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qqueenofhades · 2 years

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*coughs* you should write something about 1389 hob and dream fucking nasty behind the white horse

Hob Gadling has had, to say the least, a bloody strange afternoon. At this point, he's more or less written it off as some sort of demented jest, the sort of thing you boast about when you've had a few too many tankards of ale and your mates about you to impress, and -- well, it was odd that the stranger knew his name without being told, but perhaps he's been in London longer than it seems, and learned it elsewhere. And the promise to meet a hundred years from now... well, they laughed. They all laughed. Hob laughed. It was only the stranger who kept looking at him as coolly and calmly as if he actually meant it. He's not a bad-looking bloke, if a bit pale, peaky and vaguely resembling an anchorite shut up in a church wall for years without seeing another living soul and becoming decidedly spooky as a result. Has he been shut up in a church wall? Seems like a waste.

Still, the others are making jokes about Hob's newfound immortal grandeur and aren't paying attention; they're pounding on the table and shouting at the wench to bring more wine, and for some reason, Hob feels anxious, as if he needs to run after them and double-check that he actually heard what he thought he did. So he gets to his feet, jostles through the trestle tables, the stools and chairs and boots and swords and stacks of logs for the great fire, past the spot where Chaucer is now explaining something about a lecherous miller, and out into the muddy forecourt, trampled with the hooves of horses and the paws of hounds, the footprints of the servants fetching more water and handing down arriving visitors, and spots the two of them about to vanish down the Thames towpath -- or somewhere else, though there's nowhere else to properly go, out here beyond the city walls. He doesn't have to say a word. He could just count it as some lighthearted tavern-banter and forget it.

Instead, never being one to do the sensible thing when the adventurous one could suffice, Hob bellows, "OY!"

The pale man and the dark lady stop in their tracks and glance 'round at him, and he waves in vigorous demonstration of the fact that he wants a word. The man seems unwilling to comply, but the lady gives him a smart shove in the ribs, and he huffs deeply and sweeps toward Hob. He still looks exactly like the Devil would in human form, as if he's strolled off the page of an illuminated manuscript depicting the temptation of Jesus Christ in the desert: dark hair, stormy eyes, a ruby like the fires of hell, that black robe and alabaster skin, something rare and strange and otherwordly that might burn Hob if he touched it. Sounding deeply impatient, he says, "Aye?"

"This way." Hob leads him around the corner of the White Horse, to the troughs and kailyards in the back, splattered in mud, rainwater, the midden-heap, and thick clumps of torn-up sod. Once they're alone, he says, "Were you just... having me on? Back there?"

The stranger stares at him icily, but with a hint of deliberate, goading challenge. "I don't understand."

"You knew my name. You said that we would meet again, one hundred years from now. How would you know that?"

"It is of no concern to you. Do you want it or not?"

"Oh," Hob says, leaning against the wattle-and-daub wall and flashing his most rakish and charming smile. "I do. If that's what's on the offering here, m'lord. But I just wanted to be clear on whether, if it was a bargain, some sort of boon was expected in exchange."

The stranger's eyes move down him slowly, taking him in from head to heel. Hob hasn't washed in a while, aye, and his hair is long and scruffy and his beard isn't much better, and his cloth is poor enough to make any bloody nobleman, besotted of their stupid sumptuary laws, to run away screaming and clutch his marten-trimmed cloak for comfort (no ermine, unless you're royalty). But he's tall and strong and straight-bodied, has a longsword strapped around his waist and walks with the confidence of a man who knows how to use it, has all his own white teeth and a smile that folk tend to melt for, the very smile he is employing now. The stranger's pale cheeks turn the faintest hint of pink, like the first flush of sunrise on Midwinter-morn. Then he says, "You need offer me nothing. The bargain is made, and will be kept."

"Certes, m'lord?" Hob takes another step, close enough that they're suddenly nose to nose, and the stranger flinches slightly. "Nothing?"

"Are you..." The stranger looks as if he cannot possibly comprehend this utterly bizarre behavior. "Do you think I want something?"

"You came to talk to me," Hob points out. "You were the one who seemed willing to act as if my fool wish was real. Why is that?"

The stranger's gaze drops deliberately to his lips. Then it flicks back up to his eyes. "Because," he says, "I'm interested."

"In what?"

"In whether you'll be begging for death in a hundred years' time." Again that oblique, goading look. "I think you will. My sister believes that you will yet surprise us."

"I'm a surprising man," Hob says smugly. "You'll lose."

"If you say so." The stranger folds his arms, either in petulance or in an attempt to stop Hob in his tracks. Either way, it doesn't work. "I say you've no idea what you're.... asking for."

There's an unmistakable seductive burr in that voice, so incongruously deep for a Devil who looks as if one strong gust might blow him away, and Hob feels it down to the toes of his battered boots. "What say," he murmurs, almost against the stranger's mouth, close enough to feel the other's breath on his cheek, "that I did?"

The pause that follows is even longer, crackling at the edge of potentiality and possibility, and -- Hob doesn't know exactly what he's doing, but it's not the first time he's pursued an assignation with a handsome gent out back, out of sight. His first meeting with Wat, may God assoil him, was, after all, almost like this, and for all his standoffishness and snobbery, the stranger hasn't bothered to actually step back. Lucifer was the most beautiful of the Almighty's angels, before he fell. Is this exactly what Hob is about to do? Sell his soul to the Devil out behind a tavern, as the bells are calling Vespers? Or sell something else, if it gave him the chance to live forever?

"I should go," the stranger murmurs. "My sister awaits."

"Sure you won't give me something to remember you by? A hundred years is a long time, m'lord. If I grow that old, I might forget."

"Oh." The stranger's eyes flick up to meet Hob's again, feral and thunderous and threatening to devour Hob altogether, body and mind and soul. "I don't think you will."

Another instant -- a frozen, endless instant -- and then it snaps. The stranger seizes Hob by his grimy tunic, shoves him back against the wall, and Hob, and it please you, does plenty of seizing and shoving in return. The kiss tastes like weak English wine, nothing so good since they lost Gascony and its lush vineyards (perhaps that is why the Black Prince, while he lived, sought so ceaselessly to retrieve it?), like woodsmoke and ash and wind and summer, like the blood where they've bitten each other's lips and are in fair danger of breaking each other's noses. Hob closes his eyes and pulls the stranger closer, wrapping his arms around him, making sure that there is no doubt, that when the time comes again (if indeed it should), they will know each other at once, by scent and sight and touch, by sense and speech and taste. Hob Gadling would do far worse than to kiss a beautiful man as if all the world was ending, if it gave him this gift of eternity. And for a moment, for a blinding, lightning-struck instant, he thinks, It's real. It's real.

They kiss in a grappling, struggling, stubborn ferocity, both of them trying to get the upper hand on the other, until Hob pulls his mouth back with a bit of a jerk and goes to his knees, pulling the frankly excessive flourishes of that black robe aside and fumbling to find if there are anything resembling breeches below it. He momentarily thinks the stranger is going to stop him, but he doesn't. He jerks at Hob's hair and growls something that sounds like do it if you dare -- and then Hob tugs the laces apart and draws his cock out, pale and hard and perfect as a Roman statue, of the kind that they still sometimes dig up in York. He takes it into his mouth, wraps his lips around the shaft and sucks slow and considering and deep, and the stranger utters a low, shivering whimper that Hob, once again, feels to the back of his spine. It is wet and raw and too fast and too slow at once, it is like a dream of the sort that wakes you arched and clutching and in need of changing the bedclothes -- Hob closes his eyes and licks, moves his tongue with a devilish little flick, and takes it deep, to the back of his throat, sucks down, and --

The stranger loses himself with another maddeningly deep half-growl, half-moan, tugging at Hob's hair again, almost losing his balance, shuddering from head to toe as his pleasure (or something like that) washes through him like a tidal wave. Then, slowly, as if neither of them are entirely sure what has just happened, he pulls back, as Hob turns his head and spits. The stranger laces himself up again, steps back, and says, desperately trying not to breathe too hard, "You -- you need not have done that. It was -- crude."

"What sort of thing is that to say to a man who's just made you forget your own name?" Hob cocks a dark eyebrow. "And by the way, I don't think I caught that myself?"

The stranger stares him dead in the eye for a full five heartbeats, just to make it very plain that he heard and does not intend to answer. Then he whirls around, cloak swirling, and takes his leave. Hob hears his footsteps striding away, fading, and he leans back against the wall, suddenly rather weak-kneed himself. Fuck. Well. Fuck.

This is going to be a very interesting century indeed.

-------

"Well?" Death says, much too sweetly, as she is badly stifling a smile. "Did you go.... talk to Robert Gadling?"

"Yes," Dream says with tremendous, dogged dignity. "We spoke. That is what happened. Nothing else, by the way. Except for speaking. Which we did. Thank you very much."

(Death of the Endless smirks like a cat in cream all the way back home.)

(It is really terribly irritating.)

#fishfingersandscarves #ask #dreamling #dreamling ff #the circle of mutual enablement/spiderman-pointing-at-spiderman continues

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jasontoddssuper · 8 months

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Dead Sidekicks Force headcanons

They use that nickname for themselves in the regular timeline but aren't an official team in it.In the one they do however,it happened because they were even closer than in canon thanks to the slightly different circumstances of Stephanie seeking out the Outlaws to see Summer again and Damian following in toe and that leading to one thing to another until they finally formed the DSF undeniably

Stephanie was the one who came up with their name.Summer was a big fan,Jason not so much and Damian was neutral on it

Speaking of names,their fans give them 'titles':Jason-Red Reaper,Summer-Superghost,Stephanie-Violet Phantom and Damian-Final Omen

It was pretty easy for Jason and Summer to get Damian and Stephanie to be full on vigilantes since they already had 'darker' ideas of justice like them but Stephanie was still shaken by her first kill and they were there to comfort her and reassure her

Trans 4 Trans and Autistic4Autistic found family realness.Jason,Summer and Damian use he/they and Stephanie uses she/they but all of them have at least one set of neopronouns too

Damian is the only one with pure black hair-Jason has his white Lazarus Pit streak,Summer has his dyed baby pink bangs and Stephanie has purple dyed tips.Once he gets older though,he decides to match his big sisters with a forest green streak

Summer and Jason teach Stephanie and Damian spanish

The McSupers Summer works at is their number one hangout spot

Tons of death jokes ofc

Very casually and frequently affectionate with eachother,both in words and physically

All HUGE catpeople-Summ and Steph make catgirl jokes on a regular basis,Damian collects cat squishmallows,Jason becomes a cat dad to every cat he meets,they have growling and meowing as vocal stims and prefer to eat with their hands and drink without straws and Summer made them cat themed communication cards!!

As a Super,Summer is the strongest out of all of them by a good amount but the other three are terrifying on the battlefield in their own ways

Jason is still Red Hood and Stephanie's gone back to Spoiler but Damian's dawned his own new mantle under 'Shadowbird' with a gothic costume that includes a plague doctor mask and Summer has what is called his 'New Ember Days' gear to symbolize him finally accepting all parts of himself:It's still a pink leotard with a white Superfam symbol on the chest and blue accents,blue boots and white fingerless gloves but now it has an additional pink domino mask that was a gift from Jason like the black one he gave him as Ignite!!

Honorary members so far are Kon as Power Boy,Cass as Black Bat and Eddie as Red Devil and Jon might as well count as one too with how often he joins them even though he's never died

Just two pastel punk girls and their goth boys who're all eachother's emotional support

The artstyle of their comic run(42 issues)is based off the og Teen Titans animated one and to a lesser extent the tone of the series is similar too

Listen.........They're so Mcr-coded.Cementery Drive,Give 'em hell kid,Mama,Welcome to the Black Parade???All literally them.Also 'To the end' is about Jaysumm specifically <3

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drudragonrose · 2 months

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Blades and Strings

Tags: Wyll x tav, Named Tav, OC: Opal Spiritsinger, Wyll Ravengard, tiefling party, desire, pure fluff until later. Karlach, Astarion

Warnings: Mentions of ghosts

Summary: Wyll discovers that he likes the Collage of Spirits bard that they're traveling with. More than likes her. He can't help but notice things about her that draw him to her.

Chapter 1 ~ Melody of Desire

The tune from Opal’s violin was a new one to Wyll. It was because of her and a heavily intoxicated Alfira that everyone was dancing around the campfire far longer than they normally would have. From his place by the river, at the edge of the merry-making, he could see those who had partners start to wander off together to celebrate in their own way the fact that they were alive and that there was hope for the morrow. Still, Opal played for those who remained while it seemed like the air itself wanted to join, shapes that were barely visible seeming to dance around the blaze. Wyll would swear he had seen the swish of a skirt or the shape of a boot that didn’t belong to anyone there. He was shaken from his musings when Alfira took up her lute and started to sing the tale of Alice and Serah as if she had known it all along. She was far too drunk to do it justice or maybe he just liked hearing Opal alone. Maybe, Wyll thought, he liked watching the way her lips shaped the words, the small flakes of gold in her lip stain catching the firelight as she sang.

It wasn’t the first time that he wondered if some of those sparkles would chip off if she were to kiss him. He wondered if he would hear bells while he cupped the back of her neck and brought her closer to him. So close that they would be able to feel each other’s heartbeat. Aside from lamenting his new state as devil spawn, the reason he had not joined the revelry was that he knew that he would hoard the golden-horned bard all to himself if he did. Who was he to take her from all those who wanted to dance with her? There was joy on her face whenever she twirled to rhythm and bowed to her partner and that was something that he would never take from her. Wyll realized that he would do anything to keep her smiling the way she was now.

Wyll lost himself in his fantasies again. He could see himself pressing his hand against hers as they circled to the tune that Alfira kept with her lute. Or they could be alone, dancing to a tune that was only in their heads as he lost himself in those white sparkling eyes. He thought she had been blind at first but was proven wrong when she told him the color of his new eye, red and black she had said. Wyll had thought himself grotesque in her new form until she described him in such flowery language that he could help but feel better about what had happened to him only a few short days ago. “Horns as fast and powerful as a great wyrm but your gaze still holds such warmth even if your good eye is red and black. It reminds me of a ruby while it still has the stone around it. Unpolished but seen for the truth inside.” She had told him as she pressed her hand against his heart.

It had been the first time that he had felt a stirring for her. As Opal walked away to get ready for bed, the dress she wore during downtime showed him a tantalizing amount of her hip, Wyll had to resist the need to go after her and keep talking. About anything and everything, he just wanted to keep talking to her. His mind put her in that dress, reddish-purple with golden flowers embodied along the middle, same as the trim. They would dance alone aloud the fire until they were both breathless and panting. Her cheeks would be brightly flushed, giving her brown skin a healthier look. Those eyes would shine different colors like the nature of the stone that was her name and he would bring her close. His entire body gave a delighted shiver at the thought of Opal's touch, warm and inviting as a sunbaked patch of meadow. Maybe this time without the gloves she favored wearing.

“Missed you out there.” Said the airy whisper that was Opal’s speaking voice. While Opal sang, her voice was loud and rich like honied wine for the ears but when she spoke it was always barely above a whisper as if she was saving all of the sound for when she had a melody to apply it to. Wyll jumped upon seeing her but was grateful. Had he gotten lost in his own thoughts he would have gone down an embarrassing path and Opal deserved better than that. “I didn’t feel much like spoiling everyone’s good mood with my brooding,” Wyll answered, scratching the back of his head. A gentle giggle escaped Opal’s lips “Oh dear, you were not the only one to have past events weigh heavy on their mind. I had to pry Zorru from the wall and force a cup in his hand. I do think we went a little overboard though because now he’s sound asleep near Astarion’s tent. Not that he’s using it at the moment.” She hinted with a small knowing grin.

“Still I see the looks, even if they try to hide them from me. I’m a stranger to them again.” He said with a sigh. “No one wants a devil at their party.” He added looking down at his hand. His hands at least are still the same. A smaller, clawed one clad in velvet slipped into one of them and he looked up. “A devil is welcome when devils are the ones holding the party. How often have been called fowlbloods for our heritage alone? I have one more dance in me if you will grant me one oh great Blade of Frontiers.” She said as she laced her fingers with his. “So you noticed.” He said softly. He was suddenly shy in her presence which made Opal think he was all the cuter for it. “It was rather hard to miss. And I feel the same but then again who wouldn’t have their heart flutter when a warlock prince misty steps in front of them to put their rapier in the heart of a Gnol?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Don’t tease,” Wyll warned, his voice dropping an octave and sending desire up the bard’s spine.

“Why not? Surely you can’t be tempted by a she-devil again.” Opal said getting closer to him. Wyll placed a hand on her hip. Gods he wanted to drink her in. To show her just how much he could love her if given the chance. “If we had the time.” He mused while his face inched closer to hers. “But we don’t so why not indulge in the moment a little bit?” She asked as she cupped his face. Wyll looked at her and couldn’t say no. He leaned in and kissed her softly at first but felt her tongue sweep at his lower lip, asking for permission. Again he could not deny her. Their tongues danced and he crushed her to him, her body as soft as his mind had led him to believe but it felt better to have her here in reality. It took every bit of his resolve to pull away when air became an issue. Opal breathed in deep while bumping her nose against his. “I want to do this right, I want to court you, give you the great love story that a lady like you deserves.” He said as he held her hand.

The passion behind this made Opal blush. “It’s charming that you think I’m a lady. Agreed, of course. Taking things slow will allow me time to get used to your energy and be able to touch you.” She explained. Wyll frowned his brow. “You can’t touch others without your gloves?” He asked. He wondered how he had never realized this. “No. Part of my gift has a lot to do with touch. With things I can control it more but there are objects that seem to scream with an imprint of the person that used to own it. People are different. The longer I hold on to a person the more information I can extract. A single touch will give me emotions, longer can give me prominent memories. Many have horrible things that have happened to them. Absorbing those memories all at once can cause physical damage to me.” She said looking down.

It was as if learning this about her would change his mind about loving her. Wyll placed his fingers under her chin but hovered just above her skin. Opal nodded and he made contact. He guided her to look at him. “I look forward to the day you can know me inside and out. I look forward to knowing everything about you too. Not just about your gift. Your favorite food, what flowers you like, what family you have. Everything.” He said looking into those lovely white eyes. She smiled sweetly and closed the distance between them to kiss him again. Wyll wanted this moment never to end. He wanted to prove to Opal that he was worthy of her trust. Reluctantly, he pulled away and smiled sweetly. “Go to rest now. We will have more time for us later.” He said. Opal looked over his face and giggled softly before nodding. “Of course, you rest as well. That wine won’t keep warm for long.” She teased then walked towards her own tent.

The morning after, Wyll had a wine headache and was grumbling to himself for not taking Opal’s advice. “When did you start wearing glitter?” Astarion asked with an eyebrow raised. “What are you talking about?” Wyll asked, narrowing his eyes. Karlach laughed as she put the dots together. “Got friendly with our medium last night didn’t ya?” She cried and that was all that Wyll needed to realize what happened. It hadn’t chipped but the metallic flakes had rubbed off enough that it was noticeable. “I will not disgrace her name by admitting to such a thing.” He answered though he didn’t do a thing to remove Opal’s mark.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #wyll ravengard #wyll x tav #named tav #oc: opal #bg3 karlach #bg3 astarion

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dnfhascorruptedme · 9 months

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Love Doesn't Last - Will Treaty

Chapter 0 - The Burning Bridge

Chapter 0 | The Burning Bridge

One man may be deceit. Two can be conspiracy. Three is the number I trust.

As the kingdom of Araluen prepares for war against Morgarath, Will and Horace accompany the Ranger Gilan on a mission to Celtica. But Celtica’s villages and mines are silent. Only two exhausted and starving girls called Evanlyn and Edith can tell them why: Morgarath has sent his foul creatures to enslave the Celts. While Gilan rode swiftly back to Araluen to report this news to the King, WIll and Horace discover the true purpose behind Morgarath’s actions. The Kingdom is sure to be defeated in a surprise three sided attack - unless they can find a way to prevent it.

Chapter 1 | The Silent

‘They’ve buried their loot, by the look of this,’ Will said and Gilan nodded, smiling thinly.

‘Good. Then without their map, they won't be able to find it again,’ he said, and Carney’s eyes shot wide open in protest.

‘But that's ours…’ he began, stopping as he saw the dangerous glint in Gillan's eyes.

‘It was stolen,’ the Ranger said, in a very low voice. ‘You crept in like jackals and stole it from people who are obviously in deep trouble. It’s not yours. It's theirs. Or their family’s, if they're still alive.’

‘They’re still alive,’ said a new voice from behind them. ‘They’ve run from Morgarath - those he hasn’t already captured.’

If she hadn’t spoken, they would’ve taken her for a boy. It was the soft voice that gave her away. She stood at the edge of the camp site, a slender figure with blonde hair cut short - to a boy’s length - dressed in a ragged tunic, breeches and soft leather boots, bound up to the knee. A stained and torn sheepskin vest seemed to be her only protection against the cold mountain nights for she wore no cloak and carried no blankets. Just a small bandanna tied into a bundle which, presumably, contained all her belongings.

She had a companion. This one they couldn't tell if they were a boy or girl. They were wearing a long, knee-length black cloak, the hood covering their face entirely, with a belt holding the fabric in place at the waist. Black, knee-high leather boots were equipped, and attached to the belt were two daggers. They were both extremely muddy, but other then that the stark contrast spoke volumes.

‘Where the devil did you spring from?’ Gilan asked, turning to face the two. He sheathed his saxe knife as he did so and allowed Carney to fall gratefully to his knees, exhausted.

The girl, who Will could now see was around his own age and, underneath a liberal coating of dirt, remarkably pretty, gestured vaguely.

‘Oh…’ she paused uncertainly, trying to gather her thoughts, and Will realised she was close to the point of exhaustion. The other person was also swaying lightly, and he could see their energy would not last longer. ‘I’ve been hiding out in the… hills for several weeks now,’ she said finally, casting an uncertain glance to her companion. Will had to admit she looked as though she had been. “And she’s been with me for… a couple days.”

‘Do you have a name? Both of you.’Gilan added, almost only talking to the girl as she was the one doing all the talking. He too could see they were both worn out.

She hesitated. She appeared uncertain as to whether to give them a name or not.

‘Evanlyn Wheeler, from Greenland Fief. And that’s Edith Raven, my friend from Redmont Fief. She doesn't talk,’ Evanlyn added as she saw Horace’s slight questioning look. He shut his mouth and nodded. ‘We were here visiting friends…’ She stopped and looked away from Gilan. She seemed to be thinking for a second, before she amended the statement after a head turn from Edith. ‘Rather, my mistress was visiting friends, when the Wargals attacked.’

‘Wargals!’ Will said, the word jerked form him, and she turned a level pair of brilliant green eyes upon him. As he looked into them, he realised she was more than pretty. Much, much more. She was beautiful. The strawberry blonde hair and green eyes were complimented by a small, straight nose and a full mouth that Will thought would look quite delightful if she was smiling. But right now, a smile was a long way away from the girl’s thoughts. She gave a sad little lift of her shoulders as she answered him.

‘Where did you think all the people had gone?’ she asked him. ‘Wargals have been attacking towns and villages throughout this part of Celtica for weeks now. The Celts couldn’t stand against them. They were driven out of their homes. Most of them escaped to the South-West Peninsula. But some were captured. I don't know what’s happened to them.’

Gilan and the two boys exchanged looks. Deep down, they'd all been expecting to hear something of the kind. Now it was out in the open.

‘I thought I saw Morgarath’s hand behind all this,’ Gilan said softly and the girl nodded, tears forming in her eyes. One of them slid down her cheek, tracking its way through the grime there. She put a hand to her eyes, and her shoulders began to shake. Quickly, Gilan stepped forward and caught her just before she fell. He lowered her gently to the ground, leaning her against one of the rocks that the boys had positioned around the fireplace. His voice was gentle and compassionate now.

‘It’s all right,’ he said to her. ‘You’re safe now. Both of you.’ He added. ‘We’ll get you guys something hot to eat and drink.’ He glanced quickly at Horace. ‘Get a fire going, please, Horace. Just a small one. We’re fairly sheltered here and I think we can risk it. And Will,’ he added, raising his voice so that it carried clearly, ‘if that bandit makes another move to get away, would you mind shooting him through the leg?’

Carney, who had taken the opportunity created by the two surprising appearances to begin crawling quietly away to the surrounding rocks, now froze where he was. Gilan threw an angry glare at him, then revised his orders.

‘On second thoughts, you do the fire, Will. Horace, tie those two up.’

The two boys moved quickly to the tasks he had set them. Satisfied that everything was in hand, Gilan removed his own cloak and wrapped it around the girl. She had covered her face with both hands and her shoulders were shaking, although she made no noise. He put his arms around her and murmured gently, reassuring her once more that she was safe. The person in the cloak hastened up to help Horace.

Gradually her silent, racking sobs diminished and her breathing became more regular. Will, engaged in heating a pot of water for a hot drink, looked at her in some surprise as he readied that she’d fallen asleep. Gilan motioned for science and said quietly: ‘She’s obviously been under a great strain. It’s best to let her sleep. You might prepare one of those excellent stews that Halt taught you to make. I’m going to go see what Horace is up to.’

#rangers apprentice #gilan davidson #will treaty #horace altman #the burning bridge #oc #rau

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seithr · 3 days

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favorite top 5 of your ocs

Asking this of me who has no less than 10 aus of the same 3 characters is going to kill me... I can't put the same purple eyepatch bastard here five times or the invisible powers that be will come after me. Hard limit of two of the same guy (AND ONLY ONE GUY ALLOWED TO DOUBLE UP) only!! Here we go I finally put some names to the characters I mention in my tags:

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NERO listen years ago I did a silly challenge to throw together a bunch of design notes you like into a single guy and out came bigtits mchimbo over here. I don't know what more to explain besides I made him for myself in a very self indulgent way. Flames and passions god who's just here for a good time and make sure everyone else does too. Specifically I really like his tiny gay little earrings. And his velvety fuzzy body. And his wings good for hiding/setting around his waist like a skirt that hang right over his ass. I like a lot of him. He's like a stressball to me. Sorry ok next guy

NADINE DUVAL otherwise known as why I had to put a au caveat answering this. Yes I love Zinadia, my main girl's, FFXIV iteration—the evil 200 year old viera and her posession/longing subplot—but I am... really attached to FE3H still and still REALLY jive with Nadine's place in the world, and the reinterpretation of the main "noble dad died, get exiled, come back for revenge about it years later" she gets. She's more heroic here!

The devastation of that loss and event gets cranked down since FE3H's plot takes prescendence and character narrative importance—so... It's fun exploring how she turns out in a time where she gets socialized properly, has friends, people to fall back on, to fight for and who look for her not as a symbol to prop up but a friend who had connections and good dreams for the world...

She touches my heart in a really specific way. Fire Emblem Three Houses as a world sucks YES i am sure and know, but it has chances for her to turn things around that most other verses she doesn't get. I love you handsome noble woman

WYRM my big bastard. My "true dragon" among a sea of dragonpeople/elkiir.... Fafnir, Moby Dick, Frankenstein, the devil hiding in the truth, warnings-ignored manifest, will to survive at any cost incarnate. Wyrm is a suit of armour mangled and bloodied and brought to life, fueled by eating magic-drenched flesh, eventually burning up its previous owner inside it too—their bones fused to its organic-metal like a living casket. As that person wanted, they will not die without their revenge. Wyrm will take as long as there is something to take.

The biological anomaly of its "life"—not continuation of its previous one, but still not truly "alive" now either—is an insult itself. You can't pierce him with a lance—a stab doesn't kill metal. You can't take them apart either—they're not made with vital organs and blood, as much as the flames of burning it sustains movement and thought. Weapons of those who fail to kill her are embedded in their body, and where this endlessly-growing beast has outgrown its once human-sized form—leg growth shooting through boots and fresh skin and muscle filling in—those remaining claws and hands and limbs still work, endlessly trying to grow, to "live" as commanded.

Wyrm is far and away one of my favourite creatures. Fucked up dragon eating people alive, and its hunters slowly start to recognize what corpse exactly has sustained it.

CAIA SINNORHA it is known I adore this knight woman. It stings to try and be the best of anyone. And to come so very close to your greatest dreams, only to be thrown back down to the start because the person you love most—who you wonder if you still love—has done the worst thing possible. The eldest daughter, the eldest child, the symbol of the military-nobility's promise to continue serving and fighting, as symbols of a new era.

A shining hero who gets told by those who inspired her that they don't believe in that idea anymore, and she ought to give up rather than keep continuing on that hope she'll make it. Her bird-of-prey motifs in her gold eyes, featherlike wrist decor and her tail's scales, her double-kneed legs... I'm so so fond of her design, the way she carries herself in it... Strange half-dragon people and the minute ways they're different and work around it, like her leg braces and how being neither fully once species or the other impacts her idea of lineage and legacy. She is sooo compressed by the system and trapped in it and needs it to work because she thrived under it once and cannot bear the idea it will never be good as that again. Ms Sinnorha my proper knight crumpling under the weight and expectation of what it means to be what you imagine you need to be... wah

ZINADIA AEDELRIC it is known I am helplessly dedicated to Zinadia. She's the beating heart of this machine and all my ocs. Greasy kicked dog demeanor, kicking and clawing your way back no matter what. She always gets up, no matter how it hurts. Twenty long years it takes for her to have the battle against her traitor king of a brother—twenty years of this hound knight chasing down her dragon. Uuruurgh. Exiled and scapegoated, and taking up that mantle anyway—if she's accused of being a Kingslayer, then her noble brother will see what one really looks like. I'm fighting to not say in every sentence "She is so cool to me."

Electric wolf knight with ambiguous dragonblood in her, hunting down monstrous dragonhounds and biding her time until she gets her hands on her real prize, the man who stole away her life in seat of luxury, safety, love... Everything she's done will be worth it in the end, if her love is awaiting her still, and all it takes is to prove that she deserves to live, and always has, all this time, to the man who condemned her to death.

Zinadia and the story in Thunder—which IS Zinadia—means the world to me. Aaa. Wolfy scarred woman...

#OCs who didn't make cut: Kirkegrim (FFXIV Zinadia) / Hunter (Zinadia's brother/Caia's friend) / Sirah'li|Chocoboman(FFXIV)#Who i do like a LOT STILL!!!! HOWEVER I only could pick 5. unlike BB top 5 these are immovable. My favourites forever #well maybe Nero and Sirah'li switch around. catboy privilege. my silly cat. I really like Nero rn though.#i need an oc tag #Armour clanking #my asks #jinkisaragi

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leviiattacks · 3 years

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May I request a Levi x Reader angst fic? Just barely any fluff, mostly angst going on lol. The reader is a traitor, formaly working for Marley, but betraying them in secret and putting their loyalty on Paradis. The reader is also a shifter and married to Levi for a couple of years. That love and care however is gone once readers identity is found. He truly despises them, insults them, maybe a bit violent with them, and outright tells them that they mean nothing to him anymore and hate them to bits. Readers punishment is to hand over her titan to Erwin, and they agree instantly, broken over everything, believing its all their fault. Once Erwin inherits Readers titan, he breaks down and screams, crying, because Reader was innocent the whole time. They never betrayed Paradis. Never killed anyone, never harmed anyone. They finaly know why they betrayed Marley, the abuse being to much for them, enough to just leave them behind for Paradis. Just... loving and caring as they all saw them. But now the damage is done. They wont come back, they're dead, believing that they died, hated and despised, with no one to mourn their death. Everyone regrets everything.

author note :: i was thinking of leaving this in my drafts but i already wrote it and may as well post it. it didn’t end up going the way i hoped but yeah i hope it’s ok anon. anyways ANGST. ANGST, ANGST. as always i love feed back :-) ⟹ all of the headings with the years are just meant to mean it’s a different moment from that year so those moments don’t happen right after each other i hope that makes sense!! word count :: 7.2k warnings :: canon typical violence, death

845, i.

Everything is falling in place when it shouldn't.

Sun never makes itself known in Liberio yet here it is shining down onto the bustling streets. You half expect for it to crash down and burn into the hundreds of civilians going about their daily business yet nothing of the sort happens. It's typical sunlight and you curse yourself silently for your sinister thoughts.

Secretly the voice at the back of your mind still whispers frantically but you don't wish to hear what it has to say. Instead you choose to drown it out with the sound of Zeke's voice. Finally deciding to pay attention to what it is he's been droning on about for the past ten minutes.

"Soon, soon, soon." He sighs dreamily looking a little delirious.

"Soon?"

Your question catches him off guard, he lightly shoves you with his elbow scoffing in annoyance.

"Did you sit here to not even listen to me?" He turns to take a sip of whisky and the hearty gulp he chugs shows his mild irritation. You assume he's been rambling on about Marley's plan to infiltrate Paradis. You have to admit that the idea of destroying those demons from the inside is amazingly well thought out. However it's all he's been able to discuss for the entire week now and frankly you're getting a little exhausted of it.

"I zoned out..." Quietly placing your glass back down onto the wooden counter you sigh closing your eyes. It's too early to be drinking and you don't trust Zeke enough to slip into ignorance and leave yourself vulnerable. Men are to not be trusted, especially Eldian men. The thought of Eldians triggers your flight of fight response, you want to shrivel up into a cocoon and never come out until the world is rid of the monsters. The lowest of the low, the dirt in between the crevices of Marleyan soldier's boots. That is what Eldian's are.

It's ironic coming from you, your entire family labelled as undesirable Eldians yourself but you, you know you're different. An honorary Marleyan is what you will become. What you are. The treacherous imps who are but an ocean away are the true evil.

Eyes flicking to Zeke he's lighting a cigar. Old habits die hard and he's yet to quit this self destructive custom of his. You couldn't care less if he chooses to cut his lifespan short by ten years, it's his own choice to make. A disgusting cowardly choice but it's a choice fit for an untamed man like him.

The Island Devils are said to be the bad apples but you can't help but stare at your fellow citizens from time to time and wonder what it is they could be hiding. If a demon slipped through the cracks you wouldn't be surprised. Sly in nature, persuasive in tone, that is how devils go about their daily lives alone The hymns they drilled into you all the way through elementary school echo and rebound in your mind.

Locking your bitter thoughts away you have to push yourself to not punt Zeke in the mouth when he teasingly blows a puff of hot smoke into your face.

Fingertips grazing with his he freezes at the sudden contact giving you the perfect opportunity to slip his cigar away and take it in between your lips. You allow for it to linger there but you aren't foolish enough to inhale its contents.

"Zeke, my dear friend. We shall soon be met with the fruits of our own labour but I assure you that discussing Marley's plan constantly will be of no benefit for you nor I."

The day you and Zeke had met had been at warrior training camp. Zeke was a miserable, unmotivated oaf. Always tripping and falling behind the rest of the warrior cadets. You felt rather bad for him, if you were born as unskilled as him you don't know what you would have made of yourself. Zeke, the only child of his parents ironically only ever ended up rising through the ranks after handing them over to the Marleyan government. His father and mother had been conspiring an escape plan but were executed immediately alongside their fellow team members once Zeke had outted them. Unexpectedly he was spared, the fact he turned on his own parents showed where his loyalties were. To his surprise, he was even allowed to continue his training with the other warriors - only this time everyone kept an increased distance away from him. The warriors weren't informed of what he had actually done but everyone had a gut feeling. Everyone apart from you stuck with that feeling. You thought strategically, If he were to become an enemy in the future you knew being close would come at your advantage.

The day you and Zeke had met your mother died, his mother passed away the same day. At least that's what he had told you.

The two of you bonded over the little things, told each other stories about your life at home. Reminisced about what it was you missed.

Then it all came crashing down the day Zeke confessed. The day he told you he killed his mother and father by handing them over to Marley. Your knees buckled underneath you, crashing the floor he tried to grab at you but you thrashed around in retaliation kicking and screaming not understanding why he did what he did. Yes, they were traitors but they were his parents and if the monster had the nerve to turn on the people who gave birth to him who's to say he wouldn't do the same to you or to Marley.

Zeke doesn't know it but ever since then you take the opportunity to sneak the occasional glance at him. Every single time you narrow your eyes in malice. If there's a man in Liberio who you don't trust in the slightest it's him, he must think the feud between the two of you from childhood has been put at rest but it hasn't.

Zeke takes another swig of his alcohol. On this occasion he downs it entirely slamming the glass down with vigour.

"ONE MORE GLASS BARTENDER!"

846, i.

Another day of extensive training is about to end, your back is layered in uncomfortable layers of sweat and the same can be said for your forehead. Kneeling down in the under layer of the forest you're hidden waiting to strike. Going up against the elites is nerve-wracking but you're sure you can pull it off so long as you stay calm during this game of hunters against prey.

It's simple enough if you can conceal yourself and stay out of sight. The robust trees that surround you act as decent enough camouflage and your green cape paired with them lets you veil yourself, keeping you further into the foreground, blending into the environment.

No one will be able to catch you if they can't see you.

All of a sudden your previous thoughts are thrown away when you sense something in the atmosphere has changed, the hissing of the wind behind you isn't natural.

Turning to your side you don't bother to cover up the sound of leaves rustling and branches cracking, your priority is slipping away fast enough to hide again, a tug can be felt at your cloak and your reaction time barely covers for you, your gear fastens itself to a low enough tree branch and the descent is mind numbing. Your breakfast churns in your stomach but you ignore the uneasy feeling, leaping and diving wherever you find a small enough gap. You believe you can outrun your huntsman.

That is until you sneak a glance back and your muscles nearly tense up in pure astonishment, you've been kicked in the teeth just by the man's presence. Captain, Levi slinks behind you weaving through the gaps with increasing speed, he's gaining momentum and all the while his face stays relaxed, this isn't even his full effort.

Terrified you dart upwards and then left, a corner comes into view - Levi should assume you've turned into it and so you rashly choose to dart back down. Much to your hard luck you find that his senses are well adapted, the direction of the wind is enough for him to trace your whereabouts.

The pursuit resumes, and he stays disturbingly relentless.

Arm shooting to the right you think perhaps making it look like you're aiming to fly somewhere else again will completely catch him off guard, he can't expect for you to pull the same trick twice.

Setting your plan into motion your finger pulls at the trigger but you startle when the cable doesn't come out, it's jammed. Panic seeps into you and to make matters worse your gas is running out.

Without warning you're thrust into the body of a nearby tree, the bark scrapes against you and scratches begin to form anywhere you've made contact with the jagged surface, you want to admit defeat but the warrior inside of you denies Levi the pleasure of seeing you beg. In its place you deliver a harsh kick to his thigh, you're aware he's injured it and you're certain there are no rules to say you can't play dirty. Your boots hammer against leg hard enough for him to give out and let go of your body, but then you realize you lost this game from the very moment your grapple hooks broke, you have nowhere to hold onto.

Before you can even let out a shriek of horror Levi's shot back to you, he frantically accelerates and by a miracle humanity's strongest is able to grab a hold of you again. This time you don't dig your heels into his leg and you allow for him to clutch you by the torso.

Within a minute the two of you descend towards the forest floor and Levi throws you into the dirt furiously.

"You could have died. Being foolhardy will only lead to an early death." He barks as he directs his blade towards your neck.

"Am I dead yet?" Whispering back your gaze isn't trained on the blade but right up at him.

His nostrils flare up, his hair sticks to his forehead haphazardly and the knuckles that hold his pointed blades are white in tangled dissatisfaction.

Grabbing you by the hips he flings you over his shoulder choosing to not continue with the confrontation.

"I know what you're up to." His voice is still rugged from the pursuit and it takes you a split second to register what he's said.

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches in your throat, no way, there's no way in hell he knows. He's sharp but he's not a mind reader.

Your position means he can't read your face seeing as you're facing his back, instantly steeling your features you let out a breathy laugh.

"And what may that be?" Silently you pray he's worded himself ambiguously to catch a slip up.

"Being gutsy, you think that makes you a good soldier. It doesn't."

Relief floods you. He doesn't know.

"Soldiers need to be brave." Your retort makes him grumble.

"If you die with no meaning by being reckless what's the purpose of being a soldier?" His question has you stopping and thinking on what the correct answer is.

Unable to think of an answer you ask another question.

"Are you saying your previous comrades died without meaning?"

"No. Their deaths fueled me slay more titans."

"So if I died back there who wou-" He swiftly cuts you off showing no inclination of wanting to hear what it is you have to say.

"I'll cut your tongue off if it's stupid." He clearly isn't serious about the threat but he does mean it when he warns you to not overstep.

Despite the consequences you say what's on your mind. "I just wanted to ask who would give my life meaning if I ever died. I don't have siblings and my parents died long ago."

Silence follows and the crunch of his boots against the muddy leaves tells you he probably doesn't wish to answer your question.

"Sorry-"

"I would. I would give meaning to your life." He says it with such ease you almost want to admire the enemy but you know he's said it because he feels he has to.

"You barely know me but I hope one day you can stop thinking everyone has to rely on you." You say it with taunting understanding.

Another bout of silence follows. Only this time the two of you feel warmly comforted, he doesn't understand how you've seen through his facade but it's easy for you to spot another liar.

846, ii.

Brows drawn back you observe your surroundings attempting to mask your scrutiny. The place is running amok with uncontrollable Eldian folk. The stench of unadulterated sin makes itself known but you seem to be the only person able to smell it. Eren bumps against the table you're sat at and your face twitches a little but you say nothing. You're yet to get used to these people's lack of manners.

At least that's how you force yourself to think. To be truthful, you don't quite understand what it is these people have done wrong. Ever since you've arrived you've been nitpicking at every single minor inconvenience or possible issue. A girl stole a potato and broke it into uneven pieces to share and you attempted to twist the story in your head to make her look like an unfair, greedy voracious demon but... you found yourself finding very little to actually be angry at. These people are essentially normal in every way of the word, they aren't demons and you can't help but feel yourself slip away from everything you once knew as reality. You're finding it difficult to believe what years of Marleyan education taught you, the hymns that were once drilled into your brain permanently are but a vague memory.

You feel disgustingly under-dressed and out of place, you don't belong here not when you're meant to hate these people, not when you're meant to despise them. You should be fighting the urge to shove their heads onto pitchforks or to skin them alive and feed them to pigs. Everyone back in Marley told you to control your impulses but now you're here and you've settled down even having the opportunity to converse with these individuals, share their pain, share their loss, share their suffering, you wonder why you have no impulses to control. Have they brainwashed you? Or is it that you're the real demon in this situation?

Fingers mingling with each other on your lap you sit hopelessly alone. Interacting with the so called enemy is much harder than you expect. Worry consistently bubbles in the pit of your stomach and every night is spent tossing and turning evaluating then reevaluating who the bad guy really is. At first the task of daily interaction isn't a big deal, you find it easy enough to approach members of the team and fake interest in their lives until the original plan falls through. You do become invested in your team members lives and stories that it comes to the point where you don't have to force yourself to smile at their jokes or to sympathize with their tales of grief. You become one of them and you swear you're meant to feel like a traitor but eerily you feel like you belong.

Nevertheless you try your best to stick with what you know. You're nothing like Zeke, you're loyal, capable, faithful and trustworthy. Never will you turn your back on Marley.

Rising to excuse yourself from dinner you think you've just about made it and escaped finally able to hide away in the confines of your bedroom but your lips form into a straight uncomfortable line at the feeling of someone's hand latching at your wrist. You're halfway down the hallway just a few more steps away from your bedroom. You hope it's one of the rookies.

"Oi, come here."

Head shooting backwards your eyes land on Levi, his dark curtains fall in front of his eyes - you note that he hasn't trimmed them as he usually does. Despite his size his grip is firm and your wrist squirms around a little trying to manoeuvre out of his bruising grasp. He seems to notice he's underestimated his strength once again and loosens his hold on you. Narrowed eyes analyse your anxious form, they're grey and in this lighting almost glow appearing silver. For a brief second your mouth is left ajar by the delicate but rough manner of his face.

"Everything Okay?" He doesn't typically seem to care very much about anyone, the question activates your senses and you're on full alert but the eye contact you make with him seconds later slows down the gears in your mind, they only whir and hum in anticipation completely coming to a halt.

"Yes, yes everything is okay." You're playing around with the hem of your shirt and you silently question when you were ever this nervous around anyone. You're a Marleyan soldier for heaven's sake not an unrestrained, unsupervised child left to play in a park.

Despite your clear inability to cushion and shield yourself from your Levi's stabbing gaze you attempt to appear as nonchalant as possible.

"I'll be going I just feel a little —" At first you had thought to fake you were ill but at the feeling of a sudden strike of pain you hold onto your stomach, the ache burns into your abdomen and without permission it travels higher up towards your ribs. "A little unwell." You manage to wheeze out. Hand placed onto a nearby cement wall your thought process is hasty speeding up by the second. Have they figured you out and had you poisoned? No, you barely ate anything today.

You hunch over feeling the bile crawl up your throat, on reflex you clamp your eyes shut not wishing to anger a superior by acting insolent and disposing of your dinner in the hallway. Shaky palms reach hesitantly for your lips and you force yourself to keep it in. Levi would commit a murder if you heaved and gagged letting it all out in front of him.

You motion towards the door trying to emphasize that you can handle yourself in the privacy of your room. Tears bite at the sides of your eyes and your vision is so blurred you can only make out the faint outline of the man who was just in front of you.

"Relax. I'll clean it." Your hair is brushed away from your face securely held back and you can't hold it in any longer, the acrid storm surges through your throat, you retch at the harsh sting it leaves behind. Breathing heavy, perturbed and anxious you gasp in all the air you can get.

"I knew you looked ill." His hands hold your jaw gently, the pads of his fingers are calloused but his touch remains soft. A tissue dabs at your mouth wiping away the excess untouched sick.

Just like the sick which surged through you less than a minute ago you feel something else entirely tear into you. You can't put a finger on it but it's dangerous for you to not feel contempt.

847, i.

Your heart accepts what your mind has been ignoring for months on end when Levi looks you square in the eyes after a heart wrenching expedition. The vacant look on his face is enough for the guilt to consume you whole but he doesn't know that. He doesn't know of your sins.

The wagon of corpses reeks of death and desperation. It's rotten and the smell is sickening. Forcibly you stop yourself from feeling any more grief. The despair isn't yours to go through.

Your first ever personal loss outside of the walls and you've learnt Paradis is not home to demons. Cheeks burning in mortification you can't formulate any thoughts on your own accord, instead they continuously emerge in bursts and finally a single thought sticks out from the rest - Are you aiding in the destruction of innocent human life?

The both of you are sat on guard duty with the corpses, half of the team has been wiped out in one sweep. Your trembling hands don't seem to want to steady any time soon and you sit there with your guilty conscience strangling you slowly, your airflow is getting shallower. Shorter, quicker breaths leave you. The imaginary gash in your chest is bottomless, and your lungs push and pull in a power struggle.

Levi's coarse hands abruptly hold onto yours and the floodgates open again, he doesn't know what you've done to him, done to his soldiers, done to his people. If he knew who you really were, would things be different?

"This was out of your control."

Do you tell him?

The question sits in your mind for a while until you shake your head. He takes it the wrong way and think you're responding to him.

"This was not your fault." For the first time in months you've heard his voice crack under pressure.

"Pe- Petra she- I could have taken one for the team and died instead of her." All that remains of your dear friend is her blood soaked cloak. Her body was one of the few that had to be hauled away earlier to decrease the carriage's load.

The fabric still smells of Petra, smells of honey and chamomile and the simple soap offered at the base, but it still smells of her.

Firm hands grab your shoulders and Levi's fingers dig sorely into your flesh.

"Don't."

"But I- I didn't contribute as much as her and she has family who are alive." Hiccuping you try to bare with the fact that you'll wake up tomorrow and not see her preparing breakfast for everyone else. You know you could have propelled her out of the way just in time if you hadn't been so taken aback by the entire situation.

"You were her comrade. She made the choice to die for you."

You want to reach out, sob into his chest and yell that you regret it all, scream and tell him about the secret you've been hiding. A sorry excuse of a comrade you are to let her die on the battlefield not knowing your true identity. The tears roll down your cheeks and Levi feels his heart constrict and squeeze as he comprehends the lack of regard you have for your life. "It should have been me." Is repeated over and over again, your eyes are raw and bloodshot, the vicious wind sinks its teeth into you.

"Then die."

"If you're willing for her life to have no meaning. Die." The words he spits out are as cutting as the bitter wind. He feels cheated and you're finally able to come to your senses.

He's faired much worse but you doubt he's ever acted out the way you have in front of another person. In this never-ending void of darkness locking away the dull ache caused by deafening loss is the best choice for everyone.

Much like the night you had been sick he takes a grip of your jaw and directs your face towards his, this time he's not as gentle as before but you conclude that it's because he's drained, completely exhausted from the battle. The eyes are the windows to the soul but Levi's window panes are shattered, completely crushed by the weight of the constant burden he has to carry.

"I'm sorry." You croak out the apology. He grits his teeth because he doesn't want you to apologize but he doesn't voice out his opinion. As a substitute he presses his arms against you, the terribly raw panic is murdering you. Levi's gruff voice is a mixture of faux irritation but mutual understanding.

"Cry." He allows for your head to loll against his shoulder.

As the dark envelopes both you and him the scent of the dead only becomes more and more pungent, recalling fond memories of Petra and the others you know your heart settles on a decision before your mind does. You're a two timing back stabbing traitor for this. What you hated Zeke for you have become yourself.

Disloyal, unfaithful and fickle.

That day you place your loyalties with Paradis.

847, ii.

Levi's wiping down one of the kitchen tables, you're kneeled on the floor scrubbing vigorously. The others have already given up, panting they've left using the excuse of fetching water from a nearby well. Your back aches but you find cleaning reassuring and somewhat of a decent distraction.

"Why do you like to clean?" You're used to Levi asking you abrupt questions by now, after all the two of you have been acquainted for well over a year now. Through that year he's learnt about you and you about him. When in the midst of what looks to be humanity's final year's, twelve simple months is enough to form a bond worth a decade.

"I'm not good at a lot but I am good at cleaning."

"You know that's not true idiot." The tone of his voice indicates that your answer doesn't please him.

"But I do think I'm good at cleaning? Maybe not as good as you but I am half decent."

"Not that. You're good at much more than half the people I've ever met." He sneers, his footsteps edge towards you. "Purely being a good person is a talent these days."

You suppress a flinch because you aren't a good person at all. Neither are you that middle ground between good and bad. Rough around the edges and uneven, you're shards of glass ready to slash and hack away at him if Marley somehow lures you back.

The confession, if you could even call it that catches you by surprise and anger fills you. You almost want for him to not trust you and call out your bluff. It's a little unnatural how badly you want for him to realize the truth.

Your head turns up to stare at the man who's a few steps away from you. "Or am I just good at acting genuine?"

You don't even mean to snap at him and you don't even realize you have until you see his eyes widen and mouth part in imperceptible surprise. Biting your tongue your attention is diverted back to the wooden floor. Driving your washcloth into the crevices and dips of the floorboards you ignore Levi's leather shoes which now stand right in front of you.

"Are you questioning my judgement of character?"

Be born in Marley, That's what you had done, trained to destroy people you thought to be devilish entities, foolishly chose to grow attached to the so called enemy. Your mind lingers onto a specific thought and you're deathly afraid to be thinking it in the first place but there's no more avoiding it.

Falling deeply in love with Levi is your worst mistake to date.

"What I did. It was out of my control." you reply, voice hard.

"Not disclosing what it was?" He asks.

Your silence is his answer. Kneeling down to where you are he disarms you, the washcloth is taken out of your hands and he places it onto a table.

"You are a good person." His voice is brusque and he states it like it's a fact, something you should know. Hot tears threaten to spill over, he's stupidly naive for not rethinking that opinion of his. Lips thinned and eyes watering you don't know how to feel.

"Levi. I'm sure you'd like to think that but I am not."

"You love the members of the corps unconditionally I can see it in the way you look at them."

"Sometimes you look a little sad when you stare." The last sentence he adds in has your pulse racing. He's right, you often feel miserable thinking about how everyone would react knowing who you really are.

"I'm not interested in bad people." He sounds distant saying such warm words and it takes a moment for them to actually sink in. You don't quite believe you've heard him correctly. The dread sinks to the bottom of your stomach and the feelings you've buried at the back of your mind hit you like a tsunami. The thought of him feeling the same way for you, is agonizing.

"Stop being ridiculous." The uncertainty is killing the both of you.

"Loving you is not ridiculous, if you don't feel the same way you can say that and I'll step away. We'll be back to normal."

"No, no, no. You don't get it. You're just saying that." Your voice quivers and the intensity of this new revelation is too large for you to cope with.

"Why would, you," He begins, voice just above a whisper, "ever think that way?"

"Why would you even look twice at me?" You reply.

"Because I worry for you."

"You worry for everyone."

"I worry for you the most."

Instead of letting you respond to him this time he carries on speaking.

"We both know we feel the same."

You already knew you were in love with Levi, you didn’t need for him to tell you. You knew you were in love when you tried to memorize his facial features, you knew you were in love when his laughter was the cause of your laughter, you knew you were in love when you threw yourself in front of that abnormal for him.

That's when you begin to understand what all his signals meant. You now knew why he'd let you stare so intently, you now knew why he laughed particularly hard when it was you who had made a joke, you now knew why he scolded you and nearly broke down at the sight of your injured arm after that specific expedition.

You know it. He knows it. You both know what this will lead to.

But you still lunge onto his lap, you still press your wobbly lips against his. You still choose to surrender yourself to him and he still reacts by taking a hold of your shaky hands which lay on his chest. He envelopes them in his warm grasp. Slowly but gradually the ice thaws and dissolves. Heartbreak, anguish and suffering when one of you loses the other will be the end of your romance, you're sure of it. Hell, the both of you are in the middle of a war but your heart flames up thinking of all of the possibilities.

Perhaps it'll play out the one way you wish for it not to.

Could your ending be in betrayal?

848, i.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded hus-"

"Cut the crap and kiss me." Levi's crude interruption isn't appreciated by Erwin but everyone knows Levi doesn't care all that much for formalities and hates being in the spotlight for too long.

Gripping him by the collar of his suit your lips are a centimetre away, he stops you tightening the hold he has on your waist. His lips gently press against your collarbone and his breath meanders towards the shell of your ear.

"Swear you won't die on me."

Gulping you look away apprehensively. You know you can't promise that.

“Oi, I’m expecting an answer.” His voice flickers slightly.

Forefinger holding your chin up you see your soon to be husband close to tears, he valiantly blinks them away. Levi has never been one to make his pain public and your heart twists in your chest as you realize just how much of a hold his feelings for you have over him.

"I can't promise that, you know it'll only hurt more." The strange bitter taste in your mouth won't let you comply with his request and by measuring his reaction you see his eyes cloud in an unidentifiable emotion, you're sure it's nothing positive.

"We may not have a happy ending Levi but we'll always have a happy middle."

Levi scoffs in derision, he has to think your attempt at being meaningful is ridiculous.

You lean into him and it's all so heart-wrenchingly familiar yet foreign. His body sags comprehending that not everything will go the way he wants it to. One of you is guaranteed to leave first.

Hands finding purchase in the cloth of his white dress shirt Levi doesn't cringe at you creasing the fabric as he usually does. He allows for you to call the shots this time, your lips brush faintly against his before you nosedive into him. No resistance is felt and he replies almost immediately. Everyone applauds as his fingertips press into the back of your skull and you find that this is all incredibly hideous. The innate disloyalty you feel, you throwing your entire life away for this man but you find yourself not caring. To hell with that miserable life crammed with sin.

Levi smiles against your mouth, you assume you're meant to magically smile back but you can't make yourself. It's uncomfortable relishing in the undeserved happiness knowing it won't last forever.

The world you live in isn't ideal nor is it forgiving.

Momentary joy is all an antagonist can hope for.

849, i.

Jean can’t take his eyes off the newly weds.

You’re cooing into your Levi’s ear gently, his cheeks flush scarlet at the feeling of your hot breath against his skin and he scolds you for having the gall to rile him up in public.

Jean sniggers finding some sort of odd delight from the interaction - he’s never seen the Captain this content and at ease.

849, ii.

You don't know why you've dragged yourself out of bed just to stare at your husband's face but you have, despite the toll life has had on him he seems sound for once. His breathing peaceful yours is anything but that. When it's dark the weight becomes heavier, your skin tingles and your throat burns aching for release.

Eyes blurring your hands shake reaching out for him but you can't find the courage to make contact. Nothing will ever warrant plaguing him even more with your existence.

The memories become increasingly bitter.

"If we make it out of this alive we'll have children and they'll look just like you."

"I want them to look like you." had been your reply.

Levi winced not seeming to like the idea.

"No, I want them to look like you. You're beautiful."

How wrong he was for thinking that.

You, beautiful? He'd stab himself ten times over if he knew just who exactly he had said those words to.

850, i.

Zeke had betrayed you after finding out who you were to Levi but you half expected that he would tell him the truth at some point regardless of that fact.

Tear stains travel through the mud and grime on your face, Levi's eyes are indifferent as he twists his wedding ring off his finger flinging it into the surrounding rubble.

Without your permission he yanks your arm forwards intending to take your matching ring away but you hold on digging your heels into the dirt beneath you.

"You disgusting bitch. Give me it."

You scream, high and awful, he continues jerking at your arm the muscle throbs crying out for him to stop but he doesn't and no one steps in to put a halt to any of it. Levi having had enough grabs at your neck ruthlessly. In any other circumstance he'd be labelled callous or cruel but everyone on the battle field shares a similar empathy for their Captain. Neither they or Levi had expected your disloyalty.

"I said give me the ring if you know what's good for you." His fingers slide around your neck, his seemingly low words cling onto the little respect he has left for you.

"No." Your defiance has his eyes hardening in and posture tensing. "I'm not handing it over."

Levi says nothing, he only holds onto your throat tighter, if he really keeps at it your windpipe will be crushed in no time. You know he's holding out on purpose, he's still giving you a chance. He expects for you to stand your ground, say you never deceived Paradis, say something, anything to make him let go of you.

"Marrying you... It just happened somehow. I know it was selfish of me." He squeezes harder. "I know it was. I'm sorry Levi." Gasping and breathless you clench and unclench your fists finding it too difficult to explain.

Your mouth opens, you want to tell him you haven't seduced him like he thinks you have, tell him you dropped that plan of yours long ago but then you falter at the last second. It's typically hard to tell when Erwin's infuriated but it's painfully obvious when you make eye contact with him over Levi's trembling shoulders. It's enough to tell you to give up. Enough to tell you that you're beyond redemption, you've ran and hid long enough.

"Hand over your titan." Levi says nothing to Erwin's proposition, the hold he has on your neck loosens but his silence is sickening. It means he agrees.

This is fate's idea of a cruel joke.

But you agree, on the basis of one condition.

"Fine but-"

Levi cuts in, all regard for you devoid from his system.

"You're in no place to be making demands." He snarls, his patience quickly running thin.

However Erwin urges you to continue speaking taking you aback.

"If it's not too much maybe we can accommodate your final wish." Erwin had always been thoughtful in nature and you thank him for even bothering to show you a sliver of benevolence.

Everyone's looking, all eyes are on you. Some are blinking away tears, others are disgusted unable to stare at you for more than a few seconds at a time. Levi falls into the latter.

Brazen with not an ounce of shame you mention the ring again. "Let me keep it." Your left hand covers your right and underneath the flesh is the last symbol left of your union with Levi.

Whispers and murmurs orbit you, none of them are kind and Levi loses it.

His reflexes are paralyzing, he's back at it clawing your neck mercilessly but you don't scream or shriek as you did previously. You take it, you let him unload his frustration.

"Levi. Let it go for the sake of humanity." Erwin says pointedly. Irritation pricks him, he wants this over and done with and your rebelliousness doesn't look as if it'll be tamed any time soon unless you're given what you want.

Levi's face is crimson, the fresh blood from the expedition still steaming. "Y/N, I'll saw your arm off if I have to." But, you know he's already given into Erwin's orders when he throws you to the ground letting you crash and wheeze for breath.

850, ii.

Levi's been appointed to guard you for your final night alive. The room feels wistful as you think back wondering if the life you lived was respectable.

"Why did you stare at me when I slept? Did you think of killing me?" Half commanding and half pleading his voice cracks. He coughs attempting to cover it up.

You jolt not expecting the interaction at all and you're not the slightest bit surprised that he had seen you all those nights staring so deeply. He'd always been a light sleeper. You turn your head up hoping he's looking at you.

He isn't.

"I wanted our children to look like you. I think you're beautiful."

It's now his turn to recoil, only he does so in repulsion remembering the familiarity of those words. They had left his own lips not too long ago.

"I'd never have children with the likes of you." He sounds tense then.

You understand. No one would want to have children with someone as hated and as despicable as you.

"I know." You whisper faintly.

850, iii.

When Erwin's eyes glaze over unable to focus on anything in particular Levi assumes it's him growing used to the titan powers. What he doesn't expect is for his Commander to bang his head against the floor unrelenting screaming your name.

Pairs of hands move to stop him but he thrusts them aside wailing. Levi stresses trying to figure out what it is you could have done in the wake of your death.

But Erwin Smith. Courageous, brave Erwin Smith, who never cracked at loss of life for the sake of humanity, who always eloquently spoke to everyone around him at all times, finds himself slumping down to his knees and weeping for you.

The warm blood from his self inflicted assault still trickles down his nose, a tremor shakes through his entire body when he thinks of breaking the news to Levi.

The edge in Erwin’s voice grows dangerous.

"We made the wrong choice."

Erwin can't word it any better than that.

But Levi understands right away, he wishes he didn’t, he wishes he was ignorant enough not to.

Hange sticks an arm out aiming for his shoulder but he stumbles away nearly falling back into the floor not wanting to be touched by anyone.

He finds that he is not human enough to cry. It’s that or he’s not human at all without your presence.

854, i.

Levi has grown old without you, lived to see months and new seasons without you by his side. Over time his eyelids have become heavier, the corners of his mouth naturally droop and he remains perpetually somber.

Sometimes you visit him in his dreams, each time you make a silly comment about how his grey eye bags make him look like he’s been punched in the face. “Levi Ackerman, I swear if you don’t sleep soon!” You cushion the blow by whispering sweet nothings, reassuring him that you still think he’s beautiful.

Occasionally you add in that you don’t blame him for the past, but those conversations only last for a few seconds at a time.

“I don’t blame you.” It always starts off with the exact same phrase.

“I should have listened to you.” Levi’s tone is stern and uncompromising .

“Lev, I was never going to tell you to spare my life. You tried to listen to me, I could tell you wanted me to deny it.”

Levi refuses to answer you, he still thinks he’s at fault.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t think of that ring. He regrets throwing it away recklessly into the rubble.

Some day he’ll return to Shiganshina to find it. The idea sounds laughable but he has to find a reason to smile as he fights for his life.

That is what Levi thinks as two set’s of jaws snap shut onto his legs, a flurry of red surrounds him. His throat constricts at the feeling of his thighs being ripped away from the rest of him.

“I tried.” He whimpers to no one in particular, eyes blank and losing meaning.

“I know Levi, I know.” The same voice from his dreams soothes him.

“Do not despair. Find me again in another world.” The biting wind adds in.

Levi’s eyelids flutter shut unable to do much else.

He’s unsure if he has the courage to face you again in another lifetime.

2K notes · View notes

etlunainmorte · 4 years

Text

“As she comes to the city, hollow hands empty,

Eyes open to what lies in wait for her,”

She does not weep nor wail,

In her eyes, home has always been burning.”

***

🌙 To You Who Rejected Me 🌙

***

"Now, where could that thing be?" Griffon mused to himself as he flew high above the shores of Delphi, looking for that vital something that his master lost when he dived into the ocean to escape those fire - wielding Elves attacking him. The demonic bird has been searching for almost an hour but, with no such luck. "Honestly, it could turn up just about anywhere!" He complained in utter frustration. "This is hopeless!"

The bird was about to give up on his search when he noticed something gleaming at the corner of his eye. He looked down and squinted those golden eyes of his until he finally saw the thing. Indeed, it was right there, washed up on the shore and almost covered with sand and sea weeds.

There it was, V's antique metal cane!

"There ya are!" Griffon flew down to fetch the thing, at the same time shooing the sea gulls that were trying to claim it as their own like it was some kind of a rare sea artifact, almost fighting over it. "HEY, I SAID, SHOO!" The familiar screeched once more as he let out a weak electrical current to scare the noisy birds away, and it worked to perfection.

"Hoho! Thought I'd never see ya again!" Griffon opened his talons wide, ready to pick up V's cane,...

"What in the - ?!" The bird muttered the moment his talons came into contact with the metal cane. It felt somehow hot, and not just warm. He was not sure whether his eyes were playing tricks on him but, the thing did seem to glow. And finally, the metal cane seemed to tremble a bit against his talons, like it was alive. Sentient.

Still hovering above the sand with V's metal cane in his talons, the demonic bird squinted his eyes in suspicion. Master and familiar alike knew that the cane was nothing but an old piece of metal, and not a source of any kind of power, demonic or not. An aid for V's,... disability. Nothing more.

However, despite that, Griffon could feel something coming from the cane. Like it was emanating some form of unknown power. He just knew it deep within his core.

But, being unimaginably tired after what happened last night, Griffon ignored the cane, ruffled his feathers, and flew back to where Dante and his master were.

"I'm heckin’ tired." Griffon uttered as his wings took him to his destination - the ruins of Apollo's temple. "I'll let Shakespeare deal with ya."

"Your foot seem fine to me, V." Dante said for the third time since morning.

"I could've sworn I felt this,... excruciating pain when I was attacked,... "

"Well, your foot seem,... fine to me!" And that was the fourth time since morning. "Look, V: you're a son of Sparda. Maybe the Demon blood's finally kickin' in and healed your wounds?"

And to this, V only shook his head. It's impossible for him, after all.

No matter how much or how intense Dante stared at his brother's allegedly injured left foot, he just couldn't find anything wrong with it, save for the missing pair of the poet's old gladiator sandals, and the frayed, almost tattered end of his pants, like something burned it. If anything, to Dante's eyes, V only seemed to have lost the other pair of his unspeakably tacky footwear. And a good riddance to it, if he may add! To the legendary Devil Hunter, it seemed so difficult to move and fight Demons with such footwear. And he would never deny that fact, despite knowing that he could hurt his brother's feelings for having such a questionable taste in fashion.

On the other hand, to V, it was an entirely different story. For, only last night, he swore his foot got burned badly due to the attack. So badly and so painful, he was actually scared to look at it.

And now, as he looked, no, stared, at his foot with disbelief, he couldn't help but feel utterly mystified. First, there was this strange presence that saved him from the enemies, and now this.

It's as if nothing happened to his foot, at all!

And honestly? V could not believe his sheer, dumb luck.

Or, was it even luck?

After all, since those Elves, and her, entered their lives, V and his brother experienced nothing but the unusual. The unknown. And he felt that he must learn to accept such things. Get used to them, so to speak.

V pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and knitting his eyebrows as a helpless sigh escaped his parched lips. Well, there's no use raking up the past. They must focus on the present. They must focus on the now. And for now, they must focus on getting to the Elven world in one piece. The portal led them to Delphi of all places, and V knew it meant something. They were getting really close to their destination. And he knew they would face an even greater danger when they get there. Well, it's not like the Elves would give them a warm welcome or anything. They're still wanted persons, after all.

Opening his eyes once more, he noticed Griffon flying towards them, finally carrying his lost metal cane. He gave a weak smile as the loyal familiar gave the cane back to him and landed on his waiting arm.

Then, V noticed something strange. So did Dante.

"No wisecracks or something?" Dante asked the demonic bird as he crossed his arms and tapped his boot on the ground.

"You do seem a bit quiet." V added, raising his eyebrow as he looked at his familiar.

"Ahh, V," Griffon stuttered, unsure how to begin. " ... didn't ya notice anythin',... weird?"

"Pardon?" The poet asked as Griffon's eyes wandered to the metal cane in his right hand.

"That thing!" The demonic bird squawked.

"Ugh, now what - ?" Dante began when a woman approached them, getting their attention and making them drop their conversation, much to Griffon's frustration.

"Can we help you, lady?" With a flashy grin, the younger brother graciously asked the woman, who was smiling nervously as her eyes went back and forth from him, to V, to the strange avian on the poet's arm.

"I, ahh,... " The lady stuttered, not sure how to address the situation.

"Yes?" And Dante didn't seem to help with the situation, at all. The woman became somewhat more nervous than before she approached them.

Inhaling through her nose and clearing her throat, she began. “Yes, well," She said, pointing at Griffon with a trembling finger. “The other guests are getting anxious of your,… ahh,… pet bird."

"Is that so?" Dante answered with a boisterous voice. "Don't you worry a thing about our pet bird! You see, he's a rare - "

“I see. Don’t worry.”

All of a sudden, V heard a clear and distinct voice, overlapping with the woman and his brother's voices.

“These are my loyal,… companions. They would bring no harm to any of the innocent people here. That,…”

V's hands went up to his temples as he tried to distinguish and trace where the voice was actually coming from, when the voice itself took over his hearing, drowning out the other voices, and all the other noises going on around him.

“I can assure you.”

The lady let out a helpless laugh, then nodded. “Okay. Whatever you say.” She hastily moved away from Dante to give herself a safe distance from him and Griffon and clumsily pointed at the breathtaking horizon. “Well, now, enjoy your stay here at Delphi!”

The woman, being proud of herself for handling the difficult situation, walked away with a huge smile on her face. And Dante, being a huge flirt, started following the woman.

However, when his brother stepped away, V noticed something taking his place where he stood.

V's eyes narrowed for a second for what he saw. He closed his eyes, rubbed the tiredness and fatigue off them, and opened them once more. However, despite that, the strange figure was still there.

V saw,... himself.

And he, the other him, was drinking in the beautiful sight of Delphi's ruins around him.

“So, V,…” He heard Griffon ask all of a sudden. “Are we going to look for that thing there?”

"I'm sorry - ?" V turned to his left to look at Griffon but, the demonic bird was nowhere to be found.

“Not this time.” V turned towards his other self at the sound of his voice and noticed Griffon, himself, flying towards him. “For now, I need to take a rest and reflect upon our journey, so far.”

V almost fell off the old bench he was sitting on.

That voice,...

... it really was him.

But,... how?!

“The Yamato really does wonders, huh?” the Griffon who was with the other V said, then chuckled, ruffling his own feathers in delight with tiny shakes. “Who knew it would go directly to you and not to that kid Nero?”

"The Yamato?" His other self whispered as V followed him and his familiar on their way towards the ruins of Apollo's temple. What has the Yamato got to do with all this?

“For one thing, I’ am the rightful owner of the Yamato, not the boy Nero.” The other V answered as he skipped some rocks along the pathway that led to the ruins of the temple. “I think it was fitting that it answered to me. But, as grateful as I’ am that it was returned to me,” he said, stopping at what looked like the remains of an altar. “I must not abuse my fragile body by using it over and over to transport us. You see,” He began tracing the remains with the tip of his cane. “It consumes way too much of my,… demonic power. I must be wary of that fact.”

Of course, V thought as he observed what the other V was doing. I don't have,... that much demonic power.

“Aha, so that’s why we had to hitch that stinkin’ bus ride with that awful bitch! Didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut!” And the other Griffon sounded less rude, either.

“Now, be nice to our little human.” V reprimanded the demonic bird. “We will ’hitch’ on the same vehicle on the way back.”

“Ugh! Not again,…”

V watched in amusement how this other Griffon threw tantrums. However, his other self drew V's attention back. He was looking at the altar with an unreadable expression, tracing the edges of the marble altar with his cane.

Then, all of a sudden, he started reciting the few lines of a poem that was very dear to him. It was,...

“As she comes to the city, hollow hands empty,

Eyes open to what lies in wait for her,”

His mother's favorite poem,...

V closed his eyes and recited the old poem along with his other self.

“She does not weep nor wail,

In her eyes, home has always been burning.”

His eyes closed, his senses surrendered to the vision before him, he allowed nostalgia to take over his entire being. Of his mother reading this same poem to him, of her tales about a Princess named Cassandra who was gifted by the God Apollo with the curse of predicting the future,...

... of this hidden gateway of Delphi where she went to after being rejected and stoned by her own people,...

V opened his eyes, feeling something pulling him back from his reverie to the present, like a powerful force.

It was then when he was greeted by the sight of a morphing demonic entity right before his other self, who he assumed was one of his familiars.

He watched in awe as the familiar morphed into multiple pulsing dark vines that filled the entire altar. Him and his other self took a step back as roses of all shapes and sizes sprouted from the dark vines, and when his other self pulled something from the largest rose, his eyes grew wide with shock.

It was the Yamato, only it was glowing in a very unusual way.

V wanted to listen more, to know more, to watch what happens next but, the vision itself began getting blurry as their voices became more and more warped, like a disrupted signal of an old television. The vision, and the voices, warped and warped, until only a distorted and blurry version was left. And before the vision entirely vanished, V saw his other self raising the sword,...

... and slicing the air before him, creating a portal that led him somewhere,...

"V!" He heard Dante's voice from afar, like he was being called by him from the other end of a long tunnel. "V!" He felt a strong hand go down on his shoulder, making him turn around. "What are you doing? I was looking all over for you!"

The poet could barely believe what just happened. He was back, and he felt like he just woke up from a very long dream.

"I, ahh,... " V stuttered, turning back to the altar and seeing nothing there.

"Hey, V," Griffon, who just landed on his waiting arm, asked. " ... are you okay?"

"The gateway,... " The poet uttered, the vision he saw still crystal clear on his mind.

"What gateway?" Dante questioned.

"There's a gateway here." V reiterated as he walked closer towards the altar where his other self vanished. "It was opened using the Yamato."

"How did you know that?" With a raised eyebrow, Dante asked in confusion. "And besides, even if that's true, we can't really use the Yamato. I mean, it's with its owner on the other side of the globe right now."

"We can't rely on Vergil this time, I know." V answered as thoughts and ideas ran through his head like an unstoppable drill. "But, what if the gate,... was left open? What if it was never closed?"

Dante's mouth fell open at the possibility. Only a slight drawback made him close it again and shake his head in disapproval. "But, I see no gate here! All I see in this place are rocks and statues and ruins and tourists everywhere."

V turned to Griffon, who drew back at the intensity in his master's facial features. "Do it."

"Do what?" The familiar questioned.

"Distract the people while I look for the portal."

"How could I do that?! How am I - ?!"

"Alright! I'll do it!" Dante offered, turning away from them and walking away from the altar as he began singing something. And it's working. The tourists, especially the ladies, started listening to him and flocking before him. "I'm lying alone with my head on the phone, thinking of you 'till it hurts,... "

V grabbed this opportunity to look for the portal. He can't be wrong, the vision can't be wrong! They must get to the Elven world and he would do whatever it takes to get there.

He will do whatever it takes to get to her and fix this huge mess that was messing with their lives,...

It was then when he noticed something small and gleaming right before him. He reached out a single finger to touch it, and lo and behold, the small gleam made a tiny ripple that reflected so many bright colors. Like a prism. Another touch of his finger produced a huge ripple, revealing its true nature in all its entirety. Indeed, it was a gate. In the form of a curtain that was seemingly made of glass that reflected light like numerous precious gems.

"Whoa! That looks so unreal!" Griffon, who watched the entire thing with curious eyes, said in awe. "How did you know all this, V?!"

"I'll explain later." The poet answered. "For now, we should press on."

"I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you - " Dante sang with much gusto, wowing his audience, when he suddenly heard a familiar whistle. He stopped singing and turned around to see V beckoning for him to come join him and Griffon. The Devil Hunter turned back to his audience, made an incredibly believable shocked expression, and pointed at the sky. "Thunderstorm! Incoming thunderstorm! Run and hide for your lives!"

The people instantly believed him, scrambling and running all over the place to shield themselves from Dante's imaginary thunderstorm. The younger brother took this opportunity to join V.

"How in the world - ?!" Dante began questioning at the sight of the translucent gateway but, he was cut short as Griffon went behind him and started pushing him towards the gate.

"I'll explain later! We must hurry!" V ordered, then went through the curtain, looking as if he just vanished into thin air.

"Let's get goin', lover boy!" Griffon squawked, grabbing onto Dante's shoulders with his talons.

"I swear I need to go to therapy after all this." The Devil Hunter said as he, too, went through the curtain and vanished.

***

🌙 Finally! And this one took longer than expected. Enjoy!😁😁😁❤❤❤ 🌙

🌙 Thank you so much to these lovelies, @dreaming-gamer , @la-vita and @thottyonmainsquid .❤❤❤ 🌙

***

A few moments later, Dante arrived at the other side. But, his path was blocked by V, himself, who was standing still, his back turned away from him.

"You alright there, V?" Dante asked as he scratched his temple in confusion. "Aren't we - ?"

"Yes, we are." V cut him off, raising his metal cane and using it to point at something before the two of them. "We have finally arrived."

The younger brother followed V's line of sight, and what he saw before him simply took his breath away.

"Holy mama - !" Dante breathed in awe at the marvelous sight.

***

🌙

***

#devil may cry 5 #dmc 5 #vitale #to you who rejected me #v x reader #v x you #chapter 2 #the translucent gateway

25 notes · View notes

purgatcry · 4 years

Text

𝚒’𝚍 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 ; that there is JORDAN “JB” BECKETT , notorious for being ( nefarious ) and ( manipulative ) , but there are times when he can be ( charming ) and ( venturesome ) . i've heard that he could pass as a CASEY DEIDRICK doppelganger , but i don't see it . the ( thirty-eight ) year - old male has been in town for ( thirty-eight years ) and they are a ( detective ) by day and murder suspect by night . they tend to spark images of the scuff of boots on loose gravel ; burnt out cigarettes, the lingering smoke of a burntout. The crack of twigs underfoot ; footsteps on an empty staircase ; the chill of morning frost ; the click of a bullet in the chamber ; . you’ll know when they walk by because they always seem to be blasting call me devil by FRIENDS IN TOKYO. it truly explains why they're known as THE CROOKED

DIG DEEPER

Though Jordan was raised in a home that might have looked anything but perfect, his parents head over heels for each other, even after almost thirty years of marriage, the perfect sentiment only reached so far. Beyond that, one might have taken note of their young son. Mostly quiet, and yet as much a wild card as one could have possibly been. Teachers and those surrounding never quite knowing what might come out of his mouth next, yet, not nearly surprised enough when it was certainly something that shouldn’t have.

It was something that followed him regardless of who he met and who he was speaking to - unpredictability clung to Jordan Beckett in ways that seemed almost impossible without some threat of repercussions. Filters? Who needed those anyway....

Any attempt the school sought to make a point of handing out punishment was left almost entirely unheard of by his parents - too caught up in their own lives to really notice the son they once adored, growing up without their guidance and perhaps heading in a direction that wasn’t perfectly aligned with the facade of the perfect home they painted. It wasn’t that they were bad parents, he was clothed, fed, and given anything he ever asked for - but, they didn’t leave him with much in the form of warmth beyond that.

It wasn’t uncommon for Jordan to be brought into the station for his reckless idea of fun, fighting, or downright breaking the law - a cry for help perhaps, in most other people, but the nonchalant degree at which Jordan’s intentions fell didn’t settle so harmlessly.

When Jordan first met Harley, the sparks that flew were undeniable - in a way that, nobody could even attempt to dissuade anyone from thinking that they absolutely hated each other. Sparks, that soon turned to flame. A tumultuous relationship that spanned years through, often times too hot to be off and others, cold enough to believe it never existed. Arguments that exploded, any time and any place drawing the attention of all those within ear shot - neither Jordan nor Harley afraid to air their grievances towards each other out in public.

No matter what, they always fell back into each other. The clash of ideals and personalities didn’t deter from the truth that Jordan and Harley certainly did love each other - but love wasn’t always easy and neither of them were willing to swallow enough pride to change.

When Jordan graduated and chose to follow in his fathers footsteps in becoming a police officer, people believed that perhaps, he was looking to turn a new page. Better himself and make something of his life.. only, he didn’t really intend to hold up the ideals of such a career - no, what drew his attention more than anything was finding himself in a position of power. Authority was initially all he wanted - some sense of control when he never really had it before, holding more of his fathers attention than he ever had before.

Intention hadn’t fallen to the path he took at first, but before long, Jordan was able to be bought to turn a blind eye, willing to tamper with evidence that came through the station, important records could be altered, go missing.. Or be completely destroyed with the right payment. A difficult thing to believe, when one considered how charming Jordan could be on a good day… or perhaps, a little more believable when one understood how vindictive and indifferent he could be to those around him getting hurt, while he could gain from it.

Chastity’s murder was rough.. It was an obstacle in Harley and Jordan’s relationship that he was never certain they were going to move past - and truly, he’s not sure they ever did. His indifference is well known despite how closely Jordan knew her. His on/off again girlfriends best friend had once been a huge part of his life, and yet... he didn’t even attend the funeral at Harley’s side.

Though Jordan and Harley never seemed to have more than a few solid months together at a time, their relationship has spanned the better part of two decades. All those they’d find themselves tethered to throughout the interim of their time together, became seemingly forgotten the second they fell back together again.

Losing Harley has been far more difficult - losing someone who he believed he’d never lose, they came back to each other all the time after all, but this.. this is a permanence that he never expected and while there’s a turmoil settled within his gut, he’s not entirely sure how to handle whats going on. Every day has routine, and he’s sticking to it as best he can...

Due process calls him to question as a suspect, but his alibi checks out...--- he’s made sure

#we can't all live our lives as saints / about #taunwick.intro #this is not as well details as Jaida's... but i'm gonna edit later

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lafiametta · 7 years

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Domestic Rosvolio request, Benvolio helps Rosaline brush her hair and get her ready while they discuss various public events they're required to attend.

He was whistling. The man was whistling.

She understood it for what it was – a childish attempt to goad her andprovoke her temper – but she was determined not to let him succeed. She wouldignore him, just as she had ignored him as he stood waiting in the doorway toher chamber, nonchalantly slouched with one hip leaning against the woodenframe. Just as she had ignored him when he slipped his parrying dagger from itssheath and began to trim his fingernails with it. But through it all, Rosalinestruggled mightily to keep herself in check. Truly, the man was beyondinsufferable.

His presence alone set her thoughts on edge, and she did not understandwhy he had been allowed to wait here in the first place, as she was still anunmarried woman – although not for long, if the prince and the heads of theirtwo houses had their way – and he a known libertine of the worst kind. Aboveall, though, he was a Montague, and she supposed few of her kinsmen would wanthim roaming freely around the grounds of the Capulet palazzo.

Tonight was the banquet celebrating their betrothal, to be held at thepalace, and he had come to escort her, but of course he had arrived early –another thing she was certain he had done deliberately, just to be irksome. Sonow he had to wait as she finished her preparations, and with the addeddistraction he was providing, it was taking longer than she had expected.

Rosaline told herself not to look at him, not to give him the satisfactionof knowing that his petty provocations were having any effect on her at all.But as she sat in her chair, pinning a lock of hair into place, she could nothelp it if her gaze momentarily swept over towards him, taking in his long formas he leaned against the door.

He was wearing a new doublet of rich dark leather, and even she couldadmit that it suited him, fitting close at shoulder and waist. Flourishes ofcream-colored linen edged along his wrists and his half-unbuttoned collar andshe could spot a tiny nick right below the edge of his jaw – a casualty,perhaps, of an unsteady hand during this morning’s shave.

His face, as always, was a handsome mask of devil-may-care arrogance, andif there was something below the surface of that countenance he presented tothe world, she told herself she did not care to know what it was. Let otherwomen be drawn in by whatever charms he might possess – she was made ofstronger stuff.

The whistling – praise the heavens – finally ceased, and he let out anaudible sigh and crossed his arms over his chest, giving a wide glance aboutthe room until finally letting his gaze come to rest on her. Rosaline itched tolook back at him, to meet his proud glare with her own, but she would not givehim the satisfaction of knowing he had provoked her to a response.

“Is that what you plan to wear?”

Rosaline bristled; of course this was what she was planning to wear,otherwise she would not be wearing it. Her dress, made of dark blue serge,imported at some cost from Florence, was entirely suitable for the occasion, ifonly a little plain, and besides, it was the nicest thing she owned. Not that he wouldunderstand privation, being allowed to live handsomely at his uncle’s expense.

She glanced up, anger swirling through her veins.

“Do you find something objectionable about my gown, sir?” she said, withill-concealed contempt.

“I’m not sure,” he replied, taking a step into the room, his dark eyebrowsraised. “Are you attending our betrothal celebration or a funeral? Or perhapsyou’re planning on taking vows at the convent as soon as the evening’sfestivities are concluded?”

Her hands curled into fists within the folds of her skirts.

“If that was all it took to keep me from a lifetime of your company, Imight well look to the convent!” She paused, pushing herself to breathe deeplyand regain her composure. “But, yes, this is what Iplan to wear.”

He offered her a small snort of disbelief. “Oh, come now, my lady,there must be something slightly less sepulchral that will serve just as well.”He walked towards the wooden chest that sat at the foot of her bed and gave ita small tap with his boot. “What treasures might be found in this finereliquary, I wonder?”

And before she could even rise to her feet to stop him, he had lifted thelid and begun to sift through her belongings – as if they were his, as if they,and she, belonged to him already and she had nothing, not even a tiny corner ofan old battered storage chest, to call her own.

“Sir, I must protest at this!” she cried. “As my betrothed, you areallowed certain liberties, but I cannot –”

“Ah,” he said, cutting off her words, his eyes fixated on something withinthe depths of the chest. “A prize, indeed.”

At first she had no idea what he had found, but as he pulled it free andbegan to unwrap it from the pale muslin cloth that covered it, she caught aglimpse of brilliant velvet, tiny beads along the edging of the cuffs catchingin the warm light of the late afternoon sun.

In truth, she had forgotten about it entirely, for it had been at thebottom of the chest for several years, and it had been longer still since shehad seen it gracing the figure of its original owner. The memories welled uplike tears: the last Twelfth Night they had all been together as a family, thehouse draped in festive curls of ivy and servants piling the table high withdishes, the aroma of onion and sage from the meat pies making Rosaline andLivia’s stomachs grumble with anticipation, and at the center, orchestrating itall, a honey-voiced woman in a beautiful burgundy-colored gown.

He unfolded the dress and lifted it up to get a better look, letting theskirts swing freely without touching the ground. Something in his face, though,had shifted. The arrogant expression had slipped away, two tiny lines now appearingbetween his brows, his gaze unmooring itself from the object in front of him.It made little sense, his reaction – and then through the haze of her own emotionsshe remembered that he, too, was an orphan. When had been his last TwelfthNight? she wondered.

“‘Twas my mother’s,” she said quietly.

He nodded, and after a moment turned his head to look at her.

“Will it do?” he asked. “For tonight?”

To her surprise, she made no objection, only calling for a servant to comeand help her change, for she needed another pair of hands to loosen the lacingsof the old gown and tighten those of the new. She worked quickly, tugging the garmentinto place, only once or twice taking advantage of her position from behind thedressing screen to watch him absently pace along the length of the stone floor.

But once Rosaline finally emerged, fitted and laced, she found herselfunwilling to meet his eye, overcome by a strange and altogether uncharacteristicfit of self-consciousness. She kept her gaze lowered as she returned to herseat and at once resumed the pinning of her hair. Every part of her was acutelyaware of his presence – and the directness of his gaze upon her – but even so, shedid her best to ignore him, just as she had before.

He slowly circled around her, finally coming to a stop nearly in front ofwhere she sat.

“Hmmm, not quite,” he said, his voice cool and appraising.

Her heart sank deep into itself, heavy with disappointment, followed noless quickly by a thunderous voice rising in her mind, unbraiding her forcaring a whit for what this Montague cad thought of anything at all. Sweet Jesu,was there no end to his torment of her? He would dare to offer criticism of herattire, even after he had been the one to request that she change it? He would impartcruelties, even after she had foolishly confessed to him where the burgundygown had come from?

A newly-hatched barb was ready on her tongue when he suddenly kneeled downin front of her, his hand reaching into his doublet and pulling out a smallobject wrapped in a handkerchief.

“You are missing something,” he said, unfolding the fabric in the palm ofhis hand until at last it revealed a pair of luminous pearl and ruby earringsset in filigrees of gold. “These.”

Rosaline’s breath wavered within her chest as she gazed down at thejewels. Where had he possibly come by such finery? And what did he mean bypresenting them to her in this manner?

“They were my mother’s,” he murmured. “And now – if you wish – they shallbe yours.”

She hesitated for a moment, as the thought of accepting anything at allfrom this man was too new to seem anything but strange. But overcome by the allureof his gift and – in some immeasurable way – by the blush of sincerity in his sea-greeneyes, she reached out and took the earrings from his outstretched hand. Thestones were still warm against her fingertips – warm from him, she realized,from having been carried so close against the heat of his body.

Setting that unbidden thought aside, she quietly murmuredher thanks and then slipped the earrings on one at a time, taking a tiny pleasurein the feel of them as they graced along the side of her neck. She had nolooking glass by which to judge, but she felt certain they looked beautiful andserved as a fine complement to the dress she wore.

The smile on his lips – perhaps the first he had ever freelygiven her – seemed to tell her that as well.

“But now, if you will hand me one of your pins, my lady?” heasked, extending an open palm to her once more. “Your chambermaid hasdisappeared and I wish to be of some use. Perhaps then,” he continued, his tonelow and arch with measured drollery, “we might arrive at our own celebrationbefore the night ends and the morning breaks anew…”

[my Still Star-Crossed ficlets are on AO3 – read them here]

#still star crossed #rosaline x benvolio #rosvolio #rosaline capulet #benvolio montague #ficlet #fanfiction

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