look at a book, look at the floor, look out a window, at their own fingers—at anything—at nothing. This was deliberate. Right from the start he’d known something was off—how had he not caught it? It was too late. All this time they had been casting, and now the spell was fixed: if Logus spoke, he could not lie. Not only that, but he could not lie by omission; he could not conceal—not until Oskyod looked away. He knew the trick well—he used it not infrequently himself—but he'd thought only Lux had the cards to use it on him. Was this even the same spell? It felt very different, under their cast—like a dimly lit maze, or a web with many twists and snags—and there was much less compulsion to it. When Lux demanded a truth, she extracted it—willing or no. But this was not a demand. It was a condition. If he should speak… The panic passed. Logus would not be made to reveal anything. Easily he could snip every thread that held him; depart, and never speak of it again. But what would that imply? That he feared the truth? He, Logus? And still the curiosity ate at him. Rarely was Oskyod so forthright: when next could he expect such an opportunity? Was there any good reason he should not take it? They knew already what he had asked—of that he was certain—only they would not answer it until he had given the question in full.

Well, he thought. If that is to be the price…

“Well played,” he said, and collected himself, “but I do not mind.” He flexed his fingers and pulled on the cuff of one gloves. "And why should I? I’ve nothing to hide. I will ask again, and on your terms.”

He held himself tall, taking a moment to feel out the boundaries of the spell—what would give and what would not. He began.

“You know that I…require you,” he spoke carefully, testing the syntax. “I mean I care for you very much—” and there was the wall. A panic took him and he felt for the exit. Was he bound to keep speaking now that he had begun? No: he could still break. Or could he...? But he did not want to. (Was that a part of it?) “And while I do not know for certain your regard for me, I have reason to hope that I am not entirely unrequited in my love.” Again he balked. That he could never have said—he did not have the cards for it.

And yet he’d said it. He’d let the words be pulled from him—against his hand—with his permission and without his will. It felt almost exhilarating. Lux only ever dealt in hard truths, and when she extracted them it was with an iron fist. But these were shadow-truths: many-sided, and they wanted shaping. He had to yield them, but beyond that he could yield them any way he liked. He had expected to feel forced. He did not. He felt fluent---so fluent it frightened him. Every truth he gave now was his own.

You’re doing very well, said the spell. Take your time. Logus bristled. He did not have to look up in order to read Oskyod’s expression (smug, insufferable). “I hate you,” he said—and found with relief that he could still say it.

Gathering his thoughts again he pressed on, more irritable now than cautious.

“It’s as I said: you know these things. You know (confound you) everything. And you know also my position. You know where I stand in the Master’s esteem: you know his claim to me. And you know that even if I could I would never change it. It’s what I am. So what I’m asking you is simply this.” He took a breath and retreated into the collar of his coat. "Do you....do you mind it? You do not strike me as the envious sort. Yet sometimes I imagine—sometimes, in the way you…” Again he stalled. No. He would say it: he could. “Are you jealous then?” Now, and never again. "Are you jealous towards me?” He opened his eyes (he had not realised he’d closed them). The world did not end. He looked up. Oskyod tilted their head to one side, blinked, and released the bind; Logus reeled a little, feeling almost giddy. He laughed once, recovering quickly, and skipped lightly backwards.

“Your move, professor,” he said, “And you had better answer: you know you’re not the only one who can pull that trick.”

“Oh, I fully intend to,” Oskyod smiled, looking very pleased with themself. The smile broke into a grin, and they laughed, and laughed again, stumbling a little as they did. They seemed almost to be having difficulty containing their mirth. Logus looked on in some bewilderment: he was not quite sure he had ever seen them in such a state. “Excuse me, please,” Oskyod said, “I am not laughing at you, believe me: you performed splendidly—that was much better. You speak so beautifully, you know, when you’re enabled. Yes, yes, you have certainly earned a reply.”

Feeling more insulted than flattered by this praise, Logus waited. “It had better be honest. I can tell.”

“I am aware,” said the professor, sobering a little. “I don’t suppose you would take a more eloquent reply tomorrow, would you?” “No–!” Logus sputtered. “No, absolutely not! I played your little game. You’ve made me say all sorts of ridiculous things—and very ineloquently! I’ve humiliated myself. Now you.”

Oskyod laughed again, still very fey. “Sorry, I had to ask. Well.” They adjusted their glasses. “Thankfully it’s not nearly so difficult a question for me to answer as it was for you to pose. You’re on the right path: I do generally incline much more towards jealousy than towards envy, in the instance that I incline towards either. It’s all a great deal of energy, you know—envy especially. And very pointless. Though… I do not especially love for other people to touch what’s mine. My office, for example. My records, my person, my cards.” Now they locked eyes with Logus, their expression blank. “But you already know that. You did not ask about generally. You asked about you. You guessed that I do not envy your position, and you guessed correctly. As for the Master…” They looked past Logus now, and spoke distantly. “I would not flatter yourself so far as to think me jealous. I don’t give a damn whether he touches you. I might be able to muster some resentment over other aspects of his claim, but it’s such an effort to work up a real fit. And we both know I’ve never required you quite so desperately as you require me. ” Now they looked back, and smiled strangely. “Besides. Say that I did possess you—comprehensively. What would I do with that? Keep you in my office in a box, take you out only when it amused me? Because you see, if I really wanted you, that’s what it would take. I do not possess things lightly. I do not possess people lightly. It’s really far better that you’re his.” Their voice had dropped considerably in volume, and Logus realised that he could no longer say what language they were speaking in—only that he understood it.

“That said…” Oskyod moved in to adjust the front of Logus’ jacket (which Logus was fairly certain did not need adjusting). Their braid swung very close to his face and he grew impatient.

“That said, what?”

Oskyod looked up. “What?”

“I’m not letting you off. You were going to say something. Stop touching that—out with it.”

“Ah, right.” Oskyod stepped backwards, quiet as dust.

“That said: I do not like it, Λόγος.”

The lenses of their spectacles flashed white.

I do not like it at all.

#logus had to remind himself that he did not want to be kept in a box in oskyod's office #for a hot second that sounded really appealing #composed fiction #Logus*#Oskyod*#Logus #Oskyod #hhhhhhh this became #incredibly long #but i've been wanting to write a proper dialogue for these two for ages so #here it is #indulgent in the extreme

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dishonoredrpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, C! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE DEVIL with the faceclaim of MAHESH JADU. Getting to read your application was truly -- genuinely -- a gift. A treat! A joy! You touched on everything I could have wanted in an app for The Devil, from the way their body is in need of constant repair to how at its core, their loyalty is selfish, but selfish for a reason that is so incredibly human it makes you want to weep. Wraith (what a fitting name) embodied a terror, I think, befitting a spymaster, and I fully believe that they are good at what they do. I both empathize with and fear their power. I think your exploration of the void as a concept was also fascinating, and I was so happy to see you take it into your own hands and make it yours! You’ve done me a great service by letting me get to have you and them on the dashboard.

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

OOC NAME: C PRONOUNS: they/them AGE: 27 TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST; my activity is pretty consistent—I’m around on Discord most of the time, and I will generally do all of my replies 3 times a week or so ANYTHING ELSE?: this group looks so wonderful! I’ve been longing for a good fantasy rp and this is so well done, so thank you!

IN CHARACTER SKELETON: the Devil NAME: Wraith ( among a half-dozen others. It’s not so much a name as a quick referent, a summons. they don’t need a name to answer when called. they had a real name, once, years ago; they don’t remember it anymore. a name their mother gave them, a name their mother spat into the ground. not the name of a child, but the name of a well-honed, well-balanced blade. they gave it up, when they went to court. it was a split-second decision, when the king asked them their name, and instead of giving the one that someone else had branded them with, they answered: my Lord, I am nothing but a wraith ) FACECLAIM: Mahesh Jadu (backups: Sacha Dhawan or Mena Massoud - though I would age the character down to 28 in Mena’s case) AGE: 35 -- ( it’s old, for an inferni; there’s no reason they should be alive anymore by all accounts, but Wraith’s magic isn’t quite as actively destructive as that of many inferni. still, it would be a lie to say the magic isn’t taking its toll. it has called in its dark favor from them time and again: first, three fingers of their left hand, now empty space; then, a part of their jaw, reconstructed for them by a court necromancer out of someone else’s bone; these days, it isn’t so much that parts of their body are going missing as their very material form seems to take longer and longer to take shape each time they move, and sometimes it is as if they aren’t anything more substantial than dark smoke unfurling, as if they themself are slowly being consumed by the void they fall through again and again. ) DETAILS: The thing that fascinates me most about The Devil is the way they seem to have traded one cage for another, one wielder from another, doing the same thing at the hands of a different master. “You are not an animal . . . You’ll show her just how beast like you can be.” There’s a layer, there, of absolute self-denial, a kind of self-obliteration in the pursuit of their vengeance. There’s something very pragmatic about them, very focused: the position is a tool, too, not something they delight in except in what it gets them. I feel like “spymaster” characters are always written as characters who delight in gossip and the abuse of information, but the Devil is such a refreshing change from that trope, in that way. I also love the complexity of their feelings about Septimus: an acknowledgement, that he is a fool, an understanding that he is a bad leader, perhaps even an understanding that he deserves to be overthrown, and yet a deliberate allegiance to him in the moment because it serves them, because it grants them power in a way they crave that power. I think there’s a sense, in that loyalty, that it is better to be an animal caged by the kind of fool who forgets to latch the gate at night; there’s a sense that if it came down to it, they could outsmart Septimus and escape him, a deliberate choice to serve a master they could overpower if they needed to. That’s what makes the difference, between their mother and Septimus, between serving one over the other: they feel that with Septimus, they are really the one in control. BACKGROUND: ( trigger warnings: sexist slurs, abuse, injury, body horror ) The first time they fall, it is an accident. Schoolyard bullies have them cornered—they’re scrawny, for their ages, and their mother is alone and poor, the kind of woman to whom vicious gossip clings. What about you? one of the kids asks, bigger than them by nearly threefold, and reeking. Are you a whore like your mother, too? Let’s see what you— One moment, the kid is in front of them and the next there is nothing but black, a void around them, empty of everything, utterly. Of light, of beings, of sensation. Of time. It feels like they are falling for an hour, but when they hit the ground, ten feet behind the boys who were cornering them, smoldering slightly with thick black smoke, it has been less than a second. Time accelerates, then, as if to make up for it: there are screams of fear, looks of terror, and the next thing they know they are choking on the ground, their mother’s hand gripped around their throat. What did you do? What did you do and how did you do it? They can’t answer her, they don’t know. They’ve never known magic before, never done anything but fear it before. Time accelerates again, between each jump, each fall. The moments between the void blur. In the void, they feel grounded in their body. When they land, they feel detached. They press into small corners, fold their body small, overhear what they can. They report back. Some days their mother cradles their hair, rakes sharp-nailed fingers through it until she draws blood. Some days she locks their door and leaves, an understanding between them both that if they fall, to get out, the punishment will be much, much worse. Some days they go without food, some days they are left so aching and bruised they can barely hang onto the rafters to listen. There are only two constants: one, that each day ends with information, shared to their mother, measured, weighted, judged; two, that the time they spend in the void, brief and silent and perfect, makes the rest somehow bearable. The crack, the split, the seam, the breaking point. It comes one day, as they are coughing blood onto the floor. Someone knows, she shouts. Someone knows about you, you filth, you rat, you traitor. Who did you tell? Who have you told? They haven’t told anyone; someone planted information, leaked deliberately within earshot, somewhere they shouldn’t have been. Someone had grown suspicious at how much their mother knew, how much power it afforded her, and someone conspired to use them to take her down. She beats them bloody, leaves scars they’ll bare for the rest of their life, but she forgets one thing, in her attempt to reign them in. She forgets, because they have never used it against her, that they can fall. They let themself spend hours, in the void, before deciding where to go. The cuts in their skin, the breaks in their bones fill, with the black smoke of it, as they float there, falling. Like a new womb, it wraps its cold smoke around them and births them anew. They don’t think they’re going to appear inside the castle walls. They don’t have to think. It decides for them. ( this is the part of the story that precedes them, the part that has already been told: a young inferni, barely sixteen, appears before the King, begs for entrance three times, one week upon the next upon the next. disappears in a cloud of smoke and returns with a blade of grass from Wyvern-Wing plains. returns with a hand full of the pink sands of the Eastern coast. returns with a midnight-blue flower from deep within the Volkan forest. though they only needed one, to convince him. when asked their name, they say my Lord, I am nothing but a wraith ) Nicknames come easily, when they forsake a true name of their own. Not just wraith, but others: raven, ghost, wolf, snake. It doesn’t mean anything to them; they are accustomed to being a beast. Their reputation for lurking in corners, unseen, leads at first to rapid mistrust, suspicion, extra precaution. Royals are no more secretive than ordinary folk, except that they have more resources, hold their secrets more precious even when they are as banal as all the rest. So the charm is something they have to learn, something they have to socialize themself to. Talented or not, no one can survive in court without learning how to talk the right way. They may not need charm, or gold, or anything but magic to get the information they need to please the King, but that does not mean that the rest of the court is as easily content. There are patterns to learn, rivalries to steer clear of, delicate spots not to aggravate; they are a quick study. It is the same survival instinct that saw them bend like a reed to their mother’s hand. Cross the wrong person, and you are as good as dead. And so they don’t. They make few friends, and make the illusion of many: trust no one, but give them all reason to believe they trust you. They learn, they work, they excel. Secrets no one should know. Priceless ones no bribe is enough to uncover. They spend their days shuttling back and forth between the court and wherever they need to do, compiling reports by day, hiding in dark corners by night. As constant as the cool embrace of the void. And then, one day, their magic has its first cost: they appear before the king and look to find three fingers missing from their left hand, only the thumb and index finger left. No scarring left in their wake, as if they were never there to begin with. Months later, it is half their jaw they leave behind, and though a court necromancer shapes shards of someone else’s bone into a replacement and seals it under their skin, it is then that they begin to wear the mask they grow infamous for—the new jaw may sit fine and prettily in their face, but it will not be the last piece of themself they lose to the void. That it means they rarely see their own face, inhuman to them and unfamiliar, with its new bone structure, is a consideration as well, but one they will not admit to. That it means they never glimpse the lingering furl of black smoke in their own eyes is not something they will say aloud. PLOT IDEAS: 1. What is the void, they think, but a manifestation of the Undying’s embrace? Some might think it heresy, but their quiet, private reverence, their silent faith is a comfort to them. The void was a womb, to them, reborn and cloaked in black. They do not adhere to the tenets of organized worship of the Undying, but they think of her as a second mother of sorts, a relationship far more personal than by all accounts they should. They think she holds them close, every time they fall. But this private zealotry, this silent dedication, might raise the hackles of those who find the organized worship of temples and priests the only true way to understand faith. It might cast suspicion on them, or make them enemies in high places they have no interest in placating. 2. Sometimes it takes several seconds, for their body to fully materialize after they leave the void. Sometimes, it takes days. Sometimes, lately, they walk around more ghost than body, black cloaks and masks the only thing giving them form at all. They are close, they feel, so close, to getting what they want, but there is a risk, razor-sharp, that they will disappear entirely when it is just at their fingertips. Inferni aren’t meant to live so long, after all, are supposed to burn out in chaotic destruction, their own bodies traded for the magic they wield. But other inferni have lived as long, other magic users have found ways to circumvent the cost of their gifts. And if anyone can find the ones who have, can learn how they have done it, it is the wraith who knows all secrets. 3. They have heard so much talk of coups, in the intel they collect, the gossip they confirm. It seems everybody wants to be a part of a coup, at some point or another. Revolutionary aspirations have never been their cup of tea. Their work shelters them; the King provides everything they need. But they stand as a valuable resource, to either side, and while they are loyal to their king now, it is not out of any love for man nor nation. It is out of a loyalty to power, a loyalty to access, a loyalty to usefulness. If they were to receive a better offer, if the tides were to shift, just so, if there was a way to assure that someone else could keep them alive… they could find themself falling to the other side, or at least playing the field for both. Their dedication to the King is dedication to a fool whose power serves their needs; that doesn’t mean the Hierophant doesn’t have a point about the way magic could be used. Hungry dogs are never loyal, after all, and though the King has kept them well-fed, some masters offer crumbs and others steaks. CHARACTER DEATH: I’m absolutely fine with the possibility of them dying, and I look forward to the idea of playing/plotting a new character to replace them if that’s the case!

WRITING SAMPLE It was dark, at the docks, sun long gone, and darker beneath the wooden piers, by the struts that held them up above the water. The waves were glassy and smooth, like tourmaline, the tide low, lapping below their feet where they hung, half-suspended, beneath the docks, mask pulled low across their face. Dark clothes, dark mask, dark gloves, tendrils of the void around them and still fading from the fall from the castle to here. There was a meeting. Supposed to be a secret, but they had heard tell of the time and place, the collaborators involved. They would have been there even if revealing themself had not been an option, but this time… there was a question, furiously turning in their mind: would they pull themselves out of their perch, step out into the light, let those involved see the mask on their face and know they were there? Or would they do as they were told, as they usually did, deliver the message back and be done with it? They had spent plenty of time spying in the docks before, tracking black market deals, watching bargains and trades, keeping an eye of the coming and going of not only goods but people. Who spoke to whom, who wanted what. It was easy to hide, here, plenty of small, dark places to slip into, not to mention that no one ever seemed to look down. But the docks were the place of commonfolk and petty nobles. Of those getting rich off illegal goods, or bribing others into silence. It wasn’t ordinarily the place one came to talk of a coup. And yet… They pressed their ear closer to the wooden planks, closing their eyes to block out every sense but sound, a practiced trick to hear even the lowest of whispers from their hiding place. That was what the conversation was about—or, no, it wasn’t quite. That was the problem, perhaps. Careful language, as if cautiously avoiding saying the kind of forbidden words that could foment a rebellion. But the voices were talking about Koldam, and if they’d noticed anything of late, it was that Koldam had become something of a code word. A signal, from one rebellious upstart to the next. They’d even heard it within the walls of the castle, in places they weren’t meant to be. There was a different tone to it, now, one that gave them pause: before, talks of revolution had been full of determination, boldness, grandeur. Yes, people whispered about it in shadowed corners, but they did so too loudly, and with alcohol on their breaths. This… This was different. Cold steel and careful rationality. Best-laid plans. And coming, not from disgruntled laborers or upstart nobles, but from people it shouldn’t be. They could have easily hoisted themself up, from where they were, onto the pier in one swift motion, but instead, they let go of the strut, plummeting to the water, and disappeared an instant before slicing through the surface, a measured dive into the void that left them landing on the pier above in a crouch. Mostly material. Close enough that no one would see, behind their mask, if they weren’t. Black smoke rising off of them like fog. “You might want to be careful what you say, talking like that,” they said, voice quiet but sharp and clear even through the mask. “You never know you might be listening.”

EXTRAS x. playlist x. pinterest board x. mockblog

#accepted #accepted: the devil

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charactersadvocatechimata · 7 years

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Blood Is Not The Only Game In Town

Natasha, having nothing better to do this evening, has found themselves making a game of ‘what is the pervert after.’ Again. Most likely, he's been aiming for their chest, not as if the man in questions has made much progress but the general swing of those paws and his almost focused eyesight at their chest are good indicators. Of course, the way they are leaning against the bar with their hips out, the target could be their ass. It is a fine ass.

Currently, it’s the bonus round: is he aware that his attempts at stilted conversation in no way hide his true purpose. His random laughing at what, they assume, are supposed to be jokes, not squashed alphabet soup, implies that no he does not.

After some more jokes, something finally seems to click in that booze drowning noggin of his, as the man straightens and furiously blinks at them. “So da you a girl or a boi?”

There is no suppressing the quirk of their sultry sangria painted lips, because this part, this is the part where they get to put on a bit of a show. They widen their smile into a predatory grin showing off a pair of pearly fangs. “Neither. I’m a vampire.”

(Cut. Mobile Beware.)

There is the polite pause for the punch line because a vampire existing in reality always seems to short circuit most mortals brain. Something that exists that humanity never seems to comprehend. An impossibility, their brain always reasons. Yet the man has lost the patience for that some bottles ago and instead just scrunches his nose.

“Iss joke?”

“Wanna test that theory and step out for a bite?” They softly snap their teeth driving in the point and giggle when he rapidly shakes his head, backs up, missing the stool and falling flat on his butt. Yet they hardly snort at the man’s comic retreat because that brings them back to the reason they entered the bar in the first place. Boredom.

When the Thirteenth offered to turn them all that filled their mind was the power that would be gain, the possibility of flight, and the only noteworthy side-effect was losing the ability to eat. Not that food was ever a major priority for them, and they do prefer blood. It’s both quick and efficient. But the boredom. The boredom. Damn him for never mentioning the fucking boredom.

“Please Ty. I don’t want too.”

Natasha tipped their head, trying to filter out the crap for that nugget of something-fucking finally- interesting. Maybe a fight. Not that they would ever start a bar fight on purpose.

“Really, you are such a fucking embarrassment, Anthony.”

Their sight jumps from face to face, but there is nothing but gawkers and drunkards everywhere. Useless fuckers existing only to block their view of the sight. The only thing to do is stand on a table.

“I don’t care Ty. I don’t care. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of the girls that prance in and out of our apartment. Sick of the boys you fuck in our bed. But mostly I’m sick of you.”

Natasha hears a strike, and it attracts more gawkers to the scene, acting as a path for Natasha to follow.

“You worthless slut. You don’t get to talk down to me. We are leaving.”

“No! I’m not going home with you.”

There. In the corner of the room, slowly being surrounded by flesh clumps drawn to the same spectacle Natasha was, a mop of dark hair and brown eyes that almost glowed goldenly. Anthony, if they heard the name correctly, held himself taut, with his shoulder near his head but his eyes told a different story. His eyes remained defiant even as small, possible only perceived by a creature like themself, shudders shook his small frame.

“Ty. Let go. Please.”

This time the hit isn’t just a sound they picked from the crowd. Now it’s the reddening of his cheek, the iron tang smell of blood, and the smaller mortal refusing to back down. Something in that moment struck a chord within Natasha. They found a strange desire to be an actor in this ridiculous farce. It is the only reason they figured for why their in front of “Anthony” and the attacker is slumped against a wall. The wall that may have a small crack. Oops.

The crowd is apparently not as drunk as Natasha had guesstimated. Because several of the onlookers are showing beginning signs of panic. And really, they do not want to deal with those SHIELD nimrods. Clint was fine and sometimes Coulson, but they weren’t always that lucky. Mostly they’re never that lucky.

“Come. We need to leave.”

Anthony must be in shock or something. His eyes still have that ‘trapped in the light’ look. Also, blinking. A fair amount of blinking. Huh. Natasha had kinda forgotten that humans did that. They huff. More and more phones are being pulled out, although people usually take pictures sometimes there is that one square that will inevitably call the police.

They don’t even stop to think before their arm is securely wrapped around Anthony’s chest, backflipping out the window (maybe it was a wall) shielding him from the glass and running down towards the park near their apartment. Under Natasha’s least hated tree, they dumb the boy onto the grass. He still doing that dazed blinking thing.

“Anthony? You okay? Should I steal something for you?”

“Tony. Don’t call me Anthony. Or Mr. Stark. Please. I just- No. Okay.”

Tony has curled into one of the smallest balls Natasha has ever seen. It reminds them of a kitten abandoned by its mother. They are rather fond of cats. But Tony isn’t a pet. He is a wild animal and needs to go home. They nudge their foot against Tony’s leg. He flinches. They bite the inside of their cheek. “Can I walk or carry you home?”

He laughs. And laughs. The pitch dancing wildly around them. Ending with a hitched breath and a soft sob. “I live with the bastard. I- I don’t have anywhere to go. I’ve been abandoned. By everybody.” There is another soft sob from Tony. “Isn’t that the funniest thing you ever heard?”

“No.”

“No? Do you pity me then?”

“No. I’ve been abandoned too. It happens.”

Tony uncurls from his ball. His eyes are wet from the tears that are still silently rolling down his face. Natasha's impressed. They didn’t think that it was possible for someone to cry while making no sound. They never managed that. All they could do was bury it all. Even the metaphorical bleeding.

He pushes himself up, sitting on his knees. The iron is back in those Bambi eyes, and Natasha finds themself genuinely curious to hear what the mortal will say. “Could you please do me a favor?”

They purse their lips and bunch their eyebrows even as they tingle in anticipation. “It depends. The devil is in the details.”

“True,” Tony smirks. “My son is back at the apartment. Could you please help me save him? I cannot abandon him. I will not abandon him.”

Not quite what they were expecting. Maybe a little revenge. Some maiming would have been fun. But a child. What a surprise. Natasha hadn’t figured Tony as the child rearing type. Nor that he was even old enough to have his own. “Isn’t sixteen a little young to be having a baby?”

“I’m twenty-one.” He bites and huffs and pouts. “And my kid is three, almost four, thank you very much.”

Natasha smiles offering a hand for Tony to lift himself up. They figured no more surprise. What were the chances that the same mortal would surprise them, not twice but three times? But damn. Was Dum-E, Tony’s only son, one hell of a surprise. They might have cursed a little, inside their head of course, when Tony made the introductions. But he didn’t have to know that.

Although, Natasha would never have considered a giant metal arm to be anyone’s child. Tony insisted that it had some form of artificial intelligence. And they had seen books about the concept. Yet artificial intelligence had always sounded a little too much like a conman’s newest game.

They had even spent an entire moment considering if Tony’s whole night was some trick, a misguided attempt to find the Thirteenth, but Natasha had never seen or heard so much love before. Tony loved Dum-E fiercely. You’d have to be incredibly stupid or oblivious or both to miss it. He cooed at the arm, petted it like it was alive, and talked it through it’s ‘anxiety’ as they loaded into a stolen van.

Driving to their apartment, Natasha had only asked if the metal arm really understood what was happening and what Tony was saying. That prompted him to launch a lecture regarding modern technology, computers, and artificial intelligence. They understood nothing, not even where to nod. But Tony was in some far off world and hardly noticed.

Probably not a trick.

@@@

“Okay. Fine. But did ya have to bring the two strays here? To our real apartment.”

Natasha rolls their eyes. “Tony and Dum-E are not strays. They’re my new cats.”

“They are wild animals.”

“That I’ve domesticated. You’ll love the both of them. Dum-E likes to play fetch, and Tony has the most beautiful purr.”

“No, Natasha.”

They pout. Tilting their head in a way they know most perceive as fragile. Probably is that the two of them have known each other far too long. In the end, all they get for their trouble is a snort and a roll of his hand indicating for them to move the act along. “You got both Steve and Sam. I don’t see why I can’t have my Tony and Dum-E.”

“That’s different. And you know that Natasha.” He scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “And Sam is not my anything. Steve picked that one up all on his own. Fucking bird brain.”

“So Steve gets his pet, and I don’t.”

“It’s too dangerous.” He growls low and demanding. He tries to use his position as their “Father.” There isn’t anything they can do against him. But that doesn't stop them from letting the red bleed into their eyes covering the color they’ve had since birth, an unusually glowing green color.

His eyes flinch away. There is always so much guilt when they transform their eyes. Some sort of reminder that Natasha never understood. Why turn them if he was going to hold all that guilt? However, they never saw his eyes any color but gray. Gray like the day they both met, with all that snow. When they thought they would become the snow.

Now he's just staring at them. Now they are just staring back. It would probably have continued if a voice hadn’t spoken up.

“If it’s about the both of you being supernaturals, I don’t care. And I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

He smiles warmly, a farce if ever they saw one, at Tony trying to appear human. Yet coming off more as a predator than if he just acted naturally. Not surprising since the man had never been anything close to human. “I’m not-”

“The redhead who, at most is a hundred and twenty pounds, easily pushed a two hundred pound man into a wall, lifted someone of similar weight, and backflipped through a concrete wall. Of course, even if you ignore all that, her-”

“They, if you please.” Natasha blows a kiss at Tony.

“If you ignore all that, even their entire presence screams danger. And then there is you. Stand against them like you would ultimately be the winner in the fight. You have to be so stupid to ignore that and think ‘Oh, my. These are some strange people I’ve met.’” Tony finishes with a snort.

It doesn’t stop there. Tony doesn’t back down. Just like before. It is exciting. Exciting! They hear Thirteenth’s heart spike. It takes all their control not to smile wide with all their teeth. They can see it now clearly written on Thirteenth’s face. Desire. Something that is entirely new for them. Desire is something that is so very mortal. An urge that quickly dies away when death is no longer a fathomable concept. For the most part, Thirteenth made decisions as if he had a checklist to complete. Steve was one check, and Natasha knows she was another. Sam and Clint were probably on this imaginary list as well.

Tony was different. They knew Tony was different.

It’s exciting. Unexpected. Oh, they lusted after the unexpected.

“Fine. You can stay the night. Only the night.” Thirteenth growls out each word. Then looking away. Trying pull of an act of apathy, disinterest in Tony. Hardly works with the way his body is vibrating.

“Can I get your names before you dash into the night?”

Thirteenth hesitates.

It’s clear that giving Tony both their names would be reckless, creating a connection. Really they almost felt pity for Thirteenth. “I’m Natasha.” They gestured at Thirteenth, just a beat away from naming him. Watching his horror as he is forced to form a relationship with Tony.

“James. Call me James, Tony.”

“Okay, then. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

James. . . leaves. Natasha follows. It’s been a long time since they wanted to pull him apart with their eyes. “James, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“You told me to call you Winter. Steve calls you Bucky. Sam says, Hobo. Yet Tony gets James.”

“So?”

“It’s a name.”

“Yeah, it is.” He reveals nothing. It’s irritating but ultimately the game they both must play.

“You know, by human standards, Tony is completely legal.”

James. James actually blushes. Red checks. Red ears. Downcast eyes. Actual embarrassment. “Shut up.”

Best night. They can’t wait to tell Clint all the gossipy details.

#natasha romanoff #vampire #Avengers #winteriron #tony stark #Bucky Barnes #Winter Solider #tony/bucky

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archivesdiveronarpg · 7 years

Photo

Congratulations, PIKA! You’ve been accepted for the role of MEDEA. Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. Pika, you have no idea how absolutely ecstatic I am with this application. You capture their erratic nature -- how they seem never completely there but when they do...oh, when they do you should be careful. The future plots have me absolutely giddy with anticipation, the interview got me swoonin’, and the para sample seemed like the ribbon on top of it all. I am so excited to have Mallory in our midst once more and I can’t wait for everything to unfold! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | pika.

Age | eighteen.

Preferred Pronouns | she/her/hers or they/them/theirs, idrc.

Activity Level | lmao u already knooooo :))))))) terrible :))))))))))))

not great, to be completely honest. however, now that school is slowing down, i should be a lot more consistent; realistically, i’ll be on about every other day.

Timezone | pst.

Current/Past RP Accounts | hugo, noelle, miles, landon. the last two are hella old, ngl.

In Character

Character | madea ;; mallory chanda.

What drew you to this character? | lookie here: i loooooove the dynamic of the witches, the idea of each as an aspect of fate. cinead, the all-seeing, bears down the judgement of the past; hea, all-hearing, plays the fickle strings of the heart and mind as they shift in the present; and mallory, all-knowing, dances with fate, swapping secrets like gossiping old friends. each transcends the concept of the individual, but each is incomplete without the others. they’re delightfully enigmatic, and i love me a good mind screw.

i think that the thing that draws me to mallory in particular is their caprice, and their capacity for more. when you read mallory’s bio in tandem with their siblings’, you (or i, at least lol) definitely get the feeling that they’re the baby of the family. the siblings are cold and they are no exception, but underneath the facade of ice lies a deceptive blue flame—one so hot it burns you frozen, one that changes direction with the lightest breath of the wind. they seem to be more impulsive than their siblings (i mean seriously they just…..went out and won the lotto, nbd), but you can’t help but wonder: are they merely whimsical, or working toward some grander scheme? maybe it’s just because i have an undying love for meta, but i feel like it’d be such fun to play a character consistently a step removed from the present, eyes always flicking around the scenery because ultimately, it is not the individuals that matter, but what they do with themselves—how they leave a mark on the world.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

001. ► supernova (gods, impartial? ha. tell that to the greeks, darling.)

mallory’s relationships with hector and clark fascinate me in that, imo, despite being completely different in sentiment, they both stem from the men staunchly denying fate. my interpretation of mallory is one who believes strongly in fate, and the contrast between them is one that i’d like to see play out. they will not meddle with the fates of the men who meddle with fate, no matter how much they itch to, but i want them to do so. bring the god down to the level of mere mortals. make them give into their whims and engage with the world.

002. ► white dwarf (a deal with the devil; can you sell your soul when your heart holds no credit?)

mallory is more impulsive than either of their siblings. though they likely wouldn’t pick a side in the war for verona, i could certainly see them making deals with one side or another—with the clear caveat that they are neutral, and equally likely to assist another willing to bargain with a god. how would this play out? more importantly, how would their siblings react to this? there is a price to pay to make deals with gods, and i would love to see how mallory reacts to having multiple puppets on their strings.

003. ► black hole (the world began with a bang, and shall end similarly.)

mallory’s siblings are more than their family—they are the counterparts to their soul. how will they react to a threat to their existence? though their souls transcend the limits of mortality, their bodies do not, a fact mallory is simultaneously acutely aware of and utterly uncaring of. but, just as the gods of olympus are most vulnerable at their most opulent, what would happen to the witches if somebody attempted to question their omnipotence? i want fire and brimstone. i want the wrath of gods. mallory already has the fire. i’d like to see them burn.

In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

They touch an impeccably manicured finger to their lips, considering the question. It’s rare that they have to field personal questions—most given the honor of their counsel are after a specific goal, and their questions tend to reflect that single-mindedness. Still, the triviality isn’t unwelcome, and though Mallory raises a wry brow, they answer genuinely.

“Did you know,” they begin offhandedly, “that I had originally proposed putting modern art in the Twelfth Night? My siblings and I diverged in opinion on this, obviously. And, as you can see, my opinion was overruled.” A sigh. “Is it not tragic, the plight of the youngest?”

But a smirk slowly slides across their face. “Please do not tell my siblings I said this—I do hate being wrong, you see—but they were right; Baroque has been a most fitting choice for the museum. Tell me: have you been there at night?” They close their eyes indulgently, snapping open to reveal an unreadable expression. “It’s great fun. One could even say that it is magical.” This sets them off, peals of musical laughter falling from their lips. “But I don’t think it’s magic that compels guests to kiss the statues, no? That is a human honesty, and truly, there is nothing more fascinating to observe.”

What does your typical day look like?

“Hm.” They drum their fingers across the top of their other hand, but their attention seems elsewhere. “I’m afraid the answer may bore you.” They uncross their legs, re-cross them, and continue their answer. “I wake up…hm. After the sun, but before noon. I will usually tend to business at the hotel in the afternoon, and perhaps fit in a catnap before the evening. Come then, I go to the museum and turn those who stay after closing into statues.”

They smile prettily. “Just kidding.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

They still, and a chill falls over the room. They still, and for the first time, there is a presence in their eyes—it is as if their mind has been elsewhere until now, and they have finally joined the present conversation. A smirk rolls over their lips, different than the one before; this one is distinctly feline, languid and knowing.

“It’s silly. Pettiness is such a waste of time, wouldn’t you agree?”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not quite truth, either. Yes, it’s a waste of time, but one Mallory is fascinated by, the way an entomologist is fascinated by a colony of ants. One to be watched from afar, perhaps on the sofa with their siblings. And—

“Oh.” The moment is broken; they have moved on to a new thought. “Perhaps I ought to ask Hea to buy popcorn before they come home.” They stand, obviously dismissive. “Yes. I shall do that.”

In-Character Para Sample:

It is a beautiful evening, the type that romantics write poetry over and lovers meet under. The sun paints a cascading orange against the sky, pulsing the last vestiges of light before it inevitably falls into bed with the shadows chasing it. And Mallory walks to work.

The heels of their shoes—four inch wedges, sensible for crossing cobblestones—glide soundlessly across the streets of Verona, leaving no trace of their owner behind. They walk languidly, confidently; their siblings are conducting business elsewhere, but their only responsibility for the evening is to prepare the Twelfth Night for the night. There is no rush. There rarely ever is.

And so, when a man approaches them, face alight with the reluctant, cautious awe characteristic of arrogant men humbled by proper power, they allow him to speak.

“Please,” he says, begs, “read my fortune. I’ll give you anything—anything!—I just…I think something bad may have happened, and I need to know what’s coming next.”

The only indication that they heard the man is in the single, perfectly-groomed brow that raises at his plea. The man certainly looks a mess, clothes rumpled and sweat beading on his brow. Mallory is unmoved by his appeal to their ethos.

But, admittedly, they are intrigued. Desperation is an endearingly human trait, one that Mallory finds almost charming.

( they can hear their siblings groans in the back of their mind, particularly cinead’s. well, it isn’t cinead’s time that they are wasting. )

“Hm,” they say. A beat passes. The man trembles. “Follow.”

—

“Three of swords, the Hanged Man reversed, and the Tower. Fascinating.”

“F-fascinating? What does that mean? Is that good?”

A laugh bubbles from Mallory’s chest. “Good? Bad? To label fate with something so crude would be boring.” They rise, and gather the three cards from the dusty stoop, brushing them off gently. “Fate is fate,” they say, and their eyes meet the man's—he cannot hold the contact for long, and looks away quickly. Their head inclines, feline in its judgement. “Though yours…your selfishness shall be caused by suffering.” They sigh. “How dull,” they say, more to themself than the man, shaking their head in disappointment. “If that is all, I shall take my leave.”

Mallory rises, and turns to walk back to their intended destination.

“W-wait!” The man calls to their back. “I can’t…I…You have the power to help me, right? I…I want to make a deal with you!”

Mallory pauses. Smirks. It seems they now have an appointment for the evening.

How fascinating.

Extras:

a playlist:

→ i put a spell on you ;; nina simone

i put a spell on you / and now you’re mine

→ never catch me ;; flying lotus ft. kendrick lamar

life and death is no mystery and i wanna taste it / step inside of my mind and you’ll find curiosity, animosity / high philosophy, hyper prophesied meditation

→ special affair ;; the internet

penny for your thoughts, i know what you want / i can read your mind even from behind

→ bone+tissue ;; gallant

sell me something i can use to catapult my value / treat me like the cardinal anointed in my vessels

→ fantasy ;; alina baraz and galimatias

so you say you wanna get so high, breathe me in like air tonight / let yourself get lost in the garden of my mind

→ white ;; frank ocean

i dreamt of storms, i dreamt of sounds / i dreamt of gravity keeping us around

→ ready or not ;; the fugees

i play my enemies like a game of chess / no stress where i rest if you smoke some sess

hc’s and misc. bits

mal likes to read fortunes—tarot, palms, astrology. to them, it’s a silly game…but for those brave enough to ask, there’s always an eerie accuracy to them, a thrum of power that beats through the air when they turn the cards. unlike cinead, they will never turn down a request to read fortunes, delighting in the schadenfreude that comes with being the messenger of fate.

more on astrology: they check their horoscope every morning (for a loose definition of morning). even though they don’t necessarily believe in it, if one of their siblings’ signs are low in the luck ranking, they won’t let them leave the house without their lucky item.

in keeping with what’s apparently a running animal motif, mallory has a unabashed fondness for cats. (they also have a remarkably similar temperament to the animal, but they vehemently deny this when their siblings poke fun at them for it.) they have a cat named metis, whom they love dearly.

mallory is a night owl; the witching hour is their favorite time of day. mornings, to them, are entirely overrated—there’s no sense of romance to them. or so they say.

they love dancing, and practice all styles one could imagine, from ballet to salsa to hip hop. it is not an uncommon sight to see them at the tempest, undulating in a dance that is unorthodox but undoubtedly alluring, liquid moonshine slipping deftly through the crowd.

drunk!mallory’s passion is singing. only their siblings have ever seen this.

drunk!mallory cannot sing. only their siblings have ever seen this.

to call mallory vain is not incorrect, per se, but also not entirely right. they take great pride in maintaining their appearance—their aesthetic is black and flow-y, lace and long skirts and dark lips—but it is more a matter of preference than vanity.

mallory enjoys mixing drinks, though they rarely indulge in them themself. it is not an entirely rare sight to see them creating concoctions at the bar of the tempest. they cannot stand coffee.

on occasion, mallory will spend the day simply wandering the city. they won’t talk to anyone, but they enjoy people-watching.

—

( They stood in order: Cinead, then Hea, then Mallory. It was a habit ingrained by age, ingrained by habit, and though it was in Mallory’s nature to push against convention, it was one of the things they never questioned.

Cinead, Hea, Mallory. Order, balance, chaos. Always three. Always one. )

—

( the whisper of silk on skin, the bite of a frosty morning. wind that whips through the trees, displacing all but the birds. fingers brushing through hair. catching someone’s gaze from across a busy intersection. the ghost of breath. fractals in snowflakes. )

—

( each time they take one of you, you do not clench your fists. you do not yell childishly, you do not reach out to your siblings

and make no mistake, they are your siblings, even if your blood traitorously refuses to acknowledge this

because

you know.

you know that fate will return you where you ought to be:

by each others’ sides. )

#accepted #accepted: medea

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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Wedding Hells - Trixya - Cece

This is also a hostage situation - shook - but some people want me to try and rewrite LPAG and i’m not sure if i can do that, but i wanted to practice with hostage and trixya, but the hostage is very low key, just to see if i could get in the mood. It’s short, and the ending is up to you, but enjoy. it’s honestly more fluffy than anything

“My Dearest Katya,

You may be wondering why I’m writing a letter like some old lady, a lady older than you if that’s possible, and it’s because it’s the day. The day i’m suppose to not be a shady cunt, but- oops- that’s already out the window. I wish I could tell you all of this in person, but it’s bad luck for brides to see each other on the wedding day and I don’t chances after i saw the curse of pearl happen right before my eyes. I’ll keep this short and to the point : I love you. I know I’ve probably said it a million times, but it’s so true, and it’s been true since we first met. We make that offical today, but i just had to let you know, before you say ‘I Do’ that you mean everything to me.

P.s. If you reference Contact or Tatianna lyrics during the vows, i will kill you. Xoxo”

She smiled down at the fresh white paper, with Trixie’s hand writing on it, dotting every ‘I” with a heart, in gel pink ink. Some things never change, but she was so glad for them as she both laughed and cried over the letter. It was so simple, but it was just what Katya needed, and Trixie knew that.

“Let me see that!” Alaska said as she reached her long nailed fingers out to snatch the paper, only for Katya to hold it to her chest protectively.

Alaska immediately pouted, and Violet from over by the mirror of the dressing room chimed into the conversation as she fixed her bridesmaid’s dress to make her waist look as tight as possible.

“Alaska, she’d not gonna let you read a love letter from Trixie,” Violet exclaimed getting Alaska’s attention off the letter and onto her flawless face. “and you shouldn’t expect her to let you do that anyway!”

“I just want romance and love.” Alaska said as she slumped down on the sitting room couch, arms crossed still pouty as she always was.

“You have Jinkx.” Violet reminded her, thinking she was crazy to forget someone that meant as much to her as Jinkx did.

“Yeah, but Jinkxy doesn’t write me letters, she just falls asleep and stuff.” Alaska responded, the pair having their own conversation Katya left without them noticing.

The letter still held tightly against her chest she closed her eyes. She was so overwhelmed, her anxiety practically making her want to vomit all over her wedding dress. So many people, so public, and just so cliche.

Now Katya wasn’t saying she didn’t want a marriage, especially to someone as special as Trixie Mattel, she just didn’t know it’d be so traditional. She always pictured herself eloping, private and memorable, just drunk enough to know it was the right choice but not feel any worry. After meeting Trixie, she simply just pictured whatever she wanted- knowing she’d do anything for that girl, including letting the bridesmaids wear pink.

Trixie was the kind who had a scrapbook, and thought about it all her life. She wanted the big flowy princess gown, and the extravagant cake, and the most amazing partner that she could do it with. Trixie might have first started making the scrapbook at 12, but the barbie pink was still as relevant to her as ever- and so it was.

“Katya!” she heard pull her out of her thoughts, turning around to be hit in the face with a bouquet of flowers.

Alaska and Katya didn’t mean to hit her face, but the second they did they were still as ever not knowing how she’d react while under such pressure. But the second the familiar laughing sound of Katya rang out the pair let out their laughter and just forget the stress for a bit.

They were drawn out by the sound of knocking on the door to the large dressing room. Alaska got off the couch and went to it, opening it slowly to make sure it wasn’t Trixie.

“Trixie’s all ready,” Pearl said as she was let into the room. “Judging by just how long it took her to do everything perfect, you’ve been ready.”

Katya just smiled to herself at how Trixie it was to only just now have finished, especially since she started getting ready before Katya.

Pearl made her way to the couch, and sat down next to violet who grabbed her face immediately and kissed her.

“What was that for?” Pearl asked, although smiling after receiving the kiss.

“There’s just so much love going on, and I love you Pearly.” Violet told her.

“Awww,” Pearl said taking her hand into hers looking at her. “I know.”

Violet scoffed and wacked Pearl with her free hand, knowing Pearl couldn’t just let them have their cute little moment. Violet liked the spotlight and needless to say, a wedding that wasn’t her’s wasn’t giving her that.

“I love you too, Pumpkin.” Pearl said before standing back up. “But I gotta get back to Trixie and Kim, it’s go time.”

“Who says ‘go time’ when referring to a wedding?” Katya said looking over at Alaska who was still at the door, closing it as Pearl made her exit.

“The same girl who says flazeda all the time.” She responded, making violet lose her shit as she often did when it was brought up.

Katya just took a deep breath in, and out. This was technically ‘go-time’ , time for her to go and try to not fuck the wedding up.

“Wait!” She screamed out loudly, scaring Violet and Alaska who were ready to go out and begin the wedding. “I gotta get shit out of my system so I don’t make this the weirdest wedding ever.”

Violet just looked over at Alaska confused, Alaska doing the same back before both turning to Katya.

“See me with them hands, make contact with me, fuck, shit, bitch, dick, cunt whore, ‘Mother, I’m visiting the devil again’ Tracey Martel, and thwoorp triple combo.” She spewed out, feeling a weight off her shoulder as she did.

“I’m ready.” she said smiling walking out the door past her very confused bridesmaids.

———

The wedding ceremony was oddly perfect the way they Trixie and Katya were perfectly odd. The pair doing their own vows had no issues with any references popping up, Katya was glad to say she didn’t puke, Trixie’s ‘huge as the room’ dress didn’t get caught on anything, and everyone they loved was there to share in it.

Katya said she didn’t want this, and it was still true she probably wouldn’t have without having her Trixie’s huge influence on it, but she enjoyed it as she kissed her bride after just being told to do so.

Her hands found Trixie’s waist and she kissed her like she needed this to be the kiss to show just how much she truly loved the girl. The bridesmaids back in their seats, all eyes were on them and how much love they shared.

They pulled apart after what seemed like forever, being brought into the real world where everyone was smiles and clapping in the room. The pair themself was smiling so much it hurt, even with red lipstick all over Trixie now like she hated.

The eyes were all pulled off the happy couple however when the door to the venue was kicked open and a man walked in shooting a gun into the air.

“Everyone stay in your seats!” He yelled pointing his gun at people now instead of the air. “Bride and Bride find a seat!”

The man looked as if he was supposed to be there, in a nice tuxedo and nice hair to match, but most wedding guests didn’t shoot at your guests, and they also were people you knew- and nobody knew anyone with eyes as cold as this man, and a trigger finger so ready to bust if he saw movement.

“Move!” he screamed again, making Trixie and Katya scramble into a seat in the front row, holding each other’s hands desperately. “I’d hate to kill someone on your wedding day!”

‘No he wouldn’t’ that much was clear to everyone who was holding their breath, shocked to go from the most amazing couples wedding to whatever the hell this was.

#please remember your tags :)#cece #trixya #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #tw hostage #rpdr fanfiction #submission #wedding hells #tw gun violence #lesbian au

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daringdragons · 7 years

Photo

[Pictured: Kepi, Thain]

@crazyfangarlady @rosy-peryton @serpens-fr @dragonhomeclan @jadedragons @shadowdrac-rising @fr-lore-hub If anybody else wants to be pinged for future lore updates, just ask~!

Related stories: Roava Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, Kepi Comes To Stay, Sibling Bonding Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, The Knight and The Healer, The Knight and His Shadow Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, general story tag~

recommended listening: x x

Shifting Winds, Part One: the devil’s inside, you opened the door

Six months had passed since Kepi had arrived at Clan Roava. Since she had arrived that first sunny day for a visit, and had decided to stay for a bit longer.

(Of course, the plan had always been for her to stay, but her brother didn’t know that. Her brother didn’t know quite a few things.)

Five months had passed since she first kissed Rusila, had first let their flirting turn into something more, had begun to fall in love.

(That hadn’t been apart of the plan, but it didn’t make much difference. Rusila would only benefit from being with Kepi once things fell into place, she wouldn’t be harmed, or so the Coatl kept reminding herself.)

It had been easier than she had assumed it would be to settle into life at Roava. Traveling around the world had certainly been fun, had made her happy, but there was also a sort of comfort that came with having a place to call home. Having friends around the castle and village, having a family that loved her so freely, it was…nice.

Her job as a member of the Clan Guard could be a bit boring at times, but it was still fun, still felt rewarding.

Six months in, she found herself on the job one one of those boring nights; she was stationed on top of the wall that surrounded the castle, tasked with patrolling along the edge, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious and let anyone in through the closed gate if need-be.

The night was warm, so she supposed that’s why the sudden coldness that came over her made her blood run cold, filling her with a sort of dread.

(It wasn’t. She knew that, but she refused to admit it.)

Even before she turned around, ready to begin her next walk around the wall, she knew what she was going to find. Still, she couldn’t quite contain the jump of surprise when she turned to find a certain Nocturne standing inches away, a familiar smile on his face.

She had met Thain a year ago, during her travels, in a small tavern on the border between the Tangled Wood and the Sunbeam Ruins.

When she’d first entered, eyes scanning across the other occupants, she’d noticed him in one corner, at a table by himself, a cloak mostly concealing his face. Paying him no more mind than everybody else in the packed room, she’d made her way to the bar, sitting down at one of the stools as she ordered.

She felt his presence before she actually noticed him, a sudden chill coming over her in the otherwise stuffy room. It wasn’t until she glanced slightly to her right that she realized that he had crossed the room and sat down on the stool next to her. He was staring at her from beneath his cloak, icy white eyes making her involuntarily shudder for the second time.

“Hi,” She offered with a small sideways wave of her hand, her lips upturning in the semblance of a smile.

“Hello,” His voice was velvety smooth in response, hands coming up to pull back the hood of his cloak. His hair was short, with an almost-but-not-quite slicked back appearance, green with flecks of blue throughout; several dark red spines poked through, slanting backwards, matching the dark red of his skin.

(With his pointed nose and strong jawline, Kepi supposed he was handsome, though there was an almost…eeriness to him that negated that thought.)

As the bartender handed Kepi her drink, and took the strange Nocturne’s order, she attempted to break through the awkwardness.

“So, where are you headed?” The tavern was no more than a crossroads; everybody in there was on some sort of journey.

He regarded her for a few moments, silent, his stare verging on making her uncomfortable when he finally responded.

“My path is taking me through the Wood next. After that, we shall see.”

“Oh, so like me, then…I sort of just go wherever the wind takes me,” She smirked at the joke of sorts, Windborn eyes glinting. “The Tangled Wood can be a little…dangerous, though, are you going alone?”

“That was the plan. Why, are you offering to travel through with me?” A small smile came to his face, eyes questioning.

It wasn’t necessarily a strange question for Kepi, not when she so often traveled with others. She would meet single or groups of travelers in inns or taverns much like the one they were in, and if she found them interesting enough, offered them her company for a bit. She was mostly content to travel on her own, but traveling with others for a short while, meeting new and interesting people and learning their stories, that was half the fun of exploring for her.

Nonetheless, she hesitated for a few seconds; she had barely spoken to this Nocturne for more than a few minutes, didn’t know anything at all about him. But, there was something intriguing about him, something below the surface that made her want to learn more. And so-

“Sure, why not? I wasn’t sure where I was headed next anyhow, and I don’t like the thought of anyone going through those dark woods by themself,” She smiled fully, extending a hand towards him. “I’m Kepi, by the way.”

He stared at the outstretched hand for a few moments before taking it in his own, shaking her hand slightly; she nearly pulled away out of reflex as soon as he touched her, his skin colder than ice, leaving her hand almost numb afterwards.

“Thain,” He smirked, an odd glint in his eye as he held her hand for a few moments too long. “A pleasure to meet you, Kepi.”

They left the next day after spending the night at a nearby inn, meeting up outside after a good night’s rest. As they began their trek through the Wood, the morning light soon gave way to the natural darkness of the Shadowlands, the mist so thick at times that Kepi felt she might choke on it.

When it became a tad too much, she concentrated for a moment before releasing a small burst of air around them, momentarily clearing the fog. When Thain turned to look at her, an almost impressed look in her eye, she shrugged.

“My dad’s the real wind mage…that right there, what I just did, is pretty much all I can do…it’s more than either of my brothers can do, though, I’m the only one that inherited any of his ability,” She grinned, crooked and proud at the same time.

Thain remained silent, simply staring at her more, and she felt hesitant to try and start any more conversation for the moment.

They’d been traveling for two days - two long, mostly awkward days of Kepi almost regretting agreeing to go with Thain - when they encountered him.

The fog was light in the area they were in, offering views of the dark trees all around them, almost beautiful as they stretched towards the sky, the sentinels of the Wood.

Suddenly, as they walked along the path between the trees, Kepi spotted what appeared to be a dragon, simply standing off to the side of the path, staring straight ahead.

Coming to a full stop, Kepi held out a hand for Thain to stop as well, cocking her head to the side as she stared at the blindfolded dragon, feeling almost amused. Sure, the Tangled Wood was full of odd folks, but the way that this dragon was just standing there, statuelike, he felt almost out of place.

When he turned, slowly, to stare directly at Kepi, she felt an odd chill run down her spine, barely able to contain the shiver that came over her.

Her curious side overriding the one telling her that it might not exactly be safe to approach such a mysterious figure, she walked closer, standing in front of him for a moment, staring at his blindfolded face, before clearing her throat slightly. She didn’t pay much attention to Thain, who had crept closer as well, stopping a few paces behind her, watching the encounter with a careful eye.

“Uh…hey there,” She started, unsure what exactly her plan was in talking to the strange dragon; she hadn’t quite thought that far ahead. She settled on the first question that came to mind, even if it was a little direct; something made her feel as though it was the right thing to ask in this situation. “Who are you?”

"It holds no importance...our paths will never cross again." He paused, as if he'd lost his focus, before resuming a few seconds of silence later. "But you need to know of where your own will go...of the magic that carries you...from your father, son of a god, and the Wind itself that flows in your blood..."

Thain, bemused at first by his traveling companion’s awkward attempt at speaking to the mysterious dragon, felt his breath hitch at what the Skydancer said.

Well then, he thought, wheels already turning in his head. He leaned in a bit closer as the Skydancer spoke to Kepi in halted, drawn out sentences, listening closely as he spoke of what he had seen, of her brother, of kings and queens, of what laid before her.

Eventually, the mysterious seer paused mid-sentence, and when he didn’t continue after a few minutes, Kepi turned away, her face almost blank, seemingly in shock at everything she had just been told. She started when she found Thain there, nearly right next to her, seeming to of practically forgotten what she had been doing prior to her encounter.

“Did…did you hear all of that?” She asked after a few moments, voice strained, not looking directly at Thain.

“I did. It was all rather…fascinating.”

She snorted, as though that was the understatement of the century, a smile coming to her face and falling away just as quickly, her thoughts racing.

“I…some of the things he said…”

“You know,” He cut her off, his tone smooth. “If what he said was true, about your father, then I believe the power inside of you must be much greater than you realize. You would be capable of amazing things, perhaps…perhaps I could help you with harnessing those abilities, with learning to use them properly.”

(What he didn’t say was that he had sensed that great power inside of her from the moment she set foot in that tavern, his own powerful magicks drawn to her, as though saying there she is.)

Finally meeting his eyes, he saw that tears were pricking at the edges, the sudden and very surprising information that the seer had given her a bit much for her to take in. He nearly grinned, thankful for the opportunity to strike when she was so vulnerable, so confused.

“I…that would be…that would be great, thank you, are you…are you sure?”

He did grin then, a chilling thing that might’ve given Kepi an ominous feeling had she been paying attention.

“Of course, it would be my honor.”

What followed in the next few months was a grueling, almost painful training regimen, as Thain set about helping Kepi in drawing out the powers inside of her. They both learned that her power was vast, even stronger than Thain first thought, much to his quiet delight.

“Your father,” He said one day during their training, after she had produced a rather intense gust of wind. “Is a fool…his powers can only be even stronger than your own, and yet he uses them to…what? Fly an airship? He’s an absolute idiot for not-”

He was unable to finish his sentence, as he was shoved against a nearby tree, the wind holding him there for a moment before he was released, stumbling forward as he immediately stared at Kepi with outrage. His glare was nothing compared to her own, though, pure venom seeping into every word as she spoke.

“Never speak of my father like that again. Ever.”

And he didn’t. For a few weeks, at least, until he subtly mentioned it again, this time more careful in his words. She merely grunted in response, concentrating on the small twister that she was carefully weaving.

After that, he mentioned it more and more, until, eventually, she began agreeing with him, not only about her father, but about what could be done with her powers, with her status as he referred to her lineage.

“You know,” He began one night at dinner, in the way that he began so many of his statements. “Being a queen is practically one or two steps away from being a goddess, considering who you’re related to. …Didn’t you say that your brother recently became a king?”

Kepi was…uncertain at first, though he saw the light in her eyes, something there seeming very interested. It was simpler than when he turned her against her father, reminding her how foolish her brother was, at least from what she had told him, wondering if such a dragon could be fit to rule.

It was only a matter of time before she started to agree, to even almost seem to think that what Thain was saying was her idea.

Then, then it was only a matter of perfecting the plan that Thain had already concocting, of figuring out every little detail.

They parted ways not long after, Kepi on her way to Clan Roava, and Thain to seek out the necessary components for their plan to work. Thain would join her in six months, give or take, once she had had enough time to ingratiate herself with the dragons of Roava.

And now, six months later, here Thain stood in the dark of the night, the moon above casting an almost eerie light over him as it poked through the clouds.

“Kepi,” He smiled, the chill around him almost visible. “It’s so good to finally see you again.”

who wants to help me kick Thain’s ass?

part two coming very soon! shit is about to go Down and it’s going to be great

if anyone has any questions or anything about what’s going on here definitely ask I want to yell about these dragons so much

also!! special thank you to sildy crazyfangarlady for helping me out with the "mysterious seer"/Morgan, since he's her character! =3

#fr clan lore #flight rising #flightrising #flight rising stories #flight rising clan lore #clan story #clan roava #kepi #thain #shifting winds #there's going to be so much drama and suffering i can't wait to finally have it all written out #this is so long i'm so sorry

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