#the nature of the ring kept affects the nature of its possession no? those rings were made FOR thralldom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

g0tmilkx3 · 1 month

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Gal Pals

Welcome and thank you for reading in advance. This is a story about two besties!

Authors Note: This story is written in third person with an original female character. No use of Y/N.

WARNINGS: 18+, drinking, gun violence, jealousy, possessiveness, pining, sorta friends to enemies to lovers, lesbians fucking, orgasm denial, toxic relationship, mentions of murder, codependency, lesbians acting like lesbians

Her touch was warm. Brazen in its candor, righteous in its nature. She left a fiery trail to sizzle behind her fingers as she mapped out all of the places she wanted to kiss, to lick, to suck. How she loved to bruise her lover. To leave behind a mark of trust that was begged to be placed there. Her eyes were always bright and present. Beautiful like the light that filtered through the trees and gazed upon the lilies in springtime. She whispered to her lover even when it was just the two. Afraid to lose the gentleness of their union, she didn’t want the divinity to crack. All of the pieces to tumble away, the art to be ruined forever. She'd often sit and let her mind wander. Sometimes she'd reach the darkest depths of her soul. What would happen if they took her lover away? She’d go mad. The thread that kept her together would snap. She didn’t like thinking about that. But, it was hard not to. And her sweet Honey, her sweet, sweet dollop of heaven had no idea of these affections. She never will. All of these carnal fantasies were all thought up in her dreams. Though, one day she wished they would become reality.

Lou rubbed her eyes as she roused from an unplanned nap. She laid back on the couch cushion, feet kicked up, television on, remote still in hand. On the rare days she had off she spent her time wasting away on her beat up couch. The once vibrant colored fabric was now sun bleached and covered in lint. There was a beer stain that never quite came out and a tear on one of the cushions that revealed the foam hiding inside. She drifted in and out of sleep as reruns of a 70s sitcom droned on in the background. Most people wouldn't consider this entertaining but Lou revered this time of relaxation. Once upon a time her idea of relaxation was firing off a .22.

The doorbell chimed bringing her out of her moment of bliss.

“Honey?” She was shocked to find her coworker and close friend standing outside of her door. Although they'd been friends for a little over a year now she never invited Honey to her place. They opted to spend time at a bar or at Honey's place. She never trusted herself to have her so close to her home let alone inside. Lou knew how obsessive she could become and she didn’t want to subject someone so sweet to her latent wrath. Then she heard her sniffle. At the sound Lou threw all caution to the wind and invited the shivering woman in. “Here sit down I’ll grab some water.”

“Grab wine!” Honey called after her as she walked away. Lou lifted her head and glanced behind her, nervous yet eager to hear just what happened to her friend. Lou wasn't much of a fighter, but she'd fight for the right person.

Once inside the kitchen she searched her fridge for wine but only found brown liquor that she'd sip on those lonely nights. She winced grabbing the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. The thick glass clinked against the rings she never took off.

“All I have is whiskey.” She held the bottle up with a grimace. “I can go out and grab some wine-“

“No,” Honey finally looked at Lou fully, letting the soft light of the lamp illuminate her entire face. “That’s perfect.”

Lou gasped before she could stop herself, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. An ugly deep purple bruise had blossomed over her friends cheek. Even with a bruise on her face she still stole her breath away. But, those feelings of affection had transformed into something, something that made her burn hot. She rushed over, slamming the whiskey on her coffee table as she passed it.

“What happened?” She gently lifted her hand to examine the wound a little closer. Honey flinched as Lou moved her hair out of the way. Lou tsked with the shake of her head, careful not to brush her wound again. “Who did this to you?”

She felt her heart shatter as a hot tear streamed down her lovers face. Her finger twitched. He thought about the gun she had strapped under the coffee table for emergencies. This felt like an emergency. Much to her dismay, Honey shook her head, pulling back out of her grasp.

“He apologized for it,” she wiped her tear away “it was just some guy at the gym…" she wiped another tear that threatened to fall. "I'm more shaken up than anything. Nobody has ever hit me before."

Lucky her.

“At the gym?” Lou questioned. “Some rando fuckwad at the gym laid his hands on you?”

“He was on some stimulant and lifting.” She hesitated but decided to continue once she saw Lou’s expression. “I told him we were closed and tapped his shoulder, he swung around thinking I was some man.”

“So the douchebag hit you because you tapped him?” It was decided. She crouched down searching for the hidden weapon.

“He apologized a lot.” She reassured, curiously watching as Lou searched under the coffee table. “What are you doing?”

Lou didn’t answer, continuing her actions.

“Lou please it’s okay.” She grasped her arm gently pulling, but she didn’t budge. “He offered to pay for my medical bills, he honestly didn’t mean it.”

She finally stopped moving. Honey’s eyes widened as she saw her sit back up on the couch, a pistol in hand.

“Woah, Lou what the hell?” She watched the gun, apprehension in her eyes. Lou glanced at her with a chuckle before looking back down at the gun. She loaded it with bullet after bullet.

“Relax doll I’m not gonna hurt you.” She closed it with a finite CLICK. “I’m gonna hurt that douche.”

“Lou please.” She rested her hand on her knee. This caught Lou’s attention. She looked down at the manicured hand of her friend then back up at her bruised face. She deflated after a few seconds of heavy eye contact.

“You know those eyes are dangerous.” She placed her gun on the coffee table before clasping her hands together, letting them dangle between her widespread legs. “They can get me to do just about anything.” The sincerity in her voice made Honey's body heat up. She couldn’t take another second of the swollen silence.

“I um I…” she broke eye contact and chuckled, she felt her face melting off from the intensity of Lou’s stare. She didn’t falter, not once. She never did. Honey silently wondered if she ever second guessed herself or her actions.

“Here.” Lou used her finger to lift Honey's chin. “Let’s get you a drink then we can see about treating that.”

By the end of the night Honey was tipsy and smiling despite the pain it caused. Lou was happy to be of service. Whenever Honey would get tipsy she’d hang off of Lou, draping her body across her lap like she were a chair. Lou didn’t mind though. Always respectful, she only touched her where she had permission. But whenever she’d lose her place or slip Lou was sure to catch her. Tonight, Lou didn’t know if it was the whiskey or that bruise but she was feeling like a big softie. She couldn’t help but kiss Honey’s forehead. Honey was too drunk to care and Lou was just drunk enough to not feel shame or embarrassment.

“Why did you do that?” The slur of her words only made Lou grin. She kissed the spot again.

“Because you’re so sweet.” She muttered, lips still pressed against Honey’s warmth. “I can’t help myself.”

Honey sat up, Lou missed the weight of her body almost instantly. She fully faced Lou, leaning forward just enough to search her eyes.

“Why do you say things like that to me?” She hiccuped. "When we’re just friends. What about Daisy?”

The question hit her across the face, sending her mind into a spiral of excuses and explanations. Usually, she’d tell anybody who threatened to invade her private life to fuck off, but instantaneously she wanted to soothe the wound. Get them back to where they were. Not a secret between them, open and honest.

“Daisy and I, we…” she took a deep swig of her whiskey. “It’s easy with Dais.” She decided to leave it at that. Honey settled down on her lap, her head against Lou’s thighs gazing up at her confidant. Lou brushed the hair on Honey’s forehead back. “Maybe, I’m afraid to be with anybody else. To make a connection.”

“You shouldn’t be LouLou.” She replied gently, the affectionate nickname rolling off of her tongue. Butterflies erupted in Lou’s belly. Her affections towards the woman flamed within her, scorching her from the inside out – burning her cheeks.

“I think it’s time for you to get to bed.” She raised her eyebrows, tapping Honey on the shoulder.

“Are you kicking me out?” She pouted, her wet plump lips called to Lou. But she didn’t answer. She knew deep down that if she crossed that line and kissed her she’d be hooked. Like a drug, she knew just one taste would send her down a road chasing a high that was continually out of reach.

“Of course not Honey,” She gently sat her friend up before standing up. “You can sleep in my bed.”

They were close. As close as Lou let them get. She was guarded, naturally inclined to be a loner. But, there was something about Honey. She couldn't put her finger on it. Whenever she was around she felt like she were walking on clouds. Suspended in the air never caring to come down. Frankly, it scared Lou. She hadn't felt this way about a girl since, well since she could remember. Honey was a temple she prayed to day in and day out. She was possessed by a deity that Lou was cursed to worship for all her days.

Lou’s gaze was sweltering, scorching Honey's skin when she arrived at work a few days later. Thankfully her bruise was mostly gone. Faint discoloration took its place. The wind blew as she walked through the door sending fly-away hairs awry, the glow of the setting sun surrounded her head like a crown. Honey always felt Lou's stare when their shifts overlapped. It made her falter in her steps, even after all this time. Lou made her stutter, she made her daydream and drift into a far off land that included the two hand in hand dancing the night away. But, as fate would have it they were destined to be just friends. Much to Honey's disappointment.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" A tall man stepped in front of Honey. One she recognized from a few days earlier.

"Hello!" Incessant snapping broke Lou from her favorite activity. She tore her gaze from Honey engaged in conversation with some man and faced the himbo that'd been trying to get her attention. "I need a protein bar. How much?"

"50 bucks." She glanced back over to find Honey still engaged in conversation with that man. A pretty good looking man who was sculpted to all high heaven. Absently, Lou heard the hunk complain about being robbed blind before he threw a $50 bill down on the counter.

"You still owe me for that bud." She didn't spare him a glance. Her hands moved on their own, grabbing a vile filled with fuel and sliding it across the counter. The man dropped a $10 bill on top of the wrinkled 50, discreetly grabbed the vile, and left.

Honey laughed, her hand connected with her new friends shoulder. Lou could tell by the grin of the meathead that he wanted her Honey. He wanted her bad. Lou knew that look because everyone gave Honey that look. A look saying they wanted to devour her, they they wanted to ruin her. But, Lou wanted to be the first to ruin her. The only one who got the satisfaction.

So, Lou debated. She could stay here and be a normal person who isn't insanely in love with her best friend. Or she could forget about Honey and her new friend and actually get some work done. She stared at the mop bucket with great disdain. She decided that she’d watch Honey simply to make sure she's safe. But when she looked back, Honey was gone. Her stomach twisted.

She felt sick. Worse than sick. She felt empty, disgusted, envious. She couldn't pin down her ugly feelings with one word. They were too complex. Fleshed out and etched on her face. Honey returned moments later instantaneously noticing her friends sour expression.

"Woah, did pops drop by again?" She teased as she rounded the corner and sat her backpack down at her feet.

"You're late." Lou simply replied refusing to look her in the eye.

"No I'm not..." she replied, unsure of what brought on the coolness of Lou's words. "I was here, just had to help someone with something."

"Right and just what was that?" She busied herself with organizing the papers strewn around the counter. Anything to keep her moving and busy. She could feel this ugly feeling boiling in her body, threatening to spill out. "Because I saw you chopping it up with some guy." She hoped her words came off as nonchalant, but she couldn't bring herself to care how they sounded at this point.

Honey scoffed through a surprised laugh.

"So, you saw me speaking with a customer and still thought I was late?" She crossed her arms and stared Lou down. She dipped her head attempting to catch her eye but Lou was stubborn. Constantly darting them away, constantly finding something else to do. "Dude stop moving around so much." She grabbed her wrist effectively stopping her movements. "If you must know it was the guy that hit me the other day, he brought me some medicine for my bruise." She waited beat before dropping the bomb. “And he asked me on a date.”

Lou hesitated, letting her eyes climb from the counter, to her wrist, to Honey's hand on her wrist. Her gaze trailed up her arm until she found her face. More importantly her eyes. So open and honest, the only eyes she could ever trust. She was different. She wasn't entangled in her family B.S. If Lou had anything to do with it, she never would be. Despite her need to protect Honey, in this very moment Lou wanted nothing more than to eliminate the person who was threatening to take her away. Honey must’ve noticed the darkness clouding Lou’s eyes because she drew her hand back. Lou cursed herself, all of her cards were on the table now. There was nothing she could hide behind anymore.

“It’s fine Lou. Promise.”

Lou didn’t hear her. She went to a place whenever she felt threatened, whenever something or someone threatened her areas of comfort. She'd blacked out going tunnel vision. Retracting to that place her father once forced her to go. She was shifting into autopilot now, she had a mission and she was sure to complete it.

"Hiya!" A third party entered the scene, bursting their bubble. "Either of you ladies know where I can buy a gun?"

Lou raised an eyebrow as Honey grinned instantly turning on her customer service voice. But Lou chose to investigate the stranger. He stood tall, his hair was cut above his ears and buzzed in the back. He was blond. Stoic. She couldn't see his shoes but she was sure they were steel toed. He had a gun hidden in his waistband. A glock.

"...but I'm not sure. What do you say Lou?" Honey turned her attention to Lou, pulling her into the conversation.

"What?" She looked between the two. "I don't know shit about guns, and neither do you." She shared a pointed stare with Honey.

"Well, if you girls have any tips," he handed Honey a card. "Let me know." He was gone in seconds.

Lou grabbed the card from Honey's hand before she could read it.

"Fucking pigs." She muttered.

"Uh, Lou." She tapped her shoulder garnering her attention. "Why did a cop just question me about a gun?”

"Don't worry about it, babe." She easily replied, eyes moving back to the door.

"Babe?" She chuckled feeling her face warm up. "That's a new one."

Lou cursed herself realizing she'd let the one pet name she'd called Honey is secret pass her lips. They were stuck in a silent staring competition. Lou's mind scrambled reaching to the deepest depths to find an excuse or the right words.

"You're uh" she chuckled nervously "I just see you as so innocent that I sometimes call you...baby."

Honey slowly nodded taking in Lou's shoddy explanation. Lou wished the ground would swallow her up but alas she was left in this universe cursed to bask in the uneasiness her unauthorized pet name brought.

It was going to be a long day.

'Hey you've reached my voicemail which means I'm out shopping or I'm out shopping. You know what to do!'

Beep.

Lou sighed hanging her phone up. It'd been days since she last seen or spoken to Honey and it was driving her to the brink of madness. They never went more than a day without speaking with each other. Things felt wrong in the universe. All of Honey’s shifts had been changed to early mornings and she was never home to get the phone these days. Lou tapped her foot, chewed on her bottom lip, and tugged at her hair. She knew letting Honey past the walls she'd put up would bite her in the ass. She shouldn't have let her in her house. She shouldn't have told her how weak she made her. Before she knew it her keys were in the ignition and she was speeding across town.

"Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?" She walked into the house forcing Honey to step back with each angry stride. "You look like you’re home, but you haven't been answering my calls?"

"I don't have to answer every time you call Lou." She shot back, arms crossed. "I'm not a child."

"You had me worried sick, Honey!" She ran a hand through her messy hair. "Terribly. What the fuck is going on with you?"

"Lou I just..."

"Just what?" She questioned invading her personal space. "What?"

"I think we need to spend time a part."

Lou stepped back like she'd been slapped. She was speechless, staring at Honey in disbelief. The words registered after a few moments of silence.

"No, we're not doing that." She heard herself say.

Honey didn't falter, her expression remained stern.

"Where is this coming from, Hon? Are you trying to hurt me? B-because I called you baby? I'm sorry I just-"

"It's not that Lou." She cut her off. Lou panted trying to figure out what brought all this on. “They found a body."

Lou's heart dropped.

"Of the man who hit me. The man who I was going to go on a date with…” She let the words linger, emphasizing how serious this all was.

Lou settled down stepping back, calming her nerves. But she was still on edge. Did Honey know that she lost control? What would Honey think if she knew how far Lou would go to have her to herself?

"Yeah, so?" She balked.

"Lou, they questioned me-"

"You didn't tell them anything did you?" Lou grabbed her by the shoulders.

Honey tried to shrug her hands off of her, but Lou wasn't budging.

"Honey, I know you're stubborn, but I need you to be a good girl and listen to me."

Honey didn't like being told what to do, Lou knew that. But how she loved being called a good girl. She pushed that obstinate feeling down and did as she was told. She'd do anything to be called a good girl again.

"We don't talk to cops. No matter how nice they are. No matter how safe we think they are. Ignore them, they aren't your friend." She let her hands slide down Honey's arms until she grasped her hands. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"That's my girl." She smiled but it quickly fell when Honey's expression morphed into something unreadable.

"I can keep that promise if you tell me the truth." She inhaled and exhaled through her nose before meeting her eyes again. "Just, tell me the truth...did you do it?"

She opened her mouth to speak but the words never came. She tried again but nothing that came to mind made sense.

“Fucking hell Lou what the fuck were you thinking?” Terror was streaked in her eyes, stamped across her face. “Did you kill that man because he hit me?”

No, I killed that man because he hit you AND he asked you on a date after.

“Look Hon, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her eyes darted between Honey’s in silent battle. She loved Honey but in this moment she didn’t trust her. “I think I should leave.” Her father always taught her to expect a wire and unfortunately she could sniff out a set up from a mile away. She left Honey without another word.

'You give motherfuckers an inch they'll take a mile'.

Her fathers words echoed in the back of her head all the way home.

Once she made it back she couldn't stop replaying the moment she left Honey. That look on her face was seared in her mind. It was a look of confusion, hurt, betrayal. She stared at the phone debating with herself. There was no way that was a setup. She didn't plan her visit and Honey would never do that to her. Without thinking she dialed Honey's number and held her breath as the dialing bell tolled.

'Hey you've reached my voicemail-'

She feared that the damage was done.

They avoided each other for days. Until their days turned into weeks and weeks into months. 2 months later they still hadn’t spoken. Barely looked at each other. Lou felt like a knife was forever protruding from her back nestled there by Honey.

“Hey Honey I need you to drop this at Lou’s.” Their manger informed her as he sat a stack of files in front of her.

“Can’t she just pick this up tomorrow?”

“No, she’s off for the next couple days and these need to be organized before the audit on Friday.”

“Why don’t I just do it?” She grappled.

“You don’t know the system.” He shot back, not even sparing a glance in her direction.

“I can learn!”

“Look Honey," he sighed as he massaged the bridge of his nose. "I just need this one thing. Please.”

Nobody argued with the boss.

Honey rushed to Lou’s house after work not bothering to call before heading over. There was a huge storm headed there way and she wanted to get this done and over with so she could get home.

Lou answered the door, her sweats hung low on her hips, a black sports bra stood out against her skin leaving her abdomen out for Honey to stare at.

Honey ignored how Lou made her feel and thrust the stack of folders toward her.

She curiously eyed the files with a raised eyebrow as she took a sip of beer. She flicked her eyes back up to Honey and licked the drop of liquid that landed on her bottom lip.

Honey ignored how Lou made her feel and cleared her throat.

“Boss wants you to organize these before Friday…”

Lou nodded sitting her beer on something near the door. She took a step forward letting the folders press against her stomach. Her hands came up covering Honey's underneath the stack. Honey slowly pulled her hands away, unable to look away from Lou's intense stare.

Lou breathed in deeply, her heart racing, her valley pulsated. She instantly regretted it. Once she smelled Honey all of those ugly feelings of resentment melted away and her heart ached. She missed her friend. But Lou wasn’t going to let her know that. She backed away and slammed the door in her face.

Honey ignored how Lou made her feel.

She blinked a few times willing her tears away. She felt stuck, frozen, left to stare at the dirty wood of Lou’s door.

Lou, inside, remained. Eyes stuck on the door wishing she were braver.

Thunder broke Honey from her daze. The peach sky was quickly being taken over by raging dark clouds moving over where she stood. She took one more look at her old friend’s door and left. Her mind was in a far off place when she cranked her car up and began her drive back home. The rain began before she could make it out the parking lot. By the time she reached the corner she couldn’t see a thing.

“Fuck.” She pulled over and placed her car in park. Ahead of her was nothing but a static curtain of rain, drenching her windshield with water and debris. Another loud rumble of thunder made her jump from her seat. “Fuck fuck fuck.” She couldn’t see much out of her rear view either. “No.” She muttered to herself. “I’m not going back and asking her for help.” Another particularly close strike of lightening shook her car. “Okay, fine.” She moved to put her car in drive but all she could hear was gurgling. She tried again but her engine refused to turn over.

That was how she found herself soaking wet on Lou’s porch again.

Lou was still in another place, fighting with herself. Should she try calling again? No. That’d be pathetic. Thunder broke her out of her stupor. She rubbed her eyes, realizing she hadn’t blinked since Honey left. Nothing was going to change. She felt stupid standing here still holding these stupid folders and staring at her stupid door. She plopped them on her coffee table and moved to go to bed when a knock at the door pulled her back into reality.

“Honey?” She took in her appearance, noting briefly the translucency of her thin top. She picked a great day not to wear a bra. She snapped her eyes up when she realized Honey had been speaking this entire time.

“…my engine is flooded and I can’t see shit. Could I just wait the storm out here?”

Lou glanced behind her then back at Honey before she stepped aside and let her come in.

“I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer.” She muttered as she walked to her room. She lent Honey something to change into after her shower before changing the sheets. She sung in the shower accompanying Lou in her chores. It all felt too domestic but she was used to this. Lou was used to friends staying over and singing in the shower. Honey felt different though. She imagined how she'd soak her sheets with her scent. How she'd leave behind her essence in the bathroom. It made her throb with want. Honey's singing morphed into humming. Lou's stomach twisted. It was as if Honey knew her effect on her. But Lou didn’t believe her to be so cruel.

Lou was smoothing out her comforter when Honey appeared towel-clad in the doorway. She watched as droplets of water slid down her neck and over her collarbone, down her chest before disappearing underneath the towel. She absentmindedly licked her lips wanting to follow the water with her tongue.

"I left my change of clothes in here..." she shifted uncomfortable under Lou’s gaze. Not having felt it in so long she’d forgotten how intense it could be. She maintained her stare as she sauntered closer and closer. Honey didn’t falter this time. Soon they were face to face, exchanging breath. Lou’s chest pressed against Honey’s shoulder, she could feel her heart beating at a dizzying rhythm.

Lou breathed in deeply, closing her eyes on the exhale. “You’re getting water on my floor.” She snapped her eyes back open and left.

Later...

Lou left her bathroom after getting ready for bed and clicked the light off in her room as she passed it.

“Uh thanks?” She heard Honey call behind her.

“Shit.” She turned around and made her way back to her room. “Sorry force of habit.” She clicked the light back on.

“Gotcha…” Honey cleared her throat as she moved under the comforter. “You can uh, turn it off now.” Lou clicked the light off as Honey settled back into her bed. Seconds later a strike of lightening briefly lit the space illuminating Honey’s frightened expression. Thunder quickly followed. Lou had forgotten about Honey’s childish fear of lightening and thunder. It was endearing and she wished she could stay to ward away those bad thoughts but Lou was beginning to feel like a creep.

“Well, uh, goodnight Hon.” She turned around dragging the door with her.

“Wait, Lou.” She called. Lou stopped in her tracks, back still facing her. “Could you…stay?”

Lou thought she heard wrong. Her request pierced her ears, Honey’s words created a symphony of want to rush through her body. Lou hesitated though. As much as she yearned for Honey, things were still too hot. The police were still following her. She wanted to keep Honey away from this world she lived in, this life.

“You want me to?” She questioned despite herself.

“Please.” Her mousy voice replied. “I don’t know if you remember but I’m not a big fan of lightening.”

Lou didn’t remember getting in the bed but she wasn’t one second and the next she was sinking next to the pinnacle of her desire.

She smelled divine this close. Her hair was tied up but a fruity aroma emanated from her, filling the space. She was careful not to touch her, out of fear she'd feel the softness of her skin.

“Hey LouLou.”

“Yeah?” Her voice cracked as relief flooded her. Hearing the nickname Honey bestowed upon her calmed her nerves.

“I want to apologize.” Her voice grew quieter by the second. She was afraid to speak. Lou set out to make her feel safe.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“I shouldn't have accused you of killing that guy.” She turned to her side so she could face Lou. A steep confession that left Lou dizzy. But, she kept her composure. She wish she didn’t feel so enraged though. She was furious at herself. The anger she'd directed towards her father all these years felt in vain. She was shaping up to be just like him. Here she was subjecting a loved one to this unrighteous turmoil drudged up by her nonsensical feelings. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak. She just ground her teeth, waiting for more words to spill out of her mouth.

“I didn't speak to the police. They tried to get me to wear a wire.“

“A wire?” Lou couldn’t hold her tongue.

"Yeah, they backed me into a corner one morning when I opened. I was alone." Her bottom lip trembled. "I was afraid."

Lou could handle police but she knew Honey had no experience with them. She was used to being roughed up, being questioned, she just never thought she'd have to shield Honey from that. For her lover to have been touched by grimy hands it shifted something in her. It lit a raging fire in her. An ugly dark feeling entered her stomach and the feeling of bile climb her throat but she swallowed it down. She had to keep herself in check. She could do that.

“I'm so sorry.“ Her words choked her. "I'm sorry I got you into this, Hon."

Honey's soft hand cupped her cheek, wiping the tear away.

'When did I start crying?'

Lou humorlessly chuckled at herself. Weakness was in her tears, she couldn't even lift her eyes to see Honey's reaction. She couldn't bare to see the reflection of her ailing emotion on Honey's face.

"Hey, stop that Lou." She pouted wiping more tears away. "I'm okay, I'd do it again."

That made Lou look up, lashes wet and clumped together. "Really?"

"I'd do anything to protect you."

Those words hit her like lightening. Protected. She wasn't familiar with feeling that way. She was usually the one protecting, cleaning up the mess. But she trusted Honey in this moment. She trusted her with her life.

Honey stole a kiss and Lou's breath right along with it. She remained close, sharing her breath with Lou. Their noses brushed. Lou stared at Honey’s closed lids. Her heart was pounding, blood sloshed in her ears. They laid there, unmoving for so long that she’d began to think she imagined the kiss.

“Was that okay?” Honey sliced through the tension causing an unexpected laugh to bubble up Lou’s throat.

“Shut up.” She pushed a stray curl behind Honey’s ear before leaning forward and hungrily kissed her back. With that the universe ceased to exist. They were suspended in time, the sounds of thunder and rain absconded leaving behind space for their sounds of pleasure. Lou could feel her pupils dilate underneath her eyelids. Her blood reached a boiling point. Her body moved on its own accord. She pushed Honey on her back, swinging her leg over her body to hover above. She pulled away briefly to catch her breath. She loved the sweet sounds of the woman beneath her trying to catch her breath. She dived back in without warning. She nipped at Honey’s bottom lip, enjoying the quiet whimpers that left her. Her tongue invaded her lover’s mouth. She slotted her knee between her legs, moaning at the warmth of her clothed pussy against her. She gripped her waist and pulled her closer. She could feel her beneath her squirming, trying to make sense of what she was feeling. She wanted to take her time with her, to tease her, make her beg for it. Lou knew that after this she’d be addicted to this feeling. Even still, she couldn’t see herself regretting this. She pulled away to kiss Honey’s neck, to nip at her ear.

“You like it when I touch you here?” She whispered hotly against the shell of her ear. Her hand played with the waistband of her shorts.

“Yes.” She replied breathlessly. It sounded as sweet as sin. What would come of their friendship if they crossed the line and went all the way? Lou was ready to taste her, to bring her to the brink of completion just to back away and do it all over again. Anything it took to hear her sweet voice cry and beg. To feel her writhe and pulsate against her tongue. She captured her mouth again swallowing the moan released Honey let out. She hungrily begged for more and that she did receive. Lou pressed herself against Honey’s thigh, rutting against her pulled vibrating moans out of her. She tried her hardest not to sound like a little bitch but she could hear her whiny whimpers slipping out right along with Honey’s. She found her ear again, leaving her hips to keep the string of pleasure going.

“You have no idea,” another bitchy whimper left her. Lou couldn’t believe the sounds she was making. She never made these sounds before. Honey was dangerous. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Show me how bad you want me.” She tangled her hand in Lou’s hair, tugging at the roots. Lou’s eyes rolled as she increased her pace grinding faster and harder, chasing release.

“I’ll show you.” Lou promised, already backing up and pulling Honey’s shorts off. She smelled her nectar once she was bare. Lou undressed herself. “Wanna feel me?” Honey thrust her head back and moaned as Lou kissed from her foot up to her knee. “Wanna feel how bad I want you?” She slotted her hips between her lovers, shuttering as their most intimate parts connected. She slid over her, catching a rhythm that felt nice for the both of them. Over and over, her pussy kissed Honey’s. “Fuck, do you hear us?” She cursed under her breath, listening to their sopping cores create a filthy array of sounds. Rotating her hips she found an angle that made Honey’s eyes roll back. She puffed air out of her mouth, her moan growing higher and higher until she began vibrating in ecstasy. Lou didn’t stop her movements wanting hear how she sounded when she was about to cum. Once she saw Honey’s mouth fall open, releasing a silent sound, she stopped moving and backed her hips away.

“Please.” She breathed hips thrusting up searching for Lou’s.

“Please what?” She teased moving further away. Her lover only moaned, weakly moving forward, trying to feel her again. “Uh, uh, uh. use your words. Tell me how bad you want it.” She chuckled, teasing her lover.

“Feel so good.” She slurred, frustration overcoming the pleasure she was feeling . “Please just-“ she mewled weakly pulling on Lou’s arms.

“Please just what, Honey?” She glided her fingertips across her stomach inching closer and closer to her nipples with each caress. She watched in reverence as Honey squirmed beneath her. Her face moved in and out of the light giving full glimpses of frustration to Lou.

“Please, I wanna feel you.” She gritted out through clenched teeth “I need you.”

Lou’s mind blanked when she heard those last few words. Honey needed her.

“Since you asked so nicely.” She mused slotting them together again. With each brush, an electric wave rushed up and down their body's. Traveling down Honey’s and up Lou’s. Every inch of Honey’s skin was on high alert, too sensitive to touch. Lou watched her searching for what made her writhe, what made her moan, she found that rhythm again. The one that pulled the filthiest sounds out of her mouth.

"Close." Honey warned rocking along with Lou. "So close." Lou, mesmerized, slid her hand up Honey's body and pinched her pert nipple.

Honey's mouth fell open in a silent moan as she fell over the edge. Between them, a stream of pleasure squirted from Honey covering them both. Lou felt it pool beneath them, but she couldn’t bring herself to give a fuck about her sheets. She groaned speeding up, feeling her orgasm starting at the tips of her toes. Climbing and climbing until it catapulted her into the sun. Lou followed Honey as currents of pleasure washed over her over and over again. She pressed herself against Honey wanting to feel the rhythm of their pulsating pussy’s against each other. Honey kept her eyes closed as they both came down. Lou couldn’t help but stare down at her as she rode it out. Lou smiled, feeling her cheeks warm. How pretty did her girl look lying there. Blissed out without a care. Lou liked her better when she was moaning though.

She wanted to taste her sweet angel. She need to understand what she held between her legs more intimately. She slowed her movements before slinking down her body kissing a hot trial on her way down. She kissed her thighs softly before biting them just hard enough to draw gasps from Honey. Honey jolted when Lou’s lips latched onto her clit sucking her in until her sense dulled. She threw her head back clutching for purchase on anything. Her finger slipped as the blankets slipped from her fingers. With each suction she was drawn nearer and nearer to nirvana. Just when she saw the light begin to descend from heaven, Lou pulled back. Honey sat up on her elbows wondering why the sensation stopped. Lou mischievously stared up at her from between her legs.

“You think I’m gonna give you another orgasm after you’ve been so mean to me?” She walked her fingers across Honey’s belly before lifting a finger and moving it side to side. "Not so fast, doll."

“I’m sorry.” She begged thighs trembling. "I'll do anything." She nodded "I'll be a good girl."

Lou bit her lip at the admission. "

“Just for me?" She wanted to hear it. She needed to hear Honey say it.

Honey hastily nodded bucking her hips forward. “Yes, yes just for you. Only you.” Lou's iron grip on her hips kept her from making any significant movement, but that didn't mean she stopped trying. She maintained eye contact as she slipped two fingers inside of Honey. They went in easily leaving a wet sound to fly into the air.

"You really wanna be my good girl?"

Lou bit her bottom lip watching her ringed fingers disappear into the velvet cove she coveted. Honeys sounds of pleasure were disorienting. With each breathy moan she cast a spell specifically for Lou.

“How about, you don’t cum unless I say so."

Honey nodded hastily, still up on her elbows.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She moved her hips along with Lou's fingers. "Promise."

Lou wasn’t sure if Honey took the order seriously, but that didn’t stop her from hooking her fingers and hitting the spot that made her lovers brain go offline. Her fingers were soon soaked with Honey's sweetness that she was sure tasted even better.

“Lou- ah- ooo” she gasped “I’m gonna cum. Don’t stop don’t stop dontstopdontstopdontstop “

“Did I say you could cum baby?” She didn’t stop her movement feeling Honey's walls closing in. She couldn’t stop if she wanted to, pulling another orgasm out of Honey so quickly made her ache so deliciously.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease”

Lou watched in astonishment as honey cracked and crumbled, orgasm pulling sounds out of her that were to be etched on Lou’s brain forever. Lou grinned sneaking back down between her legs, fingers still working. She took Honeys clit into her mouth sucking the cream off of it.

Honey lazily pushed her away. But Lou didn’t move. In fact she increased her intensity. She rapped against the spot inside honey faster than before. She alternated between powerful sucks and long sloppy licks from her hole over her hard clit and back again. With each movement Honey shuttered and groaned her sounds bordering on pained.

“Ah Lou” she writhed “please just- s-st” she bit her lip. She didn’t want her to stop. Nothing has ever hurt so good. “Lou I can’t, I can’t baby.”

Lou pulled back long enough to laugh. Honey didn’t find anything funny.

“I c-can’t again.” She trembled as Lou began slurping her like a melting Popsicle again.

She pulled back much to Honeys relief but only for a moment. Her fingers still drumming inside of her.

“You can and you will.” She went back to her previous actions.

“I-I can’t it’s t-too much!” She groaned squeezing her legs against Lou’s head in an attempt to push her away. Lou effortlessly pushed them back apart. She slipped her fingers back inside her, instantly finding her button.

"I thought you said you wanted to be my good girl?"

"I-" another filthy moan. "I d-do."

"Then be a good girl and cum." She kissed Honey's shining clit before continuing to lick and suck, alternating between pressures and speeds. Honey felt hot all over. A prickling sensation developed within her forcing sounds of pained pleasure to rip through her. She wanted this to go on forever while simultaneously wanting it to stop. She’d never felt so overwhelmed with need before. Seconds later Honey’s back arched off the bed as an unexpected orgasm lifted her soul out of her body.

Honey watched herself thrusting against Lou’s face riding out her earth shattering orgasm. Lou stared up at her, smug satisfaction evident as she swallowed everything Honey offered. She returned back to her body when the feelings subsided. Even still her body vibrated. Ebbing and flowing with each breath.

Lou was on her back with the blink of an eye. The bed dipped as Honey got up and left the room. She was far to dazed to care. She was on cloud nine and ready to go again if she was up for it. But, she had a feeling she wasn’t. Upon Honey’s reentry she held a damp towel.

“Hey, I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.” Lou teased as she took the towel to wipe herself.

“Yeah right, you can barely take care of yourself.”

Lou grinned watching as Honey moved around her room. She looked like she belonged there. She grinned as Honey helped her stand up so she could change the sheets. She snuck a kiss once she was on her feet. She grinned when Honey left the room and came back with a glass of water for her. She grinned as she got back in bed and tugged Lou along with her.

Through the night Lou held Honey close, now that she had her she was never going to let her go.

#Love Lies Bleeding #Kristen Stewart #Lou Love Lies Bleeding #Lou LLB #Lou LLB x OFC #Original Female Character #proofread to the best of my abilities!#sorry for this #Kristen Stewart x Original female character

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monsterdramahub · 10 months

Text

🌈The Artifacts of Theia🌈

The following are a set of powerful objects whose ownership has been in contention for millennia. It is said that uniting them will cause a great "unification". They're passed around the factions throughout the story, so the faction listed to possess them is more of a "has them the majority of the time". Explained are also the appearances of the artifacts and their special power. All objects are capable of switching from their default color into a spectrum of light, and all objects may cause the corruption of the body and mind on contact: the traits listed are what distinguishes them from each other.

⚪The Echo Crystals

The Echo Crystals are many, scattered throughout Theia and take the form of small, unpigmented, irregular fractals. They're said to be shards of the following seven objects. They grant the ability to view visions of the past, usually relating to the past of the one holding the crystal. Echo Crystals can also be charged by another object to gain its powers, but this is temporary and they will require frequent recharging. They aren't all owned by any single faction and each has a few in their possession.

🔴The Pearl

The feared Pearl takes the form of a large red globular mass, cracked and appearing tentatively held in one piece. Viewing the Pearl causes one to enter a blind state of fury and near invulnerability, making those affected into ideal berserkers and terrors of the battlefield. The Pearl is wielded by the Gourmand of Ore Horde.

🟠The Eye

The coveted Eye is square in shape with inner rings of varying orange hues vaguely resembling an iris and pupil. It may be used in a manner similar to a crystal ball, it's gaze able to be directed anywhere and spy upon many things at once if the proper rituals are completed. The Eye is used by the executives of Topaz Corp to monitor their citizens.

🟡The Rose

The draining Rose appears as a small gilded sphere with spiraling inlays making it resemble the pedals of a flower. It has the ability to sap the magical powers of anything and everything, no matter how powerful, within it's range of influence. It is kept by Queen Ari of Rosegold Kingdom.

🟢The Shroud

The mysterious Shroud is a teardrop-shaped, finely spun cloak with a texture similar to velvet and is a deep green in color. Prolonged exposure causes the body to break down and fuse to anything it comes into contact with, taking on the attributes of whatever is absorbed until all sense of self is lost. The Shroud is being researched in Emerald Commune by Regina, Jelly and (outsider to Emerald) Spines.

🔵The Crown

The renowned Crown takes the appearance of a tiara with a single tall spire of brilliant blue stone. The Crown bolsters the natural and magical abilities of whoever is wearing it, making them significantly stronger than anyone within range. Sapphire Regency's privateer, Joei, uses the Crown for their missions.

🟣The Mask

The despised Mask looks like a royal purple half-mask, diamond in shape, broad at the top and pointed at the cheekbone, with a similarly diamond-shaped eye hole. The Mask is capable of making its wearer mimic any and all powers volleyed against them. It is owned by Trash of Amethyst Empire.

💗The Heart

The beloved Heart is a smooth pale pink stone in the shape of a love-heart, similar in size to a real human heart. It may sway the emotions of all within its influence to whatever the wielder pleases. It is held by the twin dragon of the sky. It is held by Altar of Topaz Corp for everyone's own good.

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alicee1 · 3 years

Text

Relaxed mornings

Warnings: none, just fluff here

Word count: 1.1K

Requested: no

Synopsis: waking up and spending a lazy morning with Techno after he had a busy day. Pure fluff, sequel to 'Late nights' but can definitly be read seperately!

A/n: What is this? Semi-consistent uploads? Since when is that a thing i can do? Anyhow, I have received my first request! I think that should be up tomorrow or something cause I have so many ideas for it and I'm so hyped because its my first request. If you have any requests or ideas, feel free to send them (by the way i swear i also write for other characters than Techno, just haven't gotten to it yet)

Prequel: Late nights

Rules, Masterlist

It was usual for Techno to awake first, although it seemed like his trip from the previous day had truly tired him out, granting you the privilege of waking up before him.

The morning sun was intrusive in your shared bedroom, forcing you to open your eyes slowly. Groaning softly, you rubbed your eyes sleepily in attempt to wake yourself up.

Despite what you had gotten used to, the warmth beside you hadn't disappeared, and as you opened your eyes you could see Techno's form beside you.

His eyes were still closed and his chest rose rhythmatically, telling you he was still asleep. It forced your attention to him, it was a rare view so you'd burn it into your mind whenever you got the chance.

Your hand tangled into his pink locks as you carefully brushed through them, making sure you wouldn't awake the male in the process.

You froze for a second when a satisfied sigh left his lips, afraid you had ruined your chance and woken him on accident.

That didn't happen however, only pulling you slightly closer to him in his sleep as you observed the relaxation on his face.

The frown you often found on his features as he returned from whatever had kept him busy at that moment relaxed in his sleep.

Even the almighty blood God himself looked innocent as he slept, worries and stress of the outside world wiped away as he rested.

It brought a small smile to your lips, watching as the sunlight hit his face perfectly, casting a golden glow on his features and even reflecting partially in his tusks.

It was a feature that you had always found endearing. In the past you had curiously watched what he used them for from a small distance, but later you had learned he used them to nudge you as a form of affection.

You had gotten used to them quickly, just like some other small traits that seemed to sprout from his hybrid roots.

One of those traits was his preference towards gold, certainly in the start of your relationship, before you moved in with him, he had gifted you hand-crafted gold jewelry.

It made him proud to see you wear it, especially around others, and he quickly picked up some of your habits with them. How you fiddled the ring he had gifted you when you nervous, or how you clasped your hand around the pendant on the golden necklace.

Although none of the jewelry could compete with the golden glow that laid over his skin in the morning sunlight as it peeked through the slit between the latches in front of the window.

Eventually he seemed to awaken from his sleep, his eyes half lidded as he opened them. A small groan escaped his lips as his eyes met yours, a fond smile forming on his face as his eyes met yours.

"Good morning, my love." His voice rasped from his sleep as he lazily moved his hand to cup your cheek, brushing some hair out of your face in the process.

"Morning Tech." A fond smile tugged on your lips as you looked at him, his head nuzzling into your hand. His other hand was still wrapped around your waist, thumb tracing circles on the small of your back.

These moments were the ones you treasured the most, where you'd simply lay beside each other in a domestic bliss.

A groan escaped his lips as he turned onto his back, his muscles protesting against his movements from the day before. It was one of the differences between the two of you, you didn't mind spending the entire morning in bed while Techno preferred to get up and moving instead.

Often it resulted in waking up to empty sheets and the smell of breakfast drifting through the cabin.

He pulled himself up in a sitting position, one hand brushing his hair out of his face as you pulled the still warm blankets closer to your form, wishing to preserve the heat that they still possessed.

A chuckle escaped Techno's lips at the sight, watching as you wrapped the covers of the bed around your shoulders as you too sat up, moving out of the direct sunlight so you wouldn't accidentally blind yourself in the process.

Techno stood up from his position of the bed, stretching some of his muscles to dull the ache that resonated through his body. His hand found your head as you nuzzled into his touch, "I'll call you when breakfast is ready." he gave you a small smile before he walked out of your shared bedroom.

The temptation to collapse into the comfortable warmth that was your soft covers and pillows once more was hard to resist, making you pull yourself from the bed. A shiver forced itself down your spine at the loss of warmth as you stood up.

You moved almost automatically to the chair in the corner of the room that housed a mountain of clothes from both you and Techno. The soft material of what used to be his spare cape brushed against your fingers as you reached for it, wrapping it around your shoulders before clasping it shut and burying your face in the soft fur that lined the article of clothing.

It used to be his spare cape, but it hadn't taken long for you to claim it once you moved in with him. Naturally it was oversized on your form, although that only made it all the more comfortable, his natural scent soaking the fabric as you inhaled through your nose.

After running your hands over the soft fabric once more, you moved down the stairs, the breakfast smell greeting you as you moved towards Techno, wrapping your arms around him from behind.

"Decided to join me early, my love?" a small smile formed on his lips as he turned his head to face you, a hum leaving your throat in response, feeling him pull you into his side as he wrapped his free arm around you.

"I hate mornings." you mumbled as a chuckle left his throat, "I know, my love."

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meenah-chan · 3 years

Text

Solace

A Belphegor x GN! MC fanfic

3.14k words

Genre: Angst

Trigger warning: mention of death. Read at your own discretion.

Requested by: @belphiesimpalways thank you for patiently waiting for this. Supposedly, this is for your birthday but still, belated Happy Birthday to you!! This became a little bit too long, and I actually changed the whole thing twice 😅😅 I changed the title too to prevent confusion, hope you don't mind.

He lost it the day he lost his beloved sister. A place to call his home. Yet he met them. The one who brings light to his dark days. But what shall he do, when this solace was never been his?

“How I wished I didn’t met you at all.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

He can hear the harrowing sound of the clock, ringing inside the closed space. As if it were imitating his increasing pulse. Belphegor couldn’t open his eyes. He won’t though, even if he can. He fears he’ll see it again. The agonizing sight of that cursed attic, where he is trapped, cold and lonely. Each click, each clack drives him on a brink of madness.

Somebody please make it stop..! Curled up in his bed, writhing in anguish, Belphegor tried to block the sound with his trembling hands.

Let me out… I hate this place...

“It is for your own good.” Lucifer’s voice reverberates throughout the whole room. His guide light and the hero of his stories… once upon a time, that is.

For my own good? This place was a nightmare! He was imprisoned! He was trapped inside his head, with nothing but bleak thoughts!

He felt cold, with no one to hold onto. With no Beelzebub or Lilith, ready to embrace him when he’s afraid…

Ahhh…

Right…

Even if he managed to escape that place, there’ll be no more Lilith to hold him. To comfort him. To make him laugh of joy and happiness. No more… Lilith is no more…

“...Belphegor?” he snapped his eyes open and suck in a deep breath, as if the voice pulled him out of the deepest pit of the abyss. His heart was beating fast, bathed in his own sweat.

It was just another dream. He was not trapped in the attic any more. He was freed, by the person with him right now, sitting beside his bed, a few weeks ago. “Are you alright? You’re sweating buckets and squirming in your sleep.”

“I’m fine. It was just pretty hot in here.”

They stared at him for a moment before replying. “...If you say so… Wait, let me get you some water and a change of clothes.” unconsciously he raised his hand, fingers tugging on the hen of their shirt which stopped them from their tracks.

“Don’t need one… Just stay here and be my pillow.” Still, feeling a bit anxious of being alone, he didn't let go.

“That won’t do. You’re so drenched. If you don't change clothes and rehydrate, you might get sick. I'll be back in a jiffy.” Yet as they swiftly pried his hand off their clothes, he couldn't do anything but to watch them stride out of the room.

He sighed, recollecting the series of events from the time he met them. “...What a weird person...” He muttered under his breath.

A few weeks ago… Just a few weeks ago, they succeeded in freeing him... Just a few weeks ago, they died by his hands... Yet, they kept on approaching him like nothing had happened.

But oddly enough, he also couldn't get them off his mind; to want them by his side. The only time he could find his peace of mind is when he's with them.

I guess I'm weird too...

Silently, he observed them. The way they speak and walk. The way they would scold him when he chose to nap over catching up his missed lessons. The way they tap and hum unconsciously, while studying with him to encourage him to do so. Those awkward laughs they made as they tried to mend the rift between him and his brothers. The sighs left their lips as his brothers fought over who would have them. The slow and silent steps they make to slip away. The way they wink and place a finger over their lips and pull him with them.

Especially the way their eyes disappear when they're smiling. He can never describe how soothing it was, that smile.

...until he suddenly felt it wasn't.

The way they make the very same smile to Lucifer, Belphegor couldn't help but feel a little bit too irritated. Yes, it was Lucifer. He’s naturally annoyed by him, after what he's done. But this is a little bit different from his usual displeasure.

The youngest just wanted to pry the human off him and drag them away. He knew he couldn't suppress the burning sensation rising from the pit of his stomach. He also knew he'll regret what he wanted to do. He'd look possessive. Delusional. He may even hurt them in the process. So, he chose to escape the scene instead, into the attic which was once his prison.

“Belphegor! I got... and you're asleep.” the demon dares not open his eyes as he hears them make their way to him. “You didn't even remove your uniform...or your shoes. I'm really amazed how you can fall asleep in a matter of seconds.” They carefully remove the shoes and socks from his soles.

Oh no... That's not a good thing. For every touch of their skin sends tingles throughout his entire body. Each cell screaming in a way he never felt before. The bed shook as they crawled in, reaching for the buttons of his vest. He was at his wit's end, completely conscious of the human's presence.

Before they could ever reach for the last row of buttons, his hand stopped them before he lose it.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Y-You're awake?!” Before they could ever pull back, he tugged them in his chest, flustering the human even more.

“H-Hey, let go. Your uniform will get wrinkled.” They tried squirming out to no avail. The demon is just too strong to make him budge.

“Don't want to.” To hide his warm and probably beet red face, he clasped their nape and keep their face over his shoulder.

“I still haven't changed out of mine.”

“Hmm, goodnight...”

“Hey...” after a few more stirring in vain, they just sighed and let the youngest have it his way.

This is bad. Thought Belphegor. The annoyance he felt a while ago dissipates as fast as it builds up inside of him. Still, his heartbeats and head were in utter chaos, the time he held them so close. He said he’s returning to slumber, yet his heart showed no signs of ever slowing down. He bet they could hear it, but he have no more energy to even mind it. After all, amidst the chaos in him, could also feel he won’t be getting any nightmares right now.

“Say Belphegor. Do you have a fever? You’re hot and your heart’s beating a bit too fast.”

“Just tired from the extra work a while ago. I just need some rest.”

“If you say so...”

He could no longer deny this feeling inside him.

He… fell in love with a human. He found it, the peace to his raging storm. The salve to his wounds. But they can never be his solace.

He lost it the day he lost his beloved sister. He lost his home. His freedom. He doesn’t have anything but his disgusting self, who could only obsess over keenly observing each and every move they make. Like a stalker. Like a creep. Like a predator eyeing its prey.

But they were never been his. And the day they learnt of his habit is the day they will be disgusted by him.

“Lucifer!” and the fact that they were attached to his eldest brother— the one who robbed him of his freedom once— didn’t help.

They would link arms around his. Heck, even snuggled to it as they do so, with that widest smile upon their face. The small giggles they give off as the abomination in the form of his brother praised them while petting them. Oh, how he wanted to just cut off that hand straying onto them! How dare he touch–

…them that might have already belonged to him, long before he could enter the picture…?

No. There's just no way that heartless brother of his to fall for a mere human. That brother who bowed down to a demon the day his sister died. And the human who taught him how to love again, to fall for Lucifer. That’s just… impossible… It’s just too cruel…

But I love them too! I can love them more than that fiend who chose a demon over his family!

“No, you’re much crueler…” He could hear the whispers at the back of his mind. “Have you forgotten what you did? You killed them. Do you think you have any rights to even lay a finger on them? You spiteful, wretched, monster…”

…Right… He has no rights to have them… He lost it before he could realize the weight of his actions… It was the painful truth. A punishment for a sinner like him. He could regret it until his last breath but he could never be forgiven.

He doesn't deserve to have a place in their heart. Never. Never…

The door to the twins’ room creaked open and he knew exactly whose footsteps it was without the need to look. “Belphegor, Lucifer gave me some sushi. You like this, right? Let’s eat it while it’s fresh.”

Lucifer again, huh...

“It’s yours. Eat it yourself.” There’s no more point in fighting a lost battle.

Let it grow, “Ehh? But you like—”

“Let’s stop this.” … or let it go.

“…Huh? Stop what?”

He also fears what he might do in the future due to this rotten affection of his. “Just as I thought, I couldn’t stand humans. You’re so naïve and trusting. I’m already fed up with dealing with your antics.”

“Wait, I don’t understand…” They asked, confusion and unease were all over their face.

“You don’t? Then let me explain in a way you’ll understand in that small, gullible brain of yours.” He took a deep breath. He needs to keep his cool or he will definitely break in front of them, “Everything is all an act. You thought I like being with you? Think again, fool. Having a human around me fills me with nothing but wrath and anger! Who do you cause my nightmares!? Your race disgusts me to death! Just looking at you makes me want to puke!”

“B-Belphegor… please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Kidding? Do I look like I’m joking?” he scoffed, holding back the pain clawing in his chest. “Be thankful for my brothers. If not because of them, you won’t be alive the second time, nor your ignorant race are.

“I won’t touch a hide of you or any human. So please, stop bothering me anymore.” being unable to stifle the emotions on the verge of bursting, he turned his back on the devastated human.

This is for the best. He’s back in his cage. Staring at the lacework of the long-lived spiders on the ceiling. He already witnessed its threads wear and replace countless of times. That might not even be the same spider he saw on his first night there. He could care less. After all, the only time he was truly curious of a being is when he met them.

How he wished the thread of his feelings were as flimsy as the spider’s. That way it’ll fall off over time. It can simply be cut off when it comes on his way.

“How I wished I didn’t meet you at all.” He knows it well. He is a big liar. In some way or another, just like the firstborn. But they deserve him more than his wretched self.

Lucifer, he was the morning star. The fact that both heaven and hell were captivated by his beauty and excellence. But Belphegor… he was nothing but a bleak abyss. He once dreamt of his brother’s greatness. Yet he couldn't be anything. He, miserable and empty, who only had nothing but guilt, regrets and a broken heart— as he watched them weep.

It’s been weeks since then. They never approached him like he said. Neither in the dining table nor classroom do they discern his presence. It was painful, but he can take it. The only unbearable one he felt is catching them cry— in Lucifer’s arms.

How long are they going to cry? Is it still because of him? No… This is for the best...

This is his atonement. His fate. He still couldn’t have anything, yet he already lost everything. His—

Lucifer… He is staring at him straight in the eye. I should leave.

But Belphegor couldn’t leave. Not after the eldest gave him that sly smirk. What does that mea…

Lucifer didn’t give him time to think. “Wha, Lucifer…?” Sound of confusion left their mouth as Lucifer grabbed their chin firmly between his index and thumb, with the menacing look on his face. “What are you—!”

And the gap between their faces disappeared. “Hmph!” The sight of the futile struggle of his beloved in the hands of the man he entrusted them to… made the youngest snap.

“LUCIFER!!!” His horns and tail materializing, he lunged towards him. His clenched fist flying in the air, aiming for his jaw. Yet, as if expecting it, Lucifer evade him, loosening his grip on the stunned human in the process. Belphegor saw this as a chance to pry them away from his brother’s hands, before jumping a few meters away from him.

“When are you going to learn to clean after your own mess, Belphegor?” As if the devious smirk were never been present on his face, Lucifer looked at them with his usual expression.

“What the hell?! You’re the one who assaulted them!!” He snarled like a wild animal, holding his treasure protectively from the threat.

“I didn’t do anything. Ask them yourself.”

“Ask? Do you think I’m blind?!” His stance became stiffer, fangs sheathed and glaring sharply at his brother, who is unfazed.

A light tug on his collar made his eyes soften, and caused him to realize his tight grip on them in which he loosen. “Are you hurt?”

“N-No… Lucifer’s saying the truth… He didn’t kiss me. I was just a bit confused he pressed his thumb over my lips.”

“.... What? Okay, but still—!”

“Do you think I’m a fool, Belphegor?” Lucifer cut him off, “I know what you’re planning. I'm already your brother for thousands of years.”

“...”

“Do you now understand the consequence of your foolish action? You left someone important to you in the care of others. But you didn’t think that sort of thing might actually happen?”

“But it’s you who they love!”

Lucifer’s frown deepens, “Even if it were some lesser demon they’re in love with, I bet you'll leave them in their care.”

“I...” He… Lucifer’s right… No one's more dangerous for them than himself.

Belphegor's horns and tail disappeared as he calms down, processing what his brother is saying.

“Everyone’s dangerous in Devildom, you fool. If you really are sorry for what you did, protect them instead.”

“Protect? But… But I...” Ignoring him, the eldest glanced at the person between the youngest’s arms.

“Do you already get what I’m saying Y/N?” They nod. “Not only are you both foolish and stubborn, but also blind. Now fix this yourselves. I’m done with your drama.” pinching the bridge of his nose, Lucifer left them in that awkward position without another word.

“...I’m really sorry. I was afraid to hurt you more than I already did.” After a moment of silence, Belphegor decided to break it first.

“You already did, you idiot.” Wiping the stray tears on their puffy eyes, Belphegor gave them a sad smile. “I guess I did.”

“But I still don’t think this is alright. Shouldn’t you be a bit more wary around me? I mean you already… died in my hands once.”

“You brat. Do you think I’d cry like that if I we’re okay with not being with you? I've never held a grudge against you in the first place.” They pout.

“Why? How can you forgive me that easily?” The demon frowns at them.

“Well, wouldn't life be more wonderful if we know how to forgive and forget?”

Frustrations were evident in his eyes, Belphegor's frown deepens. “That's not right… I killed you mercile—”

“Then shouldn't I be asking you? Why can't you forgive yourself?” He didn’t answer. Mistakes have already piled up as is.

Forgive himself? Why? Does he hate himself?

...Yes... I probably do... He loathed himself. terribly so... But they, who tasted the his abhorrence. He couldn't understand how they didn't.

“You want you to find happiness.” They cupped his disgruntled face in their palms, foreheads touching as they gave him comfort.

“I can’t.” with glassy eyes, he held a hand on his cheeks, “Not when you are my happiness. Not when you liked my brother.”

“You really are blind. And here I thought I was just assuming things.” their giggles were like music to his ears. Their orbs were like the placid sky set upon him. “You really are blind. And here I thought I was just assuming things.”

“I love you, idiot.” And their words, with no hint of doubt or hesitation, hit him like a surge. It made his feelings overflow, coursing throughout his entire body, and finally spilling on every corner of his eyes. It made him unable to speak. “I’m not even hoping for you to feel the same. I just wished to stay by your side… and for you to cherish yourself like how I’ve been to you.”

Belphegor felt so happy beyond words. Such indescribable feelings swirling inside him, one that he can’t put into words. With so much running inside his head, the only line he could form is… “Thank you.”

Weeping, but from so much joy this time, they huddled in each other's grasp, not caring of their setting, until their hearts finally felt whole again.

And after such a blissful moment, “...that’s it? No I love you too?” They spoke.

“What are you saying? I already said I love you.”

“No you didn’t. Saying I’m your happiness and confessing are separate things.” they frown at him, expecting.

“It’s the same.” Yet knowing how stubborn the demon is, the human raised their white flag, although disappointed.

“Okay, alright…” They sighed, wiping his eyes with a tear-stained handkerchief. “Why am I the one comforting you anyways? I’m the one crying because of you.”

Belphegor smiled mischievously, like he didn’t cry a while ago. “Because I’m the youngest.”

“Ugh, why did I fall for a spoiled brat?” Another sigh left them as they pulled him up, “Let's go, I’m sleepy.”

Yet as soon as he rose on his feet, he placed his arms on the back of their knees and shoulder blades to carry them, gaining a small yelp from them.

“Hey...” no protest managed to leave their lips as he sealed it with a chaste kiss. Probably not their first but it was the sweetest one. It only last a few seconds, but Belphegor knew fully well. This memory will last forever.

“I love you more, my solace.”

#I seriously don't know what I did here XD #hope you liked it tho #jumping to the next request tomorrow~~ ヾ(≧▽≦*)o #obey me fanfic #obey me belphegor #obey me belphegor x reader #obey me belphegor x mc #obey me boys #obey me #obey me masters #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #meenah-chan's babey fics~~#meenah-chan~~

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maruzzewrites · 3 years

Note

For your yandere prompts, can I have 5 and Giorno please?

5. “This world doesn’t deserve an angel like you.”

Content warnings: yandere content, implied obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, controlling behavior, threats and Mafia stuff.

There was a time, at the start of your relationship, that Giorno’s finger curling your hair would bring you joy, then shivers. It was a slow, deliberate, languid motion; the strands that caught between his fingers, around each phalange, lighting up your nerves.

You understood, after a while, that he did this when you were angry, when you were trying to talk about something important, when you were talking about someone else. The pleasant sensation would make your brain pause in its track, shutter to a sudden stop, just to enjoy the goodness it brought you. The affection you craved, rarely got – and that was when it clicked into place.

Giorno, for a plethora of reasons, was hardly able to give too much love. At least physically, he was stiff, and only with the threat of separating he would show what he felt. Always, always, with a twirl of your hair. With that first clue, you noticed more: how he wouldn’t kiss you in public, but ask you to stay close and not talk to others; how he didn’t wear most things you picked for him, but wanted both of your locations shared at all times; how you couldn’t do anything, not if it wasn’t with him – but his possession stopped with demands, never with concessions.

When you first understood this, you were somewhat sympathetic. He was head of an empire, a criminal one, and showing any sort of weakness would be potentially lethal for him, for you, for all his companions. That was, eventually, the next step into your relationship’s collapse. You finally considered the nature of your romance with a man so dangerous, so influential, so divine in his power, that he could order your death for the smallest of slights.

It was frightening, but Giorno had always been nothing but kind to you – despite the tendency to be so reserved. After the initial shock, you attempted to test the waters with opening communications, and that failed. Then you attempted to be more direct, coming out empty handed once again. After weeks of efforts, as veiled or as blunt as possible, you couldn’t bear the thought anymore.

You informed Giorno that your relationship was over, and he had your hair between his fingers. This time around, it was his plan to stop working, no matter how you kept your head low. You didn’t concede when he asked, smooth as silk, if you wanted to talk further before such a decision. Such a life-changing choice.

You confirmed your intentions, and his fingers combed through your hair for the first time. Delicately, at first, when he still thought he could have the possibility to convince your otherwise. A bit more forceful after a moment, until he sighed lightly and left you alone. Stepped back, and looked down at your face; he looked melancholic, a bit lost, but his green eyes didn’t lose their shine.

He bid his farewell and hoped you would be happy, but asked to give you one last gift in the form of a house. If anything, he explained, he felt the duty to provide you with a future abode since you lived with him for so long, gave up your job long ago. Despite you having savings that you never touched because of Giorno’s generosity during your relationship, you admitted to yourself the need for a new house, and accepted after some resistance.

You started your new life as soon as all your things where out of your shared home, and you chose a modest apartment in a quiet part of the city as your starting point. You didn’t want any type of huge debt with Giorno or his organization, and nothing came after you transferred – even days, weeks, after your departure.

Adjusting to life after the breakup wasn’t as easy as you imagined, with the doubts about being able to do things you couldn’t before: going out with friends or people in general, talking freely at the phone, dressing down when going for a simple errand. It felt alien, but welcome with each passing day.

Somehow, Giorno’s memory took a bitter taste after your separation and he wasn’t as angelic as you remembered him; with time, his smile became a bit more crooked, his eyes more dull, his composure more rigid. Like a master more than a lover, no matter how gentle he would treat you.

Yet, you couldn’t help appreciating the fact he respected your decision. The most powerful criminal in Italy, and he was letting you go as if it was nothing, as if it was normal – and you didn’t really wrap your head around how vile that perception was. Despite all the grime on his image, in your mind, his gold was still shining like the sun, distracting you from the filth.

Distracting you from danger, too. It was only after two months that you started to notice someone following you around. You feared it would be someone hired by Giorno. Your answer would come a week into your discovery, when a man cornered you in an alley as you were returning home. He asked you about your life, about your love life, about Giorno himself; his veiled threats about how he needed to know where the big man was, and maybe you could be the key to open the gate.

You knew Giorno had enemies, people who wanted him dead, but you failed to consider how you were easily a target to him because of your bond. You shuttered how you were separated, how he did have nothing to do with you anymore, but the man was only angered. You managed to run away, somehow, and lock yourself into your apartment.

Breath caught in your throat, eyes watering. Your thumb hovering over the keys of your phone, Giorno’s number on the screen. You shook your head, and opted to avoid his involvement. You would try to handle it as well as you could, with help from authorities.

However, the police wouldn’t do anything. The simple recruits could only sigh and shrug, offering their condolences, while the higher-ups were on the verge of laughing in your face – their smug grins were enough mockery, though. You found yourself with daily threats on your doorstep, urging you to help this mysterious organization reach their goal and that no harm would be done to you if you collaborated.

At some point, your mind broke. You were on the phone, listening to it ring. Giorno answered with his name, and asked who it was. It felt like a thorn in your heart, but you ignored it. You started to sob your request for help, which turned into a wail. Giorno was silent, listening.

“Do you want me to send someone?” His voice was so placid, so warm, a calm river flowing while a storm was raging elsewhere. You could hear fondness in his tone, almost a restrain in letting it spill; and you hoped he was still feeling the same sense of relief you were, now that you felt like he was there with you.

“Can I come there?” You asked. There was a pause, and you feared his rejection. Maybe he found someone else, maybe he was ready to move on while you were ready to sink. A sigh carrying your name was heard, and you felt more tears falling, more whimpers coming out of your mouth.

You feared you would be alone in this. You would have to face the terror, the dread, all on your own while Giorno would swallow the grief and go on. You felt your muscles tremble, you felt your skin not fit you, and your breath didn’t belong to you anymore.

“Darling,” his voice came like a promise from heaven. You waited for something, anything, and another sigh ringed in your ears, “I’m sorry I left you to your devices. This world doesn’t deserve an angel like you.”

You shivered, but it felt better this time. Like you could actually sense every nerve, not as if you were experiencing something other than yourself. You asked, tentative, if you could come, again. His consent felt like water after the desert, and you listened carefully to his instructions about how to return. You thanked him and waited for him to hung up.

Once he was sure you weren’t listening anymore, he smiled as usual. He dialed another number, the man on the other end asking what he wanted. Giorno wasn’t in the mood for getting angry at some lowly thug, “You can stop bothering her. I will send your payment in your mail.”

He didn’t leave the man time to answer, and his phone was out of his hands immediately. He called for one of the maids, requested that they dusted the portion of wardrobe you left empty months prior and redecorate the bathroom with your favorite items again, those he stored in wait.

All he had to do, now, was arrange the return.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #giorno giovanna #giorno x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #hello i'm here with new content have fun lovelies!#Anonymous

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seasaltmemories · 3 years

Text

Regret

Rating: T

Summary: When the nurse finished her tale, Celica promised herself that she would never become such a pitiable woman. [Arranged Marriage AU] [Trigger Warnings]

The first time Anthiese remembered meeting her father was when she was eleven.

A year after the villa was attacked, Sir Mycen sent a letter to Novis declaring all of Desaix collaborators jailed or executed. Since heirs were now in a sudden short supply, her father had decided it best for her to join him at Zofia Castle.

She had only started to allow herself to view the priory as a home the prior month; nevertheless, Anthiese followed the dark-hair mercenary back to the capital without complaint. With both a decade and the fire under her belt now, she didn’t feel like a child anymore. And because eleven was the oldest she had ever been, she thought that meant she must be ready to be an adult now.

For all her poise, though, it didn’t make that first night in one of the castle’s guest-rooms any easier. It was furnished with the same silks and mahoganies of the royal villa, and no matter how much she tried to reason with herself that such similarities were only natural, she still found herself dreaming that she was choking on ash. That morning she woke up convinced she was buried in the villa’s rubble and scrubbed her cheeks near raw.

Her nurse had scolded her once the episode passed and spent the rest of the morning brushing powder on her face. If she couldn’t act like an adult, then maybe she could at least try to present herself like one.

She hated the process, feeling like a porcelain doll being painted and brushed to perfection. But if someone ever took the time to ask her what she wanted, she didn’t know if she would have protested in the slightest. She suspected she wouldn’t have been able to explain at all what she expected from this journey. It was only the distance that memory provided that allowed her to give words to such a childish desire. That if she bore all her pain with grace and determination, somehow, someway she’d be rewarded.

And so, Earth Mother, she tried. She tried to hold her head high and approach the throne as if it was where she belonged.

The man who sat before had hair as red as hers. It shouldn’t have been all surprisingly, but Anthiese found herself clinging to detail all the same. She liked to think she had never needed him before in her life, but it was thrilling to imagine he might need her in return. So she went through whole ritual of curtsying and giving her most genuine respect.

When she lifted her head again, she found her father looking at her as if he was meeting a god. Trembling, he extended a swollen red hand.

“Liprica?” It was barely a murmur, but the stink of his wine-soaked breath still overwhelmed her. When he moved to cradle a curl of hers, she couldn’t help but recoil.

His eyes widened, as if coming out from a waking dream, and somehow she knew in that instant that he’d never look at her with that same reverence ever again.

It didn’t take long for him to dismiss Anthiese back to her chambers. Once there, the cool mask of maturity she had been weaving since she had received the missive fell apart. She found herself bawling like a newborn, kicking and screaming at any of the maids that tried to restrain her.

Then, like a flash of lightning, her nurse struck her across the cheek. The fear and pain that followed was so overwhelming, Anthiese went silent almost immediately.

“How dare you behave in such a selfish manner! What kind of daughter refuses her own father’s affections?!”

Something deep inside of her started to catalyze. She didn’t quite know what she was becoming, but she had the feeling she wasn’t quite Anthiese anymore.

“Who is Liprica?” It felt dangerous to ask, but the question fell from her lips before she could take it back.

The nurse furrowed her brow in pity. Surprisingly, she picked up the child and gathered her in her lap. In the last show of tenderness she could remember, the nurse recounted the story of the only woman the king had ever loved.

When she finished her tale, Celica promised herself that she would never become such a pitiable woman.

When Celica awoke in Mila’s cell, she felt that same sense of transformation pull at her limbs. While her memory and vision came back to her slowly but surely, some third, indescribable part of her seemed to leak out onto the ground. Like a cocoon cracked open before it could hatch into a butterfly, if she was supposed to become someone else again, she had no clue anymore on how to get there.

She liked to think it was courage or bravery that compelled her to stand, but that felt too optimistic a conjecture to make. Picking up Falchion and climbing past the torn cell bars seemed more muscle memory than anything deliberate. She didn’t know what could possibly be fueling her at this point. With each breath she swallowed, she tasted the ash that still lingered in the air.

Earth Mother...

She didn’t know if it was a prayer or a curse. As much as Celica rather forget it, the memory of Mila’s grasp had been burned into her memory. No matter how many times she went back to try and construct a different version of events, Mila’s claws seemed to tear into her mind each time.

You didn’t take imprisonment gracefully either...

Celica’s mind drifted back towards the Rigelian maid she burned. She must have seemed just as monstrous and terrifying as Mila in that moment. Guilt swirled inside Celica’s stomach like a storm, but she tried to channel it into something positive. If there was hope for her, then perhaps Mila might calm with time.

Are you sure you’re so above reproach?

Celica bit her lip and pressed forward into the darkness of the tunnels. Perhaps this whole underground was her cocoon. She wouldn’t be able to see what she’d become until she left.

It was dawn when Alm reemerged from his grief. Not because the pain had subsided or because he had somehow overcome it, but rather because he was simple too exhausted to sob any longer. All his pity and empathy had been wrung out of him like washing rag.

From the distance, he saw Berkut lead a squadron of soldiers up towards the bastion. And despite how he knew Father meant to Berkut, meant to everyone, a strange possessiveness overtook him. He found himself moving towards the top end of the ramparts, blocking any view of Father’s body.

“Alm--” Berkut struggled to catch his breath, eyes wild and unfocused. “--there you are! Do you have any idea what’s been--”

“I know!” Despite himself, Alm’s voice came out harsher than he wanted. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’ve just--”

As Alm struggled to find some words that might capture the last few hours, Berkut pushed past him. Alm couldn’t stop him before he managed to catch sight of the ugly scene.

“Uncle...” Those two syllables managed to break Alm’s heart all over again. There was a weakness to Berkut’s voice he hadn’t heard since the two of them were children. Alm leaned forward to comfort him; however before he could complete his embrace, Berkut gripped his forearms in a tight squeeze.

“Who did this!?” Berkut hissed.

Mila’s shadow hung heavy over the two men. This was a conversation that they had sworn to keep behind closed doors, but what were they supposed to do once everything had been blown open?

“It was her, wasn’t it? Never should have let her out of our sight!”

“What do you want me to do?!” Alm could feel what little control he had mustered start to fray. “He’s gone now! Nothing can change that! Not even a brand!”

Alm wondered what this must look to the outside world: Rigel’s two fine princes yelling like madman. All of Father’s hard work to crafting the perfect golden hero vanquished before he even had a grave to roll around in.

From that thought, the sorrow returned, stronger than ever before. However before the tears could return, Berkut dug his nails into his skin.

“Don’t you dare.” There was a dangerous calmness to his voice. “You don’t have the luxury of grief anymore. You have to be able to do what’s necessary for the country.”

He turned around to face the squadron. “Everyone kneel! You have the honor to bask in the presence of our sovereign emperor!” Berkut fell to his knees in front of Alm, and like dominoes, each following soldier did the same.

“All hail Albine Alm Rudolf II, may his reign be righteous and just!” The cry went out like a chorus, ringing across the ramparts. With each round, another further group repeated it, until the entire castle was shouting as one voice.

It took all of Alm’s willpower not to vomit.

When Berkut rose again, he was quick to issue orders about funeral and burial preparations. As the squadron dispersed Alm wanted nothing more than to fade into the wind--to let the one who truly wanted this responsibility take it. But before he could voice any of those thoughts, Berkut caught him off-guard with one final question.

“Do you have any idea if your wedding gift is still secure?”

Alm was puzzled for a moment. Wedding gift had been their code for Mila since his marriage was arranged. How could he go from recognizing her involvement to asking about her imprisonment?

Suddenly everything came together with terrifying clarity.

Where in the world was Anthiese?

Celica had trouble discerning how long she had been in the underground tunnels. There was no natural lighting to indicate if it was night or day. No people going about their daily routine. For all she knew she could have been unconscious for centuries, and spend another few running around in circles. The only way to prove herself wrong, would be if she kept pressing forward regardless.

On one hand the solitude was, all things considered, welcomed--she still felt too fuzzy to attempt any stealth maneuvers. On the other hand though, the further she ventured, the further she felt unmoored from the rest of the world. When she first descended down here, she had mostly followed the pain in her brand. Without its guide, she had no idea where to go.

After what felt like ages wandering in the darkness, Celica found a green feather lying at a crossroads. Immediately she ran up to it, as if it were a talisman that might save her soul. And while even under closer scrutiny, she couldn’t discern anything further about the feather, she noticed a fresh set of claw marks on the rightmost wall. Whether intentional or not, the Earth Mother had not completely abandoned her. And so despite all odds, Celica allowed herself to believe in the hope that she would not stay lost forever, that if she was meant to die, it wasn’t here.

For a moment, it seemed as if her hopes weren’t for nothing. In time her makeshift trail of plumage and scratches brought her to an room so warmly lit, it almost blinded her. Something about that orange glow tugged at Celica’s heart strings. The relief was so great, she almost believed she might be able to truly love Rigel. That she’d never need anything ever again, and she’d be good and obedient if it meant staving off the dread that seemed poised to swallow her whole. She couldn’t help but run to the light without looking back.

However as her vision adjusted, any comfort she had managed to dream up, evaporated in an instant.

From the slick marble tile and high-vaulted ceilings, she could tell that this once was a place of grand splendor. There was a strange nostalgia to the splintered benches and crumbling columns, but she found her gaze being drawn mostly to the broken slab at the far end of the hall. It was hard to say, but perhaps if she put all her attention to reconstructing what it could have been, then maybe the stench of death and decay would fade away. Things would go back to the way they were supposed to be, and she wouldn’t have to live in this nightmare anymore.

Celica didn’t realize she had continued wandering forward until she tripped and found herself on the cool floor. Blankly, she checked to see what had made her fall. She expected to find a loose stone or cracked board, but instead a limp, bruised arm laid sprawled across the path. When it twitched, she could help but shriek.

However rather than reach out and grab her, the arm did nothing but spasm weakly. Instead the true source of life came from the groan that echoed across the room. She followed the arm to find the source to be Jedah of all people, crushed under a pile of rubble.

“Anthiese...is that really you?” His words were slurred and difficult to make out. The only sign of life on his blood-crusted face was the slight tremor of his lip as he spoke.

Celica shivered. His choked voice made her blood run so cold, her tongue felt frozen in place. She tried her best to get away from the horrid sound, but in the process of trying to push herself up, Falchion clattered against the floor with a piercing ring.

“That sword!” He gasped. Quickly Celica picked it back up, a new possessiveness overwhelming her, but he seemed content to simply follow the light that bounced off the blade. “...that’s why he forsook us. You used our own tools to conquer us.”

“My intention has never been to conquer Rigel.” Celica spat.

“Look around you. Duma’s Faithful have been on death row for the longest time. This is just the noose finally tightening around our neck. Now your goddess can reign completely.”

Again Celica remembered the sensation of Mila’s claws on her chin. She wondered if she looked closely, how many other corpses she might find. She wondered if their bodies would carry the same wounds as her.

“Perhaps this is Duma’s last lesson...” Jedah mused. “In my arrogance, I thought I had tamed you thoroughly enough. Let that boy influence me too much. Now you shall be our undoing.”

Celica’s skin crawled. As much as her hatred for him hadn’t diminished in the slightest, she did not want to watch him die. Even as she tried to look away, she couldn’t stop from noticing all the blood stains that lined the walls. Just how many other corpses were hiding among this room? How much blood would stain her hands before Mila’s rampage ended?

“I didn’t want this.” Celica whispered--as if any of that mattered at this point.

When what remained of Jedah’s life began to fade away--she found herself closing her eyes and raising her face towards heaven. If it was a prayer, then she only prayed her drumming heartbeat would drown out his dying gasps.

When she heard a group of soldier shout for her arrest, she didn’t resist.

News of Anthiese didn’t get to him until late that night. After Berkut found him, he passed Alm off to Massena for a more formal coronation. Even if Rigel Castle hadn’t been in such a dismal state, succession had become a fraught topic since Father ascended to the throne. Up until now, every heir had been required to be blessed by the Duma Faithful before they could rule. In theory such a thing shouldn’t be necessary now that the Emperor also doubled as head of the Church, but wars had been fought over more insignificant details in the past. As a result, Alm spent most of his day signing documents and sending letters, certain Jedah would interrupt him at any moment. When sunset came and there was still no attempt of a coup, Massena finally bestowed Alm his crown and declared him emperor.

The only witnesses were General Zeke and his wife.

Alm was escorted back to his old chambers afterwards. In theory, they’d have a more public ceremony tomorrow, so it be better if he looked like he had at least gotten an hour or two of sleep. Still even his study had not escaped the day untouched. A pile of notes the height of his forearm laid on top his desk, all addressed to Emperor Albein Alm Rudolf II.

Despite the hour, he still felt the vast emptiness from the morning, somehow too exhausted for sleep. So he tried to do what he thought a chosen hero should do. He lit a candle and went to work.

Anthiese’ report was nestled in between a record of civilian deaths and an estimate charge for castle repairs. He’d be lying if he acted as if he hadn’t be thinking of her all day, but he forced himself to read the paper at the same detached pace as every other piece.

It claimed that the lost princess had been found in Duma Temple, next to Father Jedah’s wasting body. Considering the number of Duma Faithful found dead, she was currently being imprisoned on charges for mass murder. However most of the corpses had been found under rubble and other debris; the report argued it was unlikely she had been the only one responsible. The only piece of evidence she could have been involved was the sword she had been found with.

Alm read the last sentence over. Then he read it again and again, until the words started to blur before his eyes. He pushed the document away and took a deep breath. He tried to hope against hope.

He pulled out the charges for repairs. He read the first line of figures. Then he crumpled it into a ball and headed for the dungeons.

On his journey downwards, Alm couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time he made this trip. If he had reported first to Father as expected, would he still be here today? As illogical as it sounded, he couldn’t stop from trying to pinpoint everything went wrong, when Father’s demise had been locked in place.

“Promise me you won’t let her lead you astray.”

That had been some of his last words. And yet despite everything, when Alm thought of Anthiese, he still imagined her flushed face and the sensation of her lips against his eyelids. He didn’t want to open his eyes, see what she must really think of him when not performing for his pleasure.

This time there was no forcing his way in. The minute the guard saw him, she immediately stepped aside and gave a deep bow. “Is this going to be a private interrogation?” She asked while handing him the keys. And maybe this was another mistake, another point of no return he was damning himself to, but he wanted the two of them to be honest for once, about Mila and everything in between.

“Yes,” He answered. And by the time the door slammed shut, she had all but disappeared down the hall.

A long time ago, Father had told him that the worst thing an Emperor could do, was appear anxious. Any physical tics or irregular breathing could turn into a terrible tell for enemies to exploit. Therefore, Alm took his time facing Anthiese, slowly inhaling and exhaling until the rise in his chest was barely noticeable.

When he finally looked up he found her curled up on the floor wearing a torn set of his shirt and trousers. Shackles chained her to the wall, only allowing a short range of movement, yet even that amount of freedom made him uneasy. He struggled to predict what might occur if she got her hands on him.

“Wake up,” Alm ordered.

He struggled to trust what might occur if he got his hands on her.

The only sign of life she showed was the singular cold eye that peeked out behind her curtain of hair. She looked less like the alluring temptress from the night before and more like a stray hound.

“Most of the time, the high judge is the one to lay out the case, but just this once, I’m going to give you the chance to explain yourself.” He tried to speak with Father’s commanding presence.

Anthiese tilted her head to the side. For a moment she just stared. Then a sickening giggle began to scratch its way out of her throat.

“How nice. Do I get to choose the method of execution as well?”

Alm’s eyes narrowed. “I’d stop the jokes if I were you. The high judge lost his wife this morning. He’s not likely to have much sympathy for you.”

Anthiese stopped giggling. “Do you have sympathy for me?”

His brand ached at her words, as if it was just now being etched into his skin. He wondered if perhaps it was something like an infected wound, slowly spreading to the rest of him.

“Don’t mock my mercy,” He took a step forward, ignoring the pain. “Do you even realize what you’ve done? What wielding that blade means?”

“I’m not an idiot.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “I know you already know about the temple and how much blood they say is on my hands. What’s the use in asking for my story?”

“A man is supposed to think the best of his wife.” His words caught on something sharp inside of himself. “An orphaned king must be the loneliest creature in the world. If possible, I don’t want to lose you too.”

“That’s your problem,” Anthiese snapped. “You’ve forgotten Jedah’s warnings. How could a Zofian woman be anything but duplicitous and selfish? It doesn’t matter if you pamper her with flowers, you can’t change nature.” She leaned forward and bared her teeth. “You should have locked me up our wedding night.”

Alm could feel his blood hum through his body. It felt like an entire colony wasps was needling at his skin, wanting to burst clean from his body and swarm. Images of a manor in the woods he did not want to think about flooded his mind.

“Tell me you didn’t know you were doing.” He begged. For a moment he believed that was all they needed to return to the magic of their night together.

Anthiese pushed herself up so that they were eye level. “I rather watch the continent burn than become anything resembling my mother.”

He wished he could say he was blinded with rage. He wished his body had acted as a separate creature from him. but if anything, he felt more like himself than he had all day when he slammed his fist into her cheek.

Anthiese hit the floor hard, her chin catching on a loose stone. A slow stream of blood started to dribble down her neck as Alm gasped for breath. Carefully, she picked herself up, cradling her cheek.

“Thank you, Emperor Albein--” Her voice was cold and distant. “--for finally showing me your gentle, tender care.” The giggle returned louder than ever.

But despite all her best efforts, she could stop the tears that were streaming down her face.

A.N. Well, man was last chapter a bad cliffhanger to end on. I'm real sorry for the whole two year hiatus, definitely had a lot of personal projects to focus on. Good news though, this is now the WIP at the top of my "to finish" list. At the very least, I finally feel as confident as I'll ever be with this chapter, while there are still plenty of questions to answer, I thought it important to really get this personal reactions from the two of them, I wanted to show how grief and trauma can really consume ppl in the worst ways, how it can be defined by painful absences as much as vivid hauntings.

#celicalm #fe echoes #celica #alm #fire emblem echoes #my lame writing #otp: I'll send a storm to capture your heart and bring you home #ships and deserts and swamps oh my #arranged marriage au #definitely mind the trigger warnings on this on guys

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years

Text

The Mask of Death - Fairy Tales and Waking Nightmares (aka Vader obliterates a Rebel unit in typical, spooky fashion)

He wasn’t real.

He couldn’t be.

When Viola Perry had joined the Rebellion, he had been entirely prepared for all that entailed. He despised the Empire and its government, despised its regime and its knack for exploiting the weaker star systems and depleting them of their natural resources for the benefit of the elite. Even as a chancellor, Emperor Palpatine had tended to favour only the worlds and civilizations he considered useful and worth a damn. As Emperor, he had doubled down on that mindset - and while the planets of the outer rim were falling into a lawless haven for criminals, while the Moffs extracted every ounce of goods, riches and pleasure from the worlds they had handpicked and settled down on; Perry saw her people waste away. True, she had been raised coruscanti, on a mid tier level by a single father who laboured day and night as a mechanic. His life had not been aided by the Empire’s rise to power, instead, he had been pushed out of service by official Imperial service systems requiring customers to pay a higher amount of credits for a lesser amount of expertise. Like so many other things, there was a penalty to disobeying and neglecting the restrictions and guidelines.

As soon as Perry was able, she fled. She joined the Rebel Alliance, seeking justice for her father who had died impoverished and imprisoned for conducting and encouraging illegal behaviour - apparently, doing a greater job as a mechanic than the Imperial forces was a crime and a felony - and she had been with the organisation for four years now. Four years of fighting the good fight, winning small victories and taking back the autonomy of the galaxy little by little as hope spread like a wildfire amongst those already saddled with doubt and distrust. Chancellor Palpatine had failed to live up to his hype, why would Emperor Palpatine be any different? Perry had seen firsthand just how far the Empire was willing to go, in order to eradicate the resistance fighters and downplay their growing masses as a trivial and unimportant wayward attempt at terrorism. Only the rebels themselves knew that they were slowly but surely becoming a legitimate threat.

Perry had, as had most rebels she had fought alongside, been wary of any information spread by the Empire from the start. Propaganda and deliberate misinformation were only a couple of the tools used to lure the populous of the vast galaxy into some sense of security. As such, she had laughed the very first time she’d heard the tall tale of Darth Vader. Apparently, a mole within the Imperial ranks had shared the myth as a warning. By most of the Alliance, it had been taken as fiction sold by the Imperial sovereigns to saw fear within their resistance. Vader, as the story went, was a seldom seen assassin of the Empire. The tale painted him as clad entirely in black, seven foot tall and wielding mysterious and invicible powers. He could kill with simply a look, or a wave of the hand. At first, the story had begun as such - vague, raising more questions than it answered about this fantastical and implausible boogeyman. Perry had concluded Vader could be little more than a false narrative, invented to instill doubt within the hearts of any nervously inclined resistance fighter.

But, as time went on, more and more stories with a similar twist kept turning up. Every now and then, a delirious dying fellow rebel with haunted eyes and baited breath would ramble about a monster clad in black. Eventually, the concerns grew to a point where even figureheads of the Alliance such as Mon Mothma and the Organas would openly discuss the matter. Rumours said viceroy Bail Organa in particular was inclined to believe the stories, and while Perry viewed him as level headed and logical - that was one leap of imagination she wasn’t willing to trust him on.

It was only when Perry’s closest friend and confidant, Oliwia Blix, was slain on her own home turf - an ambush assault led by what was later revealed to be the 501st Imperial squadron, surprising the freedom fighters she was responsible for - that Perry began to question her conviction. Oliwia had not survived the attack, and her body was never recovered but those who did persevere knew she was deceased - they had seen her there in the midst of the chaos, barking out orders and desperately attempting to call for help through the sliced comlink connections. Out of the handful of survivors, Perry trusted only Juno Eclipse. Eclipse was a young, blonde woman who had once been closely affiliated with the Imperial military but who had become disillusioned one way or another. She never spoke much of her Imperial days. Her insights were always helpful, and she had aided many a favourable outcome in battle. She possessed inside knowledge and codes that were invaluable - and she was firmly decided that the ambush had been a ploy to get her; she was the target and she was responsible for the death of her affiliates.

Eclipse was reasonable, and Perry admired her judgment. That’s why, when Eclipse spoke of Vader; Perry put aside her skepticism to actually listen. According to Eclipse, Vader was the man the Empire sent out when all else failed. He was undefeated, possibly invincible; shrewd and secretive. If he came for you, he would not stop coming until he had carried out his mission. In her case, Eclipse had expected she’d be put on trial for treason when she first broke away from the Empire, but once Vader had been sent on her trail - she explained - she had realized she was no longer worth the hassle. When Vader came to collect, you were as good as dead already. Perry had asked whether Eclipse had seen this infamous monster, and Eclipse had simply chuckled in sullen surrender as if she had already accepted her own fate.

‘He’s not a monster,’ she had said. ‘He’s a man. Or, I think he was a man, once. I’m not sure what he is now.’

Eclipse had said little in addition to that, only that she was certain that he had been present on the planet Cordaan’a where the incident had occurred. Perry got the firm impression that the ex Imperial officer had seen someone or something she perceived to be this Vader, and while she didn’t want to press the already anxiety ridden woman; she chalked most of it up to stress, fear and trauma. Even Eclipse - intelligent, brave and immovable - could be deceived by the rush of adrenaline that came with battle, as her senses were jumbled. That, along with the fact that her life was in jeopardy and that she knew the Empire wanted to see her punished for her desertion, could make anyone hallucinate a phantom such as the propagandistic tale of an Imperial hitman.

That was, until two weeks later. At noon, the base camp of Brakko had prepared for a subtle, incognito transfer. Perry’s unit had been targeted for elimination by Imperial forces, and while there were no signs suggesting the Empire knew where exactly their base was hidden - it was unsafe to stay in one place for too long. As the early afternoon rolled around, every necessary scrap of ammunition, weaponry, rations, credits, and other various equipment had been rounded up and packed away. Only a few chunkier, stolen cannons and proton bombs remained unaccounted for. That was the moment during which the Empire decided to make their presence known. A well aimed rifle shot, and the second largest of the docked freight vessels was blown up in the span of milliseconds.

As its explosive cargo content shattered the clunky ship, the shockwave sent most resistance fighters flying. Shrapnel became deadly projectiles, and as Perry struggled to regain her bearings - the force of the blast had sent her several feet back into the rough, and jagged gravel of the walkway leading towards the underground bunkers - she noted familiar faces; bloodied and beaten. Some unrecognizable, some wheezing as steady streams of red liquid poured out of their nostrils. Perry herself found her hearing was dulled, as if she were underwater - the distant, faraway yells and shrieks of her terrified comrades preparing retaliation blocked out by a loud shrill ringing. She struggled to her knees, instinctively reaching for her trusty blaster where it sat holstered at her hip.

As soon as she looked up, Perry could see the swarm of stormtroopers welling forth from every direction. They were undistinguishable in their white polished armour, black visors covering their eyes. Her legs moved out of self preservation, her chest burning with extortion as she fired aimlessly at her assaulters. A few fell by the wayside, and Perry dove behind the wreckage of one of the smaller shuttles that had been affected by the explosion. Three more rebels cowered there, taking turns firing fervently to keep the troopers at bay - only for the two additional blasters wielded by who Perry recognized to be Admiral Parlak and Sergeant Ilija to be literally ripped out of their grip with no visible cause.

“Come out with your hands on your heads,” said one of the troopers, his cadence entirely void of empathy.

“You’ll gun us down if we do,” Perry snapped in defense, and realized only afterwards that she had spoken at all.

Her hearing was beginning to return, as Perry and her small group peered cautiously over the edge of the ripped off shuttle wing that provided their makeshift shield. Even as her head became fully visible, no additional shots were fired. A platoon of what Perry estimated to be forty stormtroopers stood in a half circle, making three rows with their blasters aimed meticulously at the unguarded hideout. Around them, a few smaller squads mirrored their stance. A good four feet in ahead of the mass, stood a single trooper - his more lavish suit of armour indicating that he was a higher ranking soldier, possibly a commander - with his hand raised to signify cease fire. Perry assumed he had been the one addressing them.

It was only then that she realized how eerily quiet it had become. Her eyes darted around, both relieved and unsettled when she spotted a few grimy, scuffed and fretful faces poking out from behind various chunks of debris much like her and her group. Apart from feeble moans and sobs of pain, and crackling of the fires that had spread from the explosion to the trees and vegetation concealing the base camp - everything was deathly silent.

Silent, until a deep, booming voice broke the impasse.

“Not if you cooperate.”

In one fell swoop, the mid section of the platoon parted like a tidal wave. They made room with no fuzz, moving as one single unit and stood at courtly attention. From the smoke, the ashes and the flames behind them; the shadows of even more soldiers merely silhouetted revealed as a backdrop, came a predator. Even before it could be viewed in all its horrendous detail; its large frame drew all attention. Tall, broad shouldered, chest wide - and with it followed a hissing, mechanical breathing cycle reminiscent of a respirator. At any other time its pathetic sounds may have inspired pity or sympathy, but in this instance; its intervals were decidedly ominous, as this thing traversed the ground littered with fresh corpses in a careless stride.

Towering over and dwarfing the stormtroopers; the looming dark spectre emerged fully from the dust and cinders swirling through the air. Clad in all black; head to toe. Black armour, black cape, black robes, black gloves, black boots, black helmet; black mask covering the monster’s entire face from view. Still, the lenses through which the grim presence viewed the world were tinted ever so slightly crimson. In its hand, the thing clutched the hilt of a saber - its plasma blade red and humming as energy surged through it.

“Please, no,” Perry caught a hitched gasp, frightened disbelief colouring the unmistakable tone of Eclipse - and Perry spotted her pale face off to the side; crouched behind a severed landing hatchet.

“I have come for Captain Eclipse. I have been informed that she hides among your ranks. It is unfortunate for your organisation that she would lead me to you - I, however, view it as a welcome surprise.”

The voice was so deep, it seemed to reverberate through Perry’s very bones - and despite the heat of the flames' licking, flickering nature as they consumed the palm trees with a gleeful greed - the world seemed as cold as ice. Curling in on herself, Perry wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to stave off the worst chill; her breaths coming out as puffs of condensed mist. Still, she could do nothing but stare at the empty, hollow eyes of that face plate. The monster turned its head slowly in the direction of Eclipse’s hiding place, tilting it in a disturbingly comedic manner. If she could have seen its mouth; Perry was convinced the monster would have smiled at the collective hopelessness at its disposal.

‘Darth Vader is real,’ so many fellow rebels had insisted - and Perry had disregarded every single one as superstitious and foolhardy.

'Darth Vader is a fairy tale,’ she had stubbornly countered.

Perry didn’t even have the time to flinch as the monster’s large right hand cut through the empty air. The motion was swift, smooth and effortless - and the bulky piece of scrap metal Eclipse had been huddled behind was sent flying as if it were completely weightless. The hefty durasteel went from sitting completely still to hurdling a distance of about thirty yards at an unfathomable speed; smashing right into a tree trunk which it sheared clean off simply by momentum. The monster did not move, even as the tree collapsed and brought another down with it; but Eclipse yelped and covered her mouth. Perry had never, never seen her be anything but resolute - and slightly shaken once, while relaying her tale of this predator whom Perry had refused to believe might materialize. Now, her features spoke only of regret and dread. Her shoulders were trembling, her blue eyes glassy with tears.

“Did you believe the Emperor would not aim to see you destroyed? Did you believe he would forget you?” the monster mocked, and with obvious sarcasm he added, “You must think so highly of the Emperor’s sense of compassion. I am truly sad to say that I must dissuade such unfortunate delusions.”

“Do what you please with me, but spare the rest,” Eclipse blurted out, desperation in her voice as she stumbled to her feet; taking one unsteady step towards the monster and dissmissing his jeering entirely.

‘He’s not a monster, he’s a man. Or, I think he was a man, once,’ Eclipse had said back then; and while her eyes were now still brimming with yet unshed tears, her expression was one of bargaining.

She was attempting to appeal to this thing’s - this man’s humanity. Instead, he simply cocked his head a bit farther to the side as if perplexed by her emotional outburst, regarding her silently with a deliberate intent to unnerve and rattle her. Perry realized only then that she, too, was trembling not only from the cold. It was as if this man’s entire being radiated a dark, black, vicious hatred. A vile, twisted sense of entitlement and disgust alike. It permeated his surroundings, spreading like a contagious disease; infecting everything it touched, tainting and tarnishing anything it could corrupt. His unwavering gaze and dead eyeholes seemed to demand a cruel mixture of respect and fear; and Eclipse clasped her hands in what resembled a feeble prayer.

“Lord Vader. I beg of you. Let them go. It’s me you want.”

A tear slipped down her gaunt face; her complexion ashen and her bottom lip quivering. Her blonde hair fell over her forehead in unruly chunks, a damp patch of dark blood staining the upper sleeve of her jacket. Vader simply raised his hand once more; beckoning Eclipse with his fore and index fingers in an almost gentle manner. Eclipse had no chance to move of her own volition, nor to deny the request before her feet were lifted off the ground and she was yanked unceremoniously forwards. Her motion stopped only when she was mere inches from Vader; her face level with his mask as she levitated freely in the empty air. Vader’s outstretched hand was steady, holding its posture - and Perry realized with horror that the powers all the rumours spoke of were factual, as well.

“While it is a touching sentiment - your saviour complex serves you no favours with me, Captain.”

There was no compassion in Vader’s tone, the cadence mechanical and stilted - and yet, the words came out an overt, obvious commination. Shifting the hand Perry had assumed was efficently preoccupied with suspending Eclipse in the air, Vader gestured at his troopers and they immediately switched into action. Eclipse still hovered several feet above ground; and Perry reared back as Vader’s empty lenses came to rest on her hiding spot. As before, there was no prelude - the torn wing of the shuttle was simply shoved aside in one fluid swipe. The same thing occured simultaneously to any other covers; Perry's fellow rebels attempting to defend themselves in vain. One moment, Perry was fumbling for her blaster with numb fingers; the next, a stormtrooper had her arms trapped behind her back. Some of her comrades attempted to resist the capture, and were subsequently executed on spot with a single blast to the back of their heads. As they were rounded up, only twenty-two of the at least seventy rebels that had stayed behind loading up supplies remained. They were forced down on their knees; hands on their heads. Perry glared at Vader who seemed to eye them all with a disinterested boredom, but her hammering heart betrayed her collected facade.

“I suggest you watch, Captain. Let this be a warning to abide by. I have orders to bring you off world. While the Emperor wishes no audience with you, Governor Tarkin is most excited to have a word preceding your eminent, public execution,” Vader informed as if there were no other witnesses, no further participants to the event than him and Eclipse alone. “You will watch this.”

The final words were sinister, their implication crystal clear and the demand irrefutable. Eclipse’s slumped head was forcefully yanked in the direction of her kneeling coworkers, the men and women she had bravely fought alongside, who had become her confidants and friends. Perry expected to be anticlimactically shot, icy dread churning at the pit of her belly. Still she was transfixed by Eclipse’s horrified; apologetic eyes as they stared back at her- wide and unblinking, as if she could not close them had she wanted to. Holding the stare, a pressure closed around Perry’s slender throat; like an unseen hand encompassing her fragile neck and squeezing her windpipe until she could no longer inhale. She panicked, pawing at her throat as her lungs burned and the edges of her vision began to fade away. Next to her, the choking noises of her fellow rebels rose; all of them clawing desperately at the invisible hand strangling them unanimously. The last thing Perry saw; pure terror coursing through her veins as her pulse slowed to die away and a loud, cracking pop signified the snap of her neck caving under pressure, was Eclipse’s guilt ridden eyes, and the tears now falling from them.

Perry slumped to the ground, and Vader’s large boots stalked past her crumpled body to sear themselves into her minds eye as one final bitter irony.

He was real.

Then, she was no more.

---------

Posted a teaser before, but I like this installment so much I felt I needed to post the entire thing so here you go. Link to the full fic below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049894/chapters/79969921

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sntdeaths · 3 years

Text

case file : kingsley , maddox / there is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand ,

associations : the organization, the entertainers, herself /

1980 , london

memoir : burning cigarettes sitting on the hood of a car during a cold night, listening to old songs on the radio, books piling up on barely used apartments, blood-stained thorns of blooming roses, setting fire to expensive paintings just for fun, shaky hands covered in blood, open shirts smelling of wet dirt, red lipstick stains on the collar of white shirts

full name : Maddox Kingsley

nicknames : Has none

birthdate : november 22th, 1980

hometown : london , england

current location : sunset port , downtown

languages spoken : english , german , italian, russian

distinguishing features : a scar across her brow , a ‘do not approach’ attitude

positive : shrewd, punctilious, proficient

negative : perilous, vitriolic, temerarious

aspirations : to be free

likes : the smell of wet grass, long walks through the forest, the quietness of loneliness, bitter strong alcohol straight from the bottle, sunglasses in rainy grey days, long drives in the night

dislikes : being swallowed by her thoughts, interactions with humans, fake politeness and false kindness, being known, memories of the past, griefing for a life she doesn't remember

BIOGRAPHY

Trigger Warnings; Violence, Murder, Guns, Drugs, Serial Killers Mention

Maddox Kingsley understands enough of human nature to perceive her morals; nor black nor white, but shades of grey. Most are darker than others, more prominent. Some are hardly noticeable, but the danger is still unmistakable. In hindsight, it should be said her morals are questionable, simply put. There is no wrong or right, for Maddox. Sides are of little importance, as the only side she cares for is her own. A selfish little thing, with only her well-being in mind; she doesn't partake in any activities if she is not gaining something out of it. Maddox is easily buyable, and that's where the trouble resides; her loyalty is not worth a penny, at the end of the day — Not if someone pays better for it. Betrayal is part of Maddox's nature; it's in her blood, her instinct. Not born with her, but shoved in her bones, carved into the space where her heart should've been. Survival had been the first thing Maddox Kingsley learned, forced into her veins by unpredictable events and painfully drastic circumstances —

You see, Maddox Kingsley had not been planned by loving parents intending to start a family. She had not been imagined, had no one who had longed for her — who had dreamed of her. No. Maddox is the outcome of a series of unpredictable events and terribly, comical if not painfully drastic, exaggerated misunderstandings. A tale so entangled in lies and achingly raw sorrow it is hardly possible to determine the truth. Few things were undoubtedly accurate, facts people embraced without question or suspicion. But the truth, not in its entirety for many pieces of the puzzle were in possession of wrathful and indignant people who would not abide Maddox's questioning, laid dormant and guarded within the confines of her mother's broken heart, hidden from those who found fondness in rumors. Her mother bore the harshness of words in a selfishly selfless act to shield her daughter, and herself. A deed meant to reassure Maddox of her devotion, and thus devotion would be given in return.

So Maddox knew she was not unloved, her mother’s love had been her only certainty amidst the turmoil, but she wasn't awaited.

At eighteen, Lucrecia Kingsley found herself aggravating her family's situation — once prominent but now sunk in a sea of disrepute and misery. Pregnant. Surprisingly, unseemly and in her father's perspective, undesired. To further his despair, orchestrating a marriage with the father would be improbable, as the man was to be engaged. Not to his daughter, thus saving the family from bankruptcy, but to a society lady. Maddox's mother was adamant about keeping her child, despite that her father threatened to disown her. Thankfully, the man she had slept with during a moment of intoxication and hurt provided accommodations, given she allowed him to share the child with her, and she willingly accepted in a moment of desperation.

The first few years weren't cruel to Maddox. They were not particularly kind, by any means, but the child was shielded from harshness and ruthlessness during most of her first years. Her mother was young, inexperienced, fighting to overcome an essentially empty bank account — but the woman was loving, in a way her own mother had never been before. Maddox was attached to her, clinging to her mother's dresses whenever the woman had to leave for work or when Maddox's father arrived to pick her up for weekends each Friday night. Maddox's mother gave her as much care and comfort as she could, but the woman couldn't preserve her from the distant home her father dared take Maddox to every weekend.

A psychiatry student, Bertrand was a man none dared challenge in fear of his influence and authority. Rumors of Bertrand fabled cruelty were shared in hushed whispers by those brave enough to speak words considered blasphemy, but no eyes had ever witnessed such evil coming from the man's hand. Cold, yes, but not brutal. The man adored Maddox, pampering, and doting on her whenever they spent weekends together, but his family did not share the sentiment. Maddox never met her paternal grandparents, before.

She was young, barely 5, but her first memory is of that night.

Sat in the back of an ambulance, the police lights bright and vibrant amidst the darkness, Maddox hardly paid mind to the yells of an elder woman she had never met before, who was daring to disturb the ghostly silence plaguing the night. Her attention was solely on her father, his calm eyes staring at her through the car window. To this day, Maddox remembers the strangest feeling creating roots in her lungs at the sight of her father in the back of a police car, officers and agents crowding their house and invading their space.

Your father killed a bunch of people, the agent with kind eyes had informed her, and Maddox remembers how she struggled to speak the words - had to force each syllable and consonant out, her brain surely wondering how to best tell a young girl her beloved father was a killer — and that her mother would not be returning. Her blood continued to stain the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her father’s eyes never showed any sign of emotions — Maddox knows, now, if she was in the agent's shoes, she would’ve been struggling too.

When Maddox had been discharged from the hospital — an extraordinary child having survived the impossible — it was to the stern hands of nuns with kindness in their eyes, faintly. Taken to a countryside orphanage, Maddox Kingsley turned out to be a difficult case for the nuns and caretakers to restrain. It was to be expected, of course, with her father in jail and her mother murdered. But Maddox's refusal of cooperating, accepting the affections of candidate parents, and simply not speaking whatsoever — proved to be rather complicated. She went and came, a family never settling with her or accepting her into their folds, wishing for an easier child to love and support instead, and returning Maddox to the hands of desperate nuns had been Maddox growing years. Coupled with fights she would often get into with the other children, well — They couldn't do much for her.

It wasn't until Maddox turned twelve that a man with a prominent glare on his face and few words on his lip finally sealed the deal, taking Maddox in and signing the adoption papers when they were ready. Unusually quickly, but the orphanage was thankful for the money the man provided and to see Maddox finally with a 'family'. Little did they know the man was nothing of a father, but a mentor of sorts; an assassin, one with quick hands and light feet. Maddox kicked and screamed, but soon she fell into her new routine. The man did not care about the fights she picked in school, as long as she kept her head down and the attention on her to a minimum — and every day they trained. Trained until Maddox bones were sore and heavy, until her lungs ached in her ribcage, her ears ringing from the gunshot noises, and her arms burned from the weight of guns.

Maddox and the men held no affection for each other, traded few words, but he shaped her to be a merciless killer, one who could survive the dangers of this world and would not be bound to the grieves and disturbances a heart might cause. By then, she did not remember her mother by face, and tried not to think of the woman — choosing to guard the good memories in a dark place of her heart, a place where the sun doesn't shine and her blood-stained hands couldn't cause such joyful things to root. Maddox and the man held no affection for each other, traded few words, but he shaped her to be a merciless killer, one who could survive the dangers of this world and would not be bound to the grieves and disturbances a heart might cause. By then, she did not remember her mother by face, and tried not to think of the woman — choosing to guard the good memories in a dark place of her heart, a place where the sun doesn't shine and her blood-stained hands couldn't cause such joyful things to root. By eighteen, Maddox started taking her own jobs, and proved to be quite adept at it. She was never caught, and never left witness behind. Fighting came as easy to her as breathing, and Maddox paid no heed to pain. She was a machine, good as they come. By twenty-five, she was running in with a partner, a man she met during a job who was paid to kill another target in the same party she had a target. It wasn't a life she was proud of; running credit card scams, killing for money, and never settling down in one place — but it was the life she knew. The only thing she had been good at. Perhaps it is genetics. Perhaps she is as rotten as her father. Thoughts that kept her awake at night, knowing them to be true. Everything she touched died, just like him.

With her story and her past, it didn't take long for the Organization to contact her. They promised her the world for her skills, but it came with a price. She had to leave her partner behind, and kill a target that had been escaping the Organization grasps for some time. Maddox faked her own death, leaving London, and following the trail, she was given up to Bulgaria, where she found herself face to face with the man that had raised her, taught her. It wasn't an easy fight. But she came out victorious, and at first thing in the morning, was leaving on a plane to Sunset Port.

After that, guilt began to settle in her bones. She continued to do her job, but the taste of blood now left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, and when she turned 32, Maddox decided to leave this life behind. She couldn't, not fully, of course — one does not simply leave the Organization. But they offered her a retirement plan; take charge of the radio station, and be free to do as she wishes in her free time. She accepted it with no questions asked, and has been the radio host for the Sunset Frequency since then.

#nightcityintro

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nightcityhqs · 3 years

Photo

case file ; Maddox Kingsley

nicknames ; None.

associations ; The Entertainers

occupation ; Host of the Sunset Frequency, Owner of Persephone's Den.

birthdate ; November 22th, 1980

hometown ; London, England

current location ; Downtown

pronouns ; She/Her

mirror image ; Charlize Theron

IN CHARACTER INTERVIEW

the record stops, the player tape states, and the radio static is replaced with voices;

— And our dear listeners are eager to know, how long have you been in Sunset Port? — Most importantly, why do you stay?

"You know, I'm normally the one doing the questions," Maddox says, accent heavy on her tongue, blowing the smoke from her cigarette away as she watches her assistant tug on the collar of his shirt, visibly uncomfortable. She sighs, "I've been in Sunset Port for twelve years. Stuck in this studio for what? Eight years?" her accent is thick, and Maddox shifts on her seat, clearing her throat. "Why don't I leave? I think about doing it, often. But I made a home for myself here, despite how dull the city can be. And if I leave, who will be the joyful company for our dear listeners every night?"

Of course! We can all identify with the sentiment. Well, at least some of us. [LAUGHTER] What do you do in Sunset Port?

A brow is raised, and Maddox groans, half annoyed and half offended. "Is that how I sound when reading those questions? This script is badly made, you know! Who is responsible for this? They should — What? I wrote it?" There's silence, before a tongue is clicking against the roof of her mouth. "Ah. Well, I should rewrite it, then. Well — Isn't it quite obvious?" She leans forward, mouth close to the microphone and voice low and dark, full of mysteries as she repeats the well known quote, "Good evening, Sunset Port. You've tuned in the Sunset Frequency, 66.6. And I will be your company for the night. Here all night, every night."

Admirable! Now, I’d have left this question last to finish with a bang, but our listener is impatient, oh my! Have you heard of our little organization?

Nothing but silence can be heard through the radio, long and uncomfortable. The cigarette burns as the fingers holding it tremble slightly, and Maddox sighs after some time, clearing her throat once more and taking a long drag of her cigarette. "Who hasn't?" The question escapes her lips with no emotion, no surprise. It's cold, and sharp as knives. "Why is that an important question?"

Oh my! — And if Isabella Castello came knocking at your door, what would you do?

Maddox chuckles, the absurdity of the questions finally catching up to her. "Well, darling, I would tell her to go fuck herself." Her assistant goes pale as a ghost, his next words barely leaving his lips.

Interesting. Well, I think I’ve kept you here long enough! Thank you for speaking with our public! Which song would you like me to play for you, now?

"Let’s put something inspiring for our dear listeners, huh? How about The Other Side, by Woodkid."

BIOGRAPHY

Trigger Warnings; Violence, Murder, Guns, Drugs, Serial Killers Mention

So Maddox knew she was not unloved, her mother’s love had been her only certainty amidst the turmoil, but she wasn't awaited.

She was young, barely 5, but her first memory is of that night.

#nightcityhqs.characters #nightcityhqs.entertainers

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ivendarea · 4 years

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Magic in Ivendarea

Magic is power - this is a simple truth known not just in but far beyond the borders of Ivendarea. Magic has the potential to create and to destroy, to significantly alter something as tiny as enchanting a ring or shaking the world in its foundations as a whole forever. Not evenly spread amongst most nations’ populations, an individual has to be born with an inclination to it to truly master the magic arts, although with much dedication, time, and efforts, even those born without an inherent magical talent can potentially unlock some of its secrets.

Ivendarea’s magic is unique and curious in the way it affects the peninsula’s weather patterns, climate, resources, and also the creatures and people living there. All Nyr are born with a talent for magic, which is an unusually high percentage of mages per capita for a singular country. While not everyone dedicates their life to mastering their abilities, unlocking their full potential, an above average percentage of Ivendarean Nyr are powerful mages.

Table of Contents:

The Nature of Magic

Essences

Aether

Schools of Magic

Magic and Religion

“Learning Magic” as a Non-Mage

Continue reading below or on World Anvil

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The Nature of Magic While great efforts have been undertaken to truly understand what exactly magic as such even is, it is to this day not only an enigmatic field of study, some scholars have even come to the conclusion that certain aspects of magic might not be to explain by mortal beings at all - or at least not yet at this point in time. While some are driven by its mysteries and workings, the study of the nature of magic has lost some of its former glory and has become more of a niche science, sometimes even called a pseudo-science.

According to its critics it is mostly undertaken out of a drive of naive curiosity and stubbornness, by egoists longing for fame to be the ones to have “understood” the nature magic without really furthering more practical approaches of its powers. Those studying the origins, the fabric of magic though, no matter how frustratingly hard it is to gain solid results and revelations beyond what is already known, believe it to be the last true mystery left in this world that could be the key to solving many other questions unanswered as of yet. Scholars devoted to the study of the nature of magic for example wonder if there might be an underlying pattern to rebirths after all, a theory that has been rebuked but some still hold on to. The workings of the plane of the Silent Waters and the gods residing there are also full of mystery still, despite Aman’s best efforts to find answers during their lifetime.

Essences The most important facts to know about magic that have been scientifically examined and proven, are that magic manifests in two different forms: essences, and aether. Essences are strong concentrations of magic that can be found in many places. Certain inanimate “dead” materials, such as Starglass, are one possible location. Those materials are therefore described to be “magically potent”. Particularly old and slowly changing materials such as stone, minerals, and raw metals are capable of holding very high and strong concentrations of naturally occurring magical essences that have specific and unique properties. Starglass as an example is known to glow when it comes into contact with water, making it useful as a light source, piece of extravagant jewellery, or building material.

There are many different types of essences. Some have healing properties, others defy gravity, and there is a big variety of those with elemental powers such as heat or cold stored within them. All these magical essences found in the bones of the earth have simple and often practical purposes, but they are sheer impossible to extract, fused with the material they are found in - and lost forever if the material is destroyed.

Magical plants, such as Riverroot, are much more rarely found, but as living, inanimate creatures, they can have much stronger magical essences that are very sought-after not only by alchemists. As opposed to minerals and stone, the essences of plants can be extracted in complicated alchemical processes that should always be overlooked by a trained alchemist. Splitting the essences from their “vessel” can cause many negative and undesirable side-effects from accidental poisoning to explosions.

Lastly, individuals and animals possessing the ability to perform magic, have magical essences within them. It is not only the source they draw their inherent power from, it also connects them to the magical flow of aether they can draw strength from. The magical essences within living beings with a soul have long been believed to be a subtype of those found in materials, but meanwhile it is known that they are a third group standing alone. They can’t be taken away or “extracted”, and after the person’s death it is unclear what happens to their essence - but it is not considered lost in the way essence is lost when a material possessing it is destroyed. Some scholars claim that the remaining power of the essences allows the soul to travel to the Silent Waters, others think that it might be lost after all or absorbed into the aether - none of these claims have been proven without a doubt yet though.

Aether Aether, as opposed to magical essences that can be extracted or used as a source of power, is a lot less tangible. It merely describes an invisible flow of magic, seemingly without distinct pattern or direction. It can be sensed by mages, and power can be drawn from it in the same way it can from specific essences, but it is a much more generalized power that has no distinct purpose (e.g. healing, destruction, alteration, etc.). It has to be given its purpose by the mage making use of it.

What has been witnessed by scholars as well as regular mages, is that the strength of the flow of Aether can vary. The stronger or more concentrated the flow is in a region, the more powerful spells can be cast - simultaneously it is also much more likely that the Aether reacts with naturally occurring essences, causing unpredictable magical phenomena. These are very rare, but can include more harmless effects like optical illusions up to very severe or even destructive occurrences of gravity being nullified or tears in the space-time continuum. The latter, so far, is only a scientific theory that hasn’t thankfully been documented in the wild yet.

Schools of Magic While some scholars reject the division of magic into different schools, as it is, in their eyes, limiting possibilities, it has become common practise particularly at the Academy of Saratheas and other educational establishments. Dividing magical abilities into different areas and skill-sets allows a more directed training and learning, and allows young students or scholars to aspire to become masters of their chosen field of magic. The general recommendation though is to branch out and not focus only one or two specialties, as magic in nature overlaps in many areas.

For those born without a magical talent only learning how to acquire it through lengthy processes it can be easier to find their way into magic by only following the school that feels most “natural” to them initially, before branching out later in life. Since all Nyr without exception are born with magical powers the voices against the creation of schools of magic usually come particularly from the rows of isolationists not willing to share their knowledge and secrets with the Aapha, Assadin, and other known peoples without an inherent talent for magic. The schools known and taught most commonly across Ivendarea are the following:

Aetheral Magic: Arguably one of the hardest to master, aetheral magic encompasses techniques such as teleportation, soul-travel, and the study of the flow of magic

Alchemy: The study of magical essences and its purposes includes the creation of potent potions and sometimes poisons; contrary to popular belief one has to be a mage to properly conduct alchemy, as the purest forms of magical essences that are being handled need to be kept under control by the alchemist to not cause harm; only a trained mage can also determine whether or not a specific material even contains magical essences that can be worked with.

Alteration: The change of a material’s properties or of one’s own appearance, shapeshifting, becoming invisible and breathing underwater, healing wounds - only changing the past is off limits; it was one of Aman’s favoured schools

Creation: Overlapping in certain areas with Alchemy and Alteration, Creation magic manages to shape the world or even create something seemingly out of thin air; the Canthoreas under the streets of Saratheas, as well as Saratheas itself, were built with the help of powerful Creationists out of the sheer rock of the Skyreach Mountains. Enchanting weapons, items, and jewellery also falls under Creation magic, and creationists are sometimes colloquially referred to as “craftsmen mages”

Mind: At times forbidden entirely and still highly controversial, the magic of the Mind follows Aetheral magic in difficulty to master; reading someone else’s thoughts and intentions, manipulating or even controlling other individuals against their will, it is a feared power but also an important tool of the Avon Julanor; its more positive approaches though, such as the healing of spiritual wounds, solving blockades, and soothing troubled souls are more widely taught and accepted

Primal: Probably the most destructive of the schools and overlapping with Creation magic in certain aspects, elemental magic focuses on the control and creation of fire, water, storms, plants, in fact the powers of nature itself

Prophecy: The least accurate of magical arts, Prophecy deals with the things long gone or in a far distant future: many religious rituals fall under this category, as prophecy forms a two-way-connection between past and present, but also teaches divination and meditation techniques; it is sometimes considered a more approachable and accepted sub-form of Mind magic

Since many of the schools overlap there are occasionally quarrels about which techniques belong to which school, what should or shouldn’t be taught by certain scholars, and so on. There are also very controversial techniques such as mind-reading that are actually kept under close guard and are forbidden to be taught at most institutions, as they mark a violation of an individual’s right to their free will and can cause severe damage to a soul if handled improperly.

Magic and Religion Magic very often has a connection to many world religions, of course including the teachings of the Aman’a Valeethi. Magical rituals from healing to conserving memories or preparing a body for burial are inherent to religious duties carried out by priests. It is also a major part of the Nyr’s creation myth. They believe that only with the help of magic it was possible for the gods to shape this world in the endless void of nothingness that existed before. The magical essences and aether found throughout the world are remains of the magic of the gods, leftover from the creation of the world.

Learning Magic as a Non-Mage As mentioned before, it is possible for individuals born without magical essences within them to acquire magical powers. It is not without risk, and also not guaranteed to work every time. The individual willing to become a mage will undergo long periods of meditation and together with one or several mages as their mentor(s) actually create some sort of “depot” or source of magical essences within them. This can be achieved through long-term exposure to highly concentrated magical essences, for example by wearing heavily, specifically for this purpose created and enchanted jewellery or actually embedding essences under the individual’s skin. This is a common practise with the Avon Julanor even though of course all their members are by default mages. Their magical, ritualistic markings across their bodies enhance their abilities dramatically.

Through a lengthy process an artificially created depot of essences will lead to an accumulation of magical essences within the individual’s body just by them being in contact with the outside, natural, inherently magical world and its flow of aether. Their mentor usually actively directs the aether at their protégé in a way to accumulate in the artificial essence depots, making sure that no undesired reactions result. Over time the mage-in-progress will gain a connection to the aether and within their body a natural source of magical essences can form, as the essences found in beings carrying souls have an inherent connection to the aether. The end goal is that the essences naturally accumulated in the individual’s body will be enough for them to further develop their powers.

This doesn’t work every time though, and also not reliably. It can happen that individuals lose their powers again if they acquired them artificially, and would be required to wear the special jewellery - consisting of a band around the head, bracelets around wrists and ankles, and a harness worn around the chest - for the rest of their lives. There are also the aforementioned risks where people have developed tumours or other physical ailments such as losing their eye-sight or hearing due to the heavy exposure to magical essences. In a few cases people also died, usually due to negligence of their mentor or wanting too much, too fast, overestimating their tolerance to the flow of the aether and its synergy with the essences, in the result dying very violently in magical explosions.

#worldbuidling #fantasy society #magic #magic systems #fantasy #article: setting

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theorynexus · 4 years

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52 is a great number! It is also the number we’re at, now.

What, you want to go through a mental battle for predomination with the force of nature that subsumed fricking Caliborn? I mean, sure, he wasn’t influenced by human culture, so that version was bound to be different, but I’m pretty sure much of the horribly irksome traits that made him him came from his heart, not from his upbringing.

It is beautiful that Alt!Calliope feels it necessary to note exactly why Jade has a clear expression visible to others. There’s just a whole lot of subtle humor packed into that revelation. Additionally, it’s nice to see that Alt!Calliope recognizes the important distinction that they are the two different versions of Jade, despite their Heartfelt connection. It is very interesting to see that Jade’s first thoughts are about what the other Jade had just been through. It’s nice to see the symmetry with what the Jade who drifted into the black hole had been thinking of, before her mind gravitated to Alt!Calliope’s siren song.

Yaaayyy, echoes reaching out across timelines and instances, flowing into and affecting beings seemingly disconnected, yet who both at different times had primacy of Relevance! (I am here obviously ignoring the fact that the Jade who died was split off before Game Over: she was from the Game Over side of the Retcon, regardless, and the Collide side of canon has been split into two different versions of herself who have similar levels of importance too, so it’s not like there isn’t a parallel level of distance from “primacy”. These things are relative. The important part is their proximity to the two archetypal “main” versions of the Kid, and that they act as representatives of these sides.)

A relatively sound argument, Narrator 1, but you seem to have been outmaneuvered.

Yes! Most excellent, o’ Muse! I am curious why you need to (partially?) possess Jade’s body in order to accomplish that, but I am willing to accept this as a necessary sacrifice, potentially. Jade does still seem to be in there, and I trust that you, as subtle as you can be, will not impede her own will too terribly badly?

Hehehehe... HAAAA HAHAHAHAHA!!! Indeed, indeed! I am glad you see things in a manner congruent to my own understanding, o’ Muse. I suppose I might, perhaps, even be able to cease referring to him as “Narrator” altogether, rather than simply adding the demeaning “1,” at this point. Curious, I am, though, what precisely is referred to by “my horizon.” There are multiple possible things which I think could satisfy this, from a spatial, temporal, or metaphorical (thus metaphysical) level: It could refer specifically to the meta-temporal conditions that are considered “after the destruction of the Green Sun,” It could refer to the white void beyond the darkness of the Furthest Ring, which appears to have always been there, rather than to have been created as a result of the devastation the Green Sun Black Hole’s emergence/creation/completion caused, or It could refer to all areas beyond the realm of Canon. There are other potential interpretations, as well, but these seem like the ones most likely to be the actual antecedent idea which her verbiage referred to.

Vagueblogging? As for the other matter: Hmm. That sets a condition to a potential reversal, after which Calliope loses her grip. I wonder how things will develop, and if it’s just that she intends to inundate the narrative with her text, or if the smaller font there is indicative that she’s actually clamping down on his ability to produce any of his own at all. Oh, and... I guess maybe this suggests that Jade’s personality may be suppressed for some time. Given there are ending conditions to it, the sacrifice may be even less than I thought it might be, so I will in fact continue to accept this.

I am really, really glad that Calliope can sense Alt!Calliope, and that we have received such a rich description of the friction between sides of the narrative divide! <3

It’s also somewhat nice that Alt!Calliope is aware of and/or instantly capable of properly using the gender/lack thereof(?) they (both Calliope and Roxy) identify with. ‘T’is very intriguing that the information was already there, and there were no hickups which Dirk might have mocked Alt!Calliope with.

Hmmmmm-hmm!~ Okay, thanks for clarifying the conditions of the possession.

Hy-po-crite. Disgusting. Particularly considering his interference in the narrative is treating others’ lives like playthings, and resulting in great harm-- just like Caliborn. I suppose this is yet another reason that they had the same Denizen. (Related: I am reminded of the fact that Dirk was the only one of the Alpha Kids that actually bonded with Caliborn, and who that Cherub seemed to consider as a friend.)

The point Dirk made would actually be pretty good, if it weren’t for the fact that her Muse powers almost certainly (as she demonstrates) kept her in constant contact with the world, over the course of the ages. Also: He’d better go get some aloe or something--- that burn looks painful.

Fool, the point is that it’s so sharp that any motion at all over its surface will bring about a cut-- gravity, wind pressure, and the flow of the silk in any vector other than directly downward or perhaps perpendicular to the blade would naturally give a potential frictional force, which the blade geometry naturally would amplify via wedge-based simple machine mechanics! No lever action is necessarily needed! ... Not that he’s not correct to suggest that the flowing motion of the swordplay is not the normal reason for a katana making a cut.

This is very, very true. Also how Debate works. I appreciate both such realities.

This... is just absolutely beautiful. The above paragraph is too. So much so that I shall not repost it here, but rather, shall urge all those who view my text to journey to Meat 27 and experience it for yourselves. Magnifique. (It also reminds me of the impotent rage which Caliborn vented toward Calliope before his false predomination in the distant future of this very universe he foolishly claimed that he, presumably alone, had created for the other Jade.) ... Post Script Edit: I feel bad for Callie, feeling like they had to run away like that~

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jjeonggukkss · 5 years

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Rebel | taehyung x reader | angst

He taught you how to fly, only to cut your wings off when you were read to leap. | 2.5k

You had always been the definition of a perfect princess. That is, until, you met the newest addition to the kitchen staff. He intrigued you, and soon you found yourself wanting to see him over and over again. You started to trust him, feeling like there was nothing he hid from you. Until you found yourself on your knees, with your entire world burning around you.

Princess!Reader / Servant!Taehyung / Royalty!AU

Numb.

You felt numb, staring as people ran past you, looking for an escape. The fire only roared louder.

You couldn’t feel the freezing marble against your throbbing knees. You couldn’t see the blood painting the once shining floors. You couldn’t hear the screams of the people - your people - as they rushed like ants, trying to wake up from this nightmare.

The scent of hemoglobin thickened the atmosphere. Carmine covered the lifeless figures lying on the floor. The same liquid, pooling out of your mouth, out the thousand cuts covering your once soft skin, skin now marred with bruises, reflecting every shade of purple and blue. Your luscious curls lay flat against her scalp, having lost their bounce. Dull and reddened eyes replaced the once sparkling orbs. To anyone watching, you’d seemed more dead than alive.

All was lost.

Your eyes remained glued to the swirling blood on the floor when a pair of boots stepped into your line of sight. Your fingers clenched harder around your silk skirt, moist palms dampening the soft fabric. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The brass chain burning against your neck was enough.

When your father had claimed that being a princess wasn’t at all like those stupid fairy tales your mother used to narrate every night, you had learned to believe him, believe that there were no magical ball dances til midnight, no beasts with cold hearts in lonely castles, no cursed frog princes for you. No, you had grown up - and out of those silly tales - to be the epitome of a perfect lady, dutiful and obedient, compliant to orders. You expected to be wed off to a respected gentleman when your father saw fit, and you knew better than to argue. Your mother’s shrieks behind closed doors every time he felt she was being problematic was warning enough.

Second in line to the throne and oldest daughter of a King with ice flowing through his veins, you had learned to forget all emotions and desires, and had learned to please instead. Emotions were a luxury, not something a princess should be feeling.

You were entirely convinced of this, that is, until a certain raven-haired individual decided to come along.

Kim Taehyung had literally stumbled into your life when he decided it was a good idea to try carrying more boxes than his might would allow. The alleged addition to the kitchen staff wore the most comical expression as he rose to address his victim, only to see the princess on the ground before him. It felt like a breath of fresh air to you, the disheveled look gracing the boy’s sharp features rather than the seemingly confident men all around you.

“Y-your Majesty, m-my apologies, I d-didn’t see you there. Please f-forgive my mindless m-mistake.” He stuttered, head bowed low enough to almost touch the ground.

You let slip the tiniest smile at the boy’s fractured apology, throwing a gentle nod his way to let him know it was okay.

You had then made it your mission to see that beautiful face again, and soon, you found yourself to not be able to get enough of it.

It wasn’t his angelic features that had you so intrigued, however. No, it was the contrast between the stuttering boy and the giggling one, transformed in only a month of your acquaintance, that had you feeling warm all over. Kim Taehyung, who initially had trouble even addressing you, had soon become regular company, your first friend.

He possessed a natural charm, unlike any man, that had you enraptured. It felt easy to laugh around him, right to tease him, warm to see that adorable grin appear on his features.

“Oh please,” you giggled, waltzing through the gardens. “Just admit it, you’re too slow to catch me, Tae.”

Taehyung only rolled his eyes from across the flower bed, boxy grin etched on his golden skin. “What I don’t understand is how you manage to run with a thousand ruffles pulling you down. What witchcraft do you possess, woman?”

As if he could predict it, your next step backwards onto a puddle of mud had you going toppling over into the earth, until you felt long, calloused fingers gripping your arms, keeping you from your demise. Those hands pulled you forward towards his broad frame, never letting go.

It was one of those days when you were feeling brave. Whether it was the temporary courage or the rush of adrenaline from almost falling, you couldn’t tell, but something inside you had compelled you to make the next move.

You placed the softest peck on his pink lips.

He flinched back momentarily, before something snapped in him. He lunged at you, lips crashing onto yours. It was sloppy, imperfect. You loved it, you loved the mess, you loved how your tongues clashed for more contact. Nothing felt enough.

It was exhilarating, to say the least. It was the feeling of fear, of losing your first kiss, any kiss, the the castle’s dishwasher, and it was the feeling of thrill, the thrill of doing exactly that. That way his arms were protectively caged around you made you feel more free than the open structure of the castle walls did. For once, you felt more than your father’s pawn.

Kim Taehyung was like a drug, the most dangerous one. He infiltrated your thoughts, appeared in your dreams, and rescued you from your nightmares.

He had taken over your senses. He was all you could see, all you could hear, all you could feel. You felt insatiable, yearning for him every second he was away.

Your rendezvous had had become a regular occurrence. It had become more intimate and less... innocent. He made you feel like you were a scrumptious meal and he was a starved man.

Over time, you felt yourself become a princess who could afford the luxury of feeling.

You were happier. Skipping when no one was looking, humming when no one was listening. Of course, your mindless purring was nothing in comparison to his saccharine vocals when he sang to you as he stroked your hair, head perched on his thigh.

No one had found out yet. It was unlikely to happen anyway, unless someone had decided to visit the farthest corner of the gardens, where the creaking old shed stood. You spent tour afternoons there, lounging in its shadows, basking in each other’s presence.

Taehyung had barely spoken that day, humming the lullaby his mother used to sing him, one you had heard from his lips a thousand times. The ring on his right ring finger - his father’s ring - glistened as the rays of the sun peeked through the shed, landing on it. You turned to him, placing a peck on his down turned lips.

“You know, sulking won’t fix whatever has your forehead wrinkled.” You mumbled, reaching out to straighten the creases on his smooth skin.

He ran a hand through his inky locks, not speaking for a moment. Then, he sighed, before swallowing loudly.

“I... have a gift for you. It’s not much, but it means more to my than a hundred piles of silver and gold.” His hands surfed his pockets, gently pulling out a brass chain.

Your eyes widened as you realized what exactly he was holding. You quickly pushed his palm back towards him.

“Taehyung!” You immediately sat up. “I can’t have your mother’s pendant!”

His face fell, a sudden darkness immediately replacing the warmth of his brown orbs. “I know it’s nothing compared to the jewels you’re showered with every day, and I completely understand why you seem repulsed by the thought. It was my mistake for asking, but I would appreciate if you didn’t sneer down on what matters to me just because it doesn’t live up to your standards.”

You fumed at his idiocy, landing a smack at the back of his skull. He was taken aback for a moment.

“No, you absolute halfwit,” You reprimanded, rolling your eyes at his theatrics. “I never even mentioned it ‘living up to my standards’, you assuming moron! It’s the last memory you have of your mother! You can’t just give it to me!”

A look of surprise flashed across his features before moulding into a sincere smile. Not one of his childlike grins or his lewd smirks, but just an honest smile. The dark clouds left his eyes as soon as they had arrived. He placed a gentle peck on the crown of your head.

Taehyung’s father, as he clearly remembered, had been seized for execution under the false accusations of murder when he was only a toddler. They had no evidence, no proof. Just orders from the newly crowned King. He remembered his mother begging for them to let him go. Most of all, he remembered how she grasped onto the pendant every day, waiting in vain for his father to return. He remembered the hopeful smiles on his mother’s wrinkling face, till the day they were one again. With memories flooding his mind, he knew that there was no one else that he’d rather give this pendant to.

“She would’ve wanted you to have it.” With that, he took the delicate chain and clasped it around your neck, before capturing your lips in another breathtaking kiss.

That night, Taehyung didn’t sleep. His thoughts kept wandering to you, to what he was doing to you. Guilt ate at him as he thought of how he was taking away your life, your future. You should’ve been looking for a suitor, not fooling around with him. You were a princess, meant to enjoy the finer things in life, not the affection of the measly help.

Could he really do it? He thought to himself, but immediately shaking his head. No, this wasn’t what he had always believed. So what if she was royalty and he wasn’t, that didn’t make them any less human from one another. He couldn’t think otherwise, not with what he had planned.

You lay awake the same night, squealing at every thought of the handsome dishwasher. By then, you had started to understand, and feel the four letters everybody seemed to yearn for so dearly - love.

You were in love with Kim Taehyung. In your reverie, fairy tales did exist. You had believed that he would be waiting for your descent at the bottom of a tower, that he would go find a genie if only to wish for a happy future for you both, that he would fight dragons if it meant rescuing her.

That man. That one man had meant everything to you. He had taught you how to speak your mind, to do as you pleased, to love yourself and all that she came with. You would have given up all the riches in the world just to be with him for eternity.

That man stood before you barely a day later, on the ashes of what was left of your home. Fitting, given that he was the one to set it on fire.

Kim Taehyung didn’t slouch like he did at the shed. He stood tall, the perfect image of a confident man. The ebony of his leather suit did wonders to hide the bloodstains, but his bare face gave him away, dried crimson sprayed across his cheeks and jaw.

Your family was dead. Your father, mother, brother and sisters, all victims to the betrayal of the dishwasher, were assassinated by the band of rebels invading the castle walls, led by the man you had thought you loved.

Your father had known about the rising rebellion, known about the revolution against his ruthless and unfair rule, and the incompetence of the heir, his son. Yet, he did nothing against it, letting the spark grow into a flame. Now he lay in ashes, along with his people, who were left to suffer for his mistakes.

You had watched as your world crumbled around you. One moment, she was humming in the library, thoughts filled with the dishwasher’s face, and the next, you hear his name being called for mercy.

You grit your teeth, trying not to look at the face you had been caressing not long ago, only to lose the battle with yourself. Your eyes met his cold orbs, filled with bitter hate towards him, and yourself, for trusting him.

“You!” You didn’t bother to hide the growl behind that one word, only for your voice to crack midway. Tears began to form in your spiteful eyes, the dam threatening to break.

His face reflected nonchalance at the sight of your vulnerability. He seemed bored, almost, looking down at you with dark clouds in his eyes again, except this time, they were darker in yours. He didn’t even bother to adress the detest radiating off you.

“Run,” he spoke with a voice deeper than the voice you knew, if that was even his real voice. “Run before you find a knife through your throat.”

You didn’t move. Your teary gaze burned through him. You didn’t know the feeling of fear anymore, all that lingered was the feeling of anger and betrayal. You were boiling with rage at the thought that you were nothing more than a puppet in his schemes. Was anything he said ever real? Did he ever mean it when he cried on your shoulder for his parents? Was his mother’s pendant even really hers?

The indifference on his face answered all your questions. You both knew you were going to die anyway, so why was he letting you escape, when he could easily stab you with the bloody sword held in his dexterous hands?

“Why don’t you just kill me instead?” You whispered, voice tired and broken, barely reaching his ears as you continued to look up at him.

I can’t! Taehyung wanted to yell out. A part of him almost did, a part of him that so desperately wanted to hold you. He wanted to wipe your tears away, to engulf you in his arms until you fell asleep. He wanted to take all the pain away, to wash the blood from your cuts, to kiss the scars away. I can’t, because I love you!

Of course, he couldn’t say that. He was a leader. He represented a cause, he repeated his people. He couldn’t let his selfish dreams ruin what they had worked too hard to achieve. Emotions were a luxury, definitely not what a leader should be feeling.

His concern for his cause, concern for his people stifled the tiny voice in his head, mourning. Even he couldn’t control the words that spilled out of his lips as he smirked down at you.

“You were never more than a good fuck. Now that you’ve served your purpose, I see no reason why I’d want to associate with you. Even your filthy blue blood is a tarnish to my sword.”

✎ HELLO TO EVERYONE WHO HAS NO IDEA WHO I AM (Which is probably everyone). This is a new tumblr account that I have created. I used to run @lebootae (please don’t visit that) but that was almost a year ago and the current works make me cringe. So haha, this is my new attempt at trying to start writing and expressing my undying love for bangtan. Kind of a bad idea to start off with an angst but hey, this is what i do best, cry relish in the diversity of human emotions. Hope you enjoyed this!

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