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#to remind you of the power they once wielded long ago
canarydraws · 2 years
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I recently got the chance to design two characters for an original story I’m writing in one of my classes!
The first is our adventurous protagonist! And the second is one of 4 elemental spirits that guid the life forces of the valley our protagonist calls home. I share more about their story on my Instagram so feel free to check there for more info! I’m @ eriecanary over there
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embersofhope-if · 3 days
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What interactive fiction would you recommend (besides this one)?
oh anon i follow over 150 if blogs let me get you some of my favorites😊 This is very long so all of them are under the cut🫶
some of these you'll probably already have heard of bc of how popular they are, but trust me, they're popular for a reason, lmao
these ones all have demos (if i messed up and some dont uh ignore that)
@infamous-if - "You're going to be a superstar, no matter what it takes." genuinely one of my favorites ifs (seven lawless my beloved please come back home the kids are asking whats taking so long)
@coeluvr - "You play as the only remaining member of the royal family of Vesphire; living in the home of the man who took away everything from you." another ive been obsessed with recently. i will forever love revenge stories (and my pookie helios)
@merrycrisis-if - "As a late 20-something year-old fresh from a recent break-up and struggling to pay rent in New York, life throws up more questions than answers."
@ramonag-if - "When your village is razed to the ground, you're left fleeing with an exiled prince. You can trust no one but each other. Your father's dying wish was to protect the prince, but can you really trust a man who was exiled from his kingdom?"
@nyehilismwriting / Project Hadea - "Set in a distant future, you play the role of an elite operative of Scytha Industries, a private contracting firm. ‘Contracting’, in this case, refers to anything from political assassinations, to private security, to bodyguard services."
@vapolis - "You’re a mercenary, gun for hire, assassin, information extractor, delivery person – call it what you want, because the people that hire you for your services don’t give much of a shit what you call yourself as long as you actually get them what they want."
@godsandvillains-if - "As the only metahuman with the ability to wield the powerful Chaos Magic, your very blood holds the answers to unlocking the secrets behind the control of time and space, but it has the drawback of being almost completely volatile."
@hvllowheart - "LAMB TO THE SLAUGHTER is a spy game where you take on the role of an agent under the codename Wraith, who up until two years ago was one of the best agents TERRA has ever made. now the agency returns into your life and pulls you back into the field as agents go missing by the dozens."
@eyesofshan-if - "Years ago, you were uprooted from the only home you had ever known and captured to be sold as a slave. Now, war is at your doorstep once more while you are left in a delicate position — as a commander of the country that invaded your homeland. While investigating a case of illegal human trafficking, you come across a plot that threatens to rip this tentative peace apart."
@apt502-if - "Moving from your small home to New York City was supposed to be a dream. You were supposed to start your new life with your long-distance partner and dive headfirst into full-on adulthood. Everything was supposed to be perfect. How can you not love being in your mid-twenties in the Big Apple?That is until your put-together, white collar partner dumps you the same day you arrive. Fun."
@acourtofserpents - "As the only human in the Kingdom of Faerie, you're no stranger to shining eyes that hold looks filled with hatred, lips painted in the color of forest fruits whispering your name, heads with pointed ears turning at your every step. Though you long for their approval, for a place amongst the wicked immortals, they remind you with every breath you take that as you came from dirt, to dirt you will return."
@softlyopulent-if - "All of King Adder’s children are a mystery to the common folk, but you—you are nothing but a ghost. A ghost, that spends eighteen years locked away in the deepest part of the palace, so that no eyes may lay upon you.And those that do—they do not treat you kindly.And when you are finally of age, at last, you are betrothed to the child of the King of a far away kingdom, to secure an alliance that your father has been seeking for years.And you are swept away to a place even more foreign than your own land, to be wed to a stranger that looks at you with contempt. To live in a kingdom of citizens that despise you. And perhaps, just perhaps, fight a war."
@heromaker-if - "Stories of heroes, legends and chosen ones are commonplace. But you'd never thought it was your child who would have to save the world from the Demon Lord's clutches."
@theabyssal - "In The Abyssal, you assume the control of a powerful deity that was betrayed by their fellow gods. Imprisoned against your will for all eternity, you had a long time to plan your revenge."
@milaswriting - "By birth, and association, you are one of the most famous people in the big city of Lehsa. Your father's the mayor, and you're from a bright, vibrant, bustling city... and yet, until recently, you didn't realise all the secrets yourself and the city held."
@zico-if - "You were supposed to be a sacrifice in order to bring an eldritch god to your realm, a sacrifice that was never supposed to live. Instead of dying and summoning the god intended, you find yourself face to face with an ancient being that was chained and locked away for the horrors they once committed."
@collegetennisoriginstory - "Experience the ups-and-downs of life as a freshman on the Cargill University varsity tennis team amongst a colorful cast of characters."
@disenchantedif - "You used to be a beacon of hope. Now they only know you as the failure, the Unchosen. Will you rise above them? Will you become better or far worse than they could ever imagine?"
@bouncyballcitadel - "Play as a first-year surgery intern at Citadel Health. Will you become the star intern and curry the favor of the chief? Or will you uncover Citadel Health’s secrets and break a story or two? This will be the best and worst year of your life. Don’t forget to save lives and break some hearts along the way."
@leoneliterary - "You play as a thief pressed into the employ of a mysterious nobleman. With the your life, the fate of your guild, and your honor on the line, you'll have to navigate the perils of the royal court and combat a more mystical threat. The story is set in Cusmo, the naturally fortified, desert capital of Hashind, and will showcase the much praised Upper Cusmo, the crime ridden Lower Cusmo, and much more."
@doriana-gray-games - "Play as your version of Sherlock Holmes in this romance detective game!"
@fallenlightsif - "You are the half-sibling of High General Ezrah Rhys and have lived the past twelve years of your life in Kesdon, the capital of Ebia. You've spent most of your time training and honing your skills for the future that awaits you. A future that is entirely your own."
@shai-manahan - "They call you Ripper. It’s a horrendous name to give to a detective like you, and definitely not one you chose for yourself, but you suppose it’s to be expected given your reputation for putting powerful people behind bars. Businesses feared you. The other cops hated you. Local gangs despised your entire existence. Yet, despite all of that, you remained untouched. Until that day, when all the lies and the deception and the foolish mistakes turned your life upside down."
@larkingame - "someone is after you. for over a decade and a half now, you’ve traveled up, down and across the country--running schemes and hunting fiends with your mentor, con-man-by-day, vampire-hunter-by-night, Wyatt Abrams--the prolific vampire slayer and the living descendant of Gregory Abrams, founder and prophet of the Abrams Family, the nomadic vampire-hunting cult that raised you--and was wiped out years ago. carrying the abrams name means also means carrying on it's enemies--but that isn't to say you haven't forged a couple of your own along the way. now, it seems someone is trying to make good on old threats and promises. they've placed a bounty on your head. so you and wyatt do what you do best: you run away. to some little town, out nevada ways, where the title of town preacher is unexpectedly thrust upon you--bringing back years of trauma you thought long tucked away."
@evertidings - "you are a bounty hunter. responsible for taking in rogue supernaturals, you work for IAOS—the international agency of supernaturals—where, alongside your best friend and partner, you two have quickly become the best hunting duo of the branch. after a particularly tricky hunt, you brief your boss, Caine Atheron, and come back to work the next day to find that he has mysteriously disappeared overnight, the company is now in the hands of his best friend, Sebastian Mai. and though no one else seems to question it, something tells you that there's more to the story."
@rotten-games - Regrets Of The Traitor: "You are the Ruler of Hadaria after killing the previous Queens and betraying all who once trusted you. Sat upon the throne with all the power available to you, one would be forgiven for believing you finished with your quest. With a strange figure in your dreams speaking vague prophecies of magical artifacts, a mysterious cult moving into the city, and a group intent on unseating you from your place, perhaps you’re way in over your head for a farmer’s kid. City of Immortals: "You follow a pair of siblings worlds apart as they get accustomed to their new realities in two very different worlds. One trapped in an unnatural desert wasteland where every resource has a scarcity, not knowing if they’ll be the only one left when everything turns to dust, the other working as a private investigator in a sprawling underground metropolis of the undying. Each not knowing the other is alive, will they unravel the mysteries that somehow connect their two new homes?"
@shepherds-of-haven - "Shepherds of Haven is a dark fantasy interactive fiction game. In it, you play as a Mage living in a world where magic is outlawed and your people—those possessing supernatural powers—are oppressed and reviled. The world is ruled by humans who believe in science, technology, and industry: at best, you and your kind are nothing more than a fairytale, and at worst you are the state’s greatest threat."
@someoneverypretty-world - "As a child, growing up in the slums of Hvinir without any guardians, you believed you would not live to see 30. Until Haven, a thief guild, took you in and taught you how to survive. Facing hardships, the guild leader tasks you to sneak into the castle with the mission to take."
@northern-passage - "The Northern Passage is an 18+ horror fantasy CYOA, where you play as a hunter sent up north to investigate a series of missing people along the border of your home country and in the port cities of the Blackwater. Working with your handler, Lea, you will travel north and discover that things are far worse than you ever could have imagined, and that there is something powerful lurking out in the deep, dark sea…"
@thedecoy-if - "♔ The Decoy is a dark fantasy that follows you, a 21st century normal human, kidnapped to an alternate magical universe to play the part of the missing heir to a powerful throne...who also happens to be your doppelgänger. ♔"
@ripperplague - "You are a doctor, a prodigy in hiding. Deep in the underbelly of Valeris, you hide among the shadows. You work hard to wring the blood stains off your palms, your face...your soul. Redemption and revenge are parallel goals, the flames of rage and disgust mingling. How could anyone ever love you?"
These ones dont have a demo yet, but im still absolutely obsessed
@pavedinashes-if - "You're only 20 when suddenly your life goes bam! Throwing you into a whole new city, a different country even. Wasn't part of the plan, but you know how life loves to mess with plans. People happened, stuff happened, and suddenly you're on the move. The new chapter ahead? Buckle up, 'cause it's not gonna be all sunshine and rainbows. And guess what? Your step-mom? Yeah, she's right there in the same city. She's always had this knack for trying to steer your ship, like every decision's a GPS checkpoint. But hey, there's this one thing that's never let you down—your skateboard. It's like the buddy that's been with you through thick and thin, the one that never bails. Among all this craziness it's like your anchor. So, the big question is—can you break out of the loop you got in? Find your place in the world and restart or lose yourself in temptation? Time to find out."
@riptide-if - "Your dad has always said you swim as if your were born to be in the water; the rest of your family has always said that he is the whole reason you turned out like that. So, it's not really a surprise when you had used all the money you got for your 7th birthday to buy a surfboard. And even less of a surprise when you started joining small surf competitions by the time you were 10, later followed by bigger competitions. It seems you are the only one surprised when it turns out you're able to compete in the World Surfer's League's Ultimate Tournament Tour*. Thrown into a mix of fellow surfing prodigies, rookies, and pros, do you really have what it takes to win?"
@weepinwriter - "You are inmate No. 1441, incarcerated in Tartarus, the most notorious prison on the continent. You find yourself imprisoned for a crime that you do not remember committing, leaving you in a state of uncertainty about your own identity and purpose. The first memory you have is awakening to the sensation of a gun being shoved into your mouth."
@whatawaitsus - "Despite being one of the most expensive schools in the nation, nothing particularly interesting has happened at the school in the nine years you've been here— aside from the occasional accidental possession caused by a ghost or the common room getting flooded after a nixie gets too frustrated over their homework. That is until students start to go missing."
@evermount - "Blue-suited guards stand in every corner, but they're no threat—you're under threat. And this is how you keep safe. It's necessary; the council said so themselves. Under no circumstances shall Evermount be left, ever. So, no one has, and no one intends to. Why would you? It's peaceful—you're at peace. You have your spouse, and you have your house; everyone's happy. This is all you've ever known."
@forsakensword-if - "When the Deathless, an Ancient Evil that hasn’t been seen in over two million years, returns to Earth, it threatens the extremely precarious peace that has settled between the warring factions of Heaven and Hell. God, in an effort to protect Humanity from the consequences of a war between the Angels and Demons, sends Heaven’s best warriors to banish the Deathless once more. When that ultimately fails, it is declared that God’s Sworn Sword and Heaven’s Chief Angel will be charged with finding a way to destroy the Deathless once and for all. That Angel is you. The Archangel Michael."
@velena-if - "You wake up in a dark, cold place with no memories of yourself, save for one: the memory of your death. It becomes clear soon enough that you are in the Nav, the domain of the goddess of death, Morana, and the sanctuary of all the evil spirits and monsters. For you, Nav will be the place where your life changes forever."
@countdown-if - "Three months ago, life took a sharp turn. Your mother found herself entangled in a situation so bad, she couldn't dig her way out of it, like usual. This time, the hole was way too deep. She needed help, and the only people capable of aiding her were the same ones she had vowed never to allow back into her life, let alone introduce to you and your younger sibling. Who were they? Your grandparents—a powerful and well-established duo. In short, they did manage to help your mother back on her feet, but not without strings attached—never without strings. Now, you're facing a senior year in a private school, fully funded by none other than grandma and grandpa, dearest. The only task at hand: do what your mother couldn't—graduate."
@dropout-if - "This is your first summer home since you began studying in Stanford. That is what everyone thinks. This is your first summer home since you dropped out of college, thus becoming the biggest disappointment in your neighborhood. That is what only you know. "
@stonewall-if - "Stonewall Military Academy: the most brutal, merciless, and unforgiving boarding school in the country. Most recruits either desert or die by the end of their first year. It is where the fiercest and deadliest killers are trained and molded to be the military's steel fist. And it is not for the faint of heart."
@viperdove-if - "You are the Dove, the heir to one of the most powerful crime families in your country. The grip your family--your father--has on their side of the land is tight, and now that you've reached adulthood it's time for you to be fully absorbed into the machinations of gang warfare. That means opium, mercenaries, assassinations. In this ancient world, blood moves people just as much as money does."
@fallen-if - "You are an individual that has been known by many aliases over the years. Child of the dawn, the original sinner, star of the morning. But no matter the name, your identity remains the same. You are the one that defied the heavens, the one that cast aside the shackles of tradition and broke free from the constraints of the divine. You are Lucifer Morningstar - The Fallen Angel. "
@maboroshi-if - "Maboroshi is an Interactive Fiction Game based in the world of Naruto, however, all events within the story span during the end of the First Shinobi War and the beginning of the Second Shinobi War."
@greatprotector-if - "Forced out of your family's farm against your will, you are now an ocean away from home, and you have somehow been chosen to be the main protector of the heir to some kingdom you’ve hardly even heard of. The spot's only open because the former protector died of old age, so that's probably a good indicator that it won't be as strenuous as it sounds. But despite that, you pour yourself into your work. You can't help it. You feel safer decked out in armour, and you like having something you're trusted to look after. Protect some royalty, cover all your blind spots, and try not to worry about all you've left behind."
@retribution-if - "Retribution, He Cries is a revenge story set in the Dark Ages of the fictional world of [REDACTED] and other realms."
@thescarsilivewith-if - "You were a kind monarch once. After your mother’s brutal reign, you thought your people needed respite. Evidently, they didn’t think the same since their bloodthirst only increased. Three years after your coronation, your mother’s favourite consort dethroned you with the army and the clergy’s support. As you fled from the palace together with your spouse, from an arranged marriage celebrated only three months earlier, you were found by slavers. You managed to save your spouse but not yourself. Four years later, your spouse finds you, though you’re not the same person they knew. You are not changed in spirit alone, however, for your magic grew in your captivity and now you’re unbound. When the crown chose you as its owner, you wanted peace for your kingdom. Now the only thing you crave is revenge."
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c0pkiller · 6 months
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. ゚。 ₍ 𓆩 NOAH'S KINKTOBER 2023 𓆪 ₎ 。゚.
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THE LOVE WITCH ft. KENTO NANAMI — You're still a baby witch. What made you think you were capable of performing a love spell on your crush without somehow messing it up?
tags: brainwashing (?), masturbation (f), possessiveness, seduction, multiple orgasms, service dom nanami, slightly dominant reader, gagging, mdni
song inspo + word count: ~ 4.3k
available on ao3 + kinktober masterlist + regular masterlist
tags: @ekaterinatepes @dellalyra @sunaishotsstuff @bloompompom @ravereina @tojishugetiddies @i-literally-cant-with-this @hehehehesthings @thecookiebratz @rodeo-star @dgrymn @chocoyanchan @r0ckst4rjk @d4ddies-wh0re @hinata7346 @ang3liclov3ly @vanessani @a-brahms @ploylulla @131patpat @etlftl @chososwhoresblog + @bitchcraftinc ♡
You sigh, frustration weighing heavily on your shoulders as you stare at the scattered candles. The dim flickering light casts dancing shadows on the walls, reflecting your wavering confidence. Being a self-taught witch has its challenges, and you often find yourself longing for a mentor or a coven to guide you through the intricacies of magic. You’ve spent countless hours poring over ancient spell books, studying the properties of herbs and crystals, and experimenting with various incantations. Yet, despite your efforts, success eludes you. It's disheartening to see others effortlessly conjuring spells and wielding their magic with ease while you struggle to make even the simplest enchantments work. 
But giving up is not an option. You remind yourself of the reasons you embarked on this journey in the first place. The desire to harness the mystical forces of the universe, to bring positive change into your life and the lives of others, still burns within you. The unbearable desire to find true love burns the hottest; the brightest. With renewed determination, you take a deep breath and focus your energy on the task at hand. You carefully arrange the candles in a precise pattern, each one representing a different element or intention. You recall the incantation you’ve practiced countless times, the words flowing from your lips with a mix of hope and uncertainty. 
As you light the first candle, a surge of energy courses through your veins. It’s a familiar sensation, one that reminds you of the potential that lies within you. You close your eyes, visualizing the outcome you desire. His face is a clear picture in your mind; dark hair framing his perfectly sculpted face and falling in rolling waves down his back. Monolids stare back at you in your mind’s eye.  
As always, keeping your crush’s face perfectly intact in your head and remembering your spell proves to be a challenge. Your thoughts wander before you can stop them and they land on your best work friend, Nanami. Your eyes flash open and you allow your focus to shift, snapping out of it. Why are you thinking of Kento? Could it be because he’s the last person you talked to? You’ve wrapped up work with him a couple of hours ago and left the office early due to the holiday. A rushed breath is forced out of your lungs and through your nose. Just focus.  
You shake your head, trying to clear your mind of the distraction. Nanami is a great friend, but your intentions lie elsewhere. You take a moment to ground yourself, reminding yourself of your original goal. You take a deep breath and continue with the ritual, determined to stay focused. You light the second candle, feeling the energy intensify. The room seems to glow with a soft, ethereal light as you recite the incantation once more. You can feel the power building, the elements aligning with your intentions. 
But just as you reach for the third candle, a sudden doubt creeps into your mind. What if this spell doesn’t work? What if your desires are too far-fetched? You pause, your hand hovering over the candle, unsure of whether to continue or not. Taking a moment to center yourself, you remind yourself of the importance of belief and trust in magic. You’ve seen it work before, witnessed the incredible results. You can’t let doubt cloud your intentions now. “Let’s try this again.” You mumble to yourself. 
With renewed determination, you light the third candle, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you. You push aside any lingering doubts, focusing solely on the task at hand. The room fills with a warm, comforting energy, and you can’t help but feel a sense of hope and excitement. As you proceed with the rest of the ritual, you keep your mind firmly fixed on your original intention. You visualize the outcome you desire, picturing your crush’s face once again. You’ve got this. The words of this spell formulate in your head and the dark waves of jet black hair pull themselves together in your head.  
The heated feeling spreads throughout your entire body, warming up in the most sensitive areas. Your mantra leaves your lips, word after word and you try your best to keep it together. The heat reaches a fever pitch, becoming impossible to ignore soon enough. You don’t dare deprive yourself, allowing your fingers to wander into your lace panties that are soon becoming soiled with your arousal. The tips of your fingers play with the sensitive bud between your damp lips. No regard for anyone sharing a wall in your apartment building, you let a moan loose and it comes out in the form of your crush’s name.  
Soon enough, you’ve got the pads of three fingers working your own swollen clit and your own slick gathering underneath your fingernails. You let out small groans as you shamelessly please yourself to the thoughts of your crush, chanting the simple spell, heart fluttering knowing that as soon as you cum; he’ll be all yours. “Fuck!” You cry out, nearing your edge, ready to cum hard and make a mess on the hardwood floors. Your nub swells up, cunt clenching around nothing. Small dribbles are exciting between your legs and you’re letting tears escape the corners of your eyelids between each gasp. You’re close but you can still feel your thoughts jumbled and bouncing between the man of your dreams and random people in your life. A flash of blond crosses your mind's eye and before you can focus again, you’re creaming on your own fingers and your mind is shot to hell. A long moment passes you by, fingers stilled on your overstimulated clit. 
You come down from your high, shame and confusion hitting you in terribly mixed waves. Did you think of him... or- A loud wrap interrupts your thoughts. Panic is only heightened. Without really thinking of your next move, you run your cum-soaked digits under the faucet and tub your black nightgown down to cover your exposed body. Words can not fathom how annoyed you are at the bad timing of this unexpected visitor but, when they knock a second time while mustering up even more urgency in their knock, you stand up to answer the door; careful to avoid knocking over any flaming candles.  
Kento stands before you on the stoop of your apartment building, out of breath and soaked from the rain that’s been keeping trick-or-treaters from littering the sidewalks. In his hand a bouquet of crumpled red flowers that look sheerly over-watered from the downpour he clearly just ran through.  
It's strange seeing Nanami out of dress and disheveled like this. Your friend is always careful about his appearance, suit always pressed, shoes always polished, and hair usually slicked back.  
Now he’s standing before you in the dark of the night, form only illuminated by the flickering porch light. Bags weigh heavily under his eyes and his dripping wet hair fans across his face sticking to his forehead in blond strands. “Y/N.” He gasps, allowing himself to lean his body weight on the doorframe. Kento’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. His cheeks are flushed and his pupils are dilated as if he’s been drugged. The downpour is still going on but Nanami stands on your porch, presenting you with the bouquet, as if he can’t tell.  
“Kento, get in here!” You pull the man inside of your apartment and shut the door behind him. He keeps his arm outstretched in front of him, urging you to notice his advances but you’re rushing about searching for towels to save him from catching a cold. “What’s wrong with you, standing out in the rain in the middle of October? You’re gonna get sick.” When you enter the room, your coworker takes the towel out of your hands but doesn’t dab his face with it as you expect him to. Kento lets it fall to the ground at your feet, along with the flowers, and places broad palms on your cheeks.  
His touch is cozy despite the face that he’s been wearing rain-soaked clothes for who knows how long now. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing, what his problem is, and what he’s doing at your place in the middle of the night – especially considering the fact that you don’t think you’ve ever told him where you live – but before you can get any of these questions out, Kento’s lips are on yours. Soft, slick, almost liquid.  
Nanami’s kiss is tender and love laced. It forces the confusion that was taking over your mind to subside. When you allow yourself to turn those thoughts off, your hands take his wrists and squeeze them back, feeling the passion pump under his skin. His skin is putting off heat like a furnace. The two of you allow your lips to move against one another’s, kissing as gently as Nanami’s urgency will allow him. He doesn’t quite understand what’s wrong with him.  
All Kento knows is that he’ll positively die if he has to go much longer without feeling your pussy wrapped securely around him. The nice guy in him wins out against the horny guy in him and he pulls his lips away from yours to speak up. “Please, Y/N. Please let me feel you.” His dick is heavy in his tight slacks and practically demanding to be pulled free and shoved into the closest wet hole. “Let me fuck you. Just- just once.” He stresses his words and speaks shamelessly – says things he’s never found himself saying out loud before. Sure, he’s like any other sexually mature man. He thinks these things as often as he can but never does he allow himself to utter these filthy words out loud; and certainly not in the company of a woman.  
Nanami can’t find it in himself to feel any shame though. He just can’t. He finds himself rutting against your bare thigh, seeking friction. He doesn’t find any but still doesn’t stop his motions. While Nanami presses you against the wall and begins to practically hump you, you connect the dots. The dilated pupils, the heated skin, the need, the begging. Your spell. A particularly calculated thrust of his gets closer to your still soaked core and suddenly you can’t think of anything else – certainly not of doing the right thing and freeing Kento from your love spell.  
He stresses that there’s no way he can go another minute without having you, without feeling you and being buried deep inside of you and your knees buckle under the weight of his confession. You don’t have time to let yourself be proud of yourself for performing a spell correctly and earning such strong results. Nanami is pushing his way into your bedroom and dragging you along with him, avoiding the candles dripping with wax. He sits along the edge of your bed, pulling you to sit on his lap. You watch carefully as he struggles to get his buttons undone and ultimately deems himself too desperate to do a correct job of removing his dress shirt. Nanami snaps buttons and doesn’t care when he hears them clatter to the ground.  
You haven’t had your chance to give him an answer yet. His question still hangs in the air between your feverish bodies. Kisses are left all over your body, wherever skin is exposed, wherever his lips can reach. Kento is diligent with his lips, using them as a tool to leave his mark on your body. Each touch is carefully thought out and clearly calculated to focus on your pleasure, and your pleasure alone. Puzzling out what you’ve done to this poor man is fruitless. You can’t focus your mind on one thing and allow yourself to take your mind away from the current situation. Your eyes scan the wall in front of you, the only light coming from the candles you’ve lit that led to this very situation. 
Kento’s shadow peppers kisses all over the jawline of your shadow until he wanders a bit further down – towards your chest. He laves his tongue all over the hot skin, avoiding your most tender areas as he’s waiting patiently for your explicit consent. You crane your neck, chest heaving with the amount of breath you’ve been forcing through your stressed windpipe. You lick your lips, parting them to breathe out a word of consent. “Yes,” It’s all you can say, hands gripping damp blonde locks and pushing his face further into your chest. Kento gently moves you so that you’re lying beneath him and leaves a quick kiss on your forehead. 
When he pulls his body away from yours, you let out the most embarrassing whine and move to pull him closer to you. The blond hushes you and slides his hands up your plush thighs, feeling every inch of your body as he can as he rides your slip up and over your head, pretty body fully exposed to frantic green eyes. Kento, always one to savor a moment (even when he’s not magically entranced), feels your body as if he’s trying to commit every bit of it to memory. As always, so diligent. You moan aloud, just as you did while casting the spell on him in the first place.  
He spreads your legs as slowly as his patience will allow him to, takes a long hard look at your sobbing pussy and just knows his dick is crying just as heavily in his boxers. The gravity of his need hits him like a ton of bricks. If he doesn’t fit his cock inside of you within the next thirty seconds, he’ll die. He just knows it. “Are you gonna let me make love to you, Y/N?” Nanami rubs soothing circles on your engorged clit, the results of your last orgasm collecting in his nail beds. Something for him to lick up later.  “Please, Y/N.” He pulls back and looks you in the eye. Kento’s pupils are still dilated and his look is just as hazy as it was when he first showed up on your doorstep. “Let me fuck, please. I- I- just need-” He cuts himself off, overwhelmed by the sudden love that’s flooding his heart. He feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest or as if he’ll explode if he goes another minute without feeling you. The heat that consumed you only moments ago has now been transferred to your coworker.  
You, still lying beneath him, want to do the right thing and figure out to set this poor man free but you’ve already gone this far and he’s still begging you like a puppy. Tears begin to trail down his chin and land on your nude form and, really, you can’t say no to a crying man that’s begging to fuck you. You nod your head, lacing your fingers into his soaked locks and pulling his face to let your lips meet once again. You’ve never thought about Kento in this way, and you’re not sure why you were earlier. Maybe there have been feelings for him lying dormant and your subconscious forced them out amidst your ritual to make this happen. Maybe this is what was always meant to happen.  
He takes his cock in his hands and gives it a few pumps, precum lubing up the entire length. And when Nanami finally gets to feel your wet warmth around his thick cock, he sobs. More tears flow down his cheek and you stare into his heart eyes. He groans as soon as he begins to fuck into you softly, overwhelmed in bliss and afraid that he’ll break you. His sudden love for you wins out to his lust for your body. Kento moves gently against you, nothing more than a victim of the love witch you’ve become. Kento isn’t too afraid to moan against your neck while he’s delivering you deep and fluid thrusts. His sounds of pleasure fill your ears and deafen to the rest of the world.  
Your magic is stronger than you thought it would be. The love manipulation spell cast over Kento fully engulfs him and he fucks you into a premature orgasm, cumming way too fast but he can’t help himself. He’s filling you up before he can pull out, before he can find a hint of self-control within himself. “Ah, ah, fuuuck.” Long and drawn out, sounds above ecstasy. As if your pussy is the most immaculate thing he could tuck his cock into. As if it’s the finest velvet. Nanami cages your head between his forearms and stares down at your pleasure-stricken face. He longs to see your entire form when your body is getting fucked raw and takes it upon himself to position you in front of the floor length wall mirror. Again, he’s wary of the candles but can’t bring himself to ask you why you had them lit like this anyway (and certainly doesn’t ask you about the piles of spell books you’ve got stacked in messy towers around your bedroom).  
When he’s got your body on the floor, on all fours, Kento sicks into you once again. He moans out, wouldn’t dare be embarrassed about his sex sounds. He’s been sobbing over you since he got here. The sounds of wet skin slapping against wet skin fills your ears as he fucks you at the same steady pace as before. This time, he’s able to fuck you deeper thanks to the more flexible position. Nanami pushes his broad chest against your back and plants his face on your neck. A fine layer of sweat keeps you stuck together – neither of you would really have it any other way. It’s an honest symphony of sounds, the music your bodies make together.  
Your eyes stay glued to your naked form, beads of a mixture of sweat dripping from your body as Nanami pounds you from behind. He’s a vision as well, face flushed and contorted in the most honest expression of pleasure you’ve ever seen on someone’s face. Kento fucks you as if he could positively die right now and would be completely okay with that.  
Your head drops as he fucks you into submission, not able to do much more than moan and take all of his inches. That really annoys him though. Nanami wants you to see what he sees so he places his hand under your jaw and squeezes the sides of your face with one big palm, bringing your head to watch him feed you deep strokes in your reflection once more. “Look at us, Y/N. We belong together.” He speaks as if he’s trying to convince himself more than you and you worry that the spell is weakening, but not for very long because as soon as those words leave his mouth, Nanami slams into you with more fever. He nails you with more need than he did before, so roughly that he’ll definitely be sore in the morning. Fuck it. Kento pulls you up by your face and brings you to stand on your knees along with him, bodies pressed tightly against each other in a sticky mass of flesh. “You belong to me, Y/N.” He grits his teeth, thrusts growing much more punishing.  
Nanami fucks you so hard that every breath is knocked out of your body. His words hit your brain, his cock creates a sweet drag against your clit with each thrust of his hips. His fat tip stabs your soft spot dead on each time, forcing a shuddering orgasm out of your puckered hole. “Fuck, yes! Kento, cumming- cumming, ahh!” You gush, your juices splattering between your bodies and creating a mess worthy of a mop. No one’s ever made you cum that hard and you only have your spell to thank for endowing your lover with this ability to coax a mind blowing orgasm out of you – although you really spilled so much due to the possessiveness in his words. 
Kento pulls out of you, creating an even bigger splatter to pool out of your abused cunt. He takes your shivering body in his arms, strong enough to carry you like you’re nothing and lays you on your bed once again. He wants to give you a break. Trust, he really does. He can’t help himself though. His mind feels like it’s suffering when he’s not pleasing you in some way and he can’t let a moment pass without giving you a degree of pleasure. Nanami slots his face between your thighs, observing the sticky mess he’s made of your pretty pussy. Without warning, he laps at your soaking lips. You squirm at the new feeling but don’t push him away.  
Your cum is sticky between your thighs and the drops that spread over his taste buds are reminiscent of honeydew melon, the sweetest nectar his mind could conjure up. “So sweet.” He murmurs against your bare flesh, slurping every drop that your cunt has expelled. You feel the tell-tale signs of overstimulation creeping over your fucked out body but a neediness fills you up once again and you force yourself to push your body up to rest your weight on your elbows. “Kento,” You whine, hands buried in his hair. He holds his head in place and he lets you grind your sloppy cunt on his facial features, every ridge being used to please you and bring you to the brink of yet another climax. He keeps his mouth shut and lets you use his entire head to get yourself off, nothing short of heaven to him. Take whatever you want from me, baby. He thinks. Anything I have is already yours.  
When you cum once more, you stare down at Kento’s soaking wet face. His tongue stabs at the corners of his mouth as he licks at your slick. “God, Nanami.” You gasp, not sure what’s more unbelievable – the fact that you’re fucking Nanami from work or the fact that he’s such a God in bed. 
“Another round, baby girl, please.” He begs, already pulling you to sit on him. You wonder if he’d have this kind of stamina regardless or if it’s just because he’s under your spell. Your palm glides against Kento’s cock, finding that he’s as hard as ever; blood pumping frantically throughout the entire organ. He groans as loudly as ever and that rumble of noise hits every wall in your bedroom, you’re sure.  
The last thing you really want is to wake up in the morning with a noise complaint tacked onto your door so, before you can talk yourself out of it, you take Nanami’s discarded tie from his pile of hastily thrown off clothes and roll it up into a neat ball. Your eyes meet his demanding action and he understands exactly what you want without having to hear a single word. Nanami parts his kiss-swollen pink lips and lets you shove the tie into his mouth with a muffled gasp. You’re rough with him, because you know he’ll let you. You know now that Kento has given his body over to you, more than willing to live as your pet for the rest of his natural days in this life.  
You part your legs and maneuver until your leaking cunt is hovering over his swollen red tip that already looks ready to burst. “Gonna fill me up with another one of your loads, baby boy?” He cries, actually sheds fat tears, when your teasing voice hits his ears. You’re more tantalizing than you think you are. All Kento can do is nod his head frantically, promising to do exactly that and when you sink down onto his dribbling cock once more, he braces his hands on your waist and moans. An endless string of moans come out as muffled cries thanks to the fabric you’ve used to gag him.  
Your thighs burn as you begin to ride Nanami with all the energy you still have, clit slap against his hard abs every time you slam your hips back down. Your long fingernails claw at Nanami’s chest, forcing him to hiss in pain. Sweet, sweet pain. It’s so unexpectedly good that he feels himself edging nearer to yet another climax. He braces his hands on your hips for a better grip and bucks his hips up, determined to make you cum first. The melodic sounds that come out of your plump lips when he’s making you cum are something worth dying over. Nanami grunts, a low rumble in his chest, as he nails you in the deepest part of your body – tip kissing your cervix with each thrust until you’re spilling over the edge of your orgasm and slicking up the area where your bodies meet. 
The warm wetness is all it takes to have him sobbing and filling your plush cunt up once more. Nanami leans over and spits the tie out of his mouth, gagging on it and worried he’ll choke to death. Anything to moan unashamedly over the sensations your body is providing him with. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N... please.” Nanami cries out, not sure what he’s begging you for. Now that he’s cum so many times, he’s not even sure of his own name. All he knows is that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you; the reason why doesn’t even matter a little bit. His exhaustion catches up to him soon and Kento mutters something about how much he loves you before rolling over and passing out nearly instantaneously.  
You turn over in bed after small snores have begun to emanate from the slumbering man. As quietly as you can, you pull your spell book closer to you and scan The Love Spell page. There it is at the bottom of the page. Love spells that aren’t consummated will wear off within 24 hours. But with physical consummation, the spell will be sealed for eternity. 
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I'm sorry, I had to take a break from the game to write this little act 1 ficlet because I'm obsessed and wanted to try out this POV for a bit. Sorry/not sorry.
Build this ship to wreck pg-13, 900-ish words
*** It’s so simple, seducing her. Almost boring in all its pettiness. A little flattery here, a carefully worded promise there - their lives are dark and dreary and full of worms and Elnys Tavren is not even half as immune to vain delights as she’d like to pretend she is.  “You don’t have me yet,” she reminds him and all the freckles and scars of her skin seem visible in the moonlight at that moment. The darkness rising from the earth nearly disguises her but not to him. Never to him, he doesn’t miss a beat and that’s why he’ll win in the end.
There’s something wild about the way she moves. Something raw and unrefined that makes him think not of the endless line of perfect, willing bodies he’s lured and baited over the centuries, but of a before that he no longer knows ever truly existed outside of his imagination. Hundreds of years of make-believe take their toll, he assumes. Perhaps that’s why he - apart from the fact that she’s the least powerful fighter of the group - had chosen to bite her, not so long ago. Glaringly obvious reasons aside, she’s also someone the living man he used to be might have desired, once, before he made a deal with the devil and lost all traces of himself to cruelty and death. Cazador, at least, wouldn’t enjoy her, of this he’s absolutely certain. Look what the pets dragged in. He’d feed, soften the worst of his bottomless hunger and throw away her corpse; the notion rattles dangerously in Astarion’s chest for a fraction of a second. No.
The chasm of his pasts thunders and rages, but he can’t give in to it, can’t twist up this chance at turning the tables. Nothing matters but that freedom, the sheer might of it. Does it?  Mere hours ago Elnys had allowed him to deal with the filthy Gur monster hunter the way he saw fit and Astarion had cut the man down - sloppily, without much glee, but instead a sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach. Disappointment, surely, at the lack of grandeur. Surprise that the dreadfully dull woman holding the reins had loosened them like that when, normally, she’ll jump in between an arrow and a bystander for no good reason. On the way back to camp he had meant to ask her why, meant to prod further into the shades of what his power over her could be wielded from - lust, loyalty, naivety - but the words had got caught up in between their companions, then in a camp full of celebration and revolting wine. There’s so much to consider, wound tight around others like this. Obstacles, idiocies, downright doubts, but Astarion is nothing if not resourceful so here they are now. He tells her he’s been wanting to have her since he first saw it. It’s cheap, hells is it ever, but what is seduction other than a mutually signed pact to play certain parts? An animal and its prey. The consummate lover and their chosen one. There’s a glint in her eyes as he steps closer, a flicker of hesitation perhaps. He changes his tone, tilts his head, adjusts to her unspoken demands and just like that, it’s gone again. It’s so simple, seducing her.  And hells, it would be boring if it wasn’t for her rough edges, the unpolished lust and the memory of nights in camp, listening to her spin tales from the sordid places she grew up in, her glee after a successful battle, her sharp insights and filthy mouth. All those details of her, they fill up every empty space between them, flatten out the hollows. 
She tastes of cheap wine and smoky fish and her hands get lost in his hair, twisting themselves around his curls as he kisses her; he gets lost in his own well-rehearsed theatrics, then in her blood as she rolls her neck and allows him. No fear, no sense of obligation and he’ll remember this for at least a century, he thinks, the way her fingers trace the wretched scars along his back as he drinks her, the way her breath catches and her lips are on his, licking her own life from them. Afterwards, she’s flat on her back beside him on the ground like they’re some lost wood elves frolicking about; he plays along, thinking this woman's surely predictable enough to appreciate that sort of romantic delusion. She’s glancing at him with that particular gaze she has sometimes, letting it graze over his face. It makes her seem puzzled and determined at the same time, as though she’s measuring them quietly, holding them up against a scale of her own making. 
There’s that rattle again, the sound of bones in him as he realises he doesn’t want to know what she makes of this, let alone of him. Nothing to see in here, he thinks, pushing himself up on one elbow to meet her gaze. Nothing, nothing, nothing. “Are you alright?” “Am I… what?” Elnys shrugs; the corners of her mouth twitch. “Forget it,” she says, but he won’t. After Cazador, he doesn’t forget a single thing. “Darling, of course I am, as you so eloquently put it, alright,” he retorts instead, stifling a scoff with a smile and her possible further questions with a thumb rubbing over her nipple.  She growls, low in her throat, and pulls him down over her.
“’s not a strange question, you know, just common courtesy,” she mumbles later still, arms curled around herself, a few fingers vaguely brushing his arm. He doesn’t care for it, or wouldn’t under any other circumstances, but the sun will be up soon and he can’t find it in himself to spoil the wonder of seeing it by moving anywhere. Elnys’s crimson-dyed hair is spread out over the grass, over the place where his heart once could beat and Astarion lies there watching the stars fade into a bright sky as she begins to snore, her breaths tickling his shoulder. It’s so simple, seducing her. 
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bi-demon-ium · 2 years
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sometimes i think about like. that brief period after linus got the letter from DICOMY about “the truth” about arthur and like... the doubt he felt, the shame and insecurity of was it a lie all this time? how could you have ever believed they’d really like you, want you, LOVE you? the idea that he was being used, that he’d slowly grown to trust them and care about them despite his efforts to remain professional but that they were using him the whole time, lying to him, and he had literally never considered it, but for the first time he thinks what if they’re only being kind to me to manipulate me, what if i was foolish for ever thinking i could belong, that i wasn’t meant to be lonely? can i even blame arthur, if he thinks he’s protecting the children?
he imagines arthur saying no, no, children, we don’t need to kill him--we just need to make him care about us. make him love us. make him feel like he belongs. and then of course, he’d run along back and say exactly what they want and never come back to bother them. he imagines that he’d finally let his guard down for nothing, that arthur--arthur who he’s only just realizing he’d truly grown to trust and like--lied to him
and even as he doubts his doubt (what if it’s DICOMY who’s lying?) it’s not just the idea that his bosses wouldn’t lie to him that pushes back (because he considers it, for the first time ever he considers they’re wrong, and he does that for arthur’s sake, for the childrens’ sake, because he trusted them and he wants to believe them so badly) but it’s that he doubts his own judgement--not them, not DICOMY, but himself. is he really worthy of their kindness? their acceptance? their love? why would they really like him--plain, boring him (”i’m just me,” he says helplessly, just me) if there wasn’t an ulterior reason? why didn’t he question that from the start? because he’d known, he’d always known, that he meant to be alone. that he’d simply always be lonely. he’d been resigned to it for so long he barely even felt it anymore. and how had he let them push his buttons, let them make him feel wanted, without even once being suspicious? didn’t he know he just wasn’t the type of person to get that? handsome, mysterious men didn’t smile at him like that, people didn’t practically adopt him into their family like that--and didn’t it make perfect sense? if there’d been a reason? if he was useful?
and like that horrible letter, with such just. blatantly, cruelly manipulative language--the repeated claims of we care about you, you matter to us, mr. baker, shield your heart, mr. baker, we’re worried about you, we’re here for you, when obviously they aren’t. they never were and never have been, and they’re worried about power and control and money, not about his wellbeing. and like, the implications and reminders of if you get attached you are failing the children, and as i’m sure you’re aware it’d be against the rules to develop feelings or care for any of them, and the subtle threat disguised as concern in the psych eval (for your own piece of mind, of course) and like. the direct implication that arthur is attempting to use him, maybe even seduce him--people will say and do anything to appease those in power. it’s a weapon, and one that is wielded quite deftly, and shield your heart, mr. baker, because that is what they go for first, and we may have underestimated how susceptible you might have been to such attentions from someone like mr. parnassus. seeing as you’re unmarried... like. no wonder linus was spiralling!
not to mention the pure fucking audacity of charles werner writing this, implying and accusing arthur of doing what he literally did to arthur years ago. guard your heart, it’s what they’ll go for first--you’d fucking know, huh? like that’s a whole other layer of this--for one, i’d love to see arthur reading this goddamn letter (that is. a fic i’ve half written. kdlfgjdfg) and kinda understanding linus’s mindset in the cellar more, but like, also. when linus says almost helplessly in the cellar you could have been using me, to have me say what you wanted in my reports, and he inhales sharply and says oh. oh, linus. do you really think so little of me? because that’s what charles did, took advantage of him, made him feel happy and in love and then used it against him, manipulated him, and like...
i can imagine part of him is almost angry to be accused of that, upset that linus truly thought he’d be capable of doing what charles did to him, but he’s also just sad, that linus feels the way he felt even if only for a moment, and like--whether he understands then, after his gut-jerk reaction, or later, when they’ve talked, but like. understanding that it was less not trusting arthur (although that was definitely part of it, mostly due to the lies/withholding of truth, however justified, they left him unmoored and uncertain) and more not trusting himself, not believing he could have these nice things...
but like also just! being in that cellar, that horrible, awful cellar, barefoot and vulnerable and watching as someone he’s grown to truly like looks at him like he might cry (far more expressive than he seems to think, which is so very endearing) and he knows that it’s fucking charles that put that expression there but it still feels like it’s his fault, even just a little...
(and like, arthur, leading up to that confrontation, noticing how linus is acting strange, and when he puts a hand on his shoulder he flinches and stiffens instead of leaning into it without realizing like he normally does, and he knows something is wrong, and he thinks he knows what. and while the idea of going down there stings like nettles he knows he has to, and anyway, perhaps its time he confronted it again, hm?)
and linus, in that cellar, that horrible, awful cellar, with the tiny tally marks and soot coating the walls, and he’s overwhelmed--with doubt, and shame, but also with just. a great and deep sadness, for arthur now, for arthur then, for all the little magical children that have suffered and he’s been unable to help, and his eyes keep drifting back to those tally marks and he wants to cry or throw up because who could ever treat a child like that. but he still has all that doubt! and insecurity! and he wants to be angry at arthur because if it had all been a lie linus might just shake apart but part of him is resigned that really, he should have known, and can he even blame arthur for protecting the children, and part of him couldn’t be angry if he tried because he just wants to wrap his coat around arthur’s shoulders because he looks cold and vulnerable and almost small and he’s in this--this stupid goddamn cellar he shouldn’t have to see again (because whether linus realizes it or not, he does trust arthur--if arthur truly were the cunning con man he fears he is, he could easily pull his heartstrings, manipulate the story to bring about pity, to show himself in the best light, as it were, but linus believes that as he confronts arthur, arthur is telling the truth, and he’s right) and like just. the complicated mess of emotions that comes with being already half in love with him but scared, scared that he might have been wrong the whole time, scared that he’ll be alone again and he’ll deserve it, scared that he might have been taken advantage of, scared of rejection, and that comes with all that doubt and all the despair on arthur’s behalf, that protective rage that makes him want to find every piece of shit complicit in making this fucking cell and destroying them, that loneliness and isolation he’s always felt, just like. all of it. you know.
and like after that initial confrontation in the cellar the idea that linus, even if only briefly, genuinely thought arthur might have been using him, that they all might have been trying to manipulate him the whole time, doesn’t really come up again--i think a lot of it, as is mentioned, just wouldn’t hold up under the light of the day, because at night and alone his fears are thriving, like. the kids, i think, he’d pretty easily realize uh yeah no. they aren’t lying, they just aren’t really like. capable of that kind of knowing like. cruelty? in that sort of way? but like. he still has those fears, particularly with arthur, who i mean--to protect the children? if he had to? maybe. maybe. but like. he like. i think he does get over it fast because he does trust them, even if he had that brief moment of just. deep fear. but like still the implications or like. i want them to talk about it like. what it means, how it affects both of them, how it meshes with the whole charles werner mess, etc. like. idk i just. i have a lot of feelings about that brief stretch of time okay.
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itsmoonpeaches · 10 months
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Title: All the King's Horses
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial, a short fanfic written for Fire Emblem: Three Houses.
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Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Word count: 1,000
Rating: G
Summary: Years after the fall of the Blaiddyd line, Fódlan lives on.
Also available on ao3.
There was a sword and a lance in the forest of forgotten dreams, their blades encased in magical stone. They were trapped there for all eternity it would seem, doomed to see the light of eras fade away like supernovas sparking out of existence in the night sky.
Who placed them there and magicked the stones so that none but someone worthy could wield them, no one knew. The knowledge was lost to time and tale, a distant memory once clear and now long gone.
The weapons had magnificent, strange names which were passed down. Their meanings were now lost to them. The Sword of the Creator was one and the other the Areadbhar lance.
That was the story the villagers told, the ones that lived around the mouth of the forest.
“If you go further, dear child,” an old woman named Renee would say to her grandchild, “you can walk along the light-speckled path. The roots grow in twists and odd knots that straddle the sides of the well-trodden earth as if beckoning to you and clearing the way. You can feel the difference in the air. I have felt it too.”
“But grandmother,” her grandchild would reply. Renee would pat down her blond locks and nod approvingly as she gazed into her azure eyes.
“No buts. Simply listen to me.”
“Is it white magic?”
“Oh, dear child,” cooed Renee, “We can only speculate. My mother used to say that generations ago we once had strong magic in our family, but that time is no more. Perhaps you should speak to the healer down the road. I am sure Betryse will be most helpful to you in finding your answers.”
And so, the little girl decided to go see Betryse. She was a young, curious girl with a bright personality and a benevolent heart. She had been told that one day perhaps that would get her far in life.
She knocked softly upon the door to the healer’s home.
“Miss Betryse?” she spoke through the woodgrain.
The door swung open to reveal a startling woman. Her eyes and hair were a brilliant, ethereal green. Not quite like an emerald and not quite like the green of a tree’s leaves. Jade perhaps, or some other precious stone. There was a glow behind the color that the girl could not name, a mysterious one. But Miss Betryse had always been like that.
She was welcomed in with a slight smile. Miss Betryse was not one to express much emotion, but the whole village knew her to be rather kind.
When the girl explained her thoughts and curiosity, the conversation began as if a question about white magic in an otherworldly forest was natural indeed.
Miss Betryse set a tray on the table between them, biscuits and honeyed cookies balancing upon it. She poured them cups of freshly brewed chamomile tea. The steam still coiled above the porcelain in neat curlicues as they sipped.
“Of course, it’s white magic,” said Miss Betryse. “Black magic does not seal in this manner and dark magic would not dare.”
“But why?” asked the girl. She leaned forward and took a biscuit.
Miss Betryse glanced behind her at a peculiar painting above the fireplace. It looked impossibly old and cracked like it should not have been around still. Like something held the pieces together by an invisible thread.
On it was the visage of a powerful-looking man whose blond hair was tied into a ponytail and a black eyepatch covering one of his eyes. A fur cloak rested on his shoulders, draped around a gambeson of midnight blue. He had striking eyes that reminded the girl of her own and a crown of gold atop his head. Beside him stood a woman whose face was obscured by the curtain that hung from the frame. She could tell she held herself with grace just from the strokes the painter had depicted her with. Her white gown flowed, and her silver wedding band seemed to glint even without the help of a real sun. Her hand rested upon the man’s.
“Once in this land of Fódlan we had a king who united us all after a war,” said Miss Betryse. “He and his queen had a long and prosperous reign that led to peace for hundreds of years.”
“What happened to them?”
Miss Betryse sighed and put down her cup of tea. “All kingdoms eventually fall,” she replied. “The people forgot the king’s legacy and his descendants too did not know the meaning of peace. So, in an act of desperation, the mages of Old Fhirdiad sealed away the king and queen’s legendary weapons in hopes that—when the time comes—the people will remember again.”
The girl sat straight in her seat, her lip trembling. “Will we?”
Miss Betryse smiled. “The fact that you ask this question tells me all that I need to know,” she said. She tapped her chin. “It seems that your grandmother, Renee Blaiddyd, still remembers your family’s past.”
The girl blinked. She was unsure what that meant.
“One day you will see,” continued Miss Betryse. “Our world is a cycle and one day they will be needed again. All the king’s horses will appear on the crest of a hill, and all the king’s men will come.”
Years passed and the girl grew up. She told the story to her children and her children told it to theirs.
The healer watched from her home as her neighbors changed. She did not speak to many of them for a long while, preferring to stick to the sidelines.
Then, in the north where the Sreng Empire inched closer to their borders, war brewed.
She walked through the forest and grasped at the hilt of the Sword of the Creator. Across from her, a man she found familiar held onto Areadbhar’s shaft.
“Beloved,” said the man. “It has been too long.”
The blades slid free from the stone. The eyes of the forest saw all.
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insurrection-if · 2 years
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Kinda funny to think of an MC who's usually kind, sweet, and friendly having blood dripping down their lips (just had a drink). What would be the ROs' reaction to this, if u don't mind me asking? 😅
No problem! For these reactions, I'll put the disclaimer / reminder that the MC's codename in the HAWKS is Mockingbird.
Akil
"Not too much," he mutters as an attempted chide towards them, "Your supply is limited. When it is gone, my offered blood will be worthless to you.”
A refusal to betray the guilt panging in his chest urges a stoicism from his expression. A guilt so strong that it picks at his defenses in the form of a knit brow and averted gaze. He should have ordered their dismissal from this mission. He should have kept them in a secure location where they would have no need for this. They do not deserve what must be endured on the road head.
His observation of them has fallen into silence as he examines them with quiet awe. It is difficult to not be enraptured with a spirit so wondrous as this, one cursed by a craving he cannot ever dream to satisfy. And so his guilt rises evermore with his adoration, feeding into the silent ache he holds for the bloodied lips before him.
Kamiko
It is odd to observe the Mockingbird she had imagined long ago come to life. Prior to their first encounter, she had envisioned so similar a sight: stolen blood above a calloused smile, uncaring for the source or victim of this heightened power.
Yet, as she gazes upon that smile with eyes focused enough to betray her longing, she feels a fool to have ever questioned the quality of the person, heart, and soul before her. Gratitude, and perhaps a love novel once again, blooms within her chest as she examines her gentle Mockingbird. There is no coldness, no cruelty, behind the Gift they wield.
She sends a subtle nod their way, acknowledging their presence as her hand subconsciously stretches to be held by theirs. And soon another emotion comes to warm her being in so secure a hold: trust.
Sigmund
He cannot help the frown that shapes his lips. It is . . . wrong. For someone with their heart, with their generous affection, to be made to drink and suffer as they do . . .
"Bärchen," he summons with as much gentleness as he can muster, and as soon as they are within reach he catches their cheek in a delicate caress. As if the motion is natural to him, routine, he presses the thumb of his other hand to their lips and wipes away the offending shade.
"Take smaller sips," he commands in a voice low enough to not be overheard by any others, yet it is a command delivered so softly that one might question the authority behind it. "You do not need this much of a dose. One sip to keep you safe, and I will take care of the rest."
Imka
A yelp escapes past her lips as she finally takes notice of Mockingbird's own clueless grin. Her hands rush to cover her mouth as though that could take back the offense she might have caused, and her heart startles with both affection and concern at the red that slips past their lips.
Beyond her initial shock, the fear that had gripped her dissipates in moments. Soon she repurposes her hands to reach for her partner, seeking to steady herself as the queasiness of loving worry and bloodied skin cause a lightness in her head, and breathless apologies for her gasp spill forth.
Her hands wish to wipe the blood away. Perhaps to lick her thumb and brush the red staining Mockingbird's kind smile, so wonderful a smile it is even when coated in blood. But her nerves catch the better of her, the act too intimate for her to initiate.
Elouan
It has become an unfortunate instinct for him to smile at the mere sight of Mockingbird, yet this is an instance where his delight stills beneath a temporary shock. Shock . . . and a shiver of excitement that drags its nails along his spine.
Ordinarily so sweet and pleasant on the surface, a beacon to rival his own artificial light, yet there they stand with blood dripping from lips he longs to taste. There is an absurdism to the beauty before him, this alluring juxtaposition that will haunt his dreams in the night.
He must not let them know how much this sight effects him. Taking a moment to recover, elongating one final appraisal of his dear, he schools his expression into a mask of collected calm.
“Ma moitié,” he sighs as he feels himself falling deeper into this dangerous passion, “You will be the death of us.”
Jae
"Oh, you are a mess!" She cannot help the fond laughter that rings out from her. It is so strange a sight to see on her MC who would not so much as hurt a fly, but its appeal is not lost to her.
"Here, you missed a spot, meu fofinho," she hums as her hand raises to trace beneath the curve of their sweet smile. "Let me help you."
With that, she leans in to capture their lips with her own, if only to repay her partner's constant kindness by cleaning this mess for them as she knows best.
Niccolò
"Ah, zuccherino!" He practically coos through his laughter, and soon his entire world seems to brighten as his partner nears.
He does not take note of the blood that stains the natural shade of their lips. Not beyond a subtle, fleeting, assessment that it is not their own. No, he does not address it nor pay it any mind. He simply reaches into one of his many pockets to withdraw both a starlight mint and gum stick he had packed in preparation for this eventuality in case his dear wished to diminish the metallic taste.
As he watches his MC consider the two options, his shoulders perk once again as an idea strikes him. Next time, he will pack a thermos as well to rival the taste. But what would be better: soup or a beverage . . . ?
Mutya
In her first glance towards them, relief had flooded the tension that thus far strangled her every thought and motion. That changed upon a double-take.
Shit. Her heart leaps in her chest as warring emotions arise in the form of heat across her cheeks. Just like that, her words are once again too large for her throat and she chokes on whatever she had intended to say. Not when all her mind can manage to process is simply one word . . . cute.
A part of her insists on frustration knowing that Mockingbird cannot rely on her strength alone and instead turns to those damned vials. Someone like them should have never been forced into this environment, should have never been forced to use their Gift as demanded by their captors.
And yet . . . to see their comforting smile as it is, this strangely stained innocence . . . she cannot help but consider it oddly adorable in appearance. A thought best kept secured in her mind alone.
Fyodor
"MC! My angel!" He rushes towards his beloved with a franticness that startles those around them. His hands, acting with minds of their own, reach to cusp the face he envisions and adores day and night—no longer held back by the hesitation and fear that so commonly plagues him in their presence.
"Are you hurt? Who has hurt you? I will—" But the words are bitten on his tongue as to not startle his MC any more than they might be at the moment. It is only after he is patiently walked through an explanation for their appearance that he allows himself to breathe and speak again.
As often as he may witness this sight, he cannot help but be worried and shocked whenever his gentle love comes to be stained by needless blood. Yet, in his eyes, it is perhaps more shocking to think that such an appearance cannot even faintly tarnish the warm perfection that radiates from their reddened smiles.
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eldritch-araneae · 2 years
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Sparkpulse IX: Dreamwalkers
Summary: Windblade has come up with a plan that might aid in their investigation. Venture deeper into Bumblebee’s dreams to find what could be hidden under the seal.
In the middle of the night, both cybertronian moons shine brightly, illuminating the land with their cold light. Bumblebee is perched at his favorite spot - the very peak of the Stronghold. A good place to relax and feel the wind. 
Diurnal bots are asleep, while nocturnals are on missions. Except for the minibot, who is still out of duty. The situation makes him groan in frustration. Bumblebee wanted out so much that he snuck out of base recently. He tried to steal useful intel from Decepticons but ended up being hurt and having a terrible nightmare. While Optimus Prime appreciated his efforts, he insisted on keeping the fragile minibot safe. 
And now Bumblebee is stuck in the fortress for weeks!
He knows he’s still defenseless, and Ratchet is concerned about his damaged plating. But since that accident that transpired after Sunstreaker’s bullying, Bumblebee has noticed everyone being too careful around him. No training session within the SpecialOps department, no chasing games or play-fights with his feline friends. 
Yes, they are worried, but they’re treating him like he’s made of glass! 
Bumblebee looks into the distance with melancholy. He should be happy that Autobots finally heard his pleas, yet he feels unsatisfied. It’s simply not enough. He’s inferior compared to anyone else. Sunstreaker and his friends still remind this each time they cross their paths. At least harassment isn’t as intense after Autobot High Command had a serious talk with them. 
‘Not everyone is gonna like you, and that's normal.’ Jazz’s reassuring words echoed in his mind. 
It is true, yet to Bumblebee it feels like a big failure. A personality flaw. Everyone must like him because if someone hates him, that means everyone hates him in secret. It's illogical, but trauma doesn’t care about logic. He has to unpack so much from his past, so his wounds may heal. But even this endeavor has met a million obstacles. 
While Windblade is researching a way to get around his seal, Ratchet works with Botanica to develop a medicine for his fracturing plating. And this is on top of his spark disease.
Bumblebee buries his face in his hands. Why does he have to be such a burden to everyone? This is unacceptable. He must become stronger!
What options does he have?
Not firearms. It was decided long ago when Autobots found out how fragile Bumblebee is. Even recoil from a gun might injure him. He doesn’t like those, anyway.
Any built-in weapons are out of the question as well. Bumblebee once asked Wheeljack if he could replicate his stingers. He was planning to build them until Ratchet prohibited any devices that would draw power from the minibot's unstable spark. Bumblebee wasn’t happy about this decision. But the old medic didn’t budge, and many attempts to convince him otherwise failed. 
Of course, Bumblebee could ask for daggers to replace his melted stingers. Analyzing his previous fights made him realize it wasn’t a great idea. Such weapons are bringing him too close to his targets, though it's good for stealth. Perhaps he should ask for one dagger, just in case of an emergency. 
One dagger is not enough. 
He needs something he could comfortably fight with.
Swords are classic and reliable, but won’t work in his case. Chromia once tried to train him along with Windblade and Arcee, but he lacks the strength to cut properly. 
Bumblebee could ask Optimus to teach him how to use the great ax or ask Jazz to teach him the great hammer. The long handle could compensate for his lack of strength, but it’s too heavy for him to lift. 
What else can he think of?
He might have a chance with Prowl and her shield-wielding. It will provide the protection he lacks, and he can use momentum to do decent throws. 
Or he could put more distance between himself and his enemies and ask Blurr to teach him the bow. The way she uses the bow is a sight to behold, combining her speed and acrobatics with rapid shooting. ‘This is the ancient art of Velocitron!’ she said, and Bumblebee wonders if he can master it. He is so clumsy compared to Blurr!
Still, at least he has two options.
Before he could proceed on this train of thought, he felt several sparks moving below. He looks down to see Autobots coming back from their missions. He gazes at the sky, waiting for a particular mech to show up. Soon, a familiar VTOL jet flies over.
“Hey, Windy!” Bumblebee waves to her happily. She sways side to side to “wave” back, then transforms. “Hey, Bee!”
Bumblebee stares at her entire form, covered in dust and other dirty substances. “My stars, what happened to you?”
“Some building parts collapsed when I was exploring the ruins. I wasn't hurt, but there was so much dust it could cover our entire base!” Windblade sits down with her friend with a huff.” I’m surprised my vents didn't get all clogged up.” 
Bumblebee sighs in relief. She wasn't injured or got into a big fight. “I’m glad you’re okay! As for a little dirt, I think we should rush into showers before they are all taken!”
“Sure, race you there!” she suddenly took off with a grin.
“Hey!” Bumblebee shouts after her as he jumps from his spot and swings after her. 
—---
Windblade is soaking in the large bathtub, filled with soapy water. Bubbles are dancing around her, shining with multiple colors. She’s cleaning her chest, while Bumblebee, sitting on the edge, helps to clean her back and wings. Bathing is a great bonding activity. Carefully rubbing her wing with a washcloth, he admires bioluminescent patterns all over her body that become visible after contact with water. A thing all camiens have because of their underwater lifestyle.
“So pretty…” he says in awe, tenderly tracing colorful markings.
Windblade chuckles, leaning on his gentle touch. “You’re so mesmerized by them.”
Bumblebee giggles back. “I can’t help it. Your patterns are so vibrant! I can only imagine how gorgeous they are in the deep waters.”
“Me too.” Windblade hums at the thought. “I always wondered what it was like to live on Caminus. Books, movies, and stories from older camiens may satisfy my curiosity, but I wish I could experience it myself.”
Bumblebee saddens. She never got a chance, as she was forged at the death of the colony. “I hope whatever new planet we will find to call home - there will be a lot of water!”
Not only that will make Windblade and other camiens feel better, but he also feels an urge to swim in oceans. Strange, but he cannot deny it. 
“Yeah.” she smiles, finding comfort in his words.
“At least we can play with bubbles!” Bumblebee cheerfully exclaims, placing a handful of foam on top of Windblade’s head. She bursts into laughs and bends over. The foam pile gracefully slides back into the water. 
“Come back here! I wanna see how much foam I fit on your head!” he playfully throws more foam at her.
“Oh?” she grins while sitting back up. “Then I dare you to build the tallest bubble tower in history!”
For the next several minutes, Bumblebee stacks the foam tower on her head. Windblade having a hard time containing her laughter as he tries his best to keep the tower from collapsing. It didn't last long as someone’s sudden chuckle made Windblade flinch, sending his hard work back into the depths of the bathtub.
“Nooooooooo! The Mighty Spire of AllBubble!” the minibot wails dramatically. Perhaps he overdid the theatrics as he slid into the tub by accident with a big splash. Windblade, finally released from her bubbly burden, succumbs into laughter.
"Whoops!" Jazz shorts into their palm at an adorable display. 
Bumblebee resurfaces, pouting at his superior. "It was going to be the world record! I bet you have never seen a bubble tower that tall." 
"Perhaps I should check our history archives for such entries." Prowl may sound neutral, but her spark radiates amusement. "And add Bumblebee's endeavors to the list."
"See? Your hard work won't be forgotten!" Windblade cheerfully pats his shoulder. 
"Very well." Bumblebee crosses his arms, trying to appear like he's barely convinced. His little smile betrays him, though.
"Anyway, I wanted to ask you something, Windblade." Jazz said to get her attention. "There's an old amphitheater in Vos that might have old musical instruments or other valuables left. It would be great if you could collect them if you find something in relatively good condition." 
"Sure!" Windblade agrees enthusiastically. “Send me the location.”
"That's what you were doing lately?" Bumblebee realized what all those scouting missions were. The more remnants of their culture they get before leaving, the better.
"Exactly." Prowl confirms. 
"Can I help Windblade? I promise I will be careful!" he pleads in the hope they will allow him to leave the fortress. Both mechs are looking unsure.
"I think it's a good idea to let him come with me. You can't keep him forever cooped in the Stronghold. And visiting other places might help with memory recovery." Windblade proposes with her ‘mental health professional’ attitude. “Bumblebee needs freedom, even if the world is more dangerous to him than the rest of us.”
"Just keep an optic on him, okay?" Jazz gave up. Prowl gave them a brief look of disappointment, but deep down she understands. They’ll have to explain this to Optimus, though. The Autobot leader worries too much about the smallest minibot. 
After the conversation, both high commanders went to the opposite section of showers to clean themselves. Though it shall never be a casual cleaning with Jazz around, much to Prowl's annoyance. But she never complains. 
Bumblebee jumps into hugging Windblade immediately. "Thank you, I can finally go out!! We're gonna have the best adventure ever!"
"You're Welcome!" she giggles in return."By the way, are you up to our dream exploration of your psyche tonight? I have a few theories I want to test."
That piqued his interest. " We can explore my dreams together? That’s great, I’m absolutely in! "
They gave each other a gentle smile and rubbed their noses in affection. The cute moment was interrupted by Jazz being naughty over there and accidentally starting a soap fight between everyone occupying the showers. 
Not a day without gremlin shenanigans in Autobot Stronghold.
—----
Windblade appears in Bumblebee’s mindscape. It looks the same as before with the addition of a floating, sleeping figure of him. She floats closer to examine. His optics are closed, letting a bit of light from optics come through slits between lids. His sleep cycle had just begun. She has time to adjust here before the dreaming phase starts.
In theory, once the fifth stage of sleep begins, Bumblebee's mindscape will push her into his dream without her input. Windblade discovered this information when she was looking into knowledge about memory encoding modifications. 
At first, she had stumbled upon what she knew - the mnemosurgery. While the practice invented by Quintessons was banned in the Golden Era, its effects are still present. Countless victims found out their memories were altered. Worse, it’s not possible to fully restore previous memories, robbing them of their true selves and inner peace.
Thankfully, Windblade realized she could use the mind telepathy to recover some broken fragments and piece them together. Blackaracnia, Sludge, Grimlock, Sundor, and many others are her patients. Digging through countless memory cells to find residual data is hard work, but seeing their happy faces is rewarding.  
However, Bumblebee’s and her case are distinct. There are no signs of mnemosurgery. Only a seal that operates differently than the memory-altering procedure. She had to keep looking for more info, and soon she found something intriguing.
Deep in Optimus Prime’s archives, she uncovered a study made by a psychiatrist of the Golden Era. His name was Rung, and he specialized in helping trauma survivors. There was a point in time when mnemosurgery was brought up again as a possible treatment of trauma. He was against this method, as the procedure harmed memory cells and created an enormous risk of permanent damage. 
But the idea of lessening the victim's suffering by making them forget the traumatic events was too enticing. Back in the day, this logic was perfect for many people: if a person cannot cope with stressful events, it gets rooted in their memory as trauma. By removing a terrible memory, it’s easy to cure the trauma.
Rung was determined to find a different way to test this theory. Several patients consented to an unusual procedure he developed - the memory lock. He created a complicated code that won’t alter the contents of memory cells, but instead deny access to them. 
At first, it worked, but soon all patients came back to his office. Despite his best efforts, they still showed symptoms of trauma, even without remembering what happened to them. It made things worse because coping mechanisms and therapy sessions become less effective.
Later studies proved that the entire body keeps the score. Cybertronians are full of complex life support systems. Each of them must adapt to harsh changes. Trauma is not just in someone's head, but also in their spark, in their neurowire system, in their fuel processing system, and in their sensors. 
And this is exactly what Windblade observes in Bumblebee. Even without his original body, the trauma left a festering wound in his spark. And recovery is hardly possible, as they cannot address the root of the problem. And the only way to undo the memory lock is by using the same software that produced it.  
Vector Sigma.
They can't do anything about it now, but Windblade came up with Plan B. Equipped with the new knowledge, she’s ready to test a few things. There has to be a way around it, and she’s determined to find it. 
She examines Bumblebee again. His optics barely have lights in them. By the looks of it, he must be in a deep sleep right now, the last stage before dreaming.
Windblade blinks, the time has passed fast. Sensing time passage never was her thing. It can be five minutes, it can be an hour, it would feel the same. She lets a small chuckle to herself, no time to be distracted. 
Coincidentally, Bumblebee’s optics flare up at this very moment. A water tendril emerged through the seal and pulled both of them into the abyss.
—-----
Bumblebee finds himself in the middle of a flowery meadow. It looks incomplete, with bits and pieces floating in the air near the edge. The sky is clear, with countless hexagonal shapes peeking in the distance. 
“Well, that’s a good start!” Windblade lands beside him. She looks like her body is made of the night sky with a bright constellation. Just like the last time she visited his mindscape.
“I like the serenity of this place.” Bumblebee smiles, feeling nostalgic at the sight. “So, you’re in my dream now. What you’re gonna look for?”
“Any bits of information from your memory cells. Then I might try to smuggle it through the seal.” 
“I see!” the realization hits him. “If I dream about a memory, you will tell me about it when I wake up?” 
“Something like this.” Windblade says. “Though it’s rare for an entire memory to manifest inside the dream. Anything here appears abstract and mashed together. But dreams still contain a lot of hints that we can put together. And since you’re below the seal, this barrier will less prevent you from remembering. ”
“Yes, the Memory Detective Windblade is on the case!” Bumblebee exclaims dramatically, making her laugh.
“So, this meadow. What can you tell me about it?” she asks.
Bumblebee examines his surroundings. He knows this place for sure, but the memory of it is still fuzzy. “I think the meadow was located by the large energon river. Maybe animals migrated through here.” 
As he said those words, a dozen biometallic animals came out of the mist to cross over. They are too blurry to recognize.
"Good. Let's move on and find more clues." 
The pair went in the same direction as migrating animals. Occasionally, Bumblebee would recognize an animal or a plant. Windblade would note any observation. Soon they reached the city. It's blending into the natural scenery they just came from. It looks abstract. Towers are floating in mid-air, and some buildings are broken. The Spire is piercing the sky.
"What about this place?" Windblade asks. “It looks like Vos, judging by the Spire that contains the AllSpark and Vector Sigma.”
"That’s correct. A city-state populated mostly by flyers, located right between Kaon and Iacon. The crown of the desert, as many would say. It used to be a trading and cultural center. Because it was built on the energon lake - it was relatively independent of two surrounding cities… but they always tried to sit on both chairs at once." Bumblebee comments.
Windblade nods, being familiar with the history. Vos acted like they had their own way of doing things, but often would sell out to Iacon and Kaon. Iacon held the southern hemisphere within its borders, weaponizing unity and Liberation Day in their conquest of domination. Meanwhile, Kaon controlled the northern hemisphere. While neighboring city-states were considered independent on paper, they were still Kaon’s property and they had to answer to the government.
The only ones who were mostly free from the influence of two mega city-states were colonies. Velocitron was an icy desert far away from Cybertron with ‘no valuable resources’. Caminus was considered inhospitable: the ocean world with violent storms and deadly megafauna. Thus, Functionists had little interest in holding them in an iron fist… which backfired in the end. 
"I wonder if this meadow used to be there before it became a desert?" she asks, looking back at the natural scenery behind them.
"It was! Something bad happened that made the entire ecosystem collapse." Bumblebee exclaims with a sudden recollection. "I was upset as I watched this happening over centuries. I couldn't do anything to fix it." 
Windblade places a comforting hand on his shoulder. Bumblebee appreciates the gesture.
They walk further into the city. Shadowy figures are occupying the streets. Life used to be fast and busy here. Until they saw a person standing in front of them. 
"Lightbright!" Bumblebee beams at seeing her. She looks less glitchy and most of her features are visible. She gives him a sad smile before the light flickered, and the city was instantly replaced by the white void. Lightbright disappeared, only the monster with a thin long neck and multiple faces remained in her place. 
The Cluster.
Bumblebee lets out a fearful shriek and backs away. Windblade immediately jumped in front of him, blocking Cluster's path. 
She inspects the monster, having a good look at it this time. She immediately notices that Cluster's head has a strong resemblance to Lightbright. It even has the same markings! Then she notes the faces, whose cityspeaker marking she can also recognize. Her spark sank at realizing what this might mean. 
Suddenly, a barrier manifested around them, making the monster lose sight of them. It looks around for a minute and runs away. Windblade looks over her shoulder to see Bumblebee cradling something in his hands.
“That was close!” Bumblebee breathed out. He lifts the object in his hands for her to see. “They can’t see me with this.” 
“A lantern? With a black hole inside. That’s incredible!” Windblade examines it with curiosity. She carefully touches the shiny filigree on the surface. “I have never seen such detailed work before. Is it used to be yours?”
He looks down at the lantern with a painful expression. “It belonged to her. I told Lightbright to get it because I couldn't buy it myself as a gift. She liked it, I think…” 
Bumblebee looks in the direction the monster fled and shakes his head. “The Cluster is always on my tail, and sometimes the lantern won't help against it. It hates me so much because I failed. I tried to hide them away from the council, but their hounds always found them! Soon no one left, and she was the last… and….” he shuts his optics.
Windblade realized what is happening here. The monster exists because the actual memory is too painful for him to bear. She’d read the reports of the massacre. Some deaths were brutal. Lightbright’s death was gruesome. The Cluster’s long neck indicates Bumblebee found her like this or even witnessed the murder!
But if the latter is the case, then how did he survive? Sure the killers didn't want any witnesses. She knows he wouldn’t sit still while his friend is being killed. Or perhaps he didn’t… maybe that’s when he lost his original body, yet his spark was preserved somehow. 
Windblade pushes her thoughts aside and gives Bumblebee a comforting hug. “I’m sorry this happened. You must be feeling guilty, right?”
He nods silently. 
“I want you to know this: I believe you did all you could to save them. To save her. Sadly, a lot of things happen outside of our control. You can’t take responsibility for those.”
Windblade says as she tightens the grip. “We will talk more about this when you’ll be awake, alright?”
“Alrightю” Bumblebee replies quietly. They stood in the embrace for a few minutes until something pulled them up. His optics closed and dimmed. This dream cycle is ending, starting a new one. They passed through the seal and ended up in the mindscape again. Windblade notices how the seal “scanned” his body. At the same time, she saw a memory cell submerging into the abyss below. He won’t remember any of this. But Windblade is here and her theory is proven correct.
 There are more sleep cycles to go. She takes a nap inside his mindscape until the next dreaming phase.
—---
Both mechs are walking through the hills, which open an amazing view of the forest below. A large tree standing tall above the forest. A large crescent moon is hanging behind it. The entire scenery looks straight from a magical fairytale.
“What is this place?” Windblade asks in awe, having a hard time believing such a place used to be real on Cybertron. 
“Nightsong Forest.” Bumblebee smiles. Such sights bring him joy. “A place where no light touches the ground because of trees, filled with luminous flora and fauna. It was a beautiful forest, and one of the deadliest places on the planet.”
“Wow! Gorgeous, but deadly forest, huh? Not something you usually think of.” she looks down at the trees with a cautionary stare. 
“Yep, those trees are no joke when they are on the hunt.” he exclaims with delight. Nature is incredibly inventive. 
“What about the big one? It seems important.” she motions towards the largest tree. 
“It feels like home.” he said without realizing it. He cannot elaborate further, though.
In the distance, Bumblebee sees a lone animal standing on the branches. It looks toward him as if asking to come over. 
“Starjump?” he mutters before bolting after the creature.
“St—Wait!” Windblade dashes after him, not expecting him to move that fast.
Bumblebee runs down the hill, almost falling. Soon he finds himself in the forest's heart, but the creature is nowhere to be seen. He falls to his knees, feeling empty and lost. 
“Bee?” Windblade carefully approaches him. He looks up at her and stands up. He shakes his head. There is nothing more he can say. Before they can progress, Windblade almost fell to the ground all of a sudden.
“Are you okay?” Bumblebee asks as he helps her to stand still. She looks tired.
“I’m fine but… it feels like we’ve been here for so long?” she replies, not sure how to describe the feeling. Then she sees something strange - Bumblebee is slowly changing. He’s still recognizable, but something feels off. His optics are duplicating, his horns are branching and his neck is getting longer. She stares hard at him.
“Windblade?!” Bumblebee calls for her with concern. She says nothing, only reaches for his horn to confirm what she’s seeing. Confused, he does the same as the other. “That’s strange. I don’t remember ever changing inside my dreams?” 
“I’m so exhausted.” Windblade mutters. “I never visited people’s dreams during my own sleep cycle.”
“Maybe that’s why. You’re not used to it.” Bumblebee reassures her, and himself. “Please, get some rest!”
Windblade nods and both mechs feel the pullback into his mindscape.
—--
Bumblebee appears alone in the middle of the burning chamber. Destroyed pods with protoforms scattered across the floor except one. He comes over and touches it. It’s warm and pulsing with life, but on the brink of being destroyed by the enclosing fire. 
“You must wake up!” he pleads to the cybertronian inside it. “You’re the last one. Your only chance to live is now!” 
The pod was slowly opening up like a flower, but Bumblebee didn’t see who was inside. Instead, he fell through the floor and ended up in a dark place with sparks. 
‘Collective Unconscious.’ he feels it within himself as he remembered being here.
A place no one has direct access to but him, where all the generational knowledge is stored. Every new being dreams about it, gaining basic skills and wisdom. By the moment they open their optics, they are fully formed and only need the older generations to guide them for the first 100 years. 
Bumblebee counts sparks - 321 living cybertronians surround him. His own is shining brightly, then he notices another one near it. Must be Windblade’s. It’s pulsing slowly, showing she’s asleep right now. A thin thread connects her spark to his. He gently touches it, but nothing happens, wondering what this could mean. 
Then his optic catches other threads, all leading to him. Some of them connect sparks in the distance. Bumblebee follows one until he reached a distant spark. He recognizes it immediately - Clobber. Her spark is also pulsing slowly. It's hard to resist curiosity, so he touched her spark and in the next second, he was thrown into her dream. 
Bumblebee sees the battle-worn Cybertron, distorted by the dreaming mind. He sees Clobber giving orders to shadowy figures, representing Decepticon’s air forces. 
“Megatron refused to listen to any reasoning. We won’t follow his orders any longer!” Clobber commands. He floats closer to see what was happening until she noticed him. “What’s wrong, seeker?” 
Seeker? Bumblebee examines himself to see he indeed appears to be a jet seeker, like Skywarp or Thundercracker. Just smaller and cuter. 
“Hi, Clobber!” he waves to her enthusiastically, hoping she won't be too angry with his invasion. “Sorry for intruding on your dream.”
“Huh? Are you saying you are not part of it but came from elsewhere?” her optic blinks in confusion. “I never thought it was possible. Who are you?” 
“I….” Bumblebee pauses, thinking of a reply. No Decepticon knows his real name. Although they know what ‘Ghost of Iacon’ looks like now, he still prefers to keep this information away from them. “I’m that boogiebot that everyone is afraid of!”
“You?” she neds over to carefully examine him. “I was pretty sure you aren’t a flyer. Are you here for information? If so, I no longer hold the position of second in command for a few thousand years.”
“I ended up here by accident.” Bumblebee explains. “I’m as surprised as you are. I didn't know I could do this.”
“Fascinating! I thought only cityspeakers could do that with special equipment, yet you are not her.” Clobber sits down and looks into the distance, changing the topic. “I always wondered what Cybertron used to look like before. I was forged in the war. Megatron recruited everyone coming out of the Spire. He told us how Cybertron was suffering and that their mission was to save it. Everyone believed him, including me.”
“Yet you got doubts after a while?” he sits by her side.
“I realized something wasn't adding up in his plans.” she nods. “On the surface, they made sense and should have led to our success. But the war kept dragging on for thousands of years. Our numbers were dropping, while yours stabilized and remained the same after Sentinel’s death.”
“That’s because Optimus wasn’t treating Autobots as a military faction. He made it for a different purpose and was under his control until Sentinel threw him, Jazz and Prowl into prison.” as Bumblebee talks, the surroundings changes. Sentinel’s trusted officers are leading three bots into high-security prison cells. “Had he never gained control, this war would end way sooner.”
“Ah, so that’s how it happened.” she says with an affirming hum. “I suspected as much, and that’s why I proposed a truce to Megatron. At first, he listened, but then something changed and I’m not sure what. Tried to reason, but to no avail.”
“So you left the post, I see now.” Bumblebee pauses before deciding to take his chance here. “If you want, you can join us. I would like to take as many people off this planet as possible.”
“Autobots are leaving? Smart choice.” Clobber cheers, then she turns to him.” A lot of Decepticons considered switching sides for a long time, but Megatron did a good job instilling the fear that we never are accepted and executed. Yet, I heard Rainmakers and Thundermoon assimilated nicely?”
“Yep, Thudnermoon and Acid Rain are working in Science Department, Nova Storm is hanging out with Aerialbots, and even saw Ion Storm talking a lot with Mirage.” Bumblebee smiles as the surroundings reflected his memory. Then his expression darkened slightly when Sunstreaker and Cliffjumper made an appearance. “There are those who are against, but they mostly lashing their frustration at me.”
“You? That’s ridiculous! You’re kind, even if sometimes you overdo with scaring, but you still care about people.” Clobber looks at the reflection of the yellow frontliner and the red minibot, quickly understanding why. “Well, then I and Lockdown will join Autobots to keep your abusers away from you.”
“What? Hey, that’s alright, you don't have to worry about it.” Bumblebee flails, not wanting even more people to be involved with his issues. “It’s not that bad, I promise.”
Clobber looks at him skeptically, hearing the same words that came from Lockdown’s mouth long ago. “I still repay your kindness whether you want it or not.”
“Alright, alright.” Bumblebee lets out an awkward laugh. He feels a slight pull out of this dream. Time is almost up. “One more thing: I probably won’t remember any of this, so talk to Windblade when you’ll come.”
“Okay..?” she tilts her head in confusion but decided to not question it for now.
“See you on the other side, Clobber.” he said with a smile before he vanished.
—------
After he woke up, he found his bestie in an empty cafeteria. He took the energon cube and sat with her to discuss their results. Windblade was pleased to find her plan worked. She indeed could retell Bumblebee anything she saw in his dreams, bypassing the seal this way.
He listened carefully and tried to remember. He barely has any recollection, but feelings are lingering. About Lightbright, her lantern, and the fate of cityspeakers. About politics of Functionist Era. About the night forest and someone named Starjump. About someone who is supposed to arrive, but since Windblade left earlier, she doesn't know anything about this one. 
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” he asks nervously, worrying about her.
“Yes. But I must admit, it was bizarre. At first, I thought it was because I have never done this before… but I used to spend hours in my patient’s processor. This shouldn't be that different from spending time in dreams.” she crosses her arms, thinking about a possible logical explanation.
“A slow transformation I was going through…” Bumblebee trails off, sensing this detail might be important. “Are you sure it’s safe to continue? I don’t wanna harm you by accident.”
“Bee, I’ve been in the all kinda minds, even sadistic ones, and not that bad. I have enough skills to cope with whatever I encounter. That’s my job.” she assures him, feeling confident in her skills and knowledge in the field.
“Alright, alright. But can you promise me you will get out immediately if you feel unwell?” he leans forward, trying to appear as convincing as he can despite his small size. Windblade finds this look adorable but understands his concerns are real. 
“Fine, I will promise I will leave if I feel bad.” Windblade responds and immediately sees a relief washing over his body. “To summarise - you centrally lived through Golden and possibly Functionist Eras.”
“Suddenly I feel way older.” Bumblebee laughs.” How old I would be then? Few million years?”
“Well, considering you knew Lightbright, who was forged in 230 M FE and died in 49.5 M GE, and both of you used to be close, your age would probably fluctuate between 2 and 79 million years. “
“Oh… that’s a lot…?” Bumblebee is not sure how to feel about it. Jumping from the youngest cybertronian to possibly being older than some mechs forged in Functionist Era is a strange feeling. Though he wouldn’t say it feels unnatural. 
Windblade giggles. “That explains your unusual insight on things and experience. Although, I can’t pinpoint which era your second dream would reference. Or know anything about the other person you called Starjump.”
“I suggest looking in the populace database. Sure, it must have something.” Bumblebee wonders if Optimus suspects anything about their investigation, considering how often they seek knowledge in his archives recently. 
“Yes, plus we could search for you now we have a bit more information.” Windblade looks excited. They are getting closer to the truth. “We’ll do it later, since I believe we deserve some rest. And our scouting mission. And I want my notes to be organized.”
“I can help you. With notes and your room!” he grins at her surprised expression. “No seriously, I have a few ideas on how to place your stuff you can find anything within your sight.”
“Uhhhhhhhh, I hate tidying up.” Windblade hisses at the upcoming frustration. “But okay, with you, this could be a fun activity.”
“I’ll make sure of this!” Bumblebee throws his hands in the air. 
Both mechs burst into laughter, imagining all kinds of potential fun scenarios.
------ Trivia -------
- The begging is referencing the upcoming comic “Lucidity”.
- Cybertronians always shorten years of their history timeline because count goes up to millions years. So they usually say first few digits and which era it is. So instead of saying the year of 4800000 of Golden Era, they say 4.8 M GE.
- The counting starts over with each new era. The entire history of Cybertron is around 700 millions years old. The timeline is:
Primordial Era (PE) - lasted for 300 million years;
Quintesson Era (QE) - 100 million years;
Functionist Era (FE) - 250 million years;
Golden Era (GE) - 49.5 million years;
Devastation Era (DE) - current and going for 500 thousands years.
Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated~
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alltimefail-sims · 1 year
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Bodaway Kanoska for @wildmelon's "Love at First Bite"
Admittedly, Bodaway is not great at being a vampire. Fine, scratch that: if Bodaway is being honest, he's actually not even "good" or "decent" at being a vampire and the few immortal beings he barely keeps in his microscopic circle never fail to remind him of this fact (much to his dismay). Feeding on mortals? Harrowing. The social aspect of clans and all the events that come with being a part of them? Painful at best. But immortality, as it turns out, kind of sucks when you isolate yourself for two centuries. So, yeah, perhaps it's time to take Paris and Nour up on their (years old) offer to connect Bodaway to "others like them" via a very exclusive social event in New York City.
More info (and some extra pictures) under the cut! ❤️
Commonly goes by: "Bodie" because it raises less eyebrows and is generally an "easier" name for people to pronounce and remember. That being said, he likes his full first name because it grounds him to his humanity and connects him to his Native American roots and culture. Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: "Unlabeled" (He sees a connection as a connection, he feels that gender identity wouldn't change anything and he has never given it much more thought than that!) Occult: vampire (master level with absolutely no ambition to wield any kind of power or influence in the vampire community). Age/birthday/star sign: Somewhere around 200 years old - he really stopped caring once he hit 150. He was turned around the age of 29; May 15th; Taurus Traits: loves the outdoors, loner, maker (+ some bonus gameplay-related traits such as responsible, happy toddler, etc. that relate to his life before he was a vampire). Education: finally got around to completing a high school education about 15 years ago (online, naturally). Aspiration: Outdoor Enthusiast Occupation: Currently does freelance work: refurbishing antiques and selling them, crafting furniture pieces from scratch. It's solitary work but it's soothing (and Bodaway likes working with his hands).
Some Lore:
Bodaway spent the first 50 years of his immortal existence on his own with one goal - finding the person who turned him. To confront them, to thank them... he wasn't sure. He traveled nonstop and met many vampires among many clans, but could only give them a vague description from memories formed while he was on the brink of death. Most of the interactions were dead ends and the more time that passed the more restless he became. Finally, he was advised to go to Germany and meet with noble vampires Nour and Paris who, apparently, had been alive much longer than most of their kind.
Although the Sadeks weren't able to track down the man who turned him, they were able to provide him with something much more important that he'd neglected for so long - conversation, compassion, a listening ear, and a home to stay in for a while. (I imagine Nour took a special interest in Bodaway due to him being so frail and all-consumed by anger when they met. After all, it isn't normal for a vampire to turn someone and then abandon them, leaving them to figure out immorality entirely on their own.) He hadn't realized how far he had strayed from his humanity, and he was terrified of his dark physical appearance (he was dirty, his hair unkempt, his skin had a gray pallor to it, there were even cracks forming in his skin). Although their lifestyle was vastly out of his comfort zone, it was grounding. Once he felt more like his true self, he promised he'd never go back to just feeding and surviving. He stayed with the pair for a few years, quietly minding his business and taking the much needed guidance on how to navigate his eternal existence moving forward. He's extremely thankful for everything they did for him and keeps in touch with them as much as he can manage (which for him is every few years, but what's a few years to an immortal being?).
Even after regaining some of his humanity and learning the ropes on how to be an immortal being in an ever-changing world, he still spent a lot of time viewing immortality as a disruption to the natural order. Sometimes he still sees himself as an animal, a monster even, and he deals with feelings of guilt that he evaded death while his family weren't given the same chance.
His family (5 sisters/3 brothers/mom/dad) died because of an animal attack while hunting and looking for shelter in the wrong place at the wrong time. Knowing what he knows now, he believes the attack was executed by a pair of werewolves, crazed by the full moon and set off by the presence of vampires on their turf. The small vampire clan included the man who turned him "out of compassion" when he was seconds away from death. But of course he doesn't know for certain all the details of what happened that night. At the time his family was attacked, none of them were even aware that such beings existed outside of stories and legends. He just has vague memories to go off of: markings on the fur, the uniquely enormous size of the animals, the nearly human eyes staring into him as their claws descended upon his body. He laid there, bleeding slowly and bones broken for hours...minutes? He's unsure. Then, in the early hours of the morning, he was approached by a well-dressed man with short fire red hair, freckled pale flesh, and eyes bluer than the clearest sky. The strangers eyes were clouded with unshed tears and something like uncertainty mixed with determination before he gently lifted Bodaway's head into his lap, lifted his limp wrist to his mouth, and the sting of teeth and warmth overtook him. His scars are from that attack. (Note that this doesn't impact the way he sees werewolves - he sees their instincts as no different than that of vampires or other immortal beings.)
With that being said, he does not sleep well most of the time, as he has to deal with night-terrors. He's got a lot of trauma, and he could probably benefit from speaking to a professional... but are there even vampire therapists? He's not so sure. He also is a guilty blood drinker - it exacerbates those "I'm a monster, I'm no better than the animals that killed my family" feelings. So he only drinks when absolutely necessary, and he prefers it to be with consent. But he doesn't mind drinking from blood bags - it isn't fresh, but it was ethically sourced and voluntarily given and that's good enough for him.
But he can't deny some of the benefits of his immortality - he's got inhuman strength and speed to match. Not just that, but he also has a certain charm about him that is undeniable. In his human life he faded into the background voluntarily - he's never been outgoing and he never trusted anyone enough to let his walls down completely. But ever since being turned, humans find themselves more drawn to him now (perhaps not a perk to him, but it could be for some people).
Unique to his kind, he has a reasonable resistance to sunlight (fortunate for him, a lover of the outdoors). It's a power that, in his belief, may have come from the vampire who turned him.
He lives minimally because that's really all he's ever known. His family lived simply, and he has been content with continuing that for himself. But he isn't judgmental about it: in fact, he would never look down on others who enjoy luxury or finer things because he does see the appeal. He'd be 100% open to living somewhere more lavish so long as he could do so ethically and have access to fresh air and a place to work outdoors from time to time.
He currently lives by himself in a modern, minimalist home he had built deep in a secluded area of the woods. (I imagine he lives somewhere like North Carolina, and his home looking something like this.) after his about a century he took in an enormous and gentle Rottweiler named Sunny, but he was devastated when he passed and hasn't gotten a new furry companion since. But he LOVES dogs (and all animals really). He wanted to be a veterinarian in his human life, but never pursued that after being turned. (But it's never too late, he hasn't closed that door completely!)
Because he is well traveled and has spent most of his life in isolation, clanless, he has had a handful of partners over the years - all human. But his relationships were never serious and he would intentionally keep them at arms length. He has always resisted opportunities for love, in part because he doesn't know if he deserves to be loved... but also out of fear for losing someone he loves. He already finds eternal existence to be a foreboding thing, but trying to do that with a broken heart seems like an impossible and cruel punishment to endure.
He's stayed away from dating other vampires as he's always dealt with the ethical quandary of believing he's a monster. So I think it would be kind of poetic and scary for him, falling in love with someone who shares the thing he detests in himself - because when Bodaway loves someone, truly, he would worship them. He doesn't see their faults. I think of this quote: "When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it." (poem here). And this would completely shake his view of himself. It would change so much for him.
Lastly, I will leave you with some lighter facts: I would describe him as rigid, quiet, and reserved around strangers and acquaintances but passionate, intense, loyal, and soft around those he loves. His favorite color is green. Physical touch & words of affirmation are his love language. He loves all outdoor activities (swimming, hiking, fishing, etc.) and is obviously very crafty (especially with woodworking). His tattoo is symbolic of a family heirloom (a broach passed down to each eldest daughter) and because his sisters and mother passed in the attack, he kept it but wears it in the form of his tattoo (it lives on with his immortal body). He was the oldest child in his family. Chocolate cosmos are his favorite flower.
ALRIGHT, I AM DONE. Whew. I'm so sorry, this is why I don't make occults often. I love lore, I eat occult backstories uppppppppp. You can take the girl out of her middle school vampire phase, but you can't take the middle school vampire phase out of the girl.
Below are 3 full body shots (everyday, formal, underwear/sleep) and a picture of the scars and tattoos on his back!
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Private DL if chosen!
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cramoisin · 1 year
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୭ ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐎𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 , 𝑷𝑬𝑶𝑷𝑳𝑬 𝑨𝑹𝑬: ᴀ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ ﹒ ᵎ ➶ . ˚ ༉‧
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⠀⠀⠀in this retrospective piece; i, rime, will be giving you a new perspective on vladimir as a character. as you may already know, vladimir’s a wretched person. but how deep does this wretchedness go? the quick answer is; very, down to his core. it is obvious if you just take a gander at him for a bit, no matter how chivalrous he acts around others to maintain appearances.
⠀⠀⠀he offers his hand to people so he can sink his claws into them with ease. but his claws do not grow from his own flesh, he wears faux ones with pride. why? the very touch of life, when it’s not loving, corrupts people; especially someone like vladimir. everyone and everything became expendable to him, a stepping stone, whence he came to be as such by the treachery of his father, except for power.
⠀⠀⠀this betrayal in the name of protecting camavor is one of his first memories that remains from his first life. the darkins put their trust in him, some loved him even, but being above everyone as a prince to becoming nothing more than a servant to one of these beings—a corrupt god’s wishes was something he could not stomach. for the life of him, he couldn’t and still cannot wrap his head around why it had to be him amongst his brethren to be condemned to such fate. the sorrow does not haunt him for too long, at least not in his first life from the many he gets to live, for he had been granted the power to seek revenge then. whether the corruption that the darkin festered was contagious or not, it didn’t take long to influence his young and burdened heart. alas, the massacre he caused and the blood of his father in his hands was nothing but a hollow victory. he was still under the patronage of the darkin. he still had a long way to go before he could even think of laying a hand on them, he wasn’t adept in this magic like they were.
⠀⠀⠀just like any other sentient organism, it doesn’t take long for the darkin to turn on one another, once again reminding vladimir of the cruel reality. it was one truth amidst many others, but the only one he could see. relying on others, any sense of fellowship is nothing, but a falsehood concocted to make things easier for oneself, he reckoned. the master that taught him the very magic he wields had told him he ought to lead lesser hostages and his armies for his defense, and was instead ‘killed’ by vladimir’s hands. he gained naught but a fraction of his master’s power, which was more than enough, as the taste of immortality is an unrivaled power for a mortal body. the more power he held, the less expendable he became, creating the megalomaniac vladimir we know today.
⠀⠀⠀when he says people are toys, it doesn’t come as a surprise, of course he thinks of them as such. he doesn’t know a world where the circumstances are different, and to him, he’s simply playing the same game everyone’s playing; just better at it than others. he uses his words, acts in ways that he knows will bring whatever he wants out of people. coax it out of them if he must, as long as everything unravels however he wants. is everyone just a toy to him? not quite.
⠀⠀⠀when he becomes fond of someone, they slowly become more human, and less so at the same time. the word ‘human’ doesn’t quite correspond with the same connotation it does in our minds to him, as he lost his own humanity a long time ago, but humane is what these people have become to him. even if they can bring him more power, he doesn’t see them as a gateway to achieve more power, but their own people, individuals who have their own ambitions; with feelings that transcends them, decades, and sometimes centuries unlike people he deems as toys.
⠀⠀⠀he talks less to these people, doesn’t even bother with them often as he doesn’t find it in him to exploit and deceive them. his barbaric ways have completely severed his social skills beyond trickery that he cannot have a heart to heart conversation with a loved one unless they completely take the reign of the colloquy for him, lead him through it. he is most definitely not lacking in syntax or semantics to express himself, he merely does not know how to use words, act tactfully when it’s not for gain or to make the other person yield to him.
⠀⠀⠀he is, by no doubt, a villain. but he is not heartless, which inherently makes him truly rotten, twisted, and even perverted to his core. everything he does is with aforethought, as perceived, with full awareness, whether it morally aligns with others’ ethics or not. he can be pacified, but cannot be ‘corrected’, for he knows what is wrong with his ways. he is a miserable being, and will do anything to stay that way as long as it means he stays on top.
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thecatastrophic · 2 years
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Gruvia Week 2022 — Fantasy
Don't want no other shade of blue but you.
A vast layer of clouds concealed the gravel-grey sky like a blanket as the cold breeze whispered a promise of beguiling petals of water to shower upon the land of Fiore, the heavens anguishing over the doom of their beloved maiden.
The harsh texture of the brick ground that she was kneeling to crashed through her rough pale skin, magical shackles chained around her wrists as to restrain her from casting her magic which was futile since she had lost it a long time ago, to be concisely, it was forcibly sucked out of her.
Her mesmerizing orbs of midnight-blue was devoid of any gleams, splotches of scarlet tainting her face and her uneven short hair clung to her rosy cheeks like a leech, serving as a reminder that her once lustrous curls of cerulean that her deceased mother took pride of was gone.
She was Juvia Lockser, the beauteous daughter of Count Lockser, who betrayed her lineage's tradition to be an elite healer; instead, she flew beyond fate's control and at such a young age, acquired the title of Rain Fairy — one of the captain under The Knights of Fairy Tail, whose troupe specializes in the sea. Peasants and even aristocrats feared her for her peculiar water-wielding abilities, idolized for exuding elegance that most women were devoid of, had vile men shrinking in despair and panic for her swift and precise archery.
The heavy footsteps of the man that would end her life echoed sharply on her ears, yet she made no move to look up at him — she couldn't stand the sight of him or the aristocrats circling around her death space; relishing in glory for her divine punishment. The knight behind her as if sensing her disinterest grasp her hair harshly, forcing her to meet the gaze of the soon to be king.
The cool breeze touched Gray's perfectly groomed raven hair, his built figure embraced in an ivory suit adorned with opulent golden braids, a draping cloak over his back and the royal jewellery that she had enchanted with her magic dangling from his neck as if he wasn't the cause of her misfits.
If she could only go back in time; she would never pour her love to him. She could have escaped these misfits and never had her fate intertwined with the crowned prince. Her midnight voids grew wistful as lingering memories of her afterglows with her beloved awash her mind.
ੈ ❅ ༉
At the age of seventeen; Lady Erza Scarlet woven the red strings of Prince Gray and Lady Juvia's fate.
Beneath the vast painting of clear blue skies and the celestial globe of fire casting warmth into Prince Gray and Lady Juvia's skins as their magic infused swords clashed against one another — the two was engaged in a dance of fierce duel under the intense surveillance of the Titania.
The blue-haired noble's midnight-like pools glinted with the aspiration to win as she blocked his majesty's powerful strikes with the flat of her blade — the crowned prince must never be underestimated, he lived up to his reputation, truly a force to be reckoned with. With those hypnotizing icy-blue eyes sparkling with amusement behind his unruly strands of dark raven hair, pointed nose and that sinister smirk on his sexy lips; with a snap of his fingers, she could be under his mercy if he truly desires to.
"Juvia, focus on your match," the furious voice of her devilish friend and the captain of the knights, Erza, tore through the air.
Juvia backed away from her royal foe to catch the breath she didn't know she was holding. In terms of sheer strength and weapon mastery, there was no guarantee that she could win, for the reason that Prince Gray had long mastered the art of sword combat plus archery was more of her forte, but then again, this wasn't a duel that needs to be won by strength; it was more of analyzation and deception.
The young lady of the House Lockser may lack in brawn but Prince Charming wasn't fast nor calculative.
"One more minute," rang the voice of the Fairy Queen as she took a glimpse of the time in the golden clock necklace placed in her armoured fingers.
Adrenaline coursing through the water-wielder's veins, she tightened her hold on the hilt of her magical sword and closed the meter distance between them, elegantly swinging her blade to the prince's left arm. However, the royalty has seemed to read her mind and swiftly intercepted her hit.
The sound of their weapons clashing against one another serves as music to their ears, deep blue fires flickering in each other's eyes and glistening sweat trickling down their smooth skin, they untwined their swords, both had the phenomenal lust for victory.
The noble woman grits her teeth as she thought of a plan to deceive the royalty, there's not much time left and she figured she had to take her chances — it's now or never. Feigning a strike of her steel at his majesty's neck; his quick reflexes forced him to ducked down warily just as she calculated, his grip on the hilt of his weapon faltering for a moment which gave her an opening.
Juvia conjured up her water magic to her sword, crashing her blade against his steel with the tiny bit of strength that she has, sending his weapon flying to the ground with a clang. Taking advantage of the confusion clouding the prince's eyes and his vulnerable position; with her serene features engaging a sly smile on her pouty lips, she thrust the tip of her magic-infused sword at his throat — almost piercing the royalty, had she not halt a few centimetres away from his soft skin.
"Juvia wins this round," the deafening sound of Erza's armoured fingers smashing together echoed in the tense air as she claps repeatedly.
The intense icy-blue of Gray's eyes danced with mischievous amusement and adoration as a tinge of golden hue beamed on Lady Juvia's angelic face. With a boyish smile on his rosy lips, he murmured his compliments lowly just for the water-mage to hear, "You are beautiful."
A healthy tint of crimson dusted the young lady's cheeks as her judgement told her to be wary of the Casanova prince.
At the age of eighteen; Prince Gray and Lady Juvia wrote their destiny upon themselves underneath the glow of the sprinkled moon dust in the infinite sky.
A velvet ceiling of midnight blue festooned with shooting stars and the crescent moon reflected in Lady Juvia's luminous eyes as she gawked at the sky from the balcony of the castle. The mesmerising Luna gifted a straight path of light in the deep ocean; the sound of the foamy waves crashing against the boulder gave her a sense of belonging and comfort.
The noble woman felt a proud presence walking closer towards her which she had grown familiar to for quite some time now, a sweet smile emerging on her crimson-painted lips. She turned around to meet the royalty's captivating gaze, and curtsied, "Greetings, Your Majesty," she spoke in a serene tone.
There was no denying that the crowned prince riled up women's imagination and sending them to oblivion with his jaded smiles, even with his unruly hair, and plain white tunics, he managed to look dashing which is quite unfair. However, as he was sauntering towards her in his wool suit that the best tailor in the continent had woven and with an expensive cloak draping over his broad shoulders, gloved fingers trying to tousle his neatly styled raven-hair, Mavis, not even the best of words could describe his beauty.
Chivalrously, the prince kneeled before her, taking a hold of her gloved hand, and bringing it upon his gentle lips. With an endearing smile plastered on his handsome face, he stood up, "My lady, I am truly enchanted by your beauty tonight."
The soothing glow of the moonlight graced Juvia's angelic features adorned with a light glamorous makeup, lustrous cerulean hair tumbled down her back in a cascade of adorable waves. She had a look that could be of royalty in the tight embrace of her exquisite gown made with the finest laces and garments in the kingdom; its shade rivalling the pale blue of the winter sky sparkled with diamonds on the sweetheart corset.
To be truthful, she felt perfectly fine sheathed in an enticing armour caked in sparkles and gems and she loved herself like this — beaming with grace and elegance.
"Juvia feels honoured, Prince Gray," a tint of roseate spread throughout her cheeks. "What is the Prince doing out here in the balcony?" she inquired, with a tilt of her head making her curls flow with the evening breeze.
A light blush dusted the crowned prince's cheeks as he scratched his left cheek lightly — she had never seen the usual composed royalty to be this flustered. "You see, I could not find you on the banquet during the first dance, so I was thinking," he says in a deep raspy voice laced with a hint of anxiety as he held out his hands, "May I have this dance?"
Does he mean, like right here?
A loose strand of hair tumbled on her cheek and she almost tuck it behind her ear had she not remember what her governess taught her about being a fine lady, "Yes," she spoke in quiet tone trying not to lost her graceful composure. "Juvia would love to, Your Majesty," she laid her trembling hands on his awaiting ones, a yelp almost escaping her hearty lips when he twirled her around and drew her closer towards him, resting his fingers on her slender waist.
Underneath the harmonious glow of the celestial bodies and the fanciful melody of the ocean's heartbeat; they swayed for a few minutes, then soon got lost to the rhythm of gentle waves. The gleam on Gray's mesmerising glacial-blue irises as their eyes met gave her the sensation of drowning in the cold deathly waters yet it warmed her heart that was pulsating in her chest like a raging storm.
"Juvia," her name tumbled out of his lips, his voice raspy. A flicker of intense shivers ran through Juvia's nerves upon feeling the crowned prince's lips grazing her temple. Her gloved adorned fingers grasp tightly on his shoulder then slid through his heaving chest when he whispered into his ears, "Is this alright?"
"Y-yes," she barely managed to say, cherishing the moment that would soon enough turn into a faraway memory.
The ice-wielder tucked the loose locks of cerulean that was clinging to her rose-tainted cheek behind her ornamented ear, thinking that it was obstructing her ethereal features, his slender fingers tracing down her cheek to the side of her defined jaw. "How about this?" his voice was laced with seduction as his lips hovering above her flushed cheek.
The only feasible thing that the blue-haired female could do was nod at his antics; long gone was the courageous archer that had ruled the raging ocean.
The crowned prince disentangled his big fingers from her leaned ones, clutching her wrist then trailing it down his left pectoral wherein she could feel the fast beating of his heart against her dainty fingers making her breath hitch and mind clouded with haze.
A glint of delightful anticipation flickered on the pale blue of his eyes when his gaze shifted to her red-coated lips. During his lonely evenings, he revelled into the thought of her lips would feel against his, wondered if these gorgeous pairs would taste as sweet as luxury like he always imagined — there was only one way to find out. His fingers that was resting on the side of her jaw traced the path towards the corner of her sensual lips, "How about here? Would it be alright?"
"No," the word of rejection tumbled out of her hearty lips without thinking about the consequences such as the excruciating pain boring in her heart.
A bolt of courage surge through Lady Juvia's heated body; maybe it was the radiance of the Luna or the relaxing melody of her betrothed ocean. "Y-yes, it's fine. Gray," she murmured his given-name for the very first time in history, her sweet voice was laced with intense love; there was no stupid honorifics — it was just him. Just Gray.
Tangled in each other's arms — the crowned prince sealed the gap between their faces along with the agonizing distance between their hearts; the moment that their soft lips locked against each other — Gray and Juvia had never felt so pure and vulnerable until this treasurable moment.
Gray tangled his fingers on her azures waves, intoxicated by her fruity taste, he gravitated her closer towards him as if their close proximity wasn't quite enough. Juvia stood on her tip-toes against the beige marble floor, responding with the same hungry fervour that her lover was giving her.
There were no tingle of electric sparks surging through their veins nor fairies swarming inside their stomachs unlike the popular novels that Lady Lucy had published. To be truthful, the magic that they experienced could not be compared to those hopeless romantic novels. As their mouths entangled against each other — the agonizing pain of their threadbare hearts that has been confined by a poisonous ice has been thawed.
The need for oxygen had dominated their system rather than the desire to drown and be inebriated in the sweet taste of their respective lover's lips, with a disgruntled moan, the couple half-heartedly broke away from each other, swollen lips hovering a few centimetres away from one other just to drew enough air for their lungs.
Heart racing against his left pectoral in synchronization with the rhythm of his woman's heart. The royal prince tightened his hold on her in his strong arms as if she would fade if he let didn't embrace her firmly, he rested his flushed face on her shoulder to hid his vulnerability. "Dearest Juvia," he spoke in soft tones, "I feel like you're special to me."
Gray's honey-laced words engaged a genuine smile on her perfectly moisturized lips, she threw her lean arms around his big frame as she buried her angelic face on his silky raven hair, the sweet scent of snow and home evading her senses, "No words could describe how special Gray is to Juvia."
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The royalty charmingly kneeled before her, his irises that were woven with threads of ocean blue dancing with hers, bringing his hands to her face to touch her bruised cheeks, he whispered in her ears hoarsely, "I love you," she could feel the sincerity in his words despite the hint of pain laced in his voice.
The prince embraced her trembling figure in his strong arms, burying her blood painted face in his chest wherein she could listen to the faint beating of his evil-tarnished heart. "I love you, I truly do," the feeling of Gray's soft lips gracing the crown of her head as he speaks softly loosened the string that was holding her defences.
In that fleeting moment; the chains that she built to restrain her emotions and protect her bleeding heart has been abolished.
"I loathe you," an enormous feeling of agony clouded her tears-stained blue eyes. "Juvia l-loathes you so much that no words could describe how much she despises even just the sight of y-you, the sight that she used to loved," she spat with venom tainting her weakened voice.
"D-do you know what Juvia loathes the most? Juv—I loathe myself, G-gray," she felt her already broken heart crumbling down into an unamendable fragment as her next words escaped her quivering lips, "Juvia l-loathes herself for feeling guilty b-because she had come to the point wherein she regrets u-us," she paused as her lungs screamed for even the tiniest bit of air, "S-she regrets our cherished memories and our hearts that used to beat wildly as o-one."
An agonizing strain pierce deeply in her heart as tears that seemed to burned her skin streamed down her cheeks. Despite the anguish and the miseries that he had caused her; Juvia forced to move her aching arms to return his hug. She revelled in the comforting embrace of the strong arms that held her during the nights when nightmares haunt her in her sleep, the same arms that was destined to end the life that he promised to protect.
"Juv—I," the rain fairy closes her eyes as she cherished this final moment with him, "I love you to the oceans and back." Her doe eyes beneath her velvety lashes sincerely gazing at him as she whispered the words that was buried in her breaking heart — the words that her lover deserved to hear for the last time, "I truly do."
In the depth of his icy eyes, there held the radiance of the sun that cast warmth into her soul — if she was fated to meet her death in the hands of her lover — at the very least she had this beautiful moment to take in her afterlife.
Gray's chiselled features engaged a melancholy smile as he memorized every bit of this pure being; her cascade of cerulean hair that reminded him of the ocean waves, the ferocity of those storm surging behind those midnight irises of her, cheeks and plump lips with the colour of roses and her ivory skin that looked so fragile yet so soft in his touch.
The beat of high-heeled shoes clicking against the pavement and the infuriating whisperings of the aristocrats delighting in one's destructions reverberated through the air. "May I ask why it this imbecile in your tight embrace, Gray?" Queen Mika hovered before the two broken figures, her bewitching burgundy gown complimented her snow-white skin and long silky raven-hair clung to her skin like a second skin. The powerful energy that she emanates could make even the strongest person dread for their life, she lived up to her cruel aura, a complete contrary to the kind emperor. This woman was a daredevil who revelled in the misfits of other.
The crowned prince despite not wanting to let go had to execute his duty as the future ruler of this hideous realm dashingly stood up from his kneeling position. His eyes burned red as anger flashed before those globes; yet it did not faze the woman. "I was just saying goodbye to her, Your Grace," he clenched his defined jaw, throughout his entire existence, he had been forbidden to call her mother.
The cold-hearted woman bored her flaming-ruby eyes to the blue-haired woman as the fugitive murdered her with her piercing stare. Arching a sophisticated eyebrow, she spoke, "Is that so? In that case, it would be my honour to also bid my goodbye to her," she elegantly whirled her ornamented fan towards the figure kneeling before her, the pointed tips scratching her cheek. "Until we meet again, Lady Juvia," a sinister laugh tumbled out of her crimson-painted lips, "May the execution begin."
"Lady Juvia Lockser," the sound of her name coming out of the prince's quivering lips sounds so foreign. "The sole heir of the now dishonoured House of Lockser," his voice cracked, "As per the good Queen of Fiore's divine order, you are to be executed for the heinous crimes," the next words that escaped his mouth are nothing but falsity created by these absurd nobility, wicked excuse of a royalty, and that includes that damned witch.
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At the age of nineteen; the red string that locked Prince Gray and Lady Juvia's hearts has been tainted with poison ivy.
Pearls of cold ivory cascaded down from the Earth's surface as mother nature painted the land with the coldest of colours. The dense air of winter bears the comforting aroma of burning pinecones; Lady Juvia nestled deeper in the concrete sit of the window, from the lonely tower that she was held as a captive, the sight of the ocean water frozen in a thin sheet of ice broke her heart — because for the first time since her history began; she could not rule the water anymore.
As the cold breeze whirled around her, snowflakes clung on her unevenly-cut hair that reaches just below her chin which she despises the most. She held her palm open to the sky to catch to catch a petal of ice, yet a few seconds have gone by, the snow seemed to avoid the fugitive's open palm; just as she was losing her faith — a lonesome snowflake grazed her hand.
A ghost of melancholy smile flashed on her pale lips as she enclosed the snowflake in her palms and brought it to her lips, closing her sunken eyes and praying to the Gods residing in Mount Celestial.
Heavens, please remove the shackles of the devil confining my beloved Gray's heart.
The lady of the now-distorted clan of Lockser leaned her head on the brick behind her, gaze shifting to the pristine white covered land from beneath her, tears began to pool in her eyes as dreadful thoughts ate up her right judgements; if she jumped from this eerie tower, would her despair and agony came to an end?
Cold tears escaped from her midnight-blue globes, sliding down her bruised cheeks and cascading down the pages of her diary that was resting on her lap, trembling fingers tracing the words inked on her journal wherein she kept the memories and the feelings that her mind and beating heart would one day soon forget.
Dear diary,
The month of April wherein the sweet scents of blooming flowers evaded Juvia's senses, the perfect month where people get intoxicated in love; the sight of her beloved broke her heart.
The radiance of the golden flame from the fireplace casted a dim glow on the darkened castle bedroom, Lady Juvia cradled the unconscious prince cushioned in her lap, as he lay unmoving before the fireplace — his body for the first time was searching for a source of heat despite the spring season; her only sense of comfort that her lover would be alright was his steady breathing as he held her in lean arms.
Her tearstained midnight-blue irises traced the evil markings tainting his pale skin, those marks slowly painting a discoloration towards his bare stomach. The blue-haired female trailed her hands towards his fingers that were agonizingly cold to the touch, before encasing their fingers together, bringing it to her trembling lips. Her mind delving back to her conversation with the dark-purple haired lady.
The relaxing atmosphere of the castle's garden made the archer feel at ease with the company of the foreign and eerie woman who claimed to found the unconscious prince in the ruins of Hakobe. "Why do you want to converse with Juvia?" she asked trailing behind her.
Ultear halted from her hasty steps, plucking a crimson rose on the bushes and bringing it upon her pointed nose. "His Majesty's is in danger," she started her speech, her forefinger playing with the thorns that was adorning the stem of the flower. "His heart has been tainted with evil," she paused when her forefinger began to bleed, a ghost of a smile emerging from her magenta-coated lips, "In exchange for great power, a devil has been residing inside his body."
Her onyx pupils dilated and seemed to flee from the expanding whites of her eyes, the feeling of dread began to build up inside her chest and piercing deeply into her heart. "How does Ultear have these certain knowledge?" she hid her despair in a calm convincing tone.
"I had to watch my mother become consumed by this great power," a forlorn smile formed on her lips, the crimson rose reflected in her empty pools of fiery-red.
"Juvia apologizes, she does not mean to—"
The water-wielder's speech had been disrupted with Ultear's cold forefinger hovering above her heart-shaped lips, brushing her black coated fingernails through her silky curls, she placed the rose on her hair as an ornament. With a sinister smirk emerging on her fierce features, "Just between us, Lady Juvia," she leaned towards the blue-haired girl to whisper in her ear, a cold wave embalmed the archer as she felt the hairs on her back stand up upon Ultear's next words, "Would you believe me if I told you that there is a cure?"
The consistent streaming of liquid cascading down from Lady Juvia's melancholy bloodshot eyes burned her rosy cheeks, trailing down towards the sleeping figure of Prince's Gray, creating a wet spot on the side of his bruised cheek. "Juvia promises to find the cure that Gray needs," she spoke with fierce determination lacing her voice.
With her powerful water magic swirling around them like a tornado, a water blade grasped firmly on her quivering fingers, she slashed the elemental blade on her wrist. She hovered her blood stained wrist above Gray's insignia of royalty, whispering words of enchantment as blood trickled down from her slender arm towards his pendant. Within a few seconds, his plain pendant had been adorned with an aquamarine gem that would provide him the water-wielder's strength.
"Gray, please wake up," the blue-haired mage leaned down towards the asleep figure in her lap, her curtain of cerulean curls lightly grazing his face as she delicately brushed her peach lips against his forehead, "I love you to the oceans and back."
Dear Diary,
The month of May wherein the Kingdom of Fiore rejoices the growth of plants and spring harvest; the Empire of Alvarez was devoid of any jubilation — those evil voids gleaming in frightening ruby-red hue haunts Juvia every time she closes her eyes.
The lemony hues from the rays of the sun wafting through the iridescent windows as a traumatic silence engulfed the throne room; the sunlight served as her solace while she was on a foreign empire; those rays meant that she and her beloved were beneath the glow of the same celestial globe of fire.
Behind her thick mask of ferocity hid the emotion of anxiety brewing inside her being, yet she refused to avert her dark-blue orbs from the young man nestling comfortably in the throne as if a simple gaze would faze someone like him; the emperor of Alvarez who was reeking with an enormously distasteful amount of ethernano that made her petrified on her kneeling position before him.
The onyx irises of the emperor blaze with a fiery-red hue as the book of END materialized in his hand from mere dust. "The book of END was the strongest catalyst from my works, behind these pages hid a demon and you are claiming that this mere book could cure your cursed prince? Fascinating," his voice was surprisingly relaxed but there was a hint of danger lurking behind those calm words. "What would I gain in return in exchange of this book?" he stood up from his comfortable chair, ambling closer towards her, every step he took was dangerously frightening.
"A declaration of peace between the two conflicting ki—argh!" the blue-haired foreigner sank on her stomach as she felt a tremendous wave sinking her deeper on the ivory rug.
"Peace was never an option," no remorse was dancing in the emperor's eerie voids of ruby but a glint of amusement. The dark-haired man knelt before the aching foreigner, yanking her cerulean waves upwards to meet the storm brewing behind those enraged midnight orbs sparked an emotion he never expected to feel after a hundred years. Rough fingers grasping tracing the details of her petrified face, he leaned in towards her gems adorned ear to whisper his proposal that she would not be able to escape.
Dear diary,
The month of July wherein the Sun should be singing in joy, the first thunderstorm pelted down upon the Kingdom of Fiore to the return of Juvia.
A vast blanket of tar-black concealed the sky as grey wools camouflaged the once shining sun as crystal tears descended into the port of Hargeon, the harsh rainstorm slicing through the thick air bears emotions of anguish and despair as the roaring thunder and crackling lightning's lusted for destruction.
Enormous tidal waves laced with an inhumane ethernano crashed against the shore, holing up the pesky citizens crowding around the large wooden beams planted in the blood-soaked sand with the clan governing the land of Hargeon gruesomely crucified to death — the Locksers.
A deluge of silvery tears escaped from her darkened orbs, the bright blob of sparkle in those irises was replaced with torment and heartbreak.
An ear-piercing scream echoed into the land as a surge of magic power emanating from Lady Juvia split the sea behind her into two; selfishly drowning hard-working sailors in her wrath — a crime that would be recorded in the history as the most elegant way of conveying mass murder wherein no hint of blood had tainted the land but pure water sneaking its way into their lungs and restricting their air passages.
The red-stained liquids tainted the Book of END in her arms, weakened limbs scraping against the sand as she crawled in her best towards the pole where her cruel father was held captive and dead; the man who disowned her was hanged on the beam with ice shackles bounding his neck and icicles piercing deeply into his throat. Leaking from that cruel sorcery were remnants familiar magic power that made her aching heart bled with poison.
Lost within the depths of agony, she paid no heed to the sound of metal clashing against metal as the armoured figured ambled towards her, hauling her in a bone-crushing embrace. Luminous voids gleaming with tears as she met the anxious gaze of her best friend, she forced herself to speak, but only a word tumbled out of her lips yet laced with so much intensity, "W-why?"
"While you were away, conspiring with the Alvarez Empire against the Kingdom of Fiore, your father murdered King Silver," Lady Erza's voice cracked, a single tear sliding down her right orb as she let go of the hug, crying for the misfits that her best friends were about to experienced, despite her knowing that these claims being thrown at her were pure falsity created by this absurd society. Her eyes shifted to the book resting in the sand, a bolt of electricity of trailing down her nerves as she read the title, "Juvia, h-how and why did you have that book?"
The mourning lady picked up the said and book and cradled it like a child, a curtain of cerulean bangs concealed the disgust that flickered in her eyes as memoirs of her stay in Alvarez replayed in her mind, "T-this book can cure G-gray," a strangled cry escaped her lips for the wicked way of death that he bestowed upon her father, "U-ultear, s-she told Juvia—" before she could even finish her words, Erza held her shoulder, armoured fingers sinking deeply into her skin.
"Juvia," the colour drained from the Titania's ears as dread washed over her, "Ultear died five years ago."
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Her eyes burn the darkest of blue flames as her midnight-blue orbs with his voids of glacial-blue or to put it precisely, those voids are glinting with the shade that lusted for bloodshed along with the disastrous marks engulfing his skin.
He unsheathed his fine and reputedly dangerous sword infused with devilish ice magic that seems to burn his soul and his right judgements. With no hint of remorse nor sympathy in his handsome features, the sting in her heart made her realize that this creature before her wasn't her Gray anymore — it was the devil tainting his one's pure heart. He pointed the sharp tip of the weapon directly at his lover's throat giving her the feeling of strong sense of Deja vu, "Do you have a last wish?"
The ferocity dancing in Lady Juvia's globes of midnight-blue made the devil before her fling his fingers to his right eye as if he was losing control of this vessel; her dangerous eyes gleaming with anger conveyed the words that she wanted to say, her last wish.
I want you to set Gray free.
A hint of anxiety surge through the blue-haired lady's being as the thought of her beloved having his future taken away from him by the devil residing inside his body haunts her until her last moments. The blue-haired noble masked her angst behind a sweet smile forming on her pale lips, "Juvia is glad she met Gray, you are a pure soul in this cruel life," her luminous orbs locked with her lover's deep voids, a flicker of glacial hues glowing behind those blazing red.
In exchange of her miserable life; she prayed to Mavis to please set her beloved prince free from the shackles of this demon that is the epitome of evil — this is her last prayer.
Lady Juvia squeeze her eyes shut as a cold gust of wind from the magic-infused blade rushed towards her vulnerable neck; she readied herself for the unbearable blow of the sharp steel etching on her skin that would slice her head from her neck. The water sorcerer waited for her agonizing death to be bestowed upon her, a fair payment for the pure souls that had been held as forever prisoners in the depth of the raging ocean from her outburst.
A series of hysterical shrieks reverberated through the dense air, curiosity and anxiety dancing in her mind as to what caused these turmoil lingering in these individuals' roars, she flicked her oceanic eyes open and the blue-haired prisoner, herself, joined in the wails of the spectators; the only contrast was that her tear-stained globes of midnight-blue and her dying soul cried in despair, so deafening that no high-pitched piercing shriek escaped from her quavering lips as she stared, aghast and wide-eyed, in the tragedy before her.
Buried acutely in Prince Gray's abdomen is the blood-thirsty sword that was bound to silence her, petrifying liquid of bright red gushed out from his agape lips in time with the fast and painful pounding of Lady Juvia's heart against her ribs. A heavy flow of blood was leaking out from his midsection, tainting his pristine-white clothing and his hands that were locked firmly in the hilt of his steel.
The heavens declared its wrath with a fiery lightning igniting the infinite sky, representing the cosmic power of their anguishing maiden with buckets and buckets of crystal tears pelting down the land with no remorse to those who would be caught in a deadly deluge. Blue eyes stared in bewilderment at the magical sword sheathed in Gray's abdomen busted into tiny fragments, with a tired yet satisfied smile etched on his darkened lips, he descended into the red-tainted bricks and bloodied arms drawing Juvia in an embrace.
"I-i c-could never," the crowned prince spoke in his weak and perishing voice, his dying soul barely hanging on a thin tearing thread, "t-take y-your l-life aw—" before he could even finish his words, he felt the miniscule amount of air being sucked tortuously out of his lungs, the faint and slow beating of his heart coming to an end, mesmerising glacial-blue eyes closing to eternal slumber.
The radiance that gleam in her midnight-blue orbs faded as feelings laced with agony engulfed her heart in incurable throes. Shards of icicles thrust deeply into her heart, bleeding black as the devil's sole with the realisation that joy had forever escaped her, leaving her in a vast void wherein she would never be able to see the sight of the beautiful sun in the clear blue sky.
"N-no, please no!" a deluge of tears deserted from her chaotic eyes, desperately sucking in breaths between exasperated sobs, hands continuously shaking her deceased lover nestled in her weakened arms as if that would awaken him from the forever coma that had engulfed his soul. Her being is in so much incurable shambles, an uproarious cry of anguish and despair escaped her numb lips; so intense that the betrothed rain gifted a surge of powerful ethernano came towards her, creating a water globe to protect her and Gray from the cruelty of the world.
Without Gray, her world is nothing but gloomy rain and darkest of shades grey skies.
Lady Juvia manipulated her lingering water magic veiled in the aquamarine stone of her prince's royalty insignia, casting the only lethal magic that she had learnt from her elite clan of healers. She leant down towards Gray, touching her forehead with his blood-soaked one as she abolished the oxygen within their cage and let the deadly poison engulfed the water globe.
At the age of twenty; the red string that binds Prince Gray and Lady Juvia's fate broke as remnants of their souls fused with the turbulent oceans.
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A/N. My entry for @gruviaweek day two prompt which is Fantasy. English isn't my native language so please if I have mistakes, kindly enlighten me. As some of you may have noticed, this one shot is inspired by Genshin. A review would be amazing, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
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aetheternity · 1 year
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Do you ever think of Venti lore and you’re in the mood for angst? Because I did that and I realized that Venti took the nameless bard’s appearance and his occupation, but Venti fights with a bow. And the bard didn’t wield a weapon. But he was killed by arrows. And I just- Is this Venti’s idea of vengeance or of honor?
What’s even more curious is that the skyward catalyst says he was a catalyst user briefly before he took up the bow. Was he originally repulsed by the bow and needed to use something else before he felt prepared to use it? Why bother to tell us something so seemingly insignificant if they’re not going to explain why they chose to reveal it.
But let’s be honest, even when we do get more Venti lore it probably won’t be about Mondstadt’s beginnings. They’ve already touched on that and they’ve probably got bigger more important things to cover. But that doesn’t keep me from wanting to know more. About everything I just mentioned. About Venti. How did he feel ascending to godhood right after his friend’s death? Did he have proper time to grieve his friend before having to shift into his new role? Did he like being a god and having a humanoid form or did he prefer being a wisp? What were his initial thoughts about being an archon, about Mondstadt and it’s people? What were their thoughts on him? They just killed their tyrant god and another one shows up like two seconds later and Celestia just declares that he’s their archon now. Were they angry? Suspicious? Did Venti immediately do something to win over their trust? What made the newly freed people of old Mondstadt love Barbatos so much? Were they somehow convinced that he helped with the revolution? DID he actually help with the revolution (because the lore is really vague about that) gaining his new form after his friend died but before Decarabian did and then finished him off? What was the nameless bard’s name anyway? Did he not actually have one? Or did Venti forget it with time because everything succumbs to erosion eventually like Zhongli said?
Idk I’m just really passionate about Mondstadt, hoyo pls care about it too I need more!
You know what's funny I actually was having a Venti lore discussion with Luna (Ventisslut) not that long ago. We were talking about that angst headcanon that's like: Venti likes to sit in the hands of the Barbatos statue because it reminds him of when nameless bard used to hold him. And she sent me this cute little video of Venti as a wisp with nameless bard and the entire life story of Venti in an animatic from being a little wisp to his friend dying and then him actually becoming a bard and the way he processed his grief. I believe she reblogged the video so if you want you might be able to find it on her page. Also the fandom likes to call Venti's friend Himmel and I like that name very German. Very cute.
Tbh I find the stuff about him once being a catalyst user so amazing because his fighting style really does feel like a catalyst user and then if he did pick up the bow out of some kind of self justice of some sort I wonder if he ever feels powerful holding something that uses similar mechanics to his friends eventually demise.
What I want is the little things like Venti hatching baby Dvalin. And his possible friendship with Andrius before he became a spirit. Maybe the anime will answer all of this stuff if the game doesn't I mean I heard rumors that the anime is going to show the time period before Traveler came to Teyvat. Maybe we'll finally get the bits and pieces of Venti lore we deserve. Ngl I am going to eat that shit up. Every little piece of Venti the anime has I'm going to eat it up because the game doesn't do him enough justice.
Safe to say I'm ninety nine percent watching for Venti.
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tyefights · 10 months
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@vtriggers, darth revan : all who gain power are fair to lose it.
the stage had been set. the clash of two mighty sith lords, words bouncing down the darkened halls they stood in— the prelude to the cataclysmic battle that awaited them. they'd once been friends, following each other to the end of the galaxy and beyond. that was a long ago. things had changed, times had changed, and they had changed.
the words strike a chord deep within malak, the bitter taste of power slipping through his grasp. tall and imposing, dark cloak billowing around him, he fixes his intense gaze as his face twists into a wicked smile. a fiery intensity burns within his eyes, voice dripping with a blend of resentment and defiance breaking the silence.
"foolish words, revan. more foolish than i could have anticipated." the words come out as a sneer, malak taking a step forward. "power is not something to be gained only to be lost. it's a force to be seized, wielded, and molded to one's will. and those who possess it, like us, are destined to reshape the galaxy in our image. you once knew that."
gloved hand instinctively tightening around the hilt of his crimson lightsaber, a flicker of anger dances within the depths of their shared history. they once stood together, arm-in-arm, as brothers. united in their quest for dominion.
"you turned your back on the power that was rightfully ours. you abandoned the sith teachings, the very essence of who we are! and now, you dare to speak of losing power?" voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper laced with a venomous threat, a bark of laughter emits. a faint hum resonates through the corridor as malak's lightsaber emerged from its hilt, a crimson penumbra casting itself across the room. eyes narrowing, the fire within them burned brighter than ever.
"i will never relinquish the power i have earned. and if you think otherwise, i am more than willing to remind you of the consequences."
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cartoonfuel · 1 year
Text
Mind Games Chapter 12
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Chapter 12: Hana
See Chapter 1 for synopsis, trigger warnings, rating, etc.
Chapter 13: The Complete Set
A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than usual. I felt I needed to end it where I did. See you next chappie! - Cartoon ✨
~~~~~
“Who is Kotaro Shimura?”
Shigaraki groaned, his fingernails digging into the skin on his neck once again. “This again?”
You swallowed nervously. “Well?”
“Tell me about All Might’s power first, then we’ll talk.”
“He’s your father, isn’t he?” Much to your surprise, Shigaraki turned his back to you. You had thoughts of running your knife through him right then and there, but more emotional matters left you paralyzed. “Which is also why you aren’t outright killing me.”
Shigaraki just stood idly, dawn’s red sunlight bleeding into the surrounding scenery. Out of the blue, you remembered the name of the little neighbor you knew so long ago.
“…Tenko?”
You hoped you hadn't made a mistake by calling him that.
“He is,” Shigaraki finally spoke up, clenching his fists.
The villain looked back at you, long hair draping over his vermillion eyes. Your palms began to sweat, a feeling of dread washing over you as he pulled a literal hand out of his pocket and shrugged. You knew of his regular attire, in which he was usually decked out in multiple severed hands, but ever since you'd met him all he dressed in was a black trenchcoat and red sneakers.
“It seems my Master isn’t the only family I have left.”
You stumbled backwards, your quirk suddenly behind you. Kindly enough, the clone helped steady you.
"What's wrong, Aya? Am I really so repulsive that you can't even stand on your own two feet? Father's to blame here, not me."
You stayed silent.
“Whatever,” Shigaraki shoved the extra hand back inside his coat, “And you’re absolutely right. I’m not at all sure what to do with you.”
He stepped towards you, Mindscape now holding you in place.
“To be completely honest, this explains a lot. Every time I look at you, I see her… Hana.” His hand moved to cup your cheek, but you pulled away in fear of Decay. He snapped back into reality, remembering the power he wielded. You had no idea who Hana was, but she must've meant a lot to him. “If it weren’t for her, my life may have looked very different,” Shigaraki grimaced. Oh. Maybe not. “I’m curious, Aya,” he whispered to you. “Knowing all this, would you still side with the Heroes? Or would you join me in becoming their savior…?”
“I don’t think you’d like my answer,” you whispered back, locking eyes with Tomura. “You’ve chosen your family and I’ve chosen mine.” Immediately after, you stabbed your quirk in the thigh, causing it to release you. It gasped and took a few steps back, blood spurting from the wound you inflicted. Mildly annoyed, Shigaraki lunged at you and took ahold of your wrists, the middle finger of each hand lifted so he wouldn’t reduce you to dust.
“You’re so damn dramatic. It reminds me a little bit of him,” he growled, causing you to scowl. “And I’ve had enough drama for one day.”
Your frowning turned to shuddering the moment you recognized severe pain shooting up and down your right arm. You heard the thud of your knife plummeting to the ground, all five of Shigaraki’s fingertips squeezing the life out of your wrist.
“Why must you string the Heroes along if you don’t plan on becoming one?”
Feeling like your hand was about to fall off, you couldn’t even bring yourself to answer.
“Wouldn’t joining your brother make more sense?”
“H-half-f-f,” you winced in agony.
‘‘This can stop if you just agree to ditch the Heroes.”
All of a sudden, Midoriya practically teleported into view, freeing you from your attacker by violently kicking him into a brick wall. Immediately after, he relentlessly threw your quirk into a tree.
“Ouch!” your doppelgänger exclaimed. “Izuku, that hurt! If you wanted to dance, all you had to do was ask.”
Midoriya protectively placed himself between you and Tomura, who was slowly standing back up again.
“You again,” Shigaraki sighed as he rolled his shoulders. “Midoriya, was it?”
Uh-oh. Shigaraki is…a very talkative villain. Could this be one of Muttering Midoriya’s greatest weaknesses? No, he gets too anxious. Besides, being quippy isn’t exactly a trait of Izuku’s.
“Aya, are you hurt?” Deku asked instinctively, completely ignoring Tomura, much to your surprise.
“A little,” you replied, heart pounding as you gathered your bearings. You bent down to pick up Doppelgänger’s knife with your non-dominant hand, hesitantly examining the eerie discoloration of your rotting wrist. “My arm feels weird more than anything.”
“Holy crap! That’s not ‘a little’, Aya—I, uh, I mean—I’m sorry! Don’t worry, more help is on the way.”
“Tomura,” your doppelgänger coughed, attempting to get up. “That was quite the beating I took just now.”
“That attack should’ve killed your quirk… The copies aren’t the most durable…” Deku murmured to you. “Which has me wondering. How is it still alive?”
Your doppelgänger continued on. “How much longer do I need to keep this up? I don’t think…I can…”
“We have what we need, Toga,” Shigaraki replied, staring the One For All user down as he spoke. You and Deku stood back-to-back between both villains. “Stand down.”
“I can barely stand up.” Your copy melted away to reveal Himiko Toga once again. “Thanks for the disguise, Aya-chan,” she commented, managing to creepily smile despite her injuries. Her next statement made you shiver. “Your blood was soooo tasty!”
All Might stirred for a moment, catching Midoriya’s attention. “What’s up with All Might?”
“Aya-chan attacked him,” Toga snickered evilly, pointing a shaky finger directly at you.
“She’s got it all wrong,” you said defensively, your face turning pale. “It’s a long story but he’ll be okay, promise!”
Izuku glanced over his shoulder, piercing green eyes meeting your wide ones. “I think I saw your real quirk a minute ago,” he stated, suddenly changing the subject. “I’d assume it’s been sneaking around collecting peoples’ thoughts and information—go look for it, please. I’ll deal with Shigaraki.”
“What about Doppelgänger…?”
“Mr. Aizawa’s got that part covered. His quirk basically cancels out Doppelgänger’s. If you can imagine, Doppelgänger wasn’t very happy.”
You nodded. “Please be careful.”
“Of course.”
Before going to search for your legitimate doppelgänger, you unexpectedly veered towards Toga, your feet moving on their own. Seeing how off balance she was, you forced her onto the ground again by poking her in the chest with a single finger.
“Don’t make me regret this,” you sneered as you untucked your white shirt and cut some of the fabric, handing it to Toga. You were practically in a crop top now. “Make sure to wrap it tight.”
“Why are you helping me…?” Toga asked curiously, her back leaning against the tree she was hurled into. “And you better not give me some ‘Heroes are supposed to save people!’ mantra.”
“It’s actually pretty simple. I didn’t intend to stab you in the first place.”
“I find that very intriguing, Aya. Are you sure about turning down Shiggy’s offer? Things are about to get very messy around here.”
“I’m not.”
With that, you spun around and jogged away, your eye immediately catching movement behind a nearby bush. You dashed towards the noise, leaping through the brush and attacking — “Aoyama?!” you shouted, your knife pressed against the student’s neck.
“Calm down, please!” Yuga squealed underneath you wearing nothing but pajamas. “Your quirk went that way! I was following it!”
You looked to your left to see a silhouetted figure trotting away. As much as you wanted to stay and interrogate Aoyama, you pried yourself off of him and pursued what you assumed was your quirk. It didn’t take long for you to cut a few corners and catch up, quickly identifying your clone and pinning it to a tree trunk. It just stared at you, your head oddly beginning to throb and ache.
“You’re afraid,” the doppelgänger murmured to you, perfectly mimicking your voice.
To tell the truth, you were. Thanks to your quirk’s big mouth, you knew exactly how to proceed.
“And so…unsure. You know, you don’t have to do this. Don’t you want to be free of me?”
“That’s enough,” you declared as you ran your knife through the clone’s chest, its body disintegrating into dust. “Things are different now. We have people counting on us.”
The next thing you knew, your decaying hand had fallen clean off.
~~~~~
Chapter 13: The Complete Set
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kindnpolite · 10 months
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JULIAN WRIGHT ✦ THIRTY-6 ✦ THE PIEMAKER
❝ Never be so polite, you forget your power . . . Never wield such power, you forget to be polite . ❞
🥧 .*·。゚ ━ ( lee pace / cis man / he/him ) i think i just saw JULIAN WRIGHT  on the subway.  the THIRTY-SIX year old CAFE OWNER has been living on cornelia street for SIX YEARS. Julian’s friends know him to be helpful, honest, & witty  , but he has a reputation on cornelia street for being naive, gullible & self conscious. when i see first name , i can’t help but think of  smell of fresh baked bread in the morning, nervous laughter, and writing uncomfortable news in cake icing !  in  fact , i sometimes i think i hear MARJORIE, THE LAKES, TIS THE DAMN SEASON 
NAME: Julian Alexander Wright.
FACECLAIM: Lee Pace
PRONOUNS : He/Him
GENDER: Cis-Man
AGE: Thirty-six
ORIENTATION: Homosexual. The one thing about being in a small town that Julian doesn’t miss is the small town gossip. It’s partly the reason he began to feel more comfortable staying in New York where he was able to explore his sexuality without judgement or fear. Since growing up though, he’s accepted that side of himself though he still tends to keep it on a need to know basis.
HOMETOWN: Grand Rapids, MI
OCCUPATION: Owner and operator of Marjorie’s. Marjorie’s – the local cafe & bakery open since 1931. Made from the freshest local ingredients you can find bread, cake, and pies baked to order. Don’t forget to grab a jar of their famous Marjorie’s marmalade!
BIOGRAPHY
There’s a saying, that New Yorkers are born all over the world. However for Julian, he had always felt like he was misplaced. New York is full of constant noise and people always in a rush to get where they’re going. For a young Julian, a kid with big eyes and fragile feelings, he felt like grass trying to grow through the cracks in the sidewalk cement. He had always been a quite, skittish, and awkward but always well meaning. Seemingly too soft, his parents would send him to spend the summers with his grandmother Marjorie where he was initially overwhelmed by all the hustle and bustle of the city. However, despite his initial reluctance, he grew to love those summers.He would help her at her bakery, reading a book as he worked the counter. Meanwhile his grandmother greeted every customer by name with a smile and light conversation, and little Julian wondered how she made it look so easy.
He learned that in New York, he could be anyone he wanted to be. No one knew how bitterly uncool he was back home, how he struggled to make small talk and spent his afternoons browsing internet forums. Julian was the mysterious out of town-er, coming and going like a summer breeze. It was nice to see people get excited about his return to the neighborhood, hearing his name yelled out with enthusiasm turning a corner in the grocery aisle. Once he got older, he had come into his own, growing into his long limbs and found people who seemed to like him for who he was. Slowly his visits became less frequent, and the summer loves became a distant memory. Nothing more than a random social media like every couple of months and a quick facetime call to his grandmother once a guilty reminder flashed on his phone.
However, when Marjorie got sick, Julian had taken it upon himself to become her caregiver. So he put law school on pause to help keep her cafe running. While it seemed like an insane concept to his friends, to Julian it was a no brainer. Besides, it would be just like those summers oh-so long ago, right? It turns out, seeing how things work from above the counter, baking is a lot more technical than he had thought. Though it proved to be much more fulfilling than studying at his prestigious Ivy League graduate school. Every day he was able to see the way a customer’s face would light up at the first bite of their morning bagel or the love in a young couple’s eyes as they picked out their wedding cake, it actually made him excited to get up in the morning even during the cold months when he was warm and comfortable wrapped up in his comforter.
Unfortunately, those idyllic mornings of preparing the shop wouldn’t last as long as Julian would have liked -- When Marjorie passed away, Julian was utterly distraught. It was like he became a shell of himself and it look him weeks to even set foot into the cafe which she had left to him. It came with a heavy heart when he put up the bakery for sale, but he didn’t know if he would ever enter Marjorie’s without breaking into tears. It was only when a little girl approached him at the farmer’s market asking if he would open to in time to make her birthday cake that he realized that he wasn’t ready to give up on the legacy his grandmother created in the town. It was that moment that he decided that he couldn’t just leave. So he took down the For Sale sign and put on the apron, making his residence permanent. While it has been an overwhelming experience, he realizes it was the community that made it worth it. Even when the days are hard, it’s the smile in people’s faces that he feels his grandmother’s warmth still with him.
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driftmarksnake · 1 year
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@fallesto
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MAY BAELON BE WELCOMED AMONGST THE GODS ACCOMPANIED BY HER MOST GRACIOUS LADY, THE QUEEN
They were comforting words uttered from Corlys lips. No one else had come near him. True words had been spoken, but he never felt like most of the people who uttered them meant what they had said. The death of the queen and the prince, there words were not full of sorrow, but more fear than anything else. At what could happen now, if he were to become unwell or turn up dead on the morrow. The kingdoms would fall into chaos and it would be war, war like before so long ago with all kingdoms at one another throat and everything burning. All because, he had chased and chased and had wished for a sun more than anything else within the entire world and it had cost him, everything he had.
“Those are very kind words Lord Corlys.” And to him, they were ended now more than ever. “Thank you.”
The king spoke the truth, about them both. A long history they shared, there families always close, long before his favored cousin had become his wife, when he was nothing more than a child, the memories of the vast halls and crashing tides of Lord Corlys home, still hold a place within his heart, of better days, happier days were each and every single thing made sense. “I valve your council greatly, but your friendship, even more so.” Especially now, with him … being so exposed.
He leaned on his wife for so much support, the saying within these kingdoms, behind every great man, was a great woman, could not be more true when it came to the queen and now, she has left him here, alone. Just he and his daughter, within a city full of snakes who wished to devour them both. He was tired, he was sick of this all, with Otto Hightower and the others, hardly even waiting for there ashes to scatter to sink there claws into him and try to force him to name an heir.
“I did not mean, to keep you up till this hour Lord Corlys, it’s just, there is a coldness within my chambers, that I fear returning to.”
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𝕮𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖞𝖘' 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖕𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖑. He does indeed feel remorse and sadness at the tragedy befalling the king. If anything on this earth ever were to harm a single hair on his most beloved wife or his precious children Corlys does not know how he would be able to bear such horrid realities. He cannot imagine what loneliness awaits the king back in his chambers, the hollow, empty walls that will most likely offer grief than the much necessary comfort, so in this Corlys obliges and accompanies the king in his hour of mourning. They were allies, and once upon a time, much long ago, friends. There was no harm in extending an amiable hand. "You're welcome, Viserys." He answers, utilizing his given name more so than his title. It is important to remind himself, especially in times like these, that he was merely a man before he was a king.
𝕴𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖆𝖓 𝖔𝖉𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌. Viserys is a kind man, but Corlys' does not take for granted the power that he also wields. "And what a friendship it has been, your grace. Should you ever need to retire to Driftmark to breathe in the salty air, I would be most honored to have you as a guest. They say the sea knows sorrow like no other," He comments, refilling both of their wine goblets as they take seats in front of the fireplace. "I, myself, have often found solace sitting by the window that overlooks the ocean—beautiful beast that she is."
𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖆 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝖌𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞𝖊𝖉. Ambitious as he is, Corlys never takes his eyes off the prize of securing his family and legacy in the grand scheme of things, but he knows that Viserys is a different man from himself. Swinging the wine within it's glass Corlys stares at the fire before them and chuckles softly. "Fear not, for I have no desire to go back to my own chambers as well." The unspoken reason lingers on his tongue, the fact that his lady wife was currently not with him soured his chambers, made his bed cold as well. "Tonight I am not the lord of tides, but merely a friend to you, Viserys. Do not fret for keeping me late— I am honored by the gesture."
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