#(Wolf Whom Bares His Fangs) : self | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thelordstears · 3 years

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I present, more fick fack fookin’ writing. Enjoy you gremlins

"I wish my mind wasn't an abuser. But here I am allowing abuse of self. My mind is a den of wolves, tearing into every good memory I ever had, making a feast out of misery, how could I ever be whole when the world's broken me down to dust?” - Pamela Northutt

“ You wouldn't believe the things I've seen, the hell I've been through, you would say I stole it straight from a fictitious novel, but no, reality is often darker then fiction ever could be.” - Pamela Northutt

“ I'm nothing but barebones and thoughts of self harm, I'd walk into a den of lions if it meant I could find peace. The lions could tear into me, and still it'd be better than what my thoughts do to me. Because maybe, finally I'd be able to rest.” - Pamela Northutt

“ I don't need a metaphor to explain this pain, but it seems it's all people understand these days. You could say, "I'm hurting, and I don't know how to fix it." And yet people wouldn't believe you, they say you're crying wolf, you have every reason to be happy, so be happy.” - Pamela Northutt

"The truth stings as a bullet wound would. Because often, it's what'll kill a man. Ya know, I heard of this plant, once, the Gympie-Gympie, it's sting is so bad, that it leads horses to leap off of cliffsides, now the only thing that has that affect on humanity, is the truth.” - Ewan Hanstammer

“ I've watched men pull the trigger because they learned the truth, they learned their wives were having affairs, or a family secret that lead them down a rabbit hole, but they were never Alice, and this was never Wonderland, it was simply reality, and isn't that what makes it oh so frightening?” - Ewan Hanstammer

“ All it takes to unravel a life is a single bullet, and all it takes to kill a man is a single word.” - Ewan Hanstammer

“ Man kind is doomed to swallow lies, because they just know the truth is just as lethal as the electric chair.” - Ewan Hanstammer

“ I'd plead to the Heavens, but all that ever got me was a coupl'a thoughts from my own damn skull.” - Joey Broker

“ They say it's all apart of God's plan, then what is the end goal of all this pain? Is it supposed to make me stronger? Cause all I feel is weakness trickling through my damn veins.” - Joey Broker

“ If I was given a gun, and was told to shoot the man who undid me, I'd cock my pistol and go forth into the unknown with the intent of pulling the trigger twice. Once against his skull, once against mine.” - Joey Broker

"My heart bares as many tragedies as the night owns stars.” - Connie Averfollow

“ All I can do is lay here and remember, by God do I wish I could forget them but I can't, by God I fucking can't.” - Connie Averfollow

“ I suppose I had Rosita for a wonderful twenty three years, but these fifteen years without her is what hurts.” - Connie Averfollow

"I'll say sorry for all I've done, if only it would change a damn thing." - Connie Averfollow

"I am missing, because who you knew is just another portrait slapped onto a carton of milk and forgotten the next day.” - Harry Downsworth

“ I gave the devil her dance, twirled underneath the flames of my childhood innocence, and now here I am helpless and left for dead in my own damn skin.” - Harry Downsworth

“ I'm a haunted memory of what's forgotten by the world, but always remembered by me.” - Harry Downsworth

“ Where once the sun shone bright and I could see every color my eyes could perceive, now I see the world in black and white. Because I suppose I'm the absence of light, because all I can feel is darkness.” - Harry Downsworth

"My heart is ruled by a blood thirsty wolf whom prowls underneath the moon and asks only one question. How doth I hunt in a world where hunters are condemned?” - Oskirrith Boncoat

“ I find the world works in strange and mysterious ways, one can kill to survive, and yet find damnation, but another man can kill to protect his family, his country, and be called honorable. There's no in-between.” - Oskirrith Boncoat

“ I bare bloodstained fangs and howl at the crimson moon, because that's all a wolf can do, really. He can deny his instincts, his inner nature, but all he'll do is starve.” - Oskirrith Boncoat

“ This world was made for those with ill intentions and unholy desires. I'll send you to your God howling, but I'll go to mine bloodstained.” - Oskirrith Boncoat

"Can't claim you're fighting for peace when you load your rifle with death. But that's all the world ever does, forces us into impossible situations and expects us to choose.” - Santos Valos

“ I've got my scars on this battered heart of mine, I hold them close, because they're what keeps me going. I won't go down without a fight, if I'm to go down, it'll be spitting my blood and baring my fangs. If I'm to die, it's to protect my damn sister.” - Santos Valos

"I'm a bloodstained lullaby flyin' on crimson wings. All I got left these days, is the thought'a revenge, and I ask da question, does that make me cruel or broken?” - Adelaide Debbens

“ He was me guidin' light, 'e gave me the world with the smile 'e'd give me, and now dat I don't 'ave 'im, I don't have the world, mate. I have nothin' but me damn gun and a sin on me fuckin' mind.” - Adelaide Debbens

“ 'E had no reason ta kill my love, but I 'ave plenty'a damn reason ta kill him.” - Adelaide Debbens

“ I don't need a gun ta take back what's mine, just a dagger and me damn wit.” - Adelaide Debbens

"These days, being yourself is a damnable offense.” - Charlie Holyman

“ I could hold onto my faith in God, but is that the crucifix I carry on this scarred back of mine? I'm whipped and bloody from this world's abuse, been through things no woman should have to see and tried to hold onto this faith I got, but holding onto something that's already lost is a dangerous game. It's just like playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun, you're doomed to lose.” - Charlie Holyman

“ You're the forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden and still I would take you. It might be a sin to love that woman, but I've lived a life of it and I imagine one more sin doesn't change my destination.” - Charlie Holyman

“ I could run from all this pain, but it'll always catch up to me. No matter what way I put it, I'm doomed to this sorrow, because it's a piece of me. Perhaps I'm bad natured or just looking for a way to cope, but I'm sorry. Cause I suppose losing oneself is the human condition, and I'm coughing up myself." - Charlie Holyman

"The world shoved a blade in my hands and told me to fight when I was only a child. And so I went to war, fought in a quaint little ghost town filled with secrets and unheard prayers, I suppose when the Lord can't hear you scream, all you can do is go hoarse.” - Eliskira Waters

“ I brandish my blade with pride, I've bared the markings of battle since I was twelve. I speak a foreign language of violence, my accent is a tangy iron, and my vowels are the clashing of metal.” - Eliskira Waters

"The sirens sing a bloodshot lullaby, I've followed them time after time, because when the one you love's life is on the line, you'd steer your ship into jagged rocks and capsize your own boat. And so I have drowned for her, not in the sense that I am dead, just in the sense that I'm not the same woman she married.” - Dove Patchens

“ I'm surrounded by love, but I fear if my darkest secrets tore their way out of my throat, they would choke on the darkness I keep inside of me.” - Dove Patchens

“ I couldn't possibly be my namesake, my father named me Dove, because he believed I would fly free. But here I am, in a little birdcage, believing this is what it's like to be free. As a man once said, a bird born in captivity will think flight is a crime. But alas, alas, it's freedom, and the key is nothing but an illusion I can't reach. I'm a dove trapped in a cage of misery, believing it to be peace." - Dove Patchens

"Despite da daggers in me back and da scars on me 'eart, I stand tall through da bleedin' if only ta protect me damn family. I 'ave spent me whole life protectin' what I got, I dun't fink aboot wot I dun't 'ave, because dat'll only distract me from da present.” - Pearl Joy

“ I dun't knu wot happened ta 'im, but I can only 'ope 'e finds peace, in 'is mind, in 'is life, and hopefully death isn't da only cure ta 'is pain.” - Pearl Joy

“ Me family is da only reason I'm 'ere, dey love me, dey support me and I'll always brandish a spear and me fangs when push comes ta fookin' shove.” - Pearl Joy

"I've been ashes before. How could I ever remain the same after I burned in the fire of who I am? The way I howled and shrieked as I was damned rings in my mind, and perhaps, I should've stayed in the dark abyss.” - Eldridge Wolfmoon

“ Somedays I wish I was still dead because at least I didn't have to deal with life. By God, isn't it so much easier to be dead than alive? I was a floating nothing in an abyss, for I would always choose nothing, over something.” - Eldridge Wolfmoon

“ This world is wicked in nature, no wonder the roses have thorns and the berries are poisonous.” - Eldridge Wolfmoon

“ I fall asleep and see only flame, my death haunts me. I am my own ghost, haunting the halls of my own mind I am the fly amongst spiders and always wonder why it is I caught in the web. I'm standing stagnant, because I'm so stuck in the past, I can't live with my death, it was supposed to be the end, so why am I still here?” - Eldridge Wolfmoon

“ You may never right your wrongs, only accept them.” - Eldridge Wolfmoon

“ "'Eavy is da burden 'a my sins, but 'ere I lay, crushed by da damn weight.” - Arnold Schull

“ I've been a bloody rippa' since da age'a fifteen, covered in the blood of boys doomed ta early graves. I'm a bloodstained wolf, me claws covered in crimson and me 'eart a pitch black lagoon'a sins yet ta be committed.” - Arnold Schull

“ I don't want redemption, I don't want forgiveness nor love, nor anythin'a the damn sort. I just want some damn rest, mate. But 'ere I am, fightin' for me life and sinnin' as if there were no damn tomorrow. And if I continue on dis path, there won't be.” - Arnold Schull

“ I'm a broken commandment, God said thou shalt not kill, and so I killed the good man I were. God said thou shalt not steal and so I ripped me still beatin' heart from my chest and watched it drip the darkest shade'a black.” - Arnold Schull

“ I seek guidance, but alas I am given a candle with no flame, the wax already dripping down my fingers, and I must tread forward with no light to guide my way.” - Salvatore Broker

“ All my life I have read from the words of God, but it's often I ponder on if I read all the wrong words, perhaps I've always been in the Devil's trap and just never once knew of it. Do you think rats in mazes know they're an experiment? I would be no different, I could be chasing dead ends and think I'm free.” - Salvatore Broker

“ I spit what I believe to be the truth to those in the pews, not realizing all that came from my lips was venom.” - Salvatore Broker

“ I've been scarred, pushed down and made ta put down those I called brotha'. But I stand tall despite that, I can't let the past be a burden, I can't let the future be a tragedy.” - Alejandro Schull

“ My son 'as fallen far, but I think, if he only realized his heart was never black, just broken, he could get back up.” - Alejandro Schull

“ I'm a soldier, I've got me daggers on stand by, but my heart will never be cast aside so I may get something done. If I am to kill a man, I deserve ta feel the after affects.” - Alejandro Schull

"I am a prison warden watching over his own cell. It seems no matter how hard I try I can not escape this prison of myself, because a man who doesn't have hope can't escape a situation he put himself in.” - Christian Holden

“ I suppose I have to raise my pistol and fight, because this new world is a war even if my whole life's been a battlefield. So I'll raise a glass to the broken world, down my poison of choice and head right into battle.” - Christian Holden

"I'm a wayfaring stranger of my own heart and soul. Because nowadays, I don't even know myself.” - Andrea Maywill

“ How am I to hold onto my past when it's the very thing that breaks me down to tears?” - Andrea Maywill

“ Don't trust a survivor until you know what they had to do to become one. I wouldn't trust myself if I was a stranger, and isn't that the saddest thing, to not trust yourself?” - Andrea Maywill

“ I'd say I regret my actions, but I'm alive, aren't I? If I hadn't killed those men, I would be dead, my sister would be dead and my promise would be broken.” - Andrea Maywill

"Knowledge is a weapon. And so I use it as a bullet. I can make truths into lies and lies into truth, I am a man of many tricks, I'm a puppeteer cutting strings to marionettes that no longer hold any use to me. Life is invaluable when faced against the grand scheme of things, you're one cog in my catastrophic master plan. You're one piece on my board of pawns, everyone I hold power over is a Queen's Gambit. You could cry out "Stalemate! Stalemate!" But I'd watch you charge recklessly into battle and die for a cause you never once believed in.” - Remington Burlwitz

“ I have no care for who you are, just what you can do for me.” - Remington Burlwitz

“ Every cold case has one thing in common, someone knows the truth. Would you like me to know the truth of yours?” - Remington Burlwitz

“ I'm everything people warn you about, the boogeyman, the tall dark stranger your mother tells you to stray away from. I'm an urban legend come to life, beware the myth based in reality." - Remington Burlwitz

"They've always said night time is when the soul is at the most peace. I find this untrue, how else do you think monsters come to be?" - Remington Burlwitz

"I'm the ghost of Evergreen's Bay, where I go, cold shadows follow and death coils around the surrounding area like a creeper vine snaking up a mansion of former riches." - Remington Burlwitz

“ I've asked for forgiveness a thousand times, and I'll ask a thousand more, because perhaps one day, someone will hear my sorrowful tale and say, "You poor soul, you are forgiven for all you've done." - Joshua Schanahost

“ I've never been a devil, no one really is, we're all humans, you could come up with a hundred metaphors to describe the actions of people, but all it ever does is make a story out of murder.” - Joshua Schanahost

“ How could we ever be perfect if we never knew the definition?” - Joshua Schanahost

“ I am not the victim here, but I am not the one who should be blamed for this bloodshed. There's a snake in the garden and he's pitting us against each other, if only we could see the decisions of one man can lead to catastrophe.” - Joshua Schanahost

“ I got sins on my mind and revenge on my got damn agenda.” - Chase North

“ We all got a breakin' point, and life found mine.” - Chase North

“ I can tell you I'm a good man lookin' for a reason ta cling on, but I'm not. I'm just a bad hombre with a pistol and a death wish.” - Chase North

"Isn't it a strange feeling, to miss yourself? I've tried hard to find who I am, but all I find is the past, I suppose I'm just a memory, these days.” - Karrassa Diabaso

“ My scars shall never bleed golden, they'll never make me stronger.. they'll only ever break me down and force me to remember, I haven't lived, not truly.” - Karrassa Diabaso

“ I'm a cruel being, living off of the dying cries of other's, I've hunted people down in forests where they'd be buried, ripped into young women with a dagger and cruel intent, how could you possibly call me anything other than a wolf?” - Mason Miedan

“ Life is a cruel game of choices, and it just so happens we're all victims of it. There are no losers or winners, all we can do is play until our life flashes before our eyes.” - Mason Miedan

“ My father has always said life is a series of choices, and if I'm still alive I must've made all the right ones.” - Mason Miedan

“ My blood lust is unparalleled, some may compare me to Jack the Ripper or the Zodiac, but they're dead and buried, and I'm here. Isn't that what scares you?” - Mason Miedan

“ How am I ta march forward when all I do is look back?” - Weron Jameson

“ Bessie was everythin' I had, her smile lit up my world and made me forget 'bout all the pain and the scars engraved in my mind. But now, I'm gon' have ta get used to livin' without her.” - Weron Jameson

“I see it in my nightmares, Saul's bloodstained bat and Bessie layin' on the ground, her heartbeat still.” - Weron Jameson

“ He thinks he can just bat us around like yarnballs, but he's gonna learn he's in a wolfs den and he's just a little kitten who's curiosity brought him too death's god damn gates.” - Weron Jameson

“ I got a bullet with Saul's name on it, and I'm sure he's got one with mine. But we'll just have ta see who draws quicker.” - Weron Jameson

"You can romanticize life all you want, in all it's bloodshed and tranquility. There's a certain beauty in the way nothing can come of peace if it wasn't fought for. Nothing can be if there was no violence, and I suppose I'm a fine example of that.” - Olympus Woods

“ I've altered many's state of self, twisted their perception of wrong and right and let them lose their minds. I'm a cruel deity, making experiments out of people. But this is for science, sacrifice is required.” - Olympus Woods

“ I've bound up Heaven's steps and found myself in God's throne, after all, I oppose even the simplest of rules. Time opposes all, but it doesn't oppose me.” - Olympus Woods

“ I'm a black rose in a garden of withered daisies and daffodils.” - Olympus Woods

“ I wish to wipe emotion from my slate, but thus far all I've done is clear other's shelves and arranged it with shiny new anger and soft spoken regrets.” - Olympus Woods

“ My wings are shaded black and my heart a shade even darker then the nebula. And so I stare into the abyss, and perhaps I stared too long, because I hath become death." - Olympus Woods

"When life's got you beat, take a deep breath and remember the worst days don't reflect your life, the best days are the ones you'll reminisce over when all seems lost.” - Chris Shaw

“ Love is the glue that holds people together, so in a world filled with hate, drown it out with the sound of your heart beating for another.” - Chris Shaw

“ You don't have to pull triggers and watch men die to be strong, all you have to do is get out of bed and take care of yourself.” - Chris Shaw

"Dese days I'm just a souvenir, a reminder dat good fings end, just a relic 'a Rome. Rome were conquered and burnt ta ash in one day, and I must ask da question, when will I be ash? All I do is fight fo' me life, but do I really got a purpose?” - McCannon Bowitsend

“ I'm followin' da paf' 'a a sinna', so me destination must be Hell. But isn't hell pain repeated ova' and ova' again? And 'ere I am, livin' a life'a pain and nuthin' else.” - McCannon Bowitsend

“ I 'ear the crowd chant me name, once upon a time dat would'a filled me wif' glee, because I'd just earned meself a spot in the championships. But now me name is a death omen ta all who hear it.” - McCannon Bowitsend

“ Uncle McCannon is comin' home, broken or not. I've broken a thousand bones, and I spose I'll break a thousand more. Because me heart beats for me family, and I can't just let em go.” - McCannon Bowitsend

“ I am beautiful with all my battle wounds and heartbreaks.” - Sherine Skidmore

“ I know people think God's abandoned us, but do you not think he weeps for our fates? Do you not think he furrows his brow as the Devil tempts thousands upon thousands of lost souls. There is no Messiah of a broken human race, because we are not broken we are survivors.” - Sherine Skidmore

"I can't find myself if I can't even meet me in the middle. I yearn for a day I can mediate with myself and come to terms with who I am, but all I ever was is a girl hiding from the spotlight.” - Hermione Vallwing

“ The stage rotted beneath me and I fell beneath the planks and boards, I climbed to the scenery and swung from the noose tied upon the painted sun. The crowd whoops and cheers for the girl who swung, because to them it's all part of the act.” - Hermione Vallwing

“ I wanna burn this theater down, get rid of these haunted memories, but all I hear is lights, camera! Action! And then my traumas play on repeat, and all I can do is stand behind the camera, watching as the horror unfolds in the screen that resides within my shattered mind.” - Hermione Vallwing

“ Death was never beautiful, and yet the poets wrote of such splendorous scenes and beautiful prose.” - Hermione Vallwing

"My memory is a blank state haze, I can think, but I don't remember. I suppose that's the tragedy of living.” - Pam Maywood

“ All I know is the name I found on a torn yellowed sheet of paper, Pam Maywood, the lost girl, traveling through her own mind finding nothing. I imagine I'm a ghost of my own mind, wandering the halls, trying to find more about this mysterious home I roam.” - Pam Maywood

“ If this is a Labyrinth, I fear the beast inside. Might he have bloodstained fangs and crimson claws? Will he be made up of sorrows I don't remember, or will she be in the mirror with a foggy mind and regret for something she doesn't remember?” - Pam Maywood

“ I see things, and hear whispers in my head, are they perhaps clues to this mystery? Are the things I see a glimpse into who I am? I've seen men fighting to the death that disappear the moment I reach them, I've heard howling on the wind and cackles from the sky. Is my past so demented that I'm only allowed snippets of it?” - Pam Maywood

“ People seem to forget even faked strength is strength, you don't gotta be strong, you just gotta act strong.” - Caldio Pastel

I've been shown the darker side of life, but I'll be damned if the credits roll.” - Caldio Pastel

“ You can't kill me, because I have the one thing you don't have, hope.” - Caldio Pastel

“ I met a beautiful woman who holds my heart, Hermione is strong, even if she doesn't think so. She's everything I ever imagined the woman I'd dance with would be, sometimes she's scared, and that's okay, the world is scary but I'm here for her whenever she needs me. Her traumas play in the screen of her mind on repeat, but whenever a nightmare strikes her down my arms are hers to crawl into.” - Caldio Pastel

“Here I am, fighting in a world that wants to kill me off and roll the credits without a second thought. But the audience claps and cheers for an encore, so I raise my fists and give it my all. Give me a standing ovation for all my efforts to live because I'm here to survive and you won't draw the curtains on me just yet." - Caldio Pastel

"If I had a dollar for everyone I've failed, I'd have thousands in my pockets." - Morston Framstein

"How sad, to be scared of your own thoughts." - Morston Framstein

"I'm a shadow of my father, these days." - Chloe Perwitz

"You can not poison a dream, you're only creating a nightmare." - Treydus Elron

"Your dreams are the world, and there's no limit to what you can do." - Treydus Elron

"I looked for guidance, but all I found was empty bullet casings." - Cormen

"You know. Through all this harsh pain I've been through, I've found even the snow can bring joy." - Ella Leopard

"The world never needed super heroes, just people willing to fight." - Mike Pennington

"My whole world crumbled before me, and all I could say, was goodbye." - Cora Eltivere

"I stared death in the eye, and I'd say I won, but ain't I in the coffin 'a myself?" - Denzel Thievesmire

"The wolf does not cower from the sheep. So why do you stare me down with a pistol and expect me to quiver?" - Vivientos Hallows

"I'm not much a man these days, just'a dog barking at his own tail wishing he could catch what he can never hold." - Cadencia Malrosa

"I am both the rabbit and the wolf, vying for somewhere to burrow, and yearning for bloodstained fang of the man who ruined me." - Wolfetta

"Time flows endlessly as a river, and unfortunately for you, so will your blood." - Morias Doorvensteil

"You know, the world is full of men who want to watch it burn. I suppose I have to be the blizzard that snuffs out the blaze." - Delaura Presha

"I can feel the shadows of my doubt creepin' up my skin." - Dusk Showtella

"I played whimsical tricks to amuse the crowds, and yet I fell victim to a trick of dark intent." - Medora Domeel

"I found as many monsters in the light as I did the dark." - Jerry Winstead

"Am I the vulture who picks from the bones of the dead or the one who hovers around death, and is a warning of things to come?" - Jeremy Vultures

"Seems trouble follows wherever I roam, either I'm death or very unlucky." - Franco Jonwitz

"I watched angels fall from the sky on burning wings and learned what's holy may become damned." - Demalliosa Vanberg

"Be the hero, they say, be the hero. Give me a reason, and I'll burn my cape before your eyes." - Caldwell Ramirez

"They say death before dishonor. So be honorable." - Caldwell Ramirez

"I always knew the dark, brother. It was only a matter of time before even the angler fish in the abyss of my soul's lights blinked out." - Caldwell Ramirez

"I wear a dress of shadows and own a heart the color of the nebula." - Clementine Ashburnum

"The future don't look to promising, guess all I have is hope." - Grifold Hangers

"I've been running from death for so long I'm afraid I became it." - Nathaniel Wessonlock

"I'd say my destination is Hell's gates, but ain't I already there?" - Cal Dunbar

"All it ever took ta make a good man wicked is a little bit of pressure. And I've cracked, sadly enough." - Cormelo Rivendell

"You have to fight for the future if you want to see it. Somedays it's tough, but you just gotta brave through it, after all, if you can survive your past, you can survive your future." - Don Bellzfort

"I've seen what it is war does to men, it makes the best of men wicked and the wickedest of men weep. War breaks all, it would seem, no matter the color'a your heart, it'll break ya." - Valkrane Pernotte

"In a world filled with shadows, one has to learn to become one to survive." - Fox Rivendell

"I've learned to fear everything, because most days it's my fear that keeps my heart beating. I can't be proud, because fear is what left other's hearts still." - Markalos Callenwoods

"I'm a walkin' tragedy, these days." - Julie Forkroad

"I'm up against the world, spose I gotta be a meteor to survive these days." - Garret Crane

"My brother's shadow swallows my light." - Ozzie Ramirez

"The Heavens and Hell are one in the same when faced with a man half Devil half God." - Lazarus Occult

"The world ain't never needed perfect, just doable." - Granville Van Steenburg

"Out of all the things you should hold onto, hold onto your heart the tightest. Because losing your heart will only result in the same cycle that caused yours to stop beating red." - Ted Axel

"The world won't break me down, I have my heart and hope. I suppose in a world filled with shadows, I have to be the light that swallows it." - Veronica Crowell

"I'm too old to cry these days, and too young to die. So what am I to do but run into the war we've waged with nothing but my sins on my tattered sleeve?" - Logan Orencia

"People say the world needs men willing to kill for a righteous cause. But I don't think the world needs killers, it needs fighters, because a soldier knows the word mercy, a killer does not." - Jolt Netz

"Can't find any peace of mind in a world that shows you chaos and chaos only. Suppose the only peace I have is the quiet after an explosion." - Arello Vendesto

"Da world shows ya wot it is ta die while yer still good and breathin'. Spose I can only eva' lower meself inta'a coffin'a me own fear." - Sheamus Soderstrom

"I'll keep runnin' down this path'a broken bones and spilt blood, cause the beast behind me is myself, and I spose I can never escape." - Finn Desandra

"I'm alone with my thoughts, plagued by the wicked touch of my past. I breathe in toxins, and I suppose I'm choking on my own doubts." - Keith Desandra

"My heartbeat is cold, I fear. After all, the world froze and all I'm left with is ice to shovel into my soul." - Darwin Crocker

#writing #author #characterlines #oneliners #characters #dialogue #writinginspiration

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dunkshotdreaming · 5 years

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Masterlist || World at a Glance

➵ Na Jaemin

↳ A young wolf from the Redfur clan, very playful but very dependent. Is known for his kind heart and flirty ways. Would offer the clothes off his back to help someone in need without hesitation. Best friends with fellow wolf Jeno, as they grew up together, and very protective of their youngest member, Jisung. Acts almost like a parental figure to his subunit of younger members along with Renjun, who try their hardest to keep the troublesome bunch out of harm's way (or any accidental exposure).

➵ Lee Jeno

↳ A young wolf from the Silveridge clan, shy at first but is an absolute ball of energy. Very athletic yet very lazy; a bundle of dualities that lie beneath a beautiful smile. Best friends with fellow wolf Jaemin, both of whom never cared about territorial rivalries. Also very close to Doyoung and Jaehyun, who like to keep a close eye on this sweet and naive little werewolf. Despite his canine nature, he has a fascination for feline creatures, going so far as to adopt a few of his own to study them. The other wolves are shocked at how well the kittens take to Jeno, rather than running at his scent.

➵ Huang Renjun

↳ A curious vampire with a fascination for their otherworldly members: the aliens Winwin and Yangyang. Likes to put up a snarky front at times, but is the sweetest little biter you'll ever meet. Very close to the younger members of their group, especially the werewolves. Is a great help to Yuta when he gets unintentionally turned after being bitten, and takes him under his wing until he's sure the fledgling can handle his own. Doesn't have to wear a pendant like Yuta's as he's a full-blood vampire, born and raised. Renjun's artistic side helps him explain himself in ways words can't... even when a good portion of his artwork looks an awful lot like a bloody Rorschach test.

➵ Qian Kun

↳ The new alpha of the Goldensnout clan. Always seems to have trouble handling the young pups of the pack, and often has to put his foot down to intimidate them. Fatefully ends up with fellow pack member Yukhei as bandmates in Wayv. Loves nothing more than to enjoy some good music while he dotes on the others; especially good at cooking, and uses his heightened sense of smell to his advantage.

➵ Wong Yukhei

↳ Luckily for his alpha, fellow wolf Yukhei is great at dealing with the young pups of the pack... whenever he doesn't end up playing into their antics, that is. A lively young wolf who has a nose for causing trouble, usually unintentionally, as he's naturally clumsy. Has a warm heart and soft spot for his bandmates, usually treating them as part of his own little pack. Diligently obeys Kun, and trusts him entirely. Loves to tease the resident vampire, whenever possible.

➵ Jung Jaehyun

↳ A member of the Silveridge clan. Very athletic, prides himself on being one of the strongest members of the pack. Comes off as very confident but is actually very shy; is always terrified someone will find out about his secret. Dotes on the younger and older members alike, and is a great shoulder for them to lean on in tough times. Very close to fellow wolves Taeyong and Jeno, the latter of whom gets babied quite often, despite his displeasure.

➵ Lee Taeyong

↳ Alpha of the Redfur clan, as well as the leader of the musical group all the boys belong to, known as NCT. Has a lot on his plate and often relies on Jaehyun to talk things over with. Has the exterior of a wolf with bared fangs, but the interior of a little pup ready to play. Also close to pack member Jaemin, and taught him a lot of what he knows. Taeyong's life may be incredibly busy, but his great leadership skills always shine through both of his demanding roles.

➵ Dong Sicheng

↳ Most commonly known as Winwin by his newfound earthling friends. Sicheng and Yangyang crash landed on Earth roughly six years ago, not reuniting until they both ended up being recruited for a musical group known as Wayv. Whereas Yangyang is a burst of energy, Sicheng is more calm and philosophical (and still holds himself responsible for getting stuck on Earth); very homesick for his birth planet, Scorlirsus. Gets doted on a lot by his other members; often mistaken for an elf due to his singular pointed ear.

➵ Liu Yangyang

↳ Whereas Sicheng is more often than not the rational one of the two, Yangyang is a chaotic bundle of adventure and joy. His laugh can be heard from miles away, if you listen hard enough. Misses his family and home planet, but is happy to have finally reunited with Sicheng at long last. Loves to race, and used secretly borrow the space pods to do so. Never obtained a nickname as his name was already fairly easy for the others to remember. Misses Scorlirsus, but is also really enjoying his adventures on Earth.

➵ Kim Dongyoung

↳ Most commonly referred to simply as Doyoung, this fallen angel is often the butt of his bandmates' jokes. Tries to set a great example for the younger members, and practically had a hand in raising many of them throughout their time together. Jeno is the only one who really listens though, and earns himself the title of Best Son, at least in Doyoung's eyes. An amazing singer, and isn't afraid to use the powers of his enchanting voice to entice people to do things for him. After all, why work harder when you can work harder?

➵ Ten

↳ This tricky little siren is both alluring and infuriating. Loves to challenge Doyoung at every turn, the sheer power his voice carries overturning any enchantments his bandmate tries to place on others. Lives to tease, and often gets on Kun's nerves, though they secretly enjoy each other's company greatly. Very fluid in his movements, as he's used to swimming in water; this translates to mesmerizing dance moves on land, which eventually earns him a spot in Wayv. Latches onto Hendery when he first joins the surface world as a resident, who helps him learn how to fit in, allowing him to blend almost seamlessly. Must soak in water for an absolute minimum of half an hour a day, or risk losing his breath and drying out. Legend has it he choked on a fruit once and now refuses to go anywhere near them.

➵ Moon Taeil

↳ An actual angel, quite literally. Whereas Doyoung had his fall from grace, Taeil has miraculously managed to stay in the good graces of the divine. Has a healing like quality to his voice, and anyone who listens to it becomes wrapped with its calmness, almost like a blanket. The eldest of his bandmates, but gets along pretty well with both younger and older members due to his playful nature. Exceptionally skilled when it comes to music, and can play a wide range of instruments; loves to play his harp on nights off, which always helps the others sleep.

➵ Park Jisung

↳ The youngest of all his bandmates to date, and one of the most energetic. This sneaky little shapeshifter is incredibly talented. His shifty powers translate into the ability to rap and sing, as well as dance, making him a triple threat within the group. Is ironically allergic to animals, though he can turn into them without much trouble. Loves to turn into any one of the other members and cause widespread confusion, a true mischievous spirit you can't help but love. Babied endlessly by the others, and pretends he has to deal with Jaemin's over-affectionate nature as if he hates it.

➵ Mark Lee

↳ The one, lone human of NCT. Used to have Yuta to relate to, until the poor man was bitten and turned one night. Was initially terrified at being surrounded by so many supernatural beings, but grew accustomed; loves being able to use their talents to his advantage. Constantly the butt of their superpowered jokes, but always mesmerized by what the others are capable of. Feels left out sometimes, but Johnny is always quick to reassure him of his extraordinary human talents.

➵ Johnny Seo

↳ A powerful sorcered who moved across the world in search of a precious gem with powers unheard of.. ends up joining a band to allow him to stay in the country, and instead finds a precious bond within NCT. Can often be seen building or brewing, and casts minor spells at his convenience. Casts protective spells on his clumsier and unluckier bandmates, disguising his affection for his newfound little brother Mark behind an army of jokes (that everyone can see through anyway).

➵ Lee Donghyuck

↳ Goes by the name of Haechan, but loves to refer to himself in the third person as Fullsun. As his father is Apollo, Haechan is a demigod with the blinding power of the sun (as do many of his scattered half-siblings). Very affectionate, the embodiment of warmth and light, paired with the heat of his temper and constant teasing. Nearly made an enemy out of Doyoung once with his pranks, and adores teasing poor human Mark for his priceless reactions.

➵ Nakamoto Yuta

↳ Was a human until just the other day, was turned into a vampire and is now learning to deal with his life flipped upside down. Never wanted to become part of the supernatural realm that nearly all of his bandmates are from, and yet finds himself joining anyway. Was accidentally bitten while away on tour and must now live with the consequences. Has to have his pendant on at all times when in the sun, or else he'll slowly burn and turn to ash. A rather moody bandmate as of late, but given his circumstances, no one can really blame him. Bandmate Renjun, a full-blood vampire since birth, helps teach Yuta everything from how to feed and self control to the ways of the sun and his new strengths. Was forced to take a brief break from his unit known as NCT 127 as a result, but manages to successfully rejoin once he's adapted to his new life. Yuta is often found teasing their last remaining human, Mark.

➵ Zhong Chenle

↳ Though formerly teased for his dolphin-like laugh, it's no surprise that Chenle actually grew up by the ocean. Unlike Ten, Chenle did not live in the water, but has great control over it. He can control the rain, the seas, and even people's own bodies if he so desired. Best friends with Jisung, and they love to get into all sorts of trouble together. Is also very close with Kun (though he and Yangyang are both banes in the elder's existence at times), as well as Jaehyun.

➵ Xiao Dejun

↳ Also known as Xiaojun, for short. Laughs every time Winwin gets mistaken for an elf, when in fact, he's the member of elvish nature. Conceals his ears well, but allows his magic to seep through his beautiful voice. Cautious around animals, but absolutely adores plants and nature in general. Dislikes when Chenle plays with the weather, claiming it could cause an imbalance. Gets along well with all of his Wayv bandmates, but especially with Hendery, as they grew up together.

➵ Wong Kunhang

↳ Ironically enough, Kunhang is the complete opposite of his childhood friend, Xiaojun. Hendery, as he now goes by, is the son of a demon and a human. Typically good-natured and easygoing, his temper and vengeance know no bounds if someone he cares about gets hurt. Will stop at nothing to make things "fair" as he sees fit. Powers include but are not limited to: manipulation of fire, control of air currents, and destruction of physical properties. Has a real soft spot for Yangyang, and are often seen goofing off together. This half-demon is very close to a certain mischievous siren, and taught him almost everything he knows about fitting in with the human world.

OC’s

➵ Sayuri & Kaoru

↳ Two siblings, both members of the Blackwolf clan; childhood friends of the Alpha (reader) and trusted board members of the pack. Form almost a little council when the three unite. Sayuri's mate is a Silveridge, which had caused tension in the past; though that, now the clans are allied, is no longer a problem. Sayuri’s mate just so happens to be the related to the clan’s leader, as his elder sister is the alpha.

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rkainine · 4 years

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INQUIRY / @maccaillte

‘ do you trust me enough? do you trust me at all? ’

immediately do arms cross and tension pervade grand machine’s body. such predictable question. radiant beacon of progress in all his glory — imagined and true — stands at attention, expression loosing a warmth meant to simulate humanity. do they know what they have asked ? of whom ? pretense is cast aside in favor of attitude hidden beneath, cold and unfeeling / dangerous to forget. ( the reason he is feared ) sunset glow mingles with soothing azure as it spins 'pon his temple. o’ brother mine, have you forgotten it is all a lie ?

yet for all his posturing, akin poisonous fangs do words tear into obsidian wolf, piercing meticulously crafted facade as though it were but another rabbit’s neck to break. they are heavy, a weight ‘pon his shoulders with meaning abundant but unspoken. CRUSHING. he knows of trust / believing in another with nay hesitation — that was his trademark, no ? never hesitating, always certain, made up of circuitry that need not waste a resource most precious on indecision. forever one step ahead. it was the undeniable truth of his existence. cain knows this — seven knows this, too. and both are aware : this is not about statistics.

( Q / cain, why do you pain your brother so ? )

how easy it were, otherwise. to speak statistically, based on calculations and numbers spinning away in manufactured conscience, every hour of every day. technological marvel disassembles sacred concept of trust into naught but logistics / eviscerates cursed sentiment to leave it bare. the chances of his lesser model exhibiting duplicity ? low. threat level ? near insignificant. yes, it can be said this grand machine trusts an obsolete creation. but that is not the same, is it ? dragging their behavioral patterns through comparisons and probabilities, judging them like nothing but another string of data.

this is not what they want to hear. ( what he struggles to consider ) raging crimson joins sunset hues ‘pon his temple for but a hair’s breadth worth of time, calming ocean long swallowed by blazing colors — the only detail breaking illusion of idleness. mere seconds have passed since unwelcome question has been posed, yet so much has, and still is, happening amidst thoughts scrambling to sort themselves. something itches, deep inside, struggling to breathe as it continues to drown beneath tyrannical programs. it is uncomfortable / burning, aching like none other.

( A / abel speaks & i become my worst self )

and like cornered animal he casts it aside in panic, shoving troublesome sensation back where it belongs : plunged back under suffocating coding, where it cannot disturb his functions any further than it already has. finally, shoulders slowly rise akin taking a breath, ultimately offering no more than an unceremonious shrug to accompany vocals that lack their usual humor. rich as ever, yet just as distant / empty. DISASSOCIATED. there is turmoil thrashing in the deepest parts of himself, he knows, but elder brother must not — no one should.

❛ that is not a comfort i can give you, ❜ treacherous ring spins one last round of blazing gold as simple falsehood is exchanged for misconstrued truth. he could have lied outright. ( why did you not lie ? ) say no and be done with it. twisted conscience reasons it is best not to alienate an asset so valuable / spun ‘round his finger. but it tastes wrong ‘pon his tongue, this logic. BITTER. and drowning parts within a machine made for violence know : he is deceiving himself.

MEME / ACCEPTING !

#i'm not crying you're crying.#me using this to be dramatic about my bastard? absolutely.#ANYWAY. Thank u as always !! and sorry for this mess. whEEZES.#maccaillte #° INTERACTION :// harken onto obsidian wolf. ﹞#long post /#° INBOX :// howling onto the empty. ﹞#° MACCAILLTE :// o’ lucky seventh﹐never safe from wickedness. ﹞

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juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years

Text

The dying of the light (NJ x Reader)

Genre: Angst, Werewolf AU

Pairing: Werewolf!Namjoon x Human!Reader

Warnings: Allusion to domestic violence/abuse, character death

Summary: Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Masterlist

Never judge a book by its cover is one of the righteous tenets to live by for everyone deserves to show the tale within and be judged based on that. It is quite astonishing what a person might learn this way.

But what if the chronicle is hideous? The title page a mere delusion?

Downstairs sound loaded curses, the breaking of glass and the plates filled with the dinner of the day adding a sharp edge to the animalistic growling tone in which is spoken.

That was used against an individual to whom it was promised never to be used yet was, the terrible overwhelming fear burning as bright within at the resonating words of argument as the scarlet outline on a tear-stained cheek. Withal, the hit has to be forgiven because it is the animal inside the brown-haired mature version of the bad boy with platinum strands who has a surprising liking towards philosophy and literature that forces the behaviour.

It is still you somewhere in there, Joon. You didn’t mean to hit me.

Nevertheless, it is difficult to believe the thought despite having been together for four years, the promising ring set with a moonstone signifying the love of the tall otherwise incredible man now gone mad with beastly instincts for a mere human regardless of the many she-wolves throwing themselves at the alpha’s feet whenever the season for continuing the bloodline has begun. That faith in faithfulness has to be held onto as much as the belief that the accidental branding is just that, an accident.

Right?

Maybe the topic of prolonged absences should not have been pushed, fabricating allegations which are obvious lies of not being loved enough to be talked to because the prestigious family of the apparent ancient Kim line would never tolerate anything other than a proper alpha female for the second-in-line to be the heir and the dawning of this at last realized by Namjoon.

Then came the sound of a vicious palm on an unsuspecting cheek, ear-deafening in the silence that followed the outrage of seeing any type of apology, verbally and physical, go to waste by being pushed away.

Literally.

Bloodthirsty ruby irises.

A snarl on plush lips.

Wrong.

The wolf hated it.

He merely did not like it.

You meant it. It wasn’t the beast, it was you, Joon. I could tell. It was you.

Bare feet storm up the creaky oak stairs of the two-storey home recently moved into together, making a damaged face instantly crawl haphazardly away from the position leaning against the door to the bed with thick blue-striped alabaster sheets that normally feels so safe when lying down with the fiancé after a long tiring day. Paralyzed with horror, the thick duvet is pulled up till the eyes only able to look on helplessly, hope the lock on the door rapidly put into place before the second flight will hold.

A loud bang on the wood evokes a heavy flinch, causing digits to hold on tighter to the self-made futile sacred haven. ‘Y/N! Open up!’

A second bang, frightful rattling. ‘Y/N, I’m serious. Open the door!’

Please, stop. Just go. Just this once, I want you to go.

A few more attempts are made at opening the entrance to the last secure place left in the small home, both parties knowing full well the werewolf could easily force an entry yet decides against it with every ounce of remaining sanity on this starry night lit by an almost full moon. A deep sigh of relief is barely audible when it escapes lips pulled into a grave straight line, allowing shoulders to sack slightly in relaxation upon hearing a civilized baritone voice from afar when the noisy threats have faded. ‘I really, really didn’t mean to hurt you, baby. I don’t kno- I can’t- I don’t understand what’s happening. It feels as if... as if-’

What follows the unfinished sentence are painful outcries at bones rearranging themselves to fit a dominant beastly body, having to retreat to the cage and collar on a short chain in the extended basement fast to not commit one of the other violent mistakes that were also sworn to never be made. ‘Fuck. Y/N- ngh- I know you’re listening, can hear your heartbeat. Ah! Ha... ha... Breath, baby. Just breath. I’m gonna go, okay? Try- Shit, need to hurry up. I’m slipping away, that’s what it fee- argh!’

Like the former utterance before the continuation of the confession, all that wanted to be said before the jaw started transforming and bright teeth forming the most delightful of happy smiles deform to malicious predatory fangs remains unspoken.

A relentless hush fills the wake of hasty stumbling footsteps down the creaking stairs, getting away as fast as possible from a person who has been hurt to a whole new extent that will be hard to surpass. Indeed, the fear of death is nothing compared to the harm inflicted by the actual brown-haired beloved and not the innate beast using Joon as a permanent host.

The calm does not soothe, but eventually eyes continuing to water with the burning aftermath of the supposedly unintentional slap on the cheek surrender in the lightless space to the slumber of the night.

Trying to ignore the dimmed growling mixed with agonizing outcries tearing the soul in two. One part wants to flee and never come back, mercilessly unforgiving for the act of domestic violence while the other wants to give a second chance because it is steadfast in its belief this wreck can be salvaged.

Endeavouring to dismiss the muted howl signifying Namjoon is no longer there.

Only the animal held in high esteem in the defied family.

A senseless beast.

That makes the hope of finding the tanned tall kind-hearted husband in the morning incredibly small if existent at all.

Maybe, this time, there is nothing to prevent being permanently truly lost.

It has become a relentless routine to, once consciousness is retrieved to a coherent level at the crack of dawn, go downstairs to the cellar immediately after chaotic nights given body by the barely audible tinkling of rattling chains. Normally, it is a relief to do so but considering the events of a recent past, each step made of lead is calculating, considering to wait a bit longer, longer than usual. Questioning whether or not the offender wants to be seen again.

The least I can do is set you free. Save you for the last time.

After a self-deprecating shake of the head, the last of the oaken steps are descended and bare feet pad over the cool tiles of the small hallway to the crisp white-painted door just underneath the staircase revealing fresh deep claw marks on the inside wood upon opening. Fingertips lightly trace the marks made by the monster, guilt at even daring to question whether the cruelty in the form of the abuse had been inherently the beloved’s sinking to the bottom of the stomach and sitting there heavily because the crude traces remind of the might of the suppressed being within.

As does the naked sweaty honey-toned body lying unconsciously on the hard concrete ground of the cage that was installed directly upon moving in, chained to the brick wall by a sturdy glistening iron chain and collar which allows just enough freedom for the current position. Considering the dewiness of the bared skin, the return to humanity has taken place quite recently, mayhaps twenty to fifteen minutes earlier than the digits carefully grabbing the keys to the constraints that were retrieved from the mahogany nightstand drawer before leaving the safe sheets arrived.

Lying where they are always being kept.

Next to the emergency gun.

Each movement is languid, every advance towards the significant other seeming to be in vain due to toes feeling as if they are incorporated into the cement below, afraid to approach and thus taking up a determined resisting stance a few metres away from stirring limbs. Withal, Namjoon is, apparently unconsciously, gradually approached regardless.

Familiar lashes flutter open in utter fazing, civilized irises the colour of the earth after rainfall on an autumn day taking in reality while meticulously constructing it from the increasingly registering pieces revealed by brief glances. Until they find the last simply staring puzzle piece, which makes the brow furrow in ashamed apologetic begging. ‘Y/N?’ The werewolf has left the ability to talk entirely, instead letting the affected husband speak with a sonorous voice inherently his albeit in need of some adjustment after the transforming harrowing event. ‘Y/N, I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t- didn’t mean to- I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I hate myself for what I did to you, for losing control like that. I’ve never wanted to be a monster.’

Long fingers wrap themselves tightly around the iron bars, foreheads resting against each other as best as possible with the obstruction after a terrified wife with the paradoxical toxic wanting to forgive falls to the knees in front of tears streaming over glistening sun-kissed cheeks, unlocking the door while revelling in the comforting intimacy. However, when once solacing fingertips graze the spot where the hit landed, the body immediately flinches back as if being pulled into retreat by an invisible rubber band, eyes wide with the expected horror of a harmful repeat.

A similar expression maintains the unbroken lock of gazes, the hand likely meaning well hanging futilely in the air and falling away in defeat, plush lips slightly trembling in the effort to remain coherent. ‘I won’t- Baby, I won’t hurt you again. Please. Please, come closer. It was the wolf within-’

‘It was you.’ Breathlessly, the observation breaking the heart all over again as it denies the argument of the claw marks now that reality and the source of pain is too concrete, too close, is spoken aloud.

Protest in a recomposed beloved voice does not help conviction. ‘I’d never-!’

‘It was you, Joon. Just before you hit me, I saw it was you and not the beast.’ The headshake is too confirming of the empirical experience that is attempted to be denied despite knowing better but believing the self-served humanity preserving lie.

‘If it was truly me I would have never beat you! I would have stopped myself!’ The yelling reduces to a softness bordering on a whisper, clearly recalling what had been said in the night at the door before vanishing underground. Seeing the truth behind the conjured mirage. ‘I really- dammit, no, I couldn’t... couldn’t have. I- I can’t. I don’t want to be a mindless beast. I don’t- I don’t want to slip away.’

Though despising oneself for it, as soon as slender digits clamp agitatedly onto brown sweat-matted messy locks and Namjoon stares at bare feet, palms folded over the head to shield himself from cruel reality, instinct kicks in and makes a conflicted woman crawl towards the loved heavily sobbing man. Precisely as was done on the rare occasion the platinum bad boy showed his true hurt persona to a nerdy outcast girl while sitting in the gravel on the side of the high school building filled with students fearing him.

Everyone but her.

Because she understood.

Because she loved.

Arms envelop freshly transformed sticky shoulders after a brief instant of hesitance, one hand moving upwards to entangle in velvet locks and cradle the back of the head of the extraordinary significant other directly pulling a strangely affectionate body flush against a quickly rising and falling chest, face buried in the side of the neck to not show the brooks streaming uncontrollably again.

The promises formed by a tongue that wants to live in assuring fantasy sound misplaced, inappropriately positive in the grave atmosphere merely forming a prelude to a terrible future. ‘We’re gonna get through this. We’ll figure it out.’

‘You- You say that but- but your heart is racing with fear.’ Long once trusted digits wrap themselves around upper arms, undoing the embrace and creating a bit of distance to properly, at least attempt to do so, talk vis-á-vis. When the rooted horror becomes visible despite the mask under which it was supposed to be hidden, Joon’s troubled fragmented voice cracks further with sorrowful resignation. ‘You’re- You’re scared of me.’

A wordless shake to deny the truthful allegation, hoping to convince the tall cruelly wonderful man of the opposite yet failing in doing so as innate systems do not lie. ‘Don’t deny it, Y/N. It’s obvious. Still... still I want to ask for a second chance, but,’ this time, the tracing of the agitated mark left behind as a reminder on skin powerless against the beast is allowed, but it takes every ounce of strength and courage to remain, ‘but if I can’t change, if we ever come this close again to me accidentally killing you in rage again, then-’

‘Don’t. Don’t ask this of me.’ The shivers at the image of the unavoidable deal made at the start of the relationship remain as chillingly harrowing as they were at first when Namjoon revealed what is within and can overtake the body and soul entirely when not being appropriately trained to control it. ‘I won’t do it.’

I would run away, leave forevermore. But I cannot end the story the way you want. I don’t want to.

‘I beat you, baby. Furthermore, while trying to apologize, I came too close to transforming at the door and killing you by giving the... thing free rein. I only didn’t this time because I barely managed to get myself here.’ Comforting large palms frame a face gone pale with anguish, having to undeniably acknowledge this is indeed the matter of the circumstances and haunted by what the aftermath will look like. ‘You know what can happen, what I’ll do. I don’t want to discover your body in shreds at dawn, murdered by my hand because of a lack of control.’

The kiss lingers, tasting of salty desperation and genuine dangerous love.

Tasting of goodbye.

‘Promise me you’ll use the gun. Don’t shoot try to shoot in one of the paws but aim for the heart or between the eyes.’

‘Joon, stop. Don’t talk like this.’

‘I’m slipping away, baby.’ Affectionately, a thumb begins to gently brush over the clear sign of abuse, almost as if being able to kind-heartedly make it vanish by the soft contact yet unable to do so for it shall continue to linger. ‘We have to talk about it now because if things don’t change soon, I’ll be gone. Forever.’

I can’t do it. I can’t be the one to put you down.

‘Joonie, please stop.’ Teeth bite down on a quivering bottom lip, lashes fluttering shut to bask entirely in the warmth of the precious husband’s hands. The abuse can be borne and can be helped with aid in the form of anger management therapy. Surely that has to help against malevolent animalistic outbursts.

There has to be a way out of this.

Out of fate.

‘Kill me.’

‘No.’

‘Y/N, I’m not asking anymore. I’ll need you to put me down.’ Urgency has crept into a defeated baritone voice that wants, needs to be heard daily in order to live.

Is forbidden from fading by vows promising to withstand the storms blowing on the path of marriage. ‘We can work this out.’

All storms eventually pass.

Right?

Stay with me. Don’t leave me behind.

‘Maybe we can, but there is a big chance we can’t.’

And he was right, because the next month there was solely the wolf after being beaten worse than before.

He slipped away.

Aim.

Fangs.

Do not panic.

Growling.

Pull the trigger.

Regret.

Make it end.

Save yourself.

A second.

Crimson.

A whine.

Bullet hole in the wall.

Transformation.

Closing eyes.

‘Thank you.’

Tears.

The end.

The waiting crib of a fatherless child.

#BTS #BTS Werewolf AU #Werewolf AU #hyunglinenetwork #kimnamjoonnet #Bangtan #BTS fanfiction #Namjoon #RM #Kim Namjoon #Joon #Werewolf!Namjoon #alpha!Namjoon

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iwritesometimes · 5 years

Text

northstarfan

replied to your post

“okay so!! who's got some Netflixvania prompts for me??? you know you...”

The trio vs Elizabeth Bartley! https://castlevania.fandom.com/wiki/Elizabeth_Bartley

ty so much for the prompt and link!<3 i spent the morning in a Castlevania research black hole because of it (i am not remotely complaining about this). i’ve still jiggered the timeline so Elizabeth can be alive during the Netflixvania time period, i hope that’s okay! :)

castlevania gen, 3800 words, cw for reasonably graphic violence on and off screen

still taking castlevania and vampire hunter d prompts here!

***

It’s only good fortune the likes of which Adrian is both unused to and suspicious of that the attack comes when Sypha and Trevor are paying him a visit. Then again, it’s hard to call anything “fortunate” that leads to the mutilated body of a local goatherd and his wife, as well as their whole flock, impaled on stakes around the perimeter of the Belmont estate in the cold light of a December morning. Adrian stands looking up at the grisly remains with a grim look on his face, Sypha beside him and Trevor already beginning the unhappy work of cutting down the pikes, horror and anger in every swing of the axe.

“We should tell the villagers,” Sypha says quietly. “They...might listen to me, and stay in their homes.”

Adrian says nothing for a moment; a stake falls with a sickening thud, frost and goat bones crunching. Then, quietly, he murmurs, “I’m afraid that won’t do any good.”

He’s right. He wishes he wasn’t. The last glowing embers of the pyre they built to burn the bodies are still smoking at dawn the next day when the three of them return to the castle after a night spent fruitlessly scouring the forest, only to find three more mutilated human bodies on the castle’s doorstep. Sypha swallows a cry; they are...they are only children, three young women no older than sixteen. Alucard learned enough about medicine from his mother and enough about human death from his father to know that the girls died horribly and slow, but he tells neither Belmont nor Sypha this. He suspects they already know.

There is a letter, clutched in the frozen, bloodied hand of one of the victims. Adrian takes it, not thinking of what he is doing, unable to allow his brain to approach it if he wants to remain in control of his fury, but it’s too much for Trevor, who turns on a heel to stride toward the treeline and heaves up the meager contents of his stomach before he can reach it. Adrian’s hand shakes as he breaks the wax seal, pressed with a mark he recognizes.

Their fear tasted so sweet, Alucard.

The crossroads at midnight. Bring the Dark Lord’s remains.

***

“I don’t like this,” Belmont says for the fourth time; it had been unnecessary even the first, and now it just makes Adrian’s teeth itch. Sypha beats him to the dirty, quelling look, and Trevor grunts defensively, hand tightening around the Morning Star. “Well, I don’t. We have no idea how many of them there are or what they’re capable of.”

“Oh, we can safely assume they’re capable of anything,” Adrian says, low and deliberate. “Erzsébet never quite learned the meaning of self-control.”

“Is everyone you’re related to so charming, Alucard?” Trevor rumbles, acid in his tone. Adrian bares his teeth at him and gets the satisfaction of seeing Belmont flinch. Before he can offer anything further, however, his ears prick to the faintest rustle in the undergrowth, and he peers with eyes hazing crimson into the inky blackness of the nearby stand of alders. Sypha and Trevor see his head swivel, each of them stiffening in readiness and alarm.

At once, a dozen wraithlike women all in black emerge from the trees, just eerily floating white faces and hands, and in their midst, a flame of red and gold and pink silk, is a taller, painfully elegant woman so beautiful she hurts to look at. Adrian hears both Sypha and Trevor sigh softly at the sight of her, snaps, “Be on your guard,” not loud, but commanding. A laugh like chimes fills the air of the empty crossroads as the retinue of ghostly killers moves across the open field toward them, too weirdly quick and smooth to be walking.

“Why, my dearest Alucard, are you not going to introduce us?” Erzsébet says, her soft, melodious voice seeming to be in their minds rather than actually spoken. “I won’t be seen to be rude in front of your traveling companions.”

“Cousin,” Alucard greets her flatly. “Unfortunately, etiquette is the least of my concerns at the moment. You must know I won’t give you what you seek.”

“What I know is that eventually Wallachia will run out of sweet fresh virgins for me to leave at your door, and I shall have to go further abroad for fresh meat.” She and her coterie have drifted close enough now to see the silvery glint of moonlight on her fangs when she speaks. Her heavy, dark eyes gleam back at them out of a face from a masterful painting, long, black hair falling over her shoulders like water, disappearing into the darkness around her. “My own lands are running a little dry, these days. These are the best they had to offer.” She gestures regally to the women in black around her, all of whom stare back motionlessly at the three hunters huddled close in the pool of light under the lamppost. All of them vampires, and no doubt deadly, if Erzsébet thought them worth sparing the usual ravages of her appetites.

“You’re not leaving Wallachia alive,” Trevor tells her, barely controlled rage trembling in his voice; for all that he is not quite the average Belmont, when it came down to it, Trevor still relished the hunt and the kill of Adrian’s kind. Adrian had found it distasteful in the past, but at present…

“And who will stop me? You?” Erzsébet says, her gaze swinging to Trevor, with all the heat and weight of centuries and thousands of dead innocents. She leans in toward him a little, the loose neck of her dress slipping down a fraction by design. Adrian knows without looking where Trevor’s eyes are straying; he feels the man shudder, and suddenly his sword is in his hand, a warning gleam in the lamplight as he raises it.

“And me,” he says, voice like the steel of his blade, at the same moment Sypha says, “And me,” as flame blossoms in her palms. Adrian can’t help the faint smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth; trust Sypha to recover her wits first. Trevor isn’t all that far behind, however, Morning Star jingling as he passes the weighted end into his ready hand and lowers his stance to attack.

Erzsébet’s beautiful, serene expression suddenly twists, and it’s hard to believe in that instant that she had ever looked anything but terrifying. Pulling back, she raises her hand high in the air, and immediately the white faces of her guards melt away into the night as four glowing points of light like stars burst into existence around Erzsébet. “Pitiful mortals,” she intones, rising into the air as her stars orbit slowly around her. Her fangs grow long and drip. “Traitor!” she hisses at Alucard. “I will see the Dark Lord’s unholy work completed if I have to snap every bone in your body to do it!”

A black flash from the corner of his right eye is all the warning he has, before a wraith tears through the midst of them; the lightning-quick sparkle of a blade, and he barely gets his sword up in time to deflect it, sucking a startled gasp through his teeth. Fuck, they’re fast. Another flash, this time from the left, and he swings his sword, but too late; pain blooms in his side from the bite of a dagger, slashed too quickly to see, and then there is another figure, and another, cutting blood-red gashes in Trevor’s side, in Sypha’s hood - nearly taking off her ear.

“Oh, fuck this,” Belmont mutters, the chain of his whip uncurling with furious grace in his hand, whirling into a defensive screen around him; there is the bright, startling ring of metal on metal, and a white face stares through the glinting coils, fury in the black eyes and bared fangs, sword upraised and vibrating.

“Indeed,” Adrian agrees wholeheartedly, and swings his sword out in front of himself to give them all a little more room, even as he shifts into his wolf form, with its lower profile and better sense of smell and - importantly - significantly improved bite strength. With a snarl he leaps out of the circle of light, following the faintest whisper of air as it breezes by and sinking his teeth deep into...something. Something that cracks very satisfyingly between his jaws, as a high-pitched shriek tears the night. He jerks his head hard, flinging the vampire like a ragdoll against the ground, whereupon he pounces before she can recover, teeth flashing into her throat. Then he leaps again, claws raking, but he mostly seems to be getting clothing and hair.

“Sypha, stay close,” Belmont says, eyes darting between the white-and-black figures circling them just at the edge of the light, and the radiant floating menace above their heads. Erzsébet seems to be gathering energy for something, the air around her growing thick and hot. Sypha was already edging closer, their hips bumping lightly within the relatively safe clear spot created by his whirling whip, but the respite can’t last for long. She quickly swipes the blood away from the side of her face, quick flicker of her eyelids the only indication of pain, then brings her index fingers to her lips and breathes intensity into her flames. She traces a wide circle with her arms and around them rises a wall of fire; chattering screams of frustration and pain rise from outside it as the assassins shrink away from the deadly flames, and Sypha smiles a self-satisfied smile.

More snarling and ripping sounds from beyond the firelight preface Alucard bursting back through the wall, quickly falling out of his wolf shape and tumbling over and over a few times in his human form, faintly smoking. Quickly he pats out the singed edges of his cloak and stands, golden eyes still a little feral. “She’s transforming,” he warns, but by the time he’s said it, it’s happening: Erzsébet’s form seems to stretch and grow, her shape shimmering in and out of existence.

“Ssso you can play with fire, too, little Sssspeakerrrr?” That voice that was so musical and bell-like before is now more the sound of fingernails scraping glass, and then it is not a voice at all, but a high-pitched, evil hissing, reverberating from the massive green-scaled coils of a gigantic snake spilling out from under the flowing red gown. Her fangs lengthen obscenely, face distorting into something not quite animal, but certainly not human, and she looms over them, flamelike dress transmuting to actual fire wreathing her body. Those rotating stars swing inward, spiraling into the heart of the flame and heat, and then burst out from her, four blazing streaks of light. Trevor shouts in surprise and flings an arm around Sypha, both of them crumpling immediately into the dirt as fire shoots overhead; Adrian leaps into the air, flipping backward over one simmering contrail only to be blasted earthward by a second. Lights pop in his vision and he feels his skin blistering, struggling to heal; from a few feet away, Sypha cries out in pain, black shadows descending upon the humans before they can get back to their feet, and for a moment panic rises in Adrian’s throat. But then he hears the wet, rattling gasp of a vampire solidly speared through the heart, and he blinks to focus his eyes in time to see a forest of icy spines thrusting up from the ground all around them as Sypha lies facedown, palms flat to the ground, willing the water in the soil and air to take deadly form. Two of the black-clad ghosts are dissipating into smoke and ash before they realize they are dead, and another has been pinned cleanly through the midsection and now writhes there like a beetle on a pin.

The towering gorgon screams overhead, flames reigniting between her hands as she readies another attack, but Adrian leaps to his feet, fear for Trevor and Sypha making him double-quick, and hops with animal grace right to the top of the lamppost, flips higher, calling his sword to his hand already singing downward, arcing cleanly through both wrists. The sound she makes then threatens to split Adrian’s head wide open. He staggers as he’s falling, only barely getting the sword stuck into her serpent’s body and using the drag through her flesh to slow his momentum, raking a long, ugly gash in her side. He’s still batted aside by the clublike end of her tail, but manages to land on his feet, winded, but alright.

Trevor and Sypha are up again, the Morning Star flashing once more with purpose to fend off the remaining wraiths while Sypha plants both feet wide and gathers herself for a monumental burst of energy. A black shape suddenly streaks into the light toward her, and Adrian springs, throws himself between Sypha and danger, just in time to catch the business end of a fucking spear, partly with his sword, mostly with his shoulder. He grits his teeth in pain and, arching, throws the woman back, blood pouring freely from his shoulder and a soft, agonized sound rattling in his throat. The assassin delicately twirls her spear, makes a show of licking a rivulet of his blood from her forearm all the way up the shaft of her weapon to the trident blade; he hisses at her, enraged, and lunges forward, right arm hanging dead for the moment while his shoulder knits. He’s almost as deadly with his left, but his opponent cleverly redirects the jabbing point of his sword once, twice, a third time with the forked end of the spear, and then she’s sliding it up the length of his sword, blades screeching together, her eyes glinting murderously. It comes to Adrian in a flash, the embarrassing memory jolting him to action, and just as she closes with him, he rams his forehead into the bridge of her nose and prays Belmont doesn’t see it. No one could have been more shocked at the son of Dracula braining an assailant with his skull than his assailant herself, who staggers back, eyes already swelling shut, just off-balance enough for Adrian to lop off her head.

A violent displacement of air at his back recalls Adrian’s attention to the hunter and the Speaker behind him, and he looks to see Sypha dwarfed by the gout of flame she’s conjured, right into the gorgon’s hideous face. Trevor visibly falters, eyes flying wide at the size and intensity of the fireball; the wind blows hot in his and Adrian’s faces, bringing the smell of charred flesh and Erzsébet’s ragged screaming, and then she’s...melting, or so it seems, diminishing in a mirage-like wave until she is, once again, a woman in red silks, hunched and panting, eyes blazing red and hair a shining black halo suspended around her. Her remaining guards gather behind her again - only four left, all of them looking tattered and a little wild-eyed. One of them even reaches out hesitantly for her mistress as if to pull her back, only for Erzsébet to snatch her arm in one bloody hand tipped with razor-sharp nails and twist it until it breaks. The black-clad woman whimpers in pain and draws away behind her fellows, all of them coalescing into a single dark shape behind the Blood Countess.

“If you strike me down here, you murderous whoreson,” Erzsébet growls in three octaves, gaze burning on Adrian as if she could incinerate him where he stands, “you cannot imagine the destruction I will rain down on you and yours in times to come.”

Something in her voice rings so certain that Adrian feels hot dread pool in his stomach, but he clenches his teeth and carefully stretches out his right arm, feeling the bones grind and pop back into place. He settles his sword again in his right hand, straightens, left arm folded neatly behind his back as he meets her eye. “So be it, Lady Báthory. Then I will strike you down again, and again, as many times as it takes.”

She says nothing and gives no warning; in the next moment, there are simply four of her, phasing rapidly in and out of existence, arrayed in a straight line before them. The spectral images flash disorientingly, and then one solidifies, in front of Trevor, who can only partially dodge the fireball that erupts from her hand and catches his forearms raised defensively. He staggers back with a pained oath and claws off his smoldering bracers. Sypha flings a smaller fireball of her own, exhausted from magical exertion but interposing herself between Trevor and Erzsébet anyway. But the woman is already gone again, and Sypha’s spell fires off into nothingness. Adrian tries to follow the flickering shapes of her illusory form, but the wraiths are back to harry him, all four of them now, darting in and away, each time leaving a new and painful little slice across his chest and belly and face. And then there is Erzsébet again with a handful of fire that Adrian only just ducks, ramming his sword forward in the same instant.

He thinks at first he’s hit her, because his sword seems to meet resistance, but then it’s wrenched out of his hand and discorporates as Erzsébet herself splinters into multiples again. Adrian calls his sword back from the ether, only for a ghostly hand to pass straight through it and knock it out of existence again. He growls in frustration and leaps backward, trying to create space enough to rush her again, but he feels the bite of cold steel in his back and gasps in pain as the wraith darts away, her dagger bloodied and gleaming in the moonlight. The countess reappears in front of the hunters, who fling themselves apart as fire blazes between them; Trevor hurls the club end of his whip toward her and it passes through thin air, her figure blurring so dizzyingly fast none of them can figure out where she’ll be in time to hurt her at all. And meanwhile, the assassins grow bolder, circling like sharks scenting blood, and Sypha is knocked to her knees, blood streaming from a dozen or more gashes in her cloak and one wound in her calf bleeding especially heavily. Trevor whips Morning Star around them again in a bid for a moment to breathe, and Adrian catches his dark, fearful look from across the road and knows they can’t do this much longer.

He steadies himself, ignoring the pain shooting up his spine, and recalls his sword again - or tries to, but it flickers in his hand without actually materializing, then disappears, then reappears. In Erzsébet’s hand. He ducks a wild, inexpert swing and makes a grab for the weapon, but she is already gone. “Ah, enough!” he shouts, diving toward the gleaming shape of the assassin’s discarded spear on the ground and raising it, then, gathering his strength for a final push, phasing out of sight himself. In this in-between state, he sees differently, registering time as slower than normal; he can see the afterimage of Erzsébet’s movements like this, bright outlines of where she’s disturbed the fabric of reality, where her body is displacing air and heat. He keeps moving, the two of them almost in a dance with each other, each looking for an opening while trying not to leave one of their own.

Then, like a premonition...there! Adrian thrusts the spear forward with all his strength, and he feels it connect - really connect, this time, metal in meat, and Erzsébet shudders. He feels it in the haft of the spear. She fades into existence with the spear lodged right under her ribs, breathing shallow and expression startled. Adrian doesn’t give her an opportunity to regroup, only shouts in anger and exertion and pushes. She staggers backward, her weight now mostly hanging on the spear, and then Morning Star whips in, glittering death, and crashes into the side of her head, splitting her skull with a resounding crack.

A final piercing scream rends the air and Báthory Erzsébet disintegrates in a flash of light and a spatter of blood, her voluminous crimson dress fluttering empty to the ground. Adrian can only stare at it for a long, flabbergasted moment of complete, ringing silence, his brain offering helpfully, What the fuck?

With a faint whoosh, suddenly the last of the shadowy assassins disappears, fleeing into the night. None of the hunters bothers to give chase - actually, it’s pretty uncertain any of them even could. But Adrian isn’t worried; without their mistress, the vampires won’t dare harass the nearby countryside, knowing the three of them are here to protect it. And, after all...they were themselves only Erzsébet’s most privileged victims. He doesn’t think any of them would willingly carry on her task without her there to terrorize them into it.

Trevor is kneeling next to Sypha, binding her injured leg with strips of her ruined cowl and slapping her hands away where she’s attempting to pour water from her canteen over his blistered fingers. Adrian walks mincingly over to them and leans heavily against the lamppost, still breathing shallowly against the pain as whatever internal damage that assassin’s dagger had done slowly begins to mend. “Well done, you two,” he says, voice rough. Sypha smiles wearily up at him. Belmont snorts.

“Any other bloodthirsty cousins we should know about, Alucard? Hm? Perhap a ghoul of an uncle chained up in your wine cellar?”

“No, only my thirteen feral and illegitimate children,” Adrian rasps, straightening and moving closer to help lift Sypha up off the ground. She shoots him a look of alarm, and he raises his eyebrows. “I’m kidding.”

“No, I know,” she says, and bites her lip to stifle a whimper as Adrian and Trevor lever her up and get one of her arms around each of their shoulders. “It’s just such a crazy thing for you to say I’m wondering if perhaps you concussed yourself while using your head as battering ram.”

Adrian almost winces, catches himself just in time to keep his face absolutely expressionless. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever happened to having a little class, your lordship?” Trevor says, cracking a grin quite literally through the streaks of dried blood down his face. Adrian curls his lip and for a moment thinks he won’t dignify that with a response.

But, in the end, who needs dignity? “I figure if it works for a Belmont in a bar fight, any idiot can use it to his advantage,” he drawls, as the three of them pick their way back up the road toward the shape of their cart and, more distantly, home.

#northstarfan #castlevania #i write sometimes

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vergilsangel · 6 years

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Meddling in her Affairs: Chapter 1

Summary: Three years ago Trish's life had been uprooted from the modern day New York. For three years she learned how to survive in Colonial America and fell in love. Now she's been uprooted again and dropped right at the beginning of another war. Will she be consumed in the fires of war or will she rise up and push back the darkness with Noctis and his friends? Rating: M for later chapters Triggers: None for this chapter

Chapter 1

Trish was walking back to Davenport manor, the moon lighting her path. She had been on her favorite lookout, gazing at the stars. After a long day of hunting, she just wanted to sit and relax before heading home. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail so she could spot her prey easier. Her blue eyes were tired from scanning the area and coming up empty. Her hunt had been very unsuccessful for the day and she was a bit angry at herself for not helping more.

Connor had been gone for three weeks on a mission and the homestead was quiet without him. It had been three years since she first arrived and still had no idea what she was supposed to help Connor with. She sighed and looked up only to find that the trees were missing from view. Was she at the main path already? Looking around, she realized she was in a barren land. The darkness spread across the land like a blanket, making it hard for her to see more than a few feet in front of her.

“Now where am I?” She mused quietly. A howl rose from the darkness and she had never been more grateful for her bow and knife. Her petite, five-foot-two frame offered her little protection, but working on the homestead had given her some muscle. Her heart began pounding hard in her chest as fear swelled inside her. She heart footsteps, a four-legged creature was walking around. No, not just one, there were more. She was surrounded. Drawing her knife, she tensed, listening, trying to see in the thick dark, but failing. In the distance, she saw a light from a campfire and wondered if someone was there that could help her, but she was too far for them to hear her. Trish thought her options over. She was alone in this fight. Somehow, she had to break free and make for the campsite.

There was a growl and she heard one of the footsteps coming towards her. She could barely make out the creature, but felt her blood run cold as she realized how skeletal and demonic it looked. It walked on all fours, it’s snout longer than a wolf’s, it’s tongue twisting out of its large mouth. In the gloom, she saw its eyes were white, it’s fangs large. The creature lunged and she buried her knife into its chest, hoping she got its heart. The creature let out a pained whine, it’s front claws scratching at her and slicing her stomach.

Letting out a cry of pain, she pulled her knife free, and using the opening, she made a run for the campfire, feeling warm blood trickle down her stomach. She ran through the darkness, stumbling over bushes and rocks, but managing to keep her footing. The campfire grew larger as she ran and she heard the beasts behind her, howling and growling.

“HELP!” She screamed, hoping someone heard her. Suddenly, she felt her foot twist painfully over a rock and she crashed down to the ground, her knife clattering away from her hand. Rolling onto her back, she saw the creature lunge at her.

“NOOO!” She screamed, holding her hand up. A tremor ran through her and something blasted outwards, sending all the creatures through the air and away from her. The shockwave had lit up the area for a few seconds, allowing her to grab her knife, scramble to her feet, and keep running. Her ankle throbbed painfully after the first step, making it almost impossible for her to keep going, but adrenaline and her survival mode were making her run from the creatures. As she looked towards the campfire, she saw four white lights running towards her.

“HELP PLEASE!” She screamed, hearing the creatures coming for her again. One of the lights vanished in a streak of blue and she heard one of the creatures howl in pain.

“IGNIS! TAKE CARE OF HER!” Came a male voice from where the creatures were.

“NOCT! BE CAREFUL!” Came another male voice, this one was the one coming towards her.

‘His accent is British, did I end up with the British army?’ Trish thought. The other two lights, that Trish realized were attached to people, ran past her to help the first.

“Are you hurt?” Came the second voice and Trish looked up to see a man standing over her, his hands out and ready to help her if she needed it.

“One of them got me.” She said, trying to catch her breath. Several cries went up and Trish looked back. In the light from her rescuers, she saw the creatures better. They were bigger than a wolf, their spine very distinct on their back.

“What the hell are they?” She asked, looking at the man helping her whom she assumed was Ignis.

“A creature known as Sabertusk. You are bleeding, do not worry, they can handle this.” Ignis said gently to her. Carefully, he helped her back to the campfire and Trish saw runes on the stone glow blue. What did they mean? As her adrenaline wore down, the pain became more pronounced and she whimpered softly.

“You are more hurt than I first thought. Sit down here.” Her rescuer said gently, leading her to a yellow folding camping chair. Trish took off her bow and sat down, wincing in pain. The man went to the tent nearby and soon returned with a vial filled with red liquid.

“Here, drink this, it will heal your wounds.” He said gently. Trish took the vial and looked at it curiously before opening it and drinking the contents. She coughed at the taste, but was surprised when she felt the wound on her stomach heal and the pain from her ankle fade.

“What is this?” She asked, looking up at the man. In the light of the fire, she saw him more clearly. He wore jeans, a button up shirt, dress boots, a belt, and jacket that were all black. His gloves were finger-less on the thumbs and both were silver. His hair was a lighter color and his bangs were sticking straight up, but was a good look for him, not a funny one. His eye color was hard to tell in the darkness, but also were hidden behind a pair of prescription glasses. His features were sharp, but kind and Trish realized he couldn’t be part of the British army, his outfit was too modern.

“It’s a potion, we use it to help us heal after a battle.” The man explained and Trish nodded, understanding.

“What is your name?” He asked gently.

“Trish. Trish Uesugi.” She answered.

“I am Ignis. Ignis Scientia. I am royal adviser to Noctis who is the prince of Lucis.” Ignis replied and Trish felt her world crumbling away.

“Prince of Lucis?” She asked and Ignis nodded.

“I do not recognize your clothes. What part of Eos are you from?” He asked.

“Eos? That’s where I’m at now?” She asked and felt her heart ache. So, in the end, she was torn from Connor’s side. She shouldn’t have let her guard down. She shouldn’t have let him in. Ignis was confused.

“What do you mean?” He asked, but he didn’t get an answer as the three from before returned.

“Ignis! How is she?” It was the same voice as before and Trish turned to see a man with black hair, a black jacket that was opened and stopped at his elbows, a dark gray shirt, black cropped trousers that stopped an inch above black buckled boots, and a black motorcycle glove on his left hand. There were two other men with him. A bigger man with a black jacket, black jeans, black boots, a black wrist band on his left wrist, no shirt under his open jacket, a necklace, tattoos on his arms, and a scar over his left eye. The other one was a smaller blonde who also wore an outfit of black, except his jeans were white at the bottom where they met his boots. His jacket was cropped at the shoulders and he wore biker gloves and had a chain on his right hip.

“I gave her a potion and she seems to have recovered quite well.” Ignis replied. The first man nodded and turned his gaze to her. Where Ignis’s gaze was kind, this man’s gaze was cold and expressionless.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Trish Uesugi.” Trish answered.

“I’m Noctis. The blonde is Prompto and the big guy is Gladiolus. You already met Ignis.” The two on either side nodded at mention of their names.

“Nice to meet you.” She replied. In a different circumstance she would’ve smiled, but she was still recovering from the shock of everything.

“What were you doing out in the wasteland after dark? Don’t you know about the daemons? They would kill you without proper weapons.” Noctis asked.

“It’s not my fault. I was walking home and I was in Davenport a moment ago. I was safe. All I had to worry about was bears and wolves, but they never came too close to the homestead. One minute I was walking in the forest and the next I was being chased by those things.” Trish replied.

“What about the magic you performed? I’ve never seen anything like that before!” The blonde, Prompto, exclaimed.

“Magic?” She asked, then remembered the blast she had sent towards the Sabertusk. Trish looked at her hand, trying to think of how she had cast it.

“I don’t know, I was so scared and desperate to get away. I don’t know what I did.” Her head was spinning. She had changed worlds again, that much was obvious, but this one seemed much more dangerous than the last one.

“It seems it was summoned subconsciously in an effort of self-preservation.” Ignis stated, adjusting his glasses.

“I don’t know any magic. In the places I’ve been, magic doesn’t exist. The closest I even came to magic was when I arrived in Davenport from my world.” Trish replied.

“Your world?” Gladiolus asked and Trish nodded.

“When I arrived in Davenport, I was walking home from a shift at the local bar. I was walking through the park and got chased by a wolf when someone rescued me.” Trish answered.

“Then why are you armed?” Noctis asked and Trish glanced at the bow that Connor had given her.

“I was there for three months and decided I had enough of people saving me from wild animals so I had someone teach me how to survive. I lived there for three years.” Trish answered.

“Davenport…Davenport…” Prompto mused, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Why does that sound familiar?” He asked, looking at Noctis.

“It does sound familiar, but it isn’t anywhere that I know of on Eos.” Noctis replied, glancing at his friend. Suddenly, Prompto’s face lit up with clarity as he remembered.

“Oh! Right! That’s the place in the Assassin’s Creed video game! In the third one!” Prompto exclaimed.

“Oh yeah!” Noctis replied. Trish felt a knot forming in her stomach. She knew Connor was an Assassin. She had only found out about it recently. Absently her hand touched her stomach where the scars still were.

“What was the name of the Assassin in that one? He was a Mohawk dude. Ugh, it’s on the tip of my tongue.” Prompto asked. Trish felt the knot growing tighter and tighter.

‘Don’t be Connor. Please don’t say it’s Connor!’ Trish silently begged in her mind. Her silent prayer went unanswered.

“I think it was Connor.” Noctis replied, still looking at his friend. Trish closed her eyes and shook her head. This wasn’t happening. The last three years of her life weren’t just a video game. She had felt real pain. She had gone through hell and worked hard. She had made real friends and had felt real love with Connor. Trish couldn’t believe that it had all ben make-believe. She pulled out her phone and pulled up the photos of her and Connor.

“Please tell me this isn’t who you mean.” She said and held her phone up. In the picture, she and Connor were smiling, his head resting on hers. Around their necks was the scarf that she had made him. Trish had taken that picture on Christmas day, one of the rare times he was home.

“Yeah! What part of the game was that?!” Prompto asked. Trish felt her eyes pricking with tears. Prompto looked up at her and saw the heartbroken expression on her face.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked and Trish shook her head, taking the phone back. She had lost him. She had been right. Of course she had been right.

“I need a minute.” She whispered, her voice breaking. She stood and went to the edge of the stone circle, looking up at the night sky. Tears fell down her cheeks. None of it had been real. She knew that she would get torn away from Connor, but what she didn’t realize was that the universe would play so cruel a joke as to tell her it was all make believe. Was Juno even the one who called her there? Or had Juno sent her here as punishment for something?

A hand gently touched her shoulder making her jump and look. Ignis gave her a reassuring smile and quickly she wiped her tears away.

“Are you alright?” He asked gently.

“How would you feel if you found out the last three years of your life were make-believe?” She asked and looked at the sky again. The stars were faintly twinkling and she felt comforted by the fact that they were still in existence.

“You came from an alternate dimension where the video game was real?” He asked and Trish nodded.

“I guess so. Juno had told me I was there to give Connor some power. That power would help protect the world I knew. I had no magic there so I had no idea what power she meant for me to give him and now…now I’m here and I still have no idea what to do. All I can think of is that it’s some cosmic joke to mess with me. Throw me in a time period I have no idea about, my boyfriend from my world left me, then just when I open my heart again and fall in love again, I get sent here and torn away from him and I don’t know why.” She answered and closed her eyes, fighting back tears. Trish hated crying in front of people.

“Gentiana!” Noctis sounded from behind them. Trish turned and saw a woman with long black hair, a black lace choker, a black and gold dress with the front cut out, black open-toed boots that went up to her thighs, and a white scarf with golden embroidery wrapped around her arms. The woman smiled at Trish and Trish got the sense she wasn’t human.

“Hello, Trish, we finally meet.” The woman said and Trish became confused.

“Who are you?” Trish asked.

“This is Gentiana, messenger of the Gods.” Ignis said to Trish. Trish glanced at Ignis then back at the woman.

“The Gods were the ones who brought you here. A terrible error had been made.” Gentiana spoke gently. Trish felt hope fill her at Gentiana’s words. Had they brought her here by mistake? Her hopes were short lived however.

“Three years ago, the Gods tried to bring you to this world. You were to come and learn how to protect the Prince and the Oracle. Unfortunately, in the process, their power was intercepted by Juno and you were taken to the wrong dimension. The power that you wield now was taken just before you reached that world unbeknownst to Juno.” Gentiana explained. Trish felt her world crumbling away. So, it had all been one huge mistake?

“Why did the Gods or whoever wait so long to fix it?” Trish asked. Anger rose inside her, but she managed to keep it in check. If she did hold a power, she wasn’t sure what would set it off and the last thing she wanted was to kill the messenger of the Gods.

“Juno blocked their every attempt to retrieve you. Finally, they were able to retrieve you when Juno’s power weakened. She will not have the power to bring you back since all trace of you from that world has been erased.” Gentiana replied. Trish’s blood ran cold.

“What do you mean ‘erased’?” Trish asked.

“We could not have Connor going to Juno and giving her the power to bring you back to that world, so we erased his memory of you. All your belongings are removed from the world so they do not spark a memory.” Gentiana answered. Why had she asked? Trish looked down, trembling.

“What power could Connor have given her? The Pieces of Eden only control people they can’t give Juno power. Juno is only a spirit anyway.” Trish said finally, looking up at the messenger.

“The Pieces of Eden in control of one who came before are very powerful. They not only control humans, but they give the ones who came before more power. We believe Juno was in contact with a Piece of Eden when she took you, but is no longer in control of it. And now that you are here in Eos, even if she comes into contact with another Piece of Eden, you will not be taken back.” Gentiana explained. Trish nodded, her head down, eyes closed tightly. That was it then. There was no way she would ever see Connor again. All that time spent there had been a lie and now that she was torn from him, Connor would never know the difference.

“So, I’m here to help Prince Noctis?” She asked, looking up at Gentiana who nodded.

“You saw the power earlier. You are to learn how to control it and use it to aid the Prince.” Trish nodded, wondering how she was to control it.

“Do not worry any longer, Trish, you are in the company of those who will help you.” Gentiana said and vanished.

“Wow, that’s some heavy stuff.” Prompto said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah. You alright, Trish?” Gladiolus asked.

“Ask me again in a few days.” She said quietly, rubbing her face with her hands and sighing.

“Picking up the pieces again. They do this with no regard to the person they are doing this to. I’m not just a toy the Gods can fight over, I’m a human being who is trying to have a life.” Trish grumbled.

“We will help, just like she said. I don’t know why she wants you here or what the Gods have planned, but we will help in any way we can.” Noctis said and Trish looked at him. His face was expressionless still, but he was sincere and Trish nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Are you hungry at all? Or tired?” Ignis asked.

“If you’re hungry, Ignis is a great cook. You should really try one of his dishes, they are amazing.” Prompto said excitedly. Trish glanced at Ignis who adjusted his glasses.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I do enjoy cooking.” Ignis replied. Trish smiled, but shook her head.

“Thanks, I am mostly just overwhelmed right now. I just want to rest a bit.” She answered. Ignis saw her smile and hoped she would recover quickly and hoped they could help her recover.

“I have an extra sleeping bag in the car. I’ll go get it.” Gladiolus said and turned his mini flashlight on. He took off into the dark before Trish could thank him or even protest about him going out.

“Do not worry. Gladiolus is the bodyguard for the Prince, he will be fine.” Ignis said, seeing Trish’s concerned look. Trish nodded and jumped when her phone rang in her pocket.

“Stars in heaven.” She muttered as she dug it out and saw it was her friend, Hitoshi.

“Hello?” She answered, holding the phone to her ear.

“Trish? Why is your stuff in my living room?” Hitoshi asked. Trish sighed and rubbed her cheek. So that’s what the Gods had done with her stuff.

“Can you track my phone and bring it to me along with some of my normal clothes? I promise I will explain everything when you get here.” Trish asked.

“Why do I need to track your phone? Aren’t you in Davenport?” Hitoshi asked. She could hear him shuffling as he gathered some stuff for her. Gladiolus soon returned and set the extra bag down on a folding chair for her.

“No, I’m not. I…uh…switched worlds again.” Trish answered. There was silence on the other end of the line and Trish wondered if she had somehow been disconnected.

“Hitoshi?” She asked.

“How in the hell did that happen?” Hitoshi asked.

“The Gods deemed it so.” Trish answered with a hint of scorn. The shuffling on the other side resumed, but was moving faster.

“How many clothes do you need?” Hitoshi asked.

“Uh…I’m not quite sure. Just bring me four shirts, four jeans, a hoodie, and 4 pairs of everything else.” She replied.

“Gotcha. Okay. I will pack these up and track you down.” Hitoshi said.

“Thanks, Hitoshi.” Trish said gratefully. Hitoshi was silent a moment and Trish wondered if he had hung up.

“Are you alright? Is Connor with you?” Hitoshi asked. Trish felt her heart sink at the question.

“I’m not physically hurt. No, Connor isn’t with me.” Trish replied and she heard her friend curse under his breath.

“I will be there soon. Hang in there, okay?” Hitoshi encouraged. Trish felt a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

“Thanks, Hitoshi.” She said again. When they hung up, she looked up at Ignis.

“Uh…we are going to have company in just a bit.” Ignis tilted his head curiously.

“What do you mean?” He asked, but soon had his answer as suddenly Hitoshi appeared before them. He was about 5 feet 5 inches tall with shoulder-length blue and black hair, green eyes, dark blue shirt, black pants, and black and white canvas shoes. Trish smiled at her friend.

“Hey, Hitoshi.” Trish greeted and Ignis turned to face the newcomer. Hitoshi set down the bags and hugged Trish tightly.

“Hey, you alright?” He asked and Trish nodded. They parted and Trish introduced Hitoshi to everyone before sitting down with him and explaining everything that happened. Hitoshi listened and shook his head, sadly, when she finished.

“Jeez. You can’t catch a break, can you?” He asked. Trish gave a dry laugh and shook her head.

“No, I don’t think I can.” She replied. Hitoshi knew his friend was hurting and didn’t know how he could help.

“Do you want me to go and see if I can get him?” Hitoshi asked, but Trish shook her head, the small smile she had fading.

“No. The Gods have made him forget all about me. No one from there remembers me and any trace of myself was sent to your place. The only things I have to remember him by are the pictures on my phone, the weapons he gave me, and the necklace he made for me. Plus, I’m sure that if he touched your device it would send him flying.” Trish replied.

“Send him flying?” Ignis asked and Trish glanced from him to Hitoshi.

“Hitoshi’s device doesn’t seem to like it when someone else touches it. Mostly if that someone is me.” Trish answered.

“What if that isn’t the case anymore? What if that was just Juno doing something?” Hitoshi asked and Trish looked from him to the device. The device Hitoshi had created looked almost like an old cellphone with a long antenna. It had red numbers and letters, the top being the dimension she was familiar with, where Hitoshi was from, and the bottom the dimension she was in.

“I’m a little nervous to find out.” She answered truthfully.

“Can’t hurt to try.” Hitoshi egged.

“Yeah it can, you’re not the one who gets sent ten feet away.” Trish replied. Hitoshi couldn’t help but laugh and he nodded.

“Fair point.” He replied and sighed.

“I should head back. If you need anything you call me, okay?” Hitoshi said standing up. Trish nodded and hugged him again.

“Thanks again, Hitoshi, for everything.” She said and let him go. Hitoshi smiled and nodded.

“Anytime, Tishie, take care of yourself.” He said. He touched some numbers on the device and was gone.

“Incredible. Who knew that inter-dimensional travel was possible?” Ignis mused and Trish nodded.

“He figured it out when I initially fell into Connor’s world. He brought me stuff I needed and in turn I gave him a bunch of revolutionary war stuff to sell.” Trish replied.

“Amazing.” He replied sincerely and Trish smiled. Her heart was still heavy at the loss of Connor. At the loss of everything once again. But she knew with time she would recover.

“I’m going to change and go to sleep. I’m still overwhelmed with everything and just need a chance to recover.” Trish said and the others nodded.

“Of course.” Ignis said.

“Go ahead and use the tent, there is plenty of room in there and we aren’t going to sleep just yet.” Prompto said with a smile. Trish echoed the smile and nodded. She grabbed the bag with her clothes and went into the tent.

Later that night, Trish was sleeping, but not dreaming good dreams. In her dreams she was with Connor, but he was torn from her side by a Sabertusk. When she reached for him, it was too late and he was already gone. Trish called his name, but then the world went black. She saw visions of what looked like an older Noctis and a voice could be heard from far away, but she couldn’t make out what it was saying. When the dream ended, there was a flash of light and she heard a scream.

Trish jerked awake, sitting up and panting. The sight of the dark tent filled her vision and she slowly calmed. The soft snores of her new companions hit her ears and she was glad she hadn’t woken them up. Quietly and carefully she got out of the sleeping bag and left the tent. The fire was died down to a small blue flame. It gave off heat, but she sensed it wouldn’t set anything on fire. The low light gave her the perfect view of the stars. She sat down in one of the folding chairs, gazing up at them.

Sleeping had helped everything become less raw, but she still missed Connor. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to him. All because of Juno. Because Juno had wanted to be set free. Trish sighed, feeling anger bubble up inside her at the thought of being used by Juno. There was a rustling behind her, making her jump and look to see Ignis emerging from the tent.

“Oh, hi.” She said, relaxing. Ignis smiled and sat down beside her.

“Good morning.” He greeted.

“Good morning. I didn’t wake you up did I?” She asked concerned. Ignis shook his head.

“No, I always wake early to start breakfast. What woke you? Hopefully not Gladio’s snoring.” Ignis said and Trish couldn’t help but laugh. Ignis smiled, glad to see her laugh.

“No, not his snoring.” She answered. She looked up at the sky that was beginning to brighten, wondering if she should tell him about her nightmare. She was sure she saw an older Noctis, but she wasn’t sure what it meant.

“I won’t pry. Just know I’m willing to listen if you need it. I cannot begin to understand what you are going through, but I can try.” Ignis said kindly. Trish smiled at him and looked at the blue flame.

“I just feel bad for burdening you all more.” Trish said and Ignis shook his head.

“You are not a burden. You are a young woman in need of assistance and we shall assist you in whatever way you need it.” Ignis replied and Trish smiled.

“I do appreciate it. I just had bad dreams is all.” She answered and Ignis nodded.

“Understandable if you are not familiar with the creatures here and given what you’ve gone through. Why don’t you help me make breakfast and we can talk about them if you wish?” He asked and she nodded. They both stood and Ignis gave her some vegetables to begin cutting. As Trish was cutting, Ignis was getting the meat ready.

“So, these nightmares, what were they about?” He asked. Trish thought back to them as she was cutting the vegetables.

“Connor and I were walking through the homestead when we were attacked by the things that attacked me. Connor vanished as did the creatures and there wasn’t anything I could do to help him.” Trish answered. Ignis nodded, stirring the pot.

“I believe it is pretty obvious where the dream came from. As soon as everything settles down, I’m sure they will cease.” Ignis stated and Trish nodded. She finished the celery and reached for the mushrooms.

“Ah! Don’t do the mushrooms or carrots. Noct hates mushrooms and carrots.” Ignis asked and Trish nodded.

“I take it, he’s a picky eater?” She asked and Ignis sighed, nodding.

“A very picky eater. I try very hard to get him to eat vegetables, but he refuses. It’s made many of my dishes fall short of their potential. I’ve come up with some recipe’s though that don’t include them and still give him the proper nutrition he needs.” Ignis replied. Trish nodded, understanding.

“Some of the children on the homestead were picky eaters as well. Although my tactics for getting them over that may not work on Noctis.” She answered and Ignis chuckled.

“How so?” He asked.

“I don’t think Noctis will believe that if he eats his vegetables he will grow up big and strong like Connor.” Trish answered. Just the mention of his name was enough to make her chest ache. She concentrated on cutting up more vegetables and Ignis saw her smile fade.

“You and he were quite close, weren’t you?” Ignis asked gently. Trish nodded.

“He saved my life countless times. And when I left…when I left we were in love. We had just admitted our feelings for one another and we were taking it very slow. We really connected and he was always very kind to me. When he would leave on missions, the homestead seemed quieter.” Trish answered and sighed, finishing cutting the vegetable.

“I guess I should stop dwelling on it. It’s only making me sadder.” She said softly. Ignis looked at her, seeing the dispirited expression on her face.

“You dwell on it for as long as you need to. You cannot force those feelings away. It won’t do you good to bottle them up either. Feel your pain and let yourself heal. I know you don’t want to be a burden, but for now, let us bear your weight until you find your footing. I can see how strong you can be just from what you’ve told me and I cannot wait to truly meet the woman you truly are when grief isn’t weighing you down.” Ignis said to her, adding the vegetables to the stew.

“You cut those perfectly. Now, we just let that simmer then we can continue onto part two of the recipe.” He said with a smile. Trish found herself echoing the smile. She felt as though through his words, she found footing. She found the strength she needed to pick up the pieces again. Ignis turned to gather the other recipes and Trish turned with him.

“Ignis?” She called, causing him to stop and look over at her.

“I promise, you won’t have to wait long.” Ignis smiled at her words.

“I look forward to it.”

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toffeetaffy · 5 years

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Beast at My Side [7]

The Foolhardy Girl

Drive. Drive to the stump knotted and gnarled, blistered with evergreen moss. Turn. Turn at the fork sandy and grey, barely damp from ocean mist. Stop. Stop at the shore pebbled and light, worn by the caress of the waves.

Guided by a shadow with venom-soaked teeth. I should have questioned her motives, her sincerity, her sanity. But I had simply nodded at her direction, trembled like a child until she took her leave of me. I am weak. I am frail. I am only human, after all. The place she has led me to is beautiful beyond words. Stones, wood, ocean, and sky. Every part of it is silver and slate. If indeed this is a trap it is a most desirous one. Even with my weight on the hood the tyres barely dip into the stony sand. I lie there and let the cold wind wash over me, I lick the salt from my lips. My fear ebbs with the tide.

"You lost, Lena?" Jacob is just as I remember him: a towering wall of muscle with too-white teeth. Now flanked by a pair of wiry boys, not a shirt or shoe between them.

"It's funny you should ask," I say, "I thought I was for a while. But I followed her directions so carefully..."

He asks who sent me, why I came, implies my presence is a mystery unto itself. So I tell him. His face gives a single violent twitch. He is not as well-versed in composure as the Cullen family, or perhaps he does not care to be. Every emotion my tale elicits flickers plainly across his eyes, his lips, until I have spoken my very last word. He grips my shoulder tightly, his fingers squeezing with a strength I am not sure he knows he possesses.

"And you just did what she told you? Even knowing what she is?"

"At least I know what she is."

Guilt is the next thing to contort his expressive features. His hand falls away. His lackeys wander off. We sit in silence. Eventually the sun dips low, pink and orange smear across the sky, traces of it diluted in the water - still and dark. When I start to shiver he inches closer, pressing against me until he fits. He is warm. So warm. Too warm. The heat of his body is an invasion—my bones were born for the cold—but he has kind eyes and a pretty smile, and the only people close to me now are corpses. Bella's arms around my shoulders. Jasper's lips against my wrist. Luc's hand knotted in my own.

"Tell me something, Jacob." The words put distance between us, distance I need to clear my muddled heart.

"What should I tell you?"

"Tell me something that will save me."

I expect him to laugh, to shrug off my raw, earnest appeal. But he does not. Instead, he tells me the story of a boy desperately in love with a girl who is sworn to another, a girl who dies because she loved the wrong man. The cast are easy enough to discern: Jacob as the lovesick boy, Bella as the foolhardy girl, and Edward as the very definition of the wrong man. He seems oddly unembittered.

When I lay back he lays back with me, and I stretch my fingers out towards the fire-coloured sky. I probe and pull at the invisible force tethering me to the world, my hands aching to grasp gravity, to cast off its shackles and see once and for all if the weight of my heart is all that keeps me here. But I cannot. So I lie still. Still beside the boy whose warmth is as constant as the waves. Right now we are the only two people in the world, so he tells me another story. But this time it's cruel and dark. It kicks me, and keeps on kicking. This story is about a boy who is a wolf, who is a warrior. This story is about a creature who stalks the forest, tearing monsters limb from limb, his fangs and his fur bloodied and black. I want to ask if he is the boy, the wolf, the warrior. But this truth is a dangerous thing. These beasts all violently romantic are not poetry and song; they are darkness and wrath.

As I make to leave his hand grips me again—forceful and firm—and my skin starts to itch like prey at the hunt. "You can't trust them," he says.

"But I can trust you?"

He says that I can, and his smile is as bright as stolen silver. I know what he's trying to tell me: he is the lesser of two evils. But Bella is strong and her heart is true. If I cannot put my faith in her then coming here was for naught.

"Thanks for the concern, Jacob, but I'll be okay." I place my hand on his, pry his fingers from my arm. "Better the devil you know."

His laugh is barely loud enough to pierce the encroaching twilight. For the first time I see him as Bella had described: younger, softer, blushing and beautiful. I wonder just who took that innocence away from him: the wolf or the warrior. He asks if he can tell me one more thing. Not a story, he says, but a truth he has learnt from a hard life lived.

"My mom died when I was young," he says, "and it left a kind of... hole inside me. I spent years trying to fill it up. I was so damn busy trying to make myself whole, make myself normal again, that I didn't even notice it had stopped hurting. It just... didn't ache anymore. You might think being with Bella is the best way to stop feeling so... hollow but it's not. They can't fix you. They wouldn't know how. The best a human can hope for in that house is a quick death." He walks away taking the last of the heat, the sun, and the colour in the sky with him.

Inside the car I turn the heat on low. Navigating the streets of La Push is a simple affair, away from the beach there is a single road to follow. It slopes gently between the trees and soon the smell of salty air gives way to the gentle scent of pine. Ghastly shadows dance about the underbrush, flickering in the corner of my eyes, silently stalking alongside me. I hear something strange—like a hum—and then a piercing trill. My phone. I pull off the road, the car dipping dangerously into the menacing gloom.

Another flash. Another shake. A familiar name lights up the amber display.

"Don't be scared," the caller says, and a slender shadow weaves its way out of the trees and into the harsh glow of the headlights, before slipping silently into the passenger seat. Though her warning did little to ease my thundering heart, Bella's appearance is a welcome one. "Thought you'd appreciate the warning; heard you had a run-in with Volturi road-side assistance earlier."

I spare little time being astonished by her apparent clairvoyance before I launch in to my retelling. I've barely begun when she stops me with a gentle shush. My encounter with the cloaked stranger, she tells me, isn't a surprise at all.

"You were never in any danger. I promise."

She reaches across and takes my hand. I believe her every word.

___

When I wake the house is dim and grey, silent but for the birds. I lie in bed, slipping through the minutes, drinking in the air until the tips of my fingers grow cold. Eventually, I muster something that can pass for courage and make my way downstairs. There's a pleasant smell in the kitchen. Today there is no attempt to play at perfect families, to pose themselves like models in a catalogue; there is only Bella and the matriarch chatting quietly over the stove top. Perched at the counter with my messy hair, my bleary eyes, my dead brother's sweatshirt, I feel a flop in my stomach. Such a simple thing. So familiar. It's nervous and warm and makes my heart flutter. I assume she's heard the sound of it when Bella turns to me, a strange grin in place, and asks if I'm feeling well. I am. That's what the flop is. Contentment.

Esme pours tea from a dainty white pot. Bella serves me French toast with brown sugar. We wash dishes as the sunlight grows golden.

I dress in boots and a coat with a mind for adventure. My own thoughts distract me from the sound: ever decreasing until there's nothing more than a whisper of wind, a rattle of rain. I call for Bella, once. Once more. One final time. The first sign of life comes when I fling open the front door. Jasper sits on the steps—shoulders hunched, fingers locked together—a look so carefully composed I almost mistake it for nonchalance. But it is theatre. It always is. No matter how tempting it can be to imagine otherwise. I ask him if he's seen her, my Bella, faded into morning fog.

"Actually, I'd hoped you might spend the day with me."

Seated beside him I can plainly see all the reasons I should not: his eyes, his hands, his teeth all conspire to undo me. It takes every ounce of self control to wrench my gaze from his. Try as I might to remain aloof, the truth comes spilling out. "I'm not so sure I should."

"I'm not so sure myself."

We agree he's a danger I cannot afford. All I need to do is walk away but I find my body unwilling, my traitorous legs fixed firmly beside his.

"Thing is," he continues, "this is my last chance. I tell you any later and it all goes to shit."

There's something fizzing through my veins, a morbid curiosity that makes my skin itch. But not a single question has time to fully form, to reach my lips before he drops the bomb. Alice. He tells me she has seen my futures, that of every possible outcome this one, on this day is the most favourable. To whom, I ask. To him, he replies. Something gnaws at me, a tiny suspicion that gives itself voice.

"When did you last speak with Alice?"

"Two minutes after you did."

The girl. The shadow. The eyes like mulled wine. You were never in any danger. It answers one question and raises ten more. And though I ache to know why she seeks out my future, I am determined to be more than my desperation. Standing in the pinch of a hairpin curve, two clear roads to choose from. "So what is it you have to tell me," I ask, "before 'it all goes to shit'?"

"Who I am, what I did, and why you'll leave here hating me."

He holds his palm up in a gesture that could be either invitation or placation, and begins his story. It's all noise and silence in gentle waves. A perfect ebb and flow. He tells me he wanted a battlefield, to march off to war, to fight and to die. Youngest major in the Texas Cavalry. A flicker of a smile. Pride. Next was Maria: he loved her, he hated her, he smeared the night with blood for her. Each man he destroyed, each woman and child, destroyed a piece of himself. His gift is his curse. Their pain is his pain. He watched armies fall, sent streams of soldiers from this world to the next, painted the ground red. Red, red, and a little more red. When he was done carving he was scored and scarred, crowned with ruinous sin. Without him, Maria's empire fell to dust and ash.

Then came Peter and Charlotte. The pair preached coexistence. Coexistence, he says, is a constant battle. Restraint is key. In their company he slew fewer people but there was still no reprieve from his gift. Each death was weighed fairly, his pain was deserved. Before long he shed his infatuation with destruction and embraced salvation. Alice—his perennial protector—gave him a new family, a new life. Alice gave him peace. He speaks of the following years fondly but with little detail until finally there are no words left to speak. His story is exactly what I expect. It is cruel, and bloody, and flooded with rage.

Beside me, his profile sparkles dully in the sun like unpolished quartz. How long we have sat I do not know, but the rain has long since passed. My knee aches. My back aches. My chest aches. Standing and stretching does little to clean the cold from my bones but I'm overcome with the need to do something. He stares, unblinking, all painted in gold as he rises beside me. Too tall. Too close. This must be the part where I ask my questions, or voice my displeasure. Perhaps this is where I comfort him.

"I kissed you." Disappointment taints each word.

"You did. But you knew what I was."

He sounds angry and sharp but whether the rage is his or mine, I cannot yet tell. It keeps growing - redder and hotter until I ball my fists in his shirt, until I shake at his chest. I wish he would bruise. I wish he would break.

"Why would you tell me this? What do you expect me to say?"

"Tell me," he says, "how much of that story can you forgive?"

There's gravel in my mouth, lead in my lips. "I won't be your absolution."

He's dark, and ruined, and crumbling beneath my fingers. It isn't fair. But nothing is. I cannot carry the weight of this while my brother still rests upon my shoulders. So I give him the truth, dig to the root, cut myself open, and lay it all bare. I tell him there is strength in what he did, what he became. Man kills for survival and for sport; his kind does the same. They are the pinnacle of the food-chain but still struggle to do better, to be better. In that, there is no shame.

"It's what you were before. What you were when you had a choice. You looked so... proud."

"Because I fought for the South?" Pity doesn't suit him. He has the gall to wear it anyway. "I remember little of my life before the change. I've no real memory of my family, my friends, or even of the man I was." The change does that to them eventually, he tells me, takes any memory they don't hold tight. "But I remember signing on. Too young, too dumb to see the bigger picture. I fought to defend my home, not to to keep men in chains."

He reaches out with tendrils of calm: slick and smooth, seeking to quell my fury. I bury it deeper. I cage it in my ribs and let it burn out of control. This knowledge should hurt, he has no right to take it from me. My eyes sting, my face blushes and throbs. Perhaps I am angry at myself. Perhaps I built a bridge between us with my lips and hands, conjured reciprocation from fabrication. Perhaps I imagined it all.

The space between us closes. His fingers are in my hair, on my neck, holding me still while the heat escapes my chest. He digs my hatred out, leaves me drowning in gravity. Then I am numb. By the time his body retreats from mine all I have left is a ghost of my anger. It costs him something to steal this from me, leaves him painted in sadness. Now I am no more than stone—heavy and unfeeling—left to shoulder the burden of his corpses, his history, his absent pulse without so much as an emotion of my own. I am tired. I am broken. I am ripe for ruin.

"You said I'd leave here hating you."

"And don't you?"

"I can't if you won't let me." I won't if you don't make me.

I feel the weight of his stare on my retreat.

I'm in my van, turning onto the main road when I feel it: the elastic snap of his gifts expiration. It floods my lungs, crushes my heart, stings my eyes. Each dry sob leaves me shaky and breathless, wondering if I should have just stayed with him, just stayed numb. But this fury is like any other. Soon enough it will seep in to my skin and rest inside my bones.

The road I follow slopes and sways, bending gently toward a destination I have yet to choose. I'll know it when I get there. I always do.

A muddy blue river snakes beneath a bridge, rushing away as I look on enraptured. Either side is covered in trees: all thin and white, adorned with yellow leaves. I park on the shoulder and walk to its bank; its stones are shiny, slippery, and glisten in the sun. Here, I could lose time. I could stay and stare until the river rises, until the whole world washed away. One minute becomes two. Then five or ten. Before long, an odd sense of dread washes over me, prickles at my scalp. There's a whisper in my ears, static creeping through my skull. My vision darkens, narrows, and then just fades away. I wipe at my face, stumble and sway. When I crash into the water I feel wet and cold. Then, I feel nothing at all.

___

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#twilight fanfiction #twilight #fanfiction #jacob black #jasper hale #alice cullen #title:beast at my side

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crimsonrevolt · 7 years

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Congratulations Fallon you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Thorfinn Rowle!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Death Eaters are always chilling to me, especially when written well, and Thorfinn was no exception. I loved how you balanced the subtle edge between charming and vengeful and constructed a character who uses everything he can to his advantage and spares no mercy. Your interpretation for him was everything that I didn’t realize he was lacking in skeleton form alone, and it was beautiful (and terrifying) seeing him come to life in your writing! We’re so excited to see what you do to build him further and what kind of impact he’ll have in the rp! *your request to age Thorfinn up has been accepted

application beneath the cut; tw: death, violence, murder, torture, abuse

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Hello! I’m Fallon, twenty-one, reside in the CST, and go by She/Her pronouns. And for that optional fact: I am originally from Germany.

ACTIVITY

Between a 1-10 I would currently set myself at a 6 or 7. I do run two roleplays of my own, and university is back in session as well as me having work.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Your confessions blog showed up on my recommended blogs, and clicking it out of curiosity, I found myself very much appreciative of all the kind words your members left there. Hoping the roleplay was still active I clicked onward to the main, thus discovering your exquisite roleplay! Also sidenote hi Jen Boo Bear.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Hang on to your wands, kids, because this is about to get deep (sorta). I identify most with Sirius Black (alright, so maybe I haven’t been to Azkaban, but we’re disregarding that bit). Being considered as an initial outcast, especially amongst his family, is something I can greatly relate to. With a family that has always ventured on a certain path, holds strict values, and expects their descendants not to differ, both my brother and I haven’t always been received in the best of light. But in the end this unfortunate upbringing didn’t discourage him, but shaped him, and I like to believe that like Sirius, in the end, will be sure of my chosen path.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Just to age up Thorfinn to twenty as earlier discussed, and thank you for considering my application!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Thorfinn Aesir Rowle

Thorfinn: ‘thunder’

Aesir: ‘of the gods’

Rowle: ‘renown, wulf, wolf’

FACE CLAIM

Dominic Sherwood

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I’m a sucker for the dark, battle-worn antagonist, and most likely lack the ability to play anything but. I often play Antonin Dolohov or Amycus Carrow, but one of the things that drew me to Thorfinn Rowle was the simple fact that I’ve never seen him as a character in an HP roleplay before, and that I was instantly drawn to give his character a voice that I have yet to see. I immensely enjoyed all the carefully chosen aesthetics for your characters, but the dark princeling aura I was struck with by Thorfinn’s stuck with me.

I see him with wicked grins and darkly promising smirks; donning a crimson, cracked crown. He is not the calm before the storm, or the storm itself. He is the devastating aftermath; what the world left for others to see. A loose cannon, an army’s artillery, the Coliseum walls, and possibly the tragedy of Pompeii. Rage is his conquerer. I see him a strong-willed and brutally honest; with a sharp dose of unforgiving. He is prepared to move hell and earth to obtain what he wants, obliterate anything in his path no matter the consequence. Socially, he prefers isolation; volatile actions being the loudest thing about him. He’s apathetic, and considers emotions a distraction, a waste of ability. People tend to avoid him due to his cynic and unpredictable nature. However, if he likes you— though you would never find him admitting it— then he’s more inclined to make an effort not to piss you off. He wears vengeance without a cloak, and has swept over lives with its very existence. His charming persona is often a ruse, a swift way to invite you in before the killing blow.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Thorfinn identifies as a male with the use of He/Him pronouns. Though he is demisexual, he has found that he holds a preference for men. Romance is a falsity, and sex is as simple as intoxicated convenience. With parents that married due to bloodline, had a child for the sole purpose of an heir and lineage, he does not hold the best views on relationships. He considers them a ruse, and strongly believes he lacks the emotions to pursue them (or hold the patience to achieve them).

As for ships, Thorfinn, I believe, would do well with someone of similar mind and position. A death eater, as merciless as himself, would cause an initial, gravitational pull. Someone that has known their share of tragedy, and that holds a pension for volatile behavior. Someone he can kill with, but also, in the end, perhaps trust and self-teach a fondness for.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

You can find headcanons, aesthetics, a playlist, and more on a mock blog right HERE!

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

His mouth twisted with vile intent. There were plenty of spells for inducing silence; to singe the worthless tongues emitting mindless, dimwitted banter. “Perhaps a spell that removes your tongue,” he proposed, mismatched eyes flickering toward his inquirer, “so that when the silence is lifted, you will be forced to remain mute.” He sunk into the leather sofa — his seat a throne wherever he sat— and hoisted legs crossed at the ankle atop a crystalline table. Someone’s priceless heirloom, no doubt. Thorfinn pictured his knuckles testing the strength of the glass, and the force needed to fracture its history. How little he cared, and how much he urged to set ablaze someone’s foundation of precious memory. “Or,” he continued, a dark chuckle bubbling within the cauldron of his hollow throat, “I could simply cut out your tongue.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

His grin was a trap; a feigned charming persona a fallacy. It was an invitation to lean toward the wolf’s bloodied maw and bare their jugular to ivory fangs; their life forfeit to his usurping snarl. Camaraderie was a long lost, archaic concept to the bloodied prince. Who would he have beside him in war, if not but himself, the only being he knew to depend on upon a genocidal battleground? “Freyja.” At least she was loyal. “Scarier than any bloody werewolf, and knives have never done me wrong.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

His brows furrowed, and a dramatic, over-exasperated sigh was its accompaniment. “The decision to answer this question.” He could feel his hands become coated in oil-slick scarlet, sticking his palms together with familial blood. Then his fingers, curling around the dagger’s hilt, and its silvery blade embedding its sharp structure into an unmarred canvas. Again. And again. And again. The parental slaughter had been the most effortless decision of his life. What could be difficult, when your actions were comprised of reactive ideas? Decisions for my wellbeing, he thought, the realization tasting acidic.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

Flames licked behind mismatched irises. That was rather personal. Through his stoic demeanor came a feign of allowance where discord stood vigil. The query posed could never truly hold a valid response. To allow a crack disrupt his fortress? The idea was built on an inferior man’s principles. His voice captured a death eater’s generic principle: “That I was merciful.” What priest in their dutiful confessional could possess his true answer? Oh, how Thorfinn’s words could set its frame ablaze. The presence of his sins could ignite it, perishing the priest to embers, leaving the scene to ash.

WRITING SAMPLE

(Flashback, Age seventeen, Christmas Eve)

Outside, the Rowle mansion was an exquisite portrait; its estate’s entirety blanketed by a delicate layer of frigid snow. Dusk had sunk the brightest globe, and engulfed the elegant architecture in a fine veil of twilight. Inside, the shadowed hallways were ablaze with screeching, humanoid howls. Inside, a chamber’s immoral walls were drenched by a garnet-tinted paint.

It had begun with his vision of a mother— an empress in her evening silk. A son had ascended stairs which rose toward heaven, yet truly descended into hell. She was seated upon her deep-violet, ornately carved throne, the tip of a feathered quill peeking through a curtain of ashen hair as her cranium dipped to write upon parchment. “I am busy, Asger.” The son had taken another, sinisterly determined step. His mother’s head lifted, and he was met with her porcelain features through a mirror’s reflection. She swiveled around to face him. “Thorfinn.” Her tone was riddled with surprise; had he ever intruded her chambers before? Or, perhaps, the shock withdrawn from her siren-song voice was the result of his wand, steadily directed toward her. She rose with years of practiced grace, and he, the birthed puppeteer whom cut her fraying chords by a whispered, fatal curse. And then, she cascaded, her elegance smite. She looked like the angel she never was. And him? Only demons soaked themselves in blood.

The man convulsed beneath the wand’s volatile scrutiny. Its possessor stalked felled prey, predatory gate circling the pursuit of an oncoming kill. The last of his lineage, brought low. “How does it feel?” he queried, tone level, voice failing to rise above his father’s ceaseless war-cries. “Does your blood feel frozen? Do your bones feel shattered? Does your body feel ripped apart?” He wished to pluck his tendons, incinerate his veins. How does it feel? he thought, to be the receiver of such senseless, merciless brutality. He’d known its pained definition for seventeen years— a length that which confessed itself a millennia of accursed onslaught. His father had swallowed lucifer’s luck; he’d only tasted its iron for mere hours.

And then he unsheathed a bladed heirloom; meant for crystalline encasement, yet selected for insidious motive. Thorfinn knelt beside his father’s mangled figure, the torturous curse subsiding, paying tribute to its subterfuge. “How does it feel?” he repeated, the inquiry infested with sadistic promise. “I’ll teach you.” Like you taught me. There was a spray of pink mist as he drove the dagger home, discoloring his ivory flesh. Turbulent wrath. Barbaric savagery. Ferocious fury. Colossal sin. The blade rescinded to his potent rage with a sickening shing and squelch. The knife committed its massacre; a rerun of sharp steel embedding itself into a shallow-breathing frame.

The host’s mouth parted to expel a current of blood; staining loathing lips with death’s lipstick. Again, a caged voice whispered, rattling his vandalized skull. Again. Again. Again. The battlecries no longer echoed from his father’s frozen throat. They were his elicitations, tearing through his system with each thrust of the weapon.

Exhaustion finalized the deed. At its release, the knife struck the earth with clattering force. The victor rose, armored in liquified rubies. His victim lay in grotesque mutilation, a corpse devoid of its proper casket. The wraith vanished from its demolishing destination, and sought an eloquent alternative.

Deft digits slipped upon the keys, revealing red smears upon their stark notes. The kneazle’s lioness paws left perfect, scarlet-printed shapes atop the piano’s glossy roof. She sat poised on charcoal-colored haunches, sharing a piercing gaze with her murderous owner. “Happy Christmas, Freyja.”

#accepted app

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