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an-abyss-of-stars · 3 months ago

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𖤓 Don't You Dare Do This Without Me 𖤓 Ch. 3

Pairing: Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: Smutty content mentioned, dirty erotic thoughts

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: Aemond returns from his afternoon "activities" and is accosted by his mother in the halls of the Red Keep almost immediately, all the while he can't help but eagerly wish to return to his chambers...to return to his wife.

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4 | Ao3 |

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Aemond did not dottle once he returned to the Keep. There was no need, seeing as he still had one thing on his mind.

One person, really...one woman.

Though it would seem that news of his exploits had already preceded him, the castle was a buzz. Huddled courtiers leading whispers from one corridor to the next. Careful to linger frightful gazes upon his moving form only to quickly flick them away as he matched them frigidly. Causing them to hurry on, to flee from their monarch.

They were so blatant with it.

But he was a hurricane, he could care less. His long slender legs moved with the speed of a man possessed and he most certainly was. However, he was, to his dismay, just as emotionally tangled as he was before he stormed out of the castle earlier this afternoon.

Burning that farming village down to the ground was meant to release this tension. His frayed nerves had blurred with a sting of pleasure when he'd willed Vhagar to breathe her magmatic green flames down from their perched swell in the sky. He'd felt a smoothing ache settle in the pit of his stomach, a roaring deep within the center of his cock.

Truly…it was monstrous and he knew it. The swelling power that coursed through him as he ended all of those pitiful little lives. It was the sound of the flames engulfing everything, the sweep, the swoop of it. It was the screams...the terror...the horror of it all that engaged him in what he thought would be a form of great release.

It had been before...her.

Only now, it felt like a false climax.

By the time he'd circled back over to King's Landing, his abdomen clenched with the returned weight of it all. The conscious memory of how his council had droned on in his ear during their meeting this morn. Harping on about the countless great Houses who would not truly bend to his will. While they had bent the knee in his presence, their loyalties were a falsehood. And as his council had so boldly reminded him, this handful of Houses were great enough that he could not simply burn and diminish them. He could not simply end the bloodlines of each and every single one of them, just because he wished it so. Dérogeance was barely an option in itself, though he had considered it.

No, it was a fact that he needed their banners, he needed their men for any such upcoming battle that would require foot soldiers.

Even still, it was an insult, the snide tones used during that meeting as if he were a fucking imbecile who hadn't even bothered to realize the fucking obvious-

He should burn something else.

Deplete the levels of rage that threatened to burn outwards, harm those closely around him. This anger of his that was still so embedded in his veins...it was building and in truth, the flight had done nothing to calm him. The stench of death and charred remains had done nothing to ease his mind. And he knew worst of all that he needed it to. Above all else he needed to return home calm enough to interact with his children with due care. He'd barely seen them today, and he'd be damned if his sons' were ever brought up to view him as a monster.

As the rest of the realm continued to do so. Even after he’d done so much for Seven Kingdoms. He’d managed to restore trade, abolished Rhaenyra’s taxes, and had loans given out to rebuild holdings that had been destroyed during the war. The city gates had been duly strengthened as he’d overseen the initiative of constructing several huge fortified granaries set throughout the kingdom, filled and made accessible for the people. Ten new war galleys had been commissioned and more were still yet to come.

And while it had not been his idea initially, his Queen had argued to the need to re-instill the respect of dragons amongst the smallfolk. As she’d once argued that he’d singlehandedly been responsible for the disillusionment the small folk now felt towards dragons. Although, while she’d hoped he’d find a peaceful way of going about it…he’d instead used terror. She wanted the dragon’s unchained in the dragon pit, and he did just that, riding amongst them upon Vhagar’s back. Purposely close, low to the city to remind them of the untouchable might of House Targaryen.

Yet even still…

Even after all of that.

Four years of what Aemond would like to consider held mostly acts of benevolence as far as he was concerned. Executions only held for those who’d earned it, torturing the likes of the conspirators responsible for the three royal assassination attempts he’d squashed under his leadership.

Aemond had been a good King…he had made it his mission to serve the realm to the best of his capabilities.

And yet…to them…to the smallfolk, to the Lords and Ladies of the realm…to his own wife…he was still nothing more than a kinslayer.

The Kinslayer King.

He was still a monster to them. As his wife surely still saw him as. Deep down, in her heart...he knew that thick black hatred for him still lived embedded within her like a poison tipped blade. Especially since she drew upon it far too often for him to ignore it.

Perhaps that fuelled her behaviour this morning as well, he could always blame her for his mood at this very moment if that was the case. His lovely little wife, one half of the ever sought after Dragon Twins. It was by his hand that he made her the most powerful woman in the realm. He'd had her crowned as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, it was by his hand that he made her the mother of the future heir to the Iron Throne. The future of their bloodline, of the Targaryen dynasty.

All she need do was behave accordingly, give him what he wished for when he asked for it.

As any other dutiful docile demure noble wife would.

Instead, he chose a dragoness for himself...a right fucking stubborn little pin in his side. One that he'd unfortunately managed to find himself utterly entrapped by, enraptured by a woman who enraged him more often than not. But still, like a fucking hound, he still found himself crawling back to her. Desperate for the slivers of affection he could coax from her. To be so unequivocally wound around her finger as opposed to the opposite, the unseemly fact that it often felt like her body could solve a great deal of his mental woes.

It was unheard of surely, more akin to an illness than the likes of genuine love.

At the very least, he could tell himself so at times such as this. That he'd once spent his nights laying with a dark miskept witch in the days before his marriage, and even her visions, her less than shapely body had felt like nothing in comparison to plunging into the heat of his sweet curvaceous Valyrian wife.

Only sweet when she chose to be.

Forever embittered with him if she could help it.

Yet she seemed to come around on the pleasures of his company when it suited her needs. Somewhere along the way she’d welcomed the conception of both their second and now third child into her womb, even if she only reluctantly tolerated their first. Those particular behaviours had translated to everything else. With each babe welcomed to their family, it seemed she’d grown more bold and assured of herself. It started with miniscule requests; the return of her dragon Morning, access to the royal library, freedom to walk the grounds of the castle without him. But then her requests shifted into tactile demands. She'd demanded her spot on his council. Was in the making of demanding a complete overhaul of the Keep itself, she wanted the Seven pointed stars removed from the Great Hall and all public view as his mother had once initiated the placement of. She wanted to begone the wearing of stark dark Hightower green, to forgo the dozens of green gowns he'd had her fitted for as she'd always called the colour 'hideous, drab and disrespectful to their family name'. She had hated having to swaddle their babes’ in green blankets and wraps, and she hated to see the 'false' green Targaryen banners hung around the castle.

As she'd put it...she was no member of the blasted House Hightower. She was not a Green Queen, and he could forget the notion of ever referring to her as such.

Aemond had recalled chuckling at her indignation, retorting if she’d rather be recognized as a ‘Queen for the Blacks then.’

A remark that earned him only the coldest of responses, ‘no. Because there should no longer be any blacks or greens. The majority of both factions have perished. There should only be House Targaryen, as it once was. Before your mother declared war against a house she was lucky to have even wed into.’

That hatred for his mother…that still remained.

Though as time went on, Aemond couldn’t find it in him to defend his mother’s prior actions. Not when he could finally see through them. Instead, he found himself far more enamoured with his Queen’s bold fire. It made him think that perhaps he was underestimating his feelings for her, at times her defiance brought him great sense of joy. In fact, more often than not, it most certainly did.

Even now, he nearly smirked to himself. Recalling the way she'd crossed her arms over her swelling belly a few days ago, proclaiming that she wished to return to wearing true Targaryen colours. Reds and black, the true House they were meant to represent.

She was right, of course.

Her statements had set a fire beneath him to see her demands met as soon as possible. Seeing as the Dance had long since ended, and in truth he had no interest in being remembered as the Green King Aemond Targaryen. Kinslayer King that he already was, he'd facilitate his reign by wearing their family's trueborn colours. By having pride in their Valyrian ancestry, their history and their culture. He did want for those things...it was his right to have them. He'd just never thought to put them forth so front and center as of yet.

See, it was in those instances of defiance that he found himself allowing it. She'd coax what she wanted from him when he was at his most vulnerable. Her pale lilac eyes gazing upon him, freezing his heart in place, her long pale lashes batting daintily at him. As they lay in their bed, her beautiful body bare to him. Her plush thighs spread for him, her leaking wanting cunt taking him in full as her legs wrapped around him. By the Gods, he could envision it all so clearly as he’d fallen victim to this embrace over a dozen times. With the way her hands always clutched onto him...welcoming his cock to delve deeply within her. It was the easiest way for her to get exactly what she wanted from him.

Even if that was only a fraction of the time. For, when the roles were reversed, she somehow still managed to keep her wits about her with her answers. And out of their marital bed, well, he could never have her simply follow his instructions when he gave them. It was much too difficult it seemed to simply follow his command, as her King, as her husband—if it had nothing to do with their bedchamber.

The inequality of it all, truly, in all instances his word should be law. If he wished to have her company, he shouldn't even have to say the word.

It should be a given.

It should be happily offered to him.

His mind still burned with the churning thoughts of his wife and that of his council. As the wind whipped past Aemond as he rode on horseback, only adding to the windswept appearance of his once neatly made singular plait. Ruffling his black leathers as he rode through the streets of Flea Bottom with such vigor. Dismounting his horse in a smooth yet rattled hurry, jumping off before taking large strides to the western entrance of the Red Keep. Needing no greeting or gesture made for the guards standing on duty to push the doors open for their King. It was there that he stomped through the halls with the falsely made cool collected saunter he'd perfected in his youth.

The swirling aggravation that clouded his every thought, his body felt taut, itching to strike should anyone stand in his way. It was the look upon Rhaena's face earlier that still remained in his mind. Etched to his memory, he couldn't help but recall the look she'd made when she denied him what was his by right.

To simply lay with her in their marital bed, with his head nestled upon her ample bosom.

It was a simple request.

He only wanted a moment of peace with her. To feel the soft warmth of her body laid against his own, wrapping his arms around her hips. To rest his hand upon the taut yet soft curve of her swollen belly, feeling the life they'd created growing within her womb. Aemond only wanted to listen to the calming rhythm of her heart beat, to deeply inhale the sweetness of her floral scent. To feel her nimble fingers deftly comb through his hair in soothing strokes as he nuzzled his cheek against her pillowy bare chest. To feel the sun warm their skin as they ignored all else in the world and just…

In truth, he only wanted a peaceful hour alone with his wife.

Instead, her beautiful face had frowned in defiance. Razored verbal attacks were levelled at his feet as if he'd wronged her in some way.

He had not.

Did she think he paid so little attention to her that he would not notice the discomfort she was in. The last few weeks of council meetings were waning on her. Waking for the meetings themselves was something she'd grown to dislike in her current condition. As well as the long walk it took to arrive there, the stairs she had to descend and climb back afterwards. The fact that she clearly found the chairs in the council room much too rigid and hard to sit on for an hour or beyond, no matter the cushion used to ease her bottom or her back. There was the fact that she'd often need to excuse herself every time the babe pressed against her bladder, every time she felt overheated or a bout of morning sickness fell upon her. And her feet were often swollen by the time she returned to their chambers after every single meeting.

Aemond was a keenly observant man…perceptive to the plights of those closest to him. As far as he was concerned, Rhaena was eight moons along in her pregnancy, nearly to term. That was simply the fact of the matter. Confinement for most noble women would have begun at least a moon before now if not even sooner. And here his wife was fighting him on the very chivalrous kindness he'd done her.

The absolute decency he'd offered her as a proficient loving husband and father to his children, any other woman...

He'd paused when he caught sight of his Lady mother just up ahead, fucksake, he sighed to himself. She was commingling with the Grand Maester, Orwyle, when her eyes caught sight of Aemond moving with assurety. There was a member of Aemond's chosen Kingsguard walking five paces behind him, Ser Rickard Thorne. As Aemond picked up his pace, so did his guard. He did not need to look back towards the man to affirm his assumptions, "my wife, the Queen. She is in my royal chambers, yes?"

A quick beat was all that was needed before the older man intoned, "yes, your grace. I was informed that she returned shortly."

As expected.

As he wished it-

Wait a minute…returned?

In an unconscious effort to prolong the obvious interlude that would be conversing with his mother. Most likely on the events that had just occurred…burning a small village and that of the repercussions of it.

Aemond instead, glanced back at Ser Thorne and asked the question that formed on the tip of his tongue, “returned? From where?”

Seeing as his little wife was meant to be in confinement…the mere fact that Ser Willis Fell saw fit to even let her vacate their chambers was a problem in itself. She was meant to be resting, slowing down her daily activities…she was meant to be waiting for him.

“Your grace, I was only informed that the Queen took to the gardens for a stroll. A short one, with her sister, the Princess Baela,” the knight quickly blustered up a suitable response for his King, surely hoping his slight error would not be seen as incompetence, “Ser Willis Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne were with her, of course. A proper detail guarding her grace.”

“But of course,” Aemond intoned with a bitter tang, it would seem he’d have to clarify the meaning of ‘confinement’ not only to his stubborn wife but as well to the guards of his sworn Kingsgaurd.

As he made his way down the great hall, the inevitable drew near. With his mother bidding ‘good day’ to the Grand Maester of which she was conversing with, her large brown eyes then locked on to Aemond. Those eyes of hers, they'd always had the power to still him the moment he felt their pressure laid upon him. Her gaze pierced through him in an instant. It was instinctual within him to heel at the sight of her disappointment, the child within him who was still so eager to please her. That child he once was, the little boy who was almost always met with a grim vulnerable look in her eyes, her lips already set to frown as they always did.

There was no pleasing her...that was a lesson he’d learned with time. Though he was sure she had her reasons this time. It was an often occurrence over these last few years, especially ever since he took his cousin, Rhaena, to wife. But this was not the time, his mind was far too preoccupied. Did he outright wish to ignore his mother entirely, no, he knew better than that. So he did greet her presence with a meaningful nod, but he did not intend on standing by to be lectured by his mother like a boy of ten years of age once more.

“Mother,” he nodded.

"Aemond," the dowager Queen gritted back, ah, so she most definitely sought to admonish him. With all the force of a verbal lashing that would befit the crime of tripping up a sibling or something lesser, so unimportant. It wasn't until he aimed to rip his gaze away from her, side stepping past her, that her voice grew more assertive, "Aemond! You cannot ignore me. What have you done?! When your reign already lives in a constant state of peril, you move to make more foes rather than alliances?"

The common tongue, it felt so utterly grating at this moment. Especially coming from her...how his mother itched to remind him of his Andal roots.

With an irritated sigh, he pursued his lips down at her, "believe me, mother. I am in no mood for this," the words rang out like a gravely hum, anymore inflection and he would have seethed them out. As his body already ached with annoyance, that quiet rage he'd managed to tamp down as he rode back home...it was rushing to the surface once again. The very rage that eased him into the idea of burning fields and small villages as he wished in the first place.

Though it was unfortunate to say that Alicent Hightower was never one to back down from such a warning. Whether it was a verbal one or a quietly made physically looming one standing before her. Especially when it was her own offspring who permitted it, it was as if she could not see the full grown men her little boys had become. She still viewed them as children, attached to her will. Still in need of her guidance in some way, she still fought to remain so relevant in their eyes. To hurry her shorter legs along, to match Aemond’s long steps just to keep in stride with him, "I am not concerned with your current disposition. I speak with importance. Your allegiances with the North are already wavering, it is true, your council did not lie to you. The point was not made to berate you-"

Agh…such repetition once again.

"Mother, I know," he tried to cut her off sharply, in hopes of ending this admonishment before it could properly begin. But it felt as if there’d been no effect. Like a shattered piece of stone that simply would not burn no matter how hot the flames blasted upon it.

His heart thumped violently within him. While the heels of his mother's flats only stomped with all of her weight, as she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. Her eyes no longer remained pinned to him, she instead focused on the hall ahead. To give the appearance of a simple casual conversation being had between a mother and her son, "you know, do you? As you currently threaten our bonds with the Westerlands. If you know all this already, then what is to be done? Four years have passed, and you've offered the North nothing of note. Footholds and trade agreements. Clearly they want something more substantial. The North still remains loyal to Rhaenyra's faction even in death, her spirit commanding their stale oaths. They would sooner ride out to face you in record numbers in the name of honour to another. Their loyalty to the name of Jacaerys Velaryon. As opposed to raising their banners for you and any war you might call them upon."

'I KNOW! I FUCKING KNOW!' is what he wanted to roar aloud, damned the look that would fall upon his mother's visage. Damn the fucking peasants who would have heard him, Lords and Ladies be damned, he was at his wits end. He'd had enough for one day. He only needed quiet solitude to think properly, to draw up real plans to secure the North truly to his side. Pacify the damage done during the war…make his mind up on what to do with the Westerlands…

But if all anyone wished to do was drown him in information he already knew-

Grunting as he rolled his shoulders, his eye blazed down at his mother. Tilting his head as he nearly spat his retort, "yes yes and all that stays their hand is their loyalty to their Queen, Rhaena Targaryen. As well as her sister, Aegon's wife, Princess Baela Targaryen. Yes, mother, I know. I chose them strategically. The North will not attack us. And the likes of the fucking Dowager Lady Johanna Westerling has already proven she has no mind for war or true retaliation," Aemond's jaw was grinding as he purposely focused on the corridor ahead. Ignoring the nobles that spotted a heated discussion between their betters as they passed through the halls.

Making their way up several flights of steps, Aemond found the world around him to blur slightly, the voices around him numbing to the faint mumble of incomprehensible jargon…then focusing in. He shook the uncomfortable feeling from himself, rattling his neck slightly, as he finally turned the corner with his mother. Heading towards his royal chambers, he lowered his voice to a smooth yet dull tone, "see, mother. I'm not some hapless fool. I know the North needs placating. I've known it since Aegon abdicated the throne to me, since my first son was born and then my second...."

There he took another silent moment to breathe deeply, unlatching his hands from behind his back. This level of fury and restlessness, it was convulsing within him, violently transforming into this warped unsettling thing in his gut. Soon enough, unconsciously he found his right hand had sprung up towards his throat. His thumb found comfort in stroking the old vertical scar that spanned down the side of his jaw, spanning the length of his neck.

Such a clean scar…a straight mark.

His deranged love for the wound that was given to him by his once caged bird, it was more of a cozy reminder than a haunting. And his chest felt as if heavy laid bricks rested against his heart, it was this reminder of the old slash his wife had once handed him that seemed to calm him. The confident fact that he’d have her in his midst soon enough. And with that certainty in mind, it was becoming far more difficult to not simply dismiss this conversation and leave it as he wished, because he could. Because his mother could no longer order him about as she once did.

No one could.

No one but-

She was not present in this hallway.

His dragoness…

He’d join her in their shared chambers soon.

He'd much rather be dealing with her than his mother at the moment.

Rolling his jaw, he knew he had to regulate his emotions. He could not explode, not here, not with his mother. With his dragoness, it was different, it felt mutual. She would fight him on anything...but his mother, she was just a woman. An older one grappling with the changes of the world, the changes in her station. The utter power she’d lost and had failed to ever regain…

Breathing in and out, Aemond continued on, "this is a task that needs planning, precise planning. Does it not? Treating with the Northern Houses, worse yet possibly offering marriage pacts and or true dragon allegiances. I have not taken this lightly. But Targaryen blood is scarce now and I cannot waste it so eagerly. Sending mine or Aegon's own offspring North just to appease a few sour Lords. The bloodline must be secured first and foremost, and other alliances may be needed in our future."

"Aemond-" she'd started, the lacking tone had already informed him of what she might say next.

But he'd given her no room to continue, "mother, when I say that I've considered everything, know that I have. When I say that I am devising a plan that may yet gain the North's favour, before we are set in a truly perilous situation...you must take my word for it."

"A perilous situation," Alicent’s frown set deeper, her brows creasing as her eyes sharply fell back onto her second born son, "and was it peril that emboldened you to burn the town of Oxcross? Peril or the basest peak of your petty fury at your own humiliation? That is what the council meeting settled within you, is it not?" she stood firm, her feet planted as they were now safely standing in the royal wing of the castle. With her hands delicately folded in front of her emerald green satin gown. Her fingers itching to fidget with the encrusted jewels there, if only to mitigate her own emotions as she boldly asked the question so few would ever dare to.

Though she seemed to forget that she held little power over him now.

Dowager Queen mother that she was.

Aemond slowed his own steps, eager to end this encounter out in the hall before he stepped into his chambers to face the other bold woman with whom he shared his life with.

"Mother...careful now. It’s uncouth to pry," his voice lowered to the base of his throat as he slowly stepped towards her, his polished riding boots clacking against the hard stone floors. Echoes permeating the otherwise empty corridor. It was there, he could see it, at the end of the hall. Almost glowing with a direct ray of sun beaming upon the door…Aemond could see the guards there. At his chambers, his sanctuary away from all of this. It was all so close...yet his mother stood in the way like a blockade of the most egregious kind.

"Is that what you're doing now?" Alicent hummed darkly, twisting her own lips in the process. The auburn waves of her unbound hair falling back behind her shoulders as a look of doubt and subtle disgust fell upon her face. She looked him up and down along his form, the wordless gesture of it all was all too clear even before she spoke, "my own son, threatening me once again. First with your wish to rule the Seven Kingdoms, to snatch what was rightfully your elder brother's. What we fought for here, the freedom, our very lives. And then you made the unilateral decision yourself. To bestow upon the two of you, wives that were of the blood of our enemies. The man that almost killed you!"

Exhaling with the whole of his body, he maneuvered around his mother, rolling his stiff shoulders, flexing his fists away from her. Stroking that scar of his, the one that laid just opposite of the one that nearly severed his head that day. Above the God’s Eye, when the Gods’ saw fit to save his life instead.

No…when Gods’ left everything up to the will of pure luck itself.

Daemon Targaryen had almost killed him that day…his uncle would have taken them both to oblivion.

And now here he was stroking a scar made by that man’s own daughter, the daughter he’d chosen to take to wife the very same year.

His mother surely knew as much, even as she watched his actions with perplexity. Surely clueless as to why he felt the need to knead his wound as he did. But it was a precaution taken on his end. Because he could feel it building within him, something dark within his soul. Doing his best to tamp down the feeling, trying to remind himself that he could not unleash it here. He couldn't harm her...

However, he could halt this line of questioning. Straightening himself, he stood to his full height, towering above his mother. He watched as the mix of emotions filtered across her face, as the fearlessness in her eyes began to waver. Not that he would ever lift a physical hand against her. But she did doubt him now...ever since the war...ever since Lucerys...she did doubt him.

She thought him a monster...just like all the rest.

"Do not forget yourself, mother," he eyed her with cold precision, watching as she took one step back and then another. Her hands were trembling just a bit as he in turn settled his hands behind his back, hardening his countenance in the process, "Aegon handed me his crown, that was his choice, he knew he was not fit for it. But in the case of our wives, no other would do. The war depleted the amount of dragon's blood in the realm. It is my goal to replace what was lost, that cannot be done with any old bride. Andal or otherwise. Both Aegon and myself needed Valyrian brides. And we have since brought forth several trueborn Valyrian children to the crown, to this house. House Targaryen."

Every statement he made was punctuated with a step towards his mother, so that he could see the understanding settle in her eyes. Watch as her gaze fluttered about his face in a course of action that seemed desperate to find the little boy she was so used to squashing beneath her. The boy she once used to serve her needs first then looked to appease his own.

But that boy was gone.

He died during the war.

In some horrific form of symmetry or horrid cosmic karma, that little victim of a boy that lived within Aemond had died the day Lucerys Velaryon...Strong had died. Where the anger and pity that swirled within him in a mix of blinding fury and flurried uncertainty. That fury is what led him to chase his young nephew and his tiny dragon up into that storm. With the sole wish of killing the young boy at the forefront of his mind. It was never meant to be a game to him...the sick thrill of it all, terrorizing that child as he gleamed all of the joy in the world from the power he'd felt.

It had all been so glorious.

Justice...for himself, finally delivered.

There was no hesitation, he did not wish to fall back.

Until it happened... he'd bade Vhagar take her moment, strike while the young pair were unprepared. Only then did uncertainty finally strike at Aemond's core...only once he'd done the deed.

Once the boy was dead.

Scattered strewn limbs tossed to the sea...the rest devoured by Vhagar.

A fate worse than a simple death, to be of the blood yet eaten by a dragon.

A cardinal sin, surely.

The act of killing one's kin...the act of severing a line of dragon's blood, no matter how thin. It wouldn't have mattered if he regretted it...the life was already lost. Rhaena had once screamed something along those very same sentiments towards him once before. The truth of the matter had settled there.

And now, looking back at it all, he knew it just as well. The death of Lucerys was the day Aemond knew he could never return to living beneath the will of another. Not as he had existed before...not beneath Criston fucking Cole's will, or his mother's, or his grandfather, and certainly not beneath Aegon in that fashion.

He was King now.

His word was law.

To be obeyed above all else.

Aemond finally relented his stalking pursuit, his mother seemed concerned enough. And truth be told he only needed her attention for one final statement, simply rasping the words, "I've never threatened you, mother. I've only ever stated what is. When I brought the dragon twins here, I stated they'd be made to wed myself and Aegon. It was a decision I made as King, not a Prince, not Prince Regent...but as the highest power in the realm. It was not to be argued with, and most certainly not to be overturned by you or my grandfather. The same could be said about this matter now."

Finally, stepping around her, he made his way towards his chambers. Relieved by the simple fact that he could not hear his mother's footsteps following him, instead he heard her voice trembling off, "and with no one left to guide you any longer...you'd what? Rain ruin and death upon all the land, nobles and smallfolk alike? When you feel insulted? Or denied…wronged in some way? Or just because it makes you feel strong?"

"Neither...or all of the above, feel free to choose for me. Clearly you’ve already decided," he'd shrugged carelessly, not bothering to attach an emotion to his mother’s otherwise heartfelt deliverance. Nodding for the two guards at his door to unlock the room and give him entry. The respectful taste that would normally sour in him, to bid his mother 'good day' or to at the very least 'excuse' himself had evaporated. He'd instead left his mother alone in the corridor, with his back turned towards her, entering the bright sunny haze of his chambers with a breeze of warm Spring air wafting towards him.

His sanctuary.

Within that breeze was the familiar scent of his wife, sugary sweet wild berries mixed with a bright lilac air. It was Rhaena's signature scent, a mixture of the fragrant oils, soaps and creams she always used to ready herself.

Gods, how he'd missed it.

It’d only been a few hours away from it…but he’d wholeheartedly missed it.

—

Notes: In-universe backstory, that will be fleshed out in the full longform fic that's coming later on. The scar that Aemond is touching so fondly in this chapter was given to him by Rhaena! (there's more detail about this incident in the notes on Ao3!)

#aemond targaryen #rhaena targaryen #rhaena x aemond #aemond x rhaena #rhaemond #hotd #hotd fanfic #chapter 4 will be out in a few days!! probably some time during the weekend! 😌#Don't You Dare Do This Without Me

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loominggaia · 11 months ago

Note

If I'm understanding this correctly: on Looming Gaia you can be a perfectly good person your whole life but still end up in a terrible hell realm when you die? Or is there some way to guarantee going to a good realm?

Short answer: Yep!

Long answer: In the Looming Gaia universe, the afterlife isn't much different than life. Just like in life, good people can get fucked over through no fault of their own. Bad people can also be rewarded, even though they don't deserve it. There is no grand master pulling the strings and deciding what happens to everyone (well, there is, and it's me. But not in-lore!) events in nature just happen organically, with no sense of morals or justice. Just basic cause-and-effect.

Celestials are just another creature in this universe. You could call them a "higher" form of life than peoples in some ways, as they can control the fates of souls. Some celestials take souls to their realms, either temporarily or permanently. But the only creature who can create or destroy souls is Gaia.

The celestials' motives are unique to themselves. Every celestial has different reasons for creating their realms and populating them with souls. They treat Gaia's souls as playthings, currency, slaves, and more. They seem to have some sort of symbiotic (some would say parasitic...) relationship with Gaia.

Also I will mention that one person's Hell might be another person's Heaven, and vice versa. There are actions a person can take in life to attract certain celestials and increase the chances of being taken to that celestial's realm. But there is no guaranteed way of doing this. Even if you've earned the favor of a celestial, there is nothing stopping another celestial from swooping in and ganking your soul from them. The cosmos is just another layer of the ecosystem, where powerful lifeforms battle for dominance just like bacteria in a petri dish.

Every single person in in the Looming Gaia universe is completely at the mercy of nature, and like I said before, nature has no concept of morals or justice.

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

#ask #askgaia #askworldbuilding #askcelestial #asksoul

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libraryofcirclaria · 4 months ago

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01 September 1281

Library of Circlaria

Third Level Society: First Version

Story Six: Meona Bell

So I have started off the month returning back to Cabotton University on an urgent matter. Apparently, the notorious Ceri Mains, who escaped the Mount Carris Perimeter last month, is especially interested in a vulnerable prodigy named Mary Kormann, who currently is a Member of the Third Level Society. The current Dungeonmaster is Julian Mackwell of whom I know almost nothing save his name.

I've been warned, however, that there is a certain amount of treachery this time.

Goodness! It's been years since I've been to the University. I'm sure there's all new faces and none of anyone I knew in the past. I think of anyone I knew there, Oscar Lehman held out the longest. He definitely thought he could not swing the Dungeonmaster position, but I told him to fake the confidence until he found true confidence. Honestly, that might not have been the best advice, but it did work, didn't it. He lasted four years in there, almost as long as Ivella. However, once he was ready to hand the Office to someone else, he left and never dealt with the Society again.

I guess I was right in sensing that the Dungeonmaster position is very taxing.

It seems like yesterday that I was dealing with Cray Fenton and Oscar Lehman. That was twenty years ago. So much has changed, both on the outside and the inside.

We parted ways that year, but Sari Frame and I went in the same direction, supporting a growing demographic within the ranks of the Third Level Society Caucus, a demographic who had long been voicing a long-ignored desire to create a medieval version of the Arturian Realm, set in parallel to life in Remikra during the age of John Dane and the advent of the hot air balloon. Such a proposal had been made in during the off-weeks Caucus meetings, and had been repeatedly for at least the last two decades; every single time, it never was taken seriously. The number of extra dymensional plane servers needed to be built for this simply put the cost beyond the Society's current budget.

Our call was answered, however, by two unexpected individuals: Marcus Terrings and Jon Beyon. We met with them in the city of Cenofan across the Circlarian Ocean on the continent of Canticula. Marcus and Jon had a lot of Canticulan friends, many of whom willing to not only invest in our desired medieval dymensional plane, but to set it up across numerous expansive servers located in branches across the Midland River States.

That started in 1261; and by 1267, we were at such a height that I began to believe my life to be defined in major part by this enterprise.

Then came the Provans.

Their small, tiny state in the far East of Canticula, apparently a republic, came under sway of some sort of a charismatic figure, who invaded her neighbors and then pushed Westward. Nothing could stop the Provans. They played politics, taking advantage of a rivalry existing between the Midland River States and the Chokian Republic by pushing both sides into war.

And then, as conflict broke out, the Provans launched their offensive...against both sides.

Neither side had the capability to match them. The Provans annihilated both sides in one fell swoop. I personally was not present in any of their grim battlefields, thankfully. But I did ride in an airship over one of the Midland River capitals, which was nothing but a blackened area. Apparently, Provan bombing and created a large inferno that raged there in days past. Rumor has it that the Provans destroyed that city with one large "device of mass destruction."

Even today I hardly believe that. To conceive of a single bomb capable of setting an entire city ablaze is something I buy with difficulty. I believe it was most likely the work of a thorough raiding job.

Regardless, we were forced to close up shop and locate back to Remikra. Some of us went back to try and retrieve the trecholators. We succeeded in retrieving two of them, but the rest were either destroyed or salvaged by the Provans. In some instances, some of our people were turned back and had to go home.

So we were forced to start over.

But now that we were back from Canticula, having settled in West Terredon, Combria, the idea of Medieval Remikra, preferred now by a majority of our members thanks to Jon Beyon and Marcus Terrings having thrown support behind this, finally received the funding and opportunity for implementation that its original creators long asked for. Unfortunately, the idea of rebuilding Medieval Arturia was put in moratorium and has been largely forgotten. Also, the realism expectations of Medieval Remikra have called for extensive research into history, geography, and culture.

And it's definitely proven to be as daunting of a task as we feared back in 1267. It is now fourteen years later, and we are still researching.

There have also been quite a lot of changes in my personal life, but I guess I will dwell on those later.

I will end with this, however. I am quite thankful for the Greycloak. Just in case this personal journal gets stolen, I won't disclose who Greycloak is or their specific role, but they are the ones who paid for everything: the whole Canticula agenda despite its downfall; the whole Medieval Remikra agenda which is still ongoing; and even my airship flight from West Terredon to North Kempton, my airship flight from North Kempton to Cabotton, and my extended stay in Guestroom 3 of 327 East Mason Street, where I am located now.

Am I strange to say that I am both excited and dreading the whole Ceri Mains and Mary Kormann thing?

-> 02 September 1281 ->

#LOC-ThirdLevelSociety #LOC-TLS_FirstVersion #LOC-TLS-FirstVersion-6-MeonaBell

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rwbyremnants · 5 months ago

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=Chapter 3

“PATHETIC! Your stance was wrong, you barely deflected any of those strikes!”

Weiss Schnee ducked her head as her father's words rolled over her. Every one of them was dipped in poison and set aflame, trying to destroy her in every way possible. Of course, allegedly, it was all for her benefit; all to make her a better warrior, a stronger representative of their family. That was the only reason she weathered the criticism.

"This is a simple exercise, and you can't even manage this! What would be the point in progressing beyond when you fail to grasp the fundamentals?!"

The voice seemed to reverberate around the huge room, one made just for her training. The walls were reinforced and soundproofed, and contained the newest battlemechs known to man. Many of which were preparing yet again to strike the girl.

"Again!"

"Yes, Sir!" Her boots drew together, Myrtenaster raised to point at the training mech. A Glyph formed beneath her and propelled her in at an accelerated speed to strike at the mech, and she did so, felling it in a single swoop. She did it! This time, she had felled the robot!

However, afterward she stumbled before coming to a stop – down on one knee, which skinned slightly on the mat. It was only because there was debris from the previous two mechs strewn about that she received the light surface scratches on her person, but they were still present and unwelcome.

"Nhh!" she gasped as quietly as she could, trying not to show weakness, trying to be perfect wherever possible.

"Stay upright!" the imperious voice called again. Two more mechs awakened from their stations, bounding over to the girl on her knees. Their sword arms were raised as they charged as fast as they could. The mechs seemed to be getting stronger and more powerful. Swishing her sword in a tight circle, Weiss flicked out her other hand and activated one of the Dust chambers. Then a quick slash sent ice surging through the air to cover one of the mechs completely. With that one out of commission for the moment, she turned to leap high, bringing the blade down at a weak point near the head of its counterpart.

The head flew off, crashing into the wall a fair distance away. Usually, that would be the end of that mech – but not this time. The machine merely turned, swinging its sword across as it struck her legs while she was in midair, before bringing up its own fist at speed directly into her stomach to send the girl flying into the rear wall.

"NGHHH!" Weiss burst out as she collided and fell to the floor, dazed and seeing spots in her vision. When she tried to push herself to a standing position, her ankle throbbed; sprained, not broken. She would recover… but not if she allowed the mech advancing on her to trample her flat.

Defeat, again. With a shaky voice, she called out, "Stop the simulation!"

The demand did nothing. The mech only continued its speedy dash toward her. What was happening?

"STOP!" she screamed, pushing her way up the wall, weapon at the ready. There would be no stopping this simulation. A few times in the past, her father had pushed things beyond the realm of safety, but by now he would have relented. It seemed he was determined to show her what a true combat situation was like.

Activating another Dust chamber, she swung her blade down in an arc that sent fire burning toward the behemoth's bulk, severing it diagonally from shoulder to hip. Molten metal dripped to the floors of the training room.

And that heat was enough to break the previously frozen mech free. It dashed toward the heiress at full speed, sword at the ready to strike while she was still recovering from her last strike and her injury. There was no stopping it, all she could do was wait until-

Suddenly, it lost its footing. The fearsome charge had come to a halt when it fell head first into the ground. The room filled with horridly high screeching as metal collided with the floor.

Once it had stopped, and the dust and Dust settled, the girl would be able to make out a tall, well-built male kneeling on its back, hand grasping at a sword that had penetrated the robot's usually indestructible armor. The figure was dressed in rather ragged clothes, all black, with a small scarf hanging around his neck.

But when he looked up, the face was the boy who had so long ago saved her life. Years had passed, gracing his face with a more pronounced jawline, making him look quite chiseled and roguishly handsome. The hair was still long, but it flowed with the wind in well-kept locks, and though those telltale Faunus ears were on display, he did wear that old black ribbon across his brow as a headband. He had kept the bow!

"My hero!" Weiss breathed, hearing how ridiculous the line sounded and being unable to care. All she cared about was that he had come, had stopped the onslaught of mechs. Had protected her from something she could not in her moment of weakness. Her dashing prince.

Legs trembling, she slowly limped over toward him, heart in her throat. Even though he was a Faunus, even though she hated all others among his tribe for what they had done to her family, she carried a secret torch for the young man who had risen to the occasion when her mother was incapacitated. No matter what else he was or had done in life, he had saved her. That was more than most could claim.

The man quickly rushed to her side. A hand slipped beneath her knees, while the other rested on her back. With unnatural ease, he swung her off her feet, holding her in his arms close to his body. The amber eyes looked back into her own as a confident smile graced his face.

"I couldn't have you getting into trouble again."

One of Weiss's arms looped around his neck while the other traced fingertips through his windswept, roguish hair. It was just like on the covers of all those novels her mother read and pushed out of sight whenever she or Winter came into the room. Her fantasy was coming to life. It was a miracle!

The two of them soon found themselves in the loft of a barn somewhere far away. As he set her down amid drifts of hay, she gazed up into his golden irises and breathed, "Where are we?"

"Does it matter?" the man asked, running one of his hands through his long hair to brush it off his face. From there, she was able to see the definition of his muscles through the thin shirt. Well-toned abs, rather large arms. The thin bead of sweat on his brow was also somehow enticing. "We are here, and alone. That's perfect, no?"

"It is perfect," she breathed, clinging to his body. "And… now that we're alone, what will you do with me?"

He held onto her shoulders, turning her slightly so he was above her. One hand fell behind her back, lowering her gently down onto the soft ground. The man then pressed himself up against her, his perfect muscles crushing against her petite, softer body. The man grinned, baring a couple of rather dangerous fangs in his mouth that were rather intimidating, but when a hand brushed one of her locks of hair behind her ear, the touch was softer than any touch her parents would have given her.

"That is for you to decide. Anything you want; I am here to do your bidding."

Weiss had the same thought many times about her dark prince of the White Fang. That he was dangerous, that he was imposing. Somehow, now that she was older, the dangerousness only made him more desirable. She never understood that facet of her imagination and there was no one with whom she felt safe confiding those particular feelings.

Until now. She could confide in him, the Faunus of her desires. Couldn't she?

"I want you to… to kiss me," she admitted with a flush to her cheeks. "Roughly, b-but sweetly. Put your hands on me, I… whatever you want."

"Your wish is my command."

His eyes fell shut as he leaned in, capturing her lips with his own. His were so soft and sweet, despite his rugged appearance. Right away, they curled around to kiss her roughly, his tongue reaching out to brush against her bottom row of teeth, searching out more of the delicate heiress. One hand dove into her silvery hair, scratching against her scalp. The other fell to the back of her leg, slowly bringing it up against his side as he let his body weight rest atop her.

How long she had desired this! Trembling hands gripped and pulled him closer, painting her body across his, the sinewy muscles writhing beneath his skin setting her own aflame – especially that of his hand against her leg. Passion began to stir in her, and she knew it would be the same for him, as well. Hesitantly, she parted her mouth to allow his tongue inside, to be the first thing ever to penetrate her defenses. No one had ever dared touch the heiress in any way beyond a pat on the head or a handshake. Of course her brave prince would be the first.

And he graced her with the contact of his tongue, slowly brushing by her own in a heated kiss, lips kneading against hers in desire. He parted their kiss every few seconds to let out a moan of pleasure. A low-toned, rough groan of need – which was echoed by the movements of his hands, as once he had rested one of her legs to lean against his body, he slid his palm back up to her rear and grasped it firmly.

Desire burbled and broke over the surface, and Weiss knew she needed him now. Never before had she needed anyone in this way and she couldn't be absolutely sure that's what she was experiencing, but it seemed entirely ludicrous to pretend otherwise.

"My prince," she moaned quietly as he kneaded her backside before his lips crushed hers again, pressing them flat with his urgency. Fingers trailed down his abdomen, delighting in the tautness of his physique.

"My darling," he echoed, continuing their heated entwining of lips and tongues, the moans of desire. The hand in her hair reached up to the top, as he began to scratch lightly on what would be a surprisingly sensitive area for her… and yet, he figured it out right away.

A moan escaped from her, one she had never heard from her own throat before as she felt the fingertips coaxing such a strong reaction from her body. Why? Why always there? In combination with the attentions to her lower region, it was almost too much. Elated and ready for whatever may come, her hand drifted lower, passing over the center of his trousers…

And realized something wasn't quite right. The sheer level of lust coursing through her veins told her that he should have been experiencing the same, but… he wasn't. He wasn't anywhere near close. The expanse was as flat as hers, devoid of a telltale bulge. Maybe she had no experience with men personally, but she wasn’t uneducated; she knew what she should be feeling right now.

"Oh," she breathed as she released the kiss. "Do you… sh-should I give you a little help?"

The expression of the man before her only seemed mildly confused. Although still exhausted from their heated kiss, that didn’t seem to be why he was unwilling to stop her or speak up.

"It's alright," she breathed heatedly as her fingertips drifted up and inside the hem of his shorts, trailing over a thick thatch of hair. "You don't have to look so upset. I don’t mind helping you… enjoy this with me."

Her lips pressed back against his again as the hand descended, searching for something she had never touched in her life. She didn't find it. Farther and farther down, she explored, until she began to grow worried. Where was it hiding?

And then she found it. However, the "it" was not at all what she had been expecting. Her prince had no scepter.

"Is… are you a…" Fingertips still drifting over the softness that lay where hardness should be, she drew back to gape at him… and received a shock.

What was once stubble was now smooth, soft skin, the rugged chin replaced with something much gentler. And though the eyes were exactly the same, the ribbon was absent.

No, it wasn't. It was in the figure's hair, covering the signs of any Faunus heritage. When the heiress gazed down the body before her, soft curves had replaced once rippling muscles. The firm chest was now softer orbs of flesh, a sight larger than those of her own.

The figure was one she knew. And the voice confirmed it.

"I'm sorry."

"Blake?!" Weiss gasped, trying to pull her hand out of her shorts – but it was stuck. Why couldn't she get it out? Meanwhile, full, pillowy lips were descending toward hers, amber eyes shimmering in the low light. "No, wait- stop, this isn't what I- STOP!!!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

A thin sheen of sweat covered Weiss's forehead as she sat bolt upright from her sleeping mat, chest heaving. When she looked around for the prince that had turned into Blake, he was nowhere to be seen.

Of course, that wasn't strictly true. He was lying right there – rather, she was. Blake was asleep on the other side of the campfire; her head was at such an angle that she had a direct view of the Faunus's bow, of her quiet countenance.

What an awful nightmare! No matter how many times Weiss shook her head, the images would not recede. The feelings. She had never actually touched another person there, be they man or woman, so she didn't know where that insanity had come from. It troubled her greatly.

But not quite as much as that coincidence. Maybe it was fairly commonplace for Faunus with cat ears to cover them with a bow. Then again, if it wasn’t…

"Bad dream?" the same voice sounded out. When Weiss looked back around, her Faunus teammate had opened her eyes. Leaning on one of her hands, she looked over to the heiress worriedly.

"Ah!" Weiss yelped, backing away a few inches… before her conscious brain caught up and overtook the lingering fear. This was Blake. In her dream? That had not been Blake. That had been a figment of her imagination - some kind of unkind amalgamation of her conscious thoughts, delivered in a nightmare soup.

"Blake," she whispered, glancing over at where Yang and Ruby should have been snoring peacefully – or at least one of them should have been. Neither were there. Must have been the middle of a change in their night watch; the Southeast Quadrant was not a safe place, and Mountain Glenn the worst of the worst. No wonder she was having nightmares.

"I get it, you know. Sometimes the nightmares seem real, like you're going through hell all over again." Although this wasn't the type of nightmare the heiress was going through, it was the type that haunted Blake most nights. Sometimes she would wake screaming; others, she would be silent. But the images continued to haunt her mind every night. She didn't want to risk someone else going through that alone. "You want to talk about it?"

Weiss was all set to say "no", but then she reconsidered. It wasn't wise for her to bring up the topic – especially if Blake really was somehow related to the boy from her past. What if he had ended up being killed in the aftermath, and Blake would hate her for not doing more to help? After all, at that time she had unequivocally regarded all Faunus as subhuman, blights on the planet. No matter how much further evolved her mind was starting to become from that time, explaining how she had treated the boy would not be a comfortable conversation.

Then again… what if her subconscious had been trying to tell her something with the dream? No. That could not be contemplated. She had to proceed as if she'd never had that thought.

"Blake… have you ever… looked back on something and regretted… certain things you've said or done?"

Sure enough, the amber eyes looked downward. Of course, being a part of The White Fang would be Weiss's guess, but there was far more to it - things that Weiss could never fully understand. She had regretted going on the raid that night. Perhaps if she had refused to go, things would have been different.

"Too many times to count."

"Hypothetically, let's say you had this… friend, when you were younger. You didn't know them very well, and didn't particularly like them because you had a bad first meeting. Started things off on the wrong foot. Then, they do something extremely nice for you and you owe them some sort of debt, but when you go to repay it… they, um, move away." Clearing her throat, she sat up a little straighter and smoothed out her skirt. "Are you absolved of all guilt because you tried to make it right, or do you still owe them?"

The Faunus girl turned onto her back again, staring up at the rubble that was their temporary home. It wasn't the most pleasant of sights. Mountain Glenn was a literal ghost town, overrun with Grimm and falling apart. She tried to think about the heiress’s words. What was she talking about? Which friend? Was this a past experience?

Or perhaps… she was the friend. But if that wasn't the case, and she brought it up, that could lead to a horribly awkward situation. One she had been tiptoeing around since their arrival at Beacon. She had to be cautious about this.

"What brought this on?" she asked instead.

"Nightmares," Weiss hedged. "F-forget I said anything."

Was Weiss haunted by that very same night? Blake heard numerous reports of the aftermath of the raid; how her mother was rendered paralyzed from the hips down and that she was lucky to survive. If only her own father had the same kind of luck. What did she mean by "absolved of guilt"? Why did she feel guilty in the first place?

They were birds of a feather. Blake had lost her parents and home, and Weiss had lost her childhood from that attack. They had both suffered greatly; even if the case could be made that Blake had it worse, she was more used to hardship than the pampered heiress. And Blake was full of just as much guilt for what she had to do in order to save the girl. Her mind was screaming at her to tell her everything; the loss of her father, why she saved her life, what happened after. But would she be prepared for that?

And would Blake be prepared to share the thought that haunted her most?

Perhaps not. Something of lesser importance would be better first. "I have nightmares a lot. About one of the protests that turned into a riot; it was a few months before the White Fang started to get really bad."

"You don't have to talk about it if you're uncomfortable," Weiss replied, pulling her knees up to her chin. To no avail. Blake closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in and folding her arms across her chest before she began.

"It was supposed to be a peaceful demonstration. We wanted the Schnee Dust Company to investigate the mine collapse and recover the bodies of those lost. I was young at the time, but my mother and I were protesting. I don't know what actually started it, if it was us or them, but suddenly the protest turned into a huge battlefield. There was screaming and fighting everywhere, we couldn't get out of the crowd. Then my mom and I got separated."

Images crept into her mind. Horrendous memories of battered people on the ground, Faunus and humans both acting like savage, deranged animals, the screaming of insults over and over again. And then that of her salvation.

"It was my partner, Adam, who got me out of there. He took me back to my father at the camp, and we waited there for mom to turn up. We waited for a long, long time…"

It took a great deal of effort for Weiss to swallow as her mind conjured up images of the benefit unbidden, the chaos and mayhem, and put Blake there with her mother instead. She would have been about the same age as the boy… but she closed that thought off before it could continue. Instinctively, she knew her mind wasn’t ready for all that.

"Did… did she not…?" It was the only way she could ask; putting it any more bluntly wouldn't be right.

"D-dad sat me down later after he got the news, told me as calmly as he could what had happened." Her eyes only clenched shut even tighter. "Told me that she… she wasn't coming back. And I never even got to say goodbye to her, or anything. Just gone from my life forever."

Something deep inside of Weiss made her desperately want to stride around the fire, to hold Blake and whisper that she was sorry, and that things would be alright someday because they would eventually stop all the fighting. But she couldn't; it wouldn't be honest. They had no idea if or when Remnant would know true peace. Besides, her family was partly to blame for what happened to her teammate. Instead, she simply remained silent and hoped she wouldn't make anything worse.

"I'm sorry… I'm yammering on about me when it's you having the nightmare." Blake sighed sadly, and the bow atop her head twitched as her ears tilted downward.

"No, that's not- I'm sorry." With a slight shrug, the heiress looked away from the fire. Keeping silent wasn’t enough. "For my family's wrongdoing. Not saying it was entirely our fault or anything, and I certainly didn’t have any say, just that… that I regret things ended up this way, and am going to work my hardest to make it right someday. That probably won't make up for everything that happened to you in the past, but perhaps… it's a start."

Blake spared a glance over to the heiress. It meant a lot to hear those words, especially from her. After all, Weiss did hate the Faunus; that much had been abundantly clear since the day they met. Maybe she was finally coming around. Only time would tell. She faintly smiled at her before going on, "Did you, uh… want to talk about your dream?"

In no time at all, the heavy blush came back into Weiss's face as she glanced between her boots and her teammate. Why couldn't she look at her? It was only a dream; she was no more responsible for that than Blake was for her mother's fate. Yes, she knew why she imagined touching her in that way: her lingering suspicion about Blake's identity. But it simply couldn't be. Blake was Blake, and that boy had been called something like Bibbo or Bubba. Try as she might, she could never remember his name – and she had tried a great many times. The day was simply too hectic for her to have hung onto that detail.

"Suppose I tell you it had something to do with… um, becoming intimate with a person I once knew a long time ago, but then, during the dream, they turned into someone else I know now. Do you think that means anything? Or is a dream simply a dream?"

Blake couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "I didn't think the heiress had those kinds of dreams!"

Frowning, she snapped, "I don't! N-not usually! Oh, I regret telling you already!"

The laughter that followed was a welcome relief from the dark emotions that came from her own memories. Finally, she turned around to face her. "Dreams are weird, so I wouldn't say it meant anything… unless it's someone you're into? If that makes sense."

"They're a friend," Weiss said solidly, still frowning. "Nothing more. And I suppose it's because they have the same color eyes as this other person I know that made my ridiculous sleep-brain exchange one for the other at a m-most inopportune moment!"

"Most inopportune? Oh, do enlighten me," she jested - although before she could get an answer, her gaze turned to their returning leader, finally making her way back with her small yapping dog, Zwei. She definitely looked sleepy.

"N-nevermind," Weiss grumbled as she turned to address Ruby. "Is Yang off relieving herself or something? It's her watch next."

"She just started now, but I had to keep watch longer while she did that…." The leader skipped right over to her sleeping mat, seeming far merrier than the rest of their team. However, the same could not be said for the Faunus, who couldn't help but glare at the small canine, who only returned the gaze with a happy smile.

Grateful to have the subject dropped, Weiss lay back on her mat once again… though the subject of her dreams still haunted her. The more she thought about it, the more she worried that Blake and her dark prince from the past were somehow connected, at the very least.

At the very worst…

Shivering, she picked up her pillow and draped it over her face in an attempt to blot out her thoughts. It didn't work.

"You go on ahead!" Weiss shouted to her left as she raced through the train car. They had left Ruby behind to deal with the mechs, and Yang to face off against the strange three-toned girl who had attacked them once before. Now, with the masked demon dragging his bizarre blade behind them barring their way to the engine, the only prudent course of action seemed to be sending Blake ahead while she kept him busy. After all, they had bigger fish to fry, and getting hung up on this one would gain them nothing.

There was something strangely familiar about the figure before them. Yes, it was a White Fang lieutenant uniform, but the build was something Blake had seen before. Long ago. However, there was no time to dwell. Torchwick was ahead, and she would not let him get away this time. With a nod, she ran onward to the next cart, leaving Weiss with the intimidating foe.

Holding his saw closer to her, he uttered the words, "Finally, I get to kill a Schnee."

Immediately, his voice clicked, his posture, his weapon, and Weiss felt cold creep into the pit of her stomach.

"It's you… "

The saw revved up, the blade spinning multiple times as he remained still in front of her, until he said in a rather patronizing tone, "How's mom doing?"

Scenes flashed past Weiss's vision – ones she had never completely buried. Him lunging for her body, her mother barring the way, the young Faunus boy lashing out with his dagger, darting from side to side and then driving his dagger deep into the body…

"How?" Weiss breathed as she readied Myrtenaster, dropping into a perfect stance. "How did you survive?"

An ominous laugh sounded out from behind the Grimm mask as the man stalked closer. "You think that whelp could have stabbed deep enough to do any real damage? Maybe Ghira was a fine warrior, but Blake sure ain't."

“That may be, but y… you were… what did you call him?"

The tip of Weiss's sword dropped an inch as that drove home to her. Perhaps it was just her subconscious playing tricks on her, especially following the awful nightmare she had endured the previous night. However, what if it wasn't? What if they really did have the same name?

"Sorry, let me correct myself; the mangy stray couldn't kill me if it tried." The name wasn't repeated. Why should he do the likes of her any favours? Instead, he charged forward, the blade of his saw spinning at full pelt.

Only a very deft turn of her blade caught the blow and deflected it, narrowly saving her neck. From there, she Glyphed to one side and away from him, scrambling to shove this newfound information from the forefront of her thoughts, to refocus on the task at hand.

This man hated her family. He probably also resented the boy for his part in things, but then again, he had merely done the right thing in the moment, regardless of the "grand scheme" laid out before the White Fang's forces. How could she hope to get him to see reason when his thirst for Schnee blood was so strong? It probably wasn't possible. Therefore, she had to set aside all hope of reasoning with him and try to dispatch her enemy as swiftly as possible.

He stumbled back to his feet again, regaining his grip on the fearsome weapon. This time, Weiss was well trained; he wasn't trying to mercilessly slay a little girl anymore. Still, neither did she have that young knight in furry-eared armor to save her. With that knowledge, he charged yet again, this time keeping the blade far back in order to swing his elbow into her.

Again and again, their blades clashed and rang out through the empty car. Activating her Semblance, Weiss dashed in and executed a series of Glyphs that had her rocketing back and forth, buffeting him at every turn until he was standing somewhat dazed. Executing a quick and tidy flip, she then rocketed straight for him yet again to deliver the final blow.

Through his daze, there was only one thing he could clearly focus on. Her face. This was the same face in which he sparked unimaginable fear once before, the visible scar a lasting signature of the violent artwork he had tried to paint across her. And yet here she was, thwarting him with precise movements and excellent skills of combat.

He couldn't let that happen. That would be disgraceful. He swung his hand upward, managing to grasp her face in his tight grasp and snatch her out of her attack. "C'MERE, PRINCESS!"

The hand then swung down with tremendous force, slamming her into the ground before she could strike. Pain exploded through Weiss's back as she collided with the floor. He had her; she could feel her Aura being depleted by the brutal shock to her system. After being that badly bruised, there was little else she would be capable of accomplishing.

As he casually tossed her into the air and took aim with his chainsaw, her life began to flash before her eyes. Finally, she saw things more clearly: her father was an evil tyrant, and she ought never to have trusted him. Ruby and Yang were two of the greatest friends she could ever hope to find anywhere. And Blake…

Maybe she was related to the boy from her childhood. Maybe she really was him. That was both impossible, and less and less impossible the more she found out. Either way, she cared about both Blakes so deeply that it was almost immaterial. She had to live. No matter how she did it, what she had to do to keep from going into the final night, she had to tell Blake all of her feelings before it was too late.

As the blade neared her, she screamed, "WAIT!"

That should have been it. The blade should have slit straight across her chest, ended her life there and then. And yet… it didn't. The blade halted mere inches from her heart. Beyond any reasoning, the Faunus abandoned his strike, leaving her to fall to the floor.

Weiss felt broken. Not physically; there were only bruises. A little time to recover and she would be right as rain - if she lived to have that opportunity. Her pride, however, would never be the same. Breath heaving, she stared up at the deadly and imposing countenance of her adversary. No – her conqueror.

“Wait for what? You to recover?” Yet he had not struck the killing blow; she had piqued his curiosity just enough to stay his hand. He may have spared her the midair blow, but he held the blade firmly, revving the motor again.

"You… wish to kill a Schnee?" she wheezed.

"Did I stutter?"

"You… did not. But am… I really… the Schnee you want?"

Those words made the man freeze again. What was she getting at? Was she trying to trick him? Nonetheless, he was interested in what she wanted to say.

"All you need… to do is bring me to your boss." With slow and deliberate effort, she began to push to her feet – but seeing the blade pointed at her caused her to stop, raising her hands in surrender. "I will play dead for the time being. You'll look as if you've… done your job, and I'll survive. Then, once this is over… you will have your shot at the CEO of the Schnee Dust Company himself, instead of simply his upstart, unproven daughter."

The expression behind the mask was completely blank. He had taken so much from her, nearly killed her; twice! Was she really willing to give up the man she called father so easily? His head tilted as he took a couple of steps back to allow her to stand again.

"I don't need you to go after Jacques-Ass myself once you're history. Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't; I'm your enemy. But my father is also my enemy, and a much greater enemy of yours. He's unbelievably well-guarded - let me help you get to him. Isn't it worth it to take the chance?"

The motor on his blade stopped. She was right. He, and all other members of the White Fang, wanted the Schnee Dust Company's CEO brought to justice for his crimes. Anyone responsible for the poor treatment of Faunus, he wanted dead. And although she had known the man all her life, a child wasn't responsible for the sins of the father. A good way to get to him, yes, but not quite a satisfying substitute for the man himself.

So he gripped her shoulder, hauling her off the ground and up into the air, stepping toward the car ahead where Blake had run. Where Torchwick was. "About time you saw through his lies. Not that I trust you any further than I can throw you. You'd better deliver, princess - or I'll be lopping off the heads of all your little friends next. Bet on that."

And with that, he tossed her through to the other car, much to the surprise of the very teammate in Weiss's thoughts: Blake. She had pinned down her own enemy, holding Gambol Shroud to his throat to keep him from moving. But upon seeing Weiss fall through the doorway in a battered state, she couldn't help but falter.

"So what's it gonna be, Blake?" Roman Torchwick asked in a snide tone as the whirr of the chainsaw blade started up again. Weiss remained perfectly still, listening to the exchange of blows, eyes clamped shut. For the man to be perfectly placed to do her dark work in the future, she would have to give away absolutely nothing.

Looking back and forth between her enemy and the heiress, Blake had a choice to make. Destroy the enemy whom she hated so much, or save that pampered princess's life. Again.

That choice was easy. Her foot slammed into the side of Torchwick's face to render him helpless, before she dashed to her friend's side; the chainsaw-wielder retreated when faced with another unknown foe. When picking her head up off the ground, Blake gazed over her battered skin worriedly. The poor girl really hadn't done well in the fight! With a hand resting behind her shoulders, and the other under her knees, she lifted the heiress into her arms, dashing away toward the back of the kart and out of danger.

'What is this feeling?' Weiss thought dreamily as she rushed through the air in Blake's arms, fighting her instincts to latch on tighter, allowing her body to flap limply in the wind. 'It's… just like in my dream. When my prince rescued me.'

Those thoughts brought heat to her cheeks, and she slit one eye open to stare at Blake's determined features. It could be him. The eyes and the features were similar enough. If only she could inspect that bow more closely! As often as they had been in the same room together, she had never gained a close enough look to tell if it was the very same one she had owned all those years ago, or just some other scrap of cloth.

Just as the prince had in her dream, the real Blake held Weiss close to her chest. Instinctively, or by choice, was unknown; her emotions were also scrambled. Would this be the second time she had saved the girl's life? Something about the nightmare and her admission of its nature. What did it all mean? Fate? Destiny?

With almost zero forewarning, Blake's mind was dangerously close to acknowledging just how close they had grown in that fleeting moment from their past. Even if Weiss seemed to have no idea. But that just wasn't how things were done. In the many books she had read, romance was always with a man and a woman, or else it never ended well. Even the great Makoto-sensei was with Tomari, not with their master as the book series had initially implied would be the case.

Why was she even thinking of a Schnee in such a manner? Obviously, she couldn't deny the heiress was stunningly beautiful. Her flawless skin, soft blue eyes, petite stature were things Blake had always admired, and yet tried not to think about in much detail. Doing anything with her beyond the bounds of friendship seemed ludicrous; even the brief thought made her want to laugh.

No matter how much she cared about her, letting the heiress get any closer would only mean having another person to lose. She already had no desire to see any of her teammates harmed as it was; falling for one of them would only break her heart further.

Just as the prince in her dream did, Blake lowered Weiss gently to the hard ground of the car, kneeling by her side. She couldn't help but lean in close, speaking softly. "Weiss? Weiss, are you okay?"

The heiress allowed her eyes to flutter open and glimpse Blake's flawless face, gazing into her amber eyes. The same questions, the same actions. The same eyes.

It was impossible to deny anymore: she was him. Blake was Blake. And she had been an idiot to take this long figuring it out.

On the other hand, she had no way to be entirely certain. She wanted to be, but she couldn't. Only time could tell, and until such a point that she was certain, she was wholly terrified of letting on what her true feelings were. The feelings themselves were terrifying enough to examine without making them public knowledge.

"I… I believe so." She checked her hip again for Myrtenaster; it was secure. "Are you?"

Was she? As Blake looked down at the heiress beneath her, she came to the realization that she was close to her. Very close, in fact; their bodies were barely an inch part. Why had she moved herself that close to her just to ask how she was? Immediately, she backed away, holding a hand out to help her to her feet.

"Torchwick got away, but we've got bigger problems." Her bow began to twitch again as she gazed at the bruises all over. "You're hurt."

The twitching drew Weiss's attention. That bow. She had to take a closer look, it was the only way.

"Y-yes! Apparently, I am injured! Can you, um, do me a favor and check this bruise on my arm? Take a closer look?" And she held the arm just right, over her chest, to force Blake's head into the proper position. It was the most desperate and pathetic thing the heiress had ever tried, and yet she had no other recourse. It was either try something silly, or wait for who knew how long for another opportunity.

"O-of course." Oblivious as to what Weiss was doing, she took the girl's hand to lift the sleeve of her jacket upward, leaning in and inspecting the soft skin beneath. Of course, she had to look down intently at her skin to do so, giving Weiss ample view.

The elegant stitching, rich fabric, exact shade. The bow had been re-dyed and mended, perhaps, but there could be no denying it was the very same one her mother had reluctantly allowed her to wear to a party roughly eight years ago.

"Ohhh," Weiss breathed shakily, feeling the room spin. This was impossible. Why was everything coming together to confirm this now , of all times? How was she supposed to handle this knowledge? The boy she had been pining after so deep down inside her heart that nobody else knew, who allowed her an illusory escape from living with her tyrannical father, who had now rescued her twice in her life…

Her strong, brave prince was this sullen, voluptuous bookworm?!

Hot breath on her arm brought her around to remembering that said woman's face was inches from her skin, and she jerked back, shunting her clothing back into place. "Y-yes! I mean, um, did it look okay? Because we should get going to help the others if I'm not going to die from it, right?"

Surprise stirred in Blake at the girl's sudden recovery. How was that possible? No, the bruise didn't look bad at all, but now she was completely fine, jumping back to her feet and ready to help their teammates. If she was so unaffected, then why the random delay?

"O-oh, yeah. We should probably head up there. Let's go." But even as she said so, following Weiss’s retreating form, she couldn’t completely stop wondering why the Schnee’s pale skin had been so rosy in her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose.

But it would have to wait. For now, they had a city to save.

#a matching prince #monochrome fanfiction #rwby fanfiction #rwbyremnants

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maggicktouched · 2 years ago

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My Drabbles: Me and the Devil I've had this idea in my head a while, and I finally broke down and let my inner head convince me to write it out so maybe it'd stop plaguing me. I'm probably absolutely rotten at writing Matt Murdock, but at this point I write so little actual content I don't care as long as my brain focuses on something for long enough to string coherent sentences together.

It had to be foul play. That was what Midori had said in her letter. The Magical Division of the Central Park Zoo was one of the most heavily guarded facilities in the witches’ world. It had to be, given its incredibly close proximity to the human world. A security breach could mean anything from the space warping spells malfunctioning and physically overtaking the mortal realm, or a dangerous creature destroying the city. Either were very bad for the humans of New York City, and they’d never had a single issue before.

Until she’d gotten the letter.

Beck had seen wildfires dozens of times in her life wandering the forests on the west coast of the country, but fire was not an element she underestimated. She’d never been this close to a blaze so large. The heat was suffocating, even well outside the range where the flames could touch, but worse even was the roar. It took no real, discernible shape, but it sounded alive. Claws of crimson dragged against the metal frame of the warehouse and it screeched like a dying thing. Orange teeth ground wood and plastic and fabric to ash in its maw. And it roared. Roared and roared like a lion. Roared and never wanted for air.

Beck swallowed and pressed forward, out of the shadows cast by the fire and into its blazing light. She knew the beast that had caused this inferno was inside, watching her. She had to contain this before it took half the city and everything got much, much worse for everyone, but doing that without spooking the creature was a delicate task.

“You’re going to fry like a chicken leg if you take another step. Forget this. Leave the mortals to their doom. Come away!” Angrboda was alive with a rage nearly as hot as the warehouse fire. Beck knew it was to cover up the fear she was feeling, and fought to keep the emotion from sinking its teeth into her. If she panicked, there was a good chance more people would die.

“If I can get closer, I might be able to calm her down.” She replied. Silently, pressing her thoughts back across the distance between them. Boda was hidden on a rooftop a few buildings away. Against the night, she was completely invisible from this distance, but Beck knew she was watching carefully. Just as Habrok was circling in the air above, calling to her. He didn’t like this plan either.

But it was best for everyone. Well—maybe not for her, but she would endure. She always did.

Her hand lifted to press against the air near the flames. Her education had included some spells for fire manipulation, mostly for safety purposes, but she had displayed no natural aptitude for them, and they certainly had not covered anything of this magnitude or intent. Still, she took in a deep breath, focused on a thread of energy, and pulled her hand back. A little too hard.

The fire rushed out of the building and licked at the iron wand she was holding. Immediately the heat was too much to bear, and it clattered to the concrete as she cursed. Her heart was fluttering in her chest, and her knees were weak.

Ok. That wasn’t a great approach. The beast had clearly felt her and lashed out.

Maybe she could soothe it from here. At least a bit, and maybe then she could mold the flames.

Beck held out her hands, palms facing the sky, and breathed. The smoke threatened to choke her, so she called Habrok down from the sky. He swooped in front of her and circled, then dove again, and each time the smog cleared a bit.

The next time she took a breath, her voice cut the air clear and strong. It pierced the maddening snarl of flames and circled in the night air, high and then low, steady and gentle. She did not sing words, kulning did not use them. It didn’t need them. Instead, she called out to the beast like a shepherd in the hills. The hypnotic tune seemed to cool the air around her a bit, and she closed her eyes, thinking of rocky mountains and calm streams flowing from their peaks; she thought of the home where this creature belonged. Its ashen earth, its pristine sky, its serene stillness and the magic that permeated every rock and tree and creature that lived there.

This time, she lifted her hand, never stopping her song, and ran it over the flames like a man stroking his dog. They twisted and flickered, alive beneath her touch. It burned, but not as badly as it should have. Closer they crept, and louder she sang. They encircled her hands and she could feel the anxious energy in them now. Beck lifted both hands and parted them, and they cleared a small path to the missing door to the warehouse.

She went to take a step closer, but her singing came to a strangled stop. Stars exploded in her vision, and the song turned to a scream of alarm as she sailed through the air. The thing that had hit her was much much larger than her, and its weight dragged her down nearly as fast as it sent her flying. Her control broke, and with it, her spell over the beast in the blaze. It screamed along with her as she was pinned to the ground.

Her head twisted away just in time to dodge a fist. Without thinking, she flexed her hand and her wand came flying toward her. The man jerked his head to the side, not quite looking at the object, but clearly noticing. He rolled off her just in time to avoid its sharp edge slicing open his face. Then, before she could even get a decent look at her assailant, he did the unthinkable.

His fingers closed around her wand.

Beck let out another cry, this one mixed with shock and violation and anger. She was scrambling to her feet, panting, her own magic ripping through the air around her invisibly. It took a savage grip on every living, breathing thing in a mile’s radius and a chorus of cries filled the air. The creature in the warehouse responded first, howling a terrible shriek above the growl of fire. Then the yelps and frantic barks of dogs, the yowl of cats, the buzzing of insects, and the cries of birds.

But it didn’t last long. Her magic spoke through her wand too, along with the hundreds of witches that had wielded it before her. By the time she stood to face him, he was yelling out in pain, his knuckles white around the metal, his whole arm shaking as the power flowed through his mortal body. A body never meant to contain that manner of power. White tendrils of light curled up his arm and began to crawl over his chest, and he was writhing, but couldn’t move to come after her again.

She’d kill him, if she didn’t get ahold of herself. Against her better judgment, she brushed aside her rare fit of rage and swallowed the sickening feeling inside her. The light faded from the man, the wand dropped to the ground. She thought maybe he’d stop, maybe they might square off. She could explain herself if he just let her.

He was dressed in a costume of some kind. There were stubby horns on his head like a young billy, and his entire outfit was a blood red. His mask covered his face, even his eyes, but she didn’t need to see them to know he was enraged.

He rushed her again, before she could think to stop him, and this time his fist connected with her face. She stumbled, but caught herself on a chain link fence that rattled in protest. Beck hissed, pressing a hand to her eye, and managed to evade his next attack. He’d likely been counting on the blow to stun her, but she’d taken too many punches in her life to flinch.

She fought the rising tide of panic that screamed at her to shift. He was twice her size now, but as a bear his pretty little costume as well as his skull would crack like an egg.

“Fight! Kill him!” She heard Angrboda snarl in her mind. “I’m coming for you.”

“No!” She shrieked, both aloud and in her head. He hit her again, this time in the gut, and as she sagged forward she sank her human teeth into the side of his jaw—the only part of him that was exposed, as she tried to kick him off of her. She was no match for him. He didn’t even flinch, and she could taste copper in her mouth.

Once more he had her on the ground, but he was behind her, and now his elbow was around her throat. She could hear her familiars panicking in her mind, she could hear a shrill cry, but her vision dimmed quickly. It didn’t matter how much she kicked, how hard she squirmed, how she dug at his arm, he didn’t budge.

“Stay away.” She urged her familiars in her head. “Stay away. I can’t lose you too.”

From her spot on the ground, she could see something small rising up from the flames and disappearing into the night sky, and with the last of her breath she squeaked out a cry. She gave a silent bid to Harbok to follow it, and the world went dark around her.

She woke to a pounding head and a sore throat. The world was alive with sound. Feet stamping, keys of keyboards clicking, people talking in the distance, heavy doors rolling open and clicking shut. She could smell waste and alcohol and artificial flowers that sought to wipe out the other two sickening aromas.

Her eyes fluttered open and the world swam. The sound that came out of her was broken and frightened, and a second later, a hand pressed against her shoulder. Before she could think, she flinched—her eyes instantly screwing shut once more. It caused a stab of pain to radiate through her skull.

“Hey. Hey you’re ok sugar.” It was a woman’s voice. She smelled like stale alcohol and perfume. “Come on now. Can you sit up?”

Cautiously, she looked at the stranger. She was fairly young, but Beck wasn’t great at assessing the age of mortals. An adult, obviously. Well past her twenties. Maybe in her mid thirties or early forties? Her hair had been straightened at one time, but was frazzled now, and her make up was creased and cracking in places as if it’d been applied days ago and not washed off. She was pretty, but the state she was in didn’t say anything promising about the situation they were in.

“There ya go. You got it.” She coaxed, helping the young witch into a sitting position. The entire world swam and she felt nauseous, like she might throw up, but she held it in. Beck had seen the expression of pity on many faces in her life, and she hated it. She must look like shit.

“You and your boyfriend have it out? He gave you quite the shiner.” She tilted up Beck’s head, tutting.

“No. A random jackass on the street jumped me.” She said. She barely recognized the sound of her own voice. Beck looked out the iron bars of the holding cell and swore. This was the last thing she needed right now, and she didn’t have a lot of time before someone realized where she was and shit got ugly.

“Jesus. What’s the world coming to?” The woman took a seat on the hard metal bench in the cell and leaned her head back against the wall. Her eyes cut to the left to look at Beck, but she could barely see out of her right eye with how swollen it was. “I’m Jasmine, by the way. They got me in on solicitation. How ‘bout you?”

“Barbra.” The lie was instant, automatic. She’d lied about her name a million times in her life. “I go by Babs. And honestly? I have no fucking clue.”

They didn’t say anything else for a minute, and by the time she had mustered up the energy to try, someone walked into the room. He looked about the same age as her fellow prisoner, but he didn’t wear it as well. He was thin and his cheeks were hollow and his beard was short and dotted with a half dozen pimples.

The man was gentle with her, to his credit. There were burns on her hands that needed to be addressed, but thankfully her glamour charm had concealed them to the mortals. She hissed when he pressed the tips of her abused fingers to the electronic pad again and again, confused by whatever the results he was getting.

“Marge!” Beck flinched when he shouted, but he didn’t stop. “Marge this computer’s fuckin busted again!”

They tried four more times, then attempted to use actual ink (which she was certain was not good for her concealed wounds) and then finally conceded that whatever they wanted, they weren’t going to get. They took her picture, asked her half a dozen questions, and she lied every time.

Her saving grace was that she had no record. She didn’t even have a birth certificate. In the human world, she did not exist. Maybe it raised more red flags, but it also bought her time. She could lie until she found a way out of here.

She had to find a way out of here. Before someone came to get her out and everything went tits up.

When she returned to the holding cell, Jasmine was gone. Court, they said, and she’d be going that way soon. That left her alone with a man sleeping off a drunken stupor in the corner, and a watchful officer typing away on his computer outside the cell. Beck took the small semblance of privacy to look herself over. Her ribs were bruised, and she knew her throat was too. And her eye. God, for a guy in a onesie, he could throw a fucking punch.

She should have turned him into a shrew. If she had only had a half second to think.

Beck shut her eyes and sat cross legged on the bench. She pushed out her thoughts to her familiars, “Are you two alright?”

“The beast sleeps. But it is only a matter of time.” Habrok answered gravely.

Beck nodded.

“I followed our little friend.” Angrboda said, swiftly changing the subject. Beck resisted the urge to sit up a bit straighter as she listened. “He attacked two other people and nearly ripped his footy pajamas jumping over a fence while running after a third. The man running away called him ‘The Devil’ but the first one just called him Daredevil.”

“Dramatic.” Beck mumbled aloud, then caught herself.

“He’s an attorney.” The feline continued. In her mind’s eye she can practically see the cat haughtily curling and uncurling her long, silken tail. “A shitty one. I’m guessing from the state of the office. Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at law.”

“Which one is he?”

“Murdock. Matthew Murdock.” She said, and Beck could tell by her tone there was something she was dying to spit out.

“What is it?”

A snort of laughter rang through her mind. “He’s blind. You got your ass handed to you by a mortal that can't even-”

“Blind?!” Again her tongue got the better of her, and the officer at the desk looked up, alarmed. Beck gave him a sheepish smile and got ahold of herself. “There’s no way. The guy dodged a flying wand coming at him from behind. He knew exactly where to hit.”

“There’s all types of aberrant mortals these days. Maybe he’s one of them. He certainly isn’t a witch. I’ve made sure.”

Beck bit her lip and tried to think. That was shocking, but not nearly as important. An idea was forming in her head.

“Hey!” She called, standing to walk to the front of the cell. When the guard didn’t look up she gave a little whistle. “What’s your name?”

He still didn’t look at her. “Officer Smith.”

“Smith. I want to call my lawyer. Now.”

He let out an exasperated sigh and stood up. His rolling chair clanged loudly on the cement walls, and his keys jingled as he pulled them free. He took her out of the cell and down the hall to a small room with a phone, and Angrboda slowly and carefully read the phone number off of the sign in front of the building. Her head was still spinning a bit, and the incessant ringing made her wince, but blessedly it was answered fast.

“Nelson and Murdock, how may I direct your call?” A woman’s voice said briskly.

“I need to talk to Matthew Murdock.”

“He’s with a client at the moment, can I take a message?”

“No. No this is an emergency. Tell him that he can answer my call, or the first one I make when I get out of here is the city papers to have a long, thorough discussion about his—moonlit activities.” She wasn’t normally so harsh, but she needed to get out of here fast. It was a miracle Harper hadn’t burst through the door already and ripped the whole station apart.

“One moment please.”

There were footsteps, whispers she couldn’t discern, and a hasty apology in a congenial masculine tone. The voice of her attacker. It made her heart start to race with panic that she forced down. He took the phone, she could hear him breathing.

“Mr. Murdock. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Trying to burn down a city block generally gets people on my bad side.” He replied sharply.

Beck laughed. “You thought I was—I thought attorneys were supposed to believe everyone was innocent until proven guilty.”

“I saw you.”

“Well we both know that isn’t true.” Beck stopped herself, blind jokes were beneath her, and would only lead to more hostility. “Listen, we need to talk, and I’m on a bit of a tight schedule. The employees in this shithole you dropped me in aren’t exactly accommodating. So I doubt a phone conference is an option. Get here as soon as you can and I’ll tell you exactly what you saw.”

“Why should I help you? You don’t have any proof of what you saw.”

“Can you say that for sure? I found you, didn’t I? Surely you’d like to know how.” She said smoothly.

He went quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again his words were cold as ice. “Maybe that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

So he wasn’t one to be cornered. Good to know.

“Fair enough. Then let me give you this incentive: there’s more than one devil wandering the streets of this city, and if they find me before you do, things are going to get very, very messy for the lovely employees of this fine establishment. Tick-tock, Matthew.” Beck hung up the phone and let the threat dangle. The officer took her back to her cell and shoved her inside.

All she could do was wait.

He arrived in a suit with a frown on his face and a pair of little red glasses on the bridge of his nose. In one hand was a briefcase, and in the other was a long, slender stick that they both knew he didn’t need to get around. He filed into the meeting room behind her and shut the door.

“Barbra Fry.” He greeted, his fingers wandering over a handful of papers without looking at them. Was that for show as well? Beck mirrored his irritable frown. “You have five minutes.”

“How much privacy do we have?” Beck asked, unable to stop how nervous she felt. She didn’t like being caged, and she didn’t like being watched.

“Attorney client privilege. They can’t listen to this meeting. Now what do you want?”

“Isn’t that a nifty rule.” She said, leaning back in her chair and curling her hair around her finger before wincing and stopping herself. “They can’t get around that?”

“You’re wasting my time. Given your complete and utter lack of a record and your burnt off fingertips, I know this isn’t your first run in with the law.”

“My fingertips are burnt off because I was burned last night, jackass.” She hissed.

“Good. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before setting half of Hell’s Kitchen on fire.” He snapped. This wasn’t going well. “Three minutes.”

Beck took a breath and tried to settle her racing thoughts. He swore they weren’t listening, but she still lowered her voice.

“I don’t know what you saw or—felt or whatever your situation is here. But you’ve got it the wrong way around. I can’t tell you all of the details here. I don’t care if you say they aren’t listening. But I haven’t ever hurt anyone.”

“The flames were coming from your hands.” He hissed, like he thought she was lying and detested her for it.

“No, they weren’t. If I had control of that fire, why wouldn’t I have burned you alive when you rolled off of me? If you know what I can do, or if you even suspect what I am, then surely you’re smart enough to realize that I could have hurt you back there. I could have killed you. But I didn’t. And I didn’t start that fire.” She gave him a hard look, because at this point she couldn’t tell if he was acting or not with his bumpy paper and his glasses and his eerie ability to navigate everything without fumbling.

“You’re lying. Your heart is racing.”

Beck made a frustrated noise in the back of her sore throat. “My heart is racing because I’ve been kept in enough cages in my life. They make me nervous. Even worse, I may not hurt anyone, but I wasn’t lying when I said that other people will if they find out I’m here. My ex and I have a—complicated relationship. And she’s not known for her niceties. If she finds out I’m here and sees me in this state… she’ll hurt people.”

He sat back in his chair. Five minutes had to be up, but he wasn’t leaving. After a moment he pressed. “Your ex?”

“Harper Byrns.”

“Harper Byrns? The Harper Byrns? Jesus why didn’t you just say Tony Stark?”

Beck smacked her fist on the table in frustration and let out a shrill, yelp of pain. It was the first time she saw him soften a bit. He bit the inside of his cheek, but it was there, a glimmer of concern. When she spoke again, she was trying desperately not to cry.

“Goddamn it for once in my whole life I’m not lying. And even if I was, the thing that set those fires is still out there. My familiar is watching her, but it is only a matter of time before she spooks again and another building goes up in flames. Next time it might not be an abandoned warehouse. Please. I am begging you for your help.” She said shakily. Before he could respond, she tried to sweeten the pot. “I can pay you anything. Anything at all. Name a number, and you got it. But I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Please.”

He sighed irritably and nodded. “They don’t have much to hold you on. I can get you out.”

Beck could have collapsed from relief. He gathered his papers and left the room for a moment, then returned with a bag of her things. Most notably her wand. He wasn’t touching it, thank the spirits, but he didn’t give it back. Instead, he put the entire bag of belongings into his briefcase with a firm look, as if he dared her to argue. She didn’t, even if it bothered her.

He took her to a taxi parked behind the building and opened the door for her, which she was grateful for, but the ride to his office was relatively silent aside from the driver, who was singing along softly to music in a language she didn’t know.

“Did they-” He clenched his jaw, as if the words coming out of his mouth were physically uncomfortable. “Do you need to go to a hospital or something?”

“No!” She said, unable to stop the fear from her voice. Instinctively, she put her arms to her chest to protect the wounded flesh. “No! No I don’t… No. Please.”

The driver of the taxi glanced in his mirror, and Beck shut her mouth. There was a slight tremble to her body that she was barely containing. He must have done it to soothe her, but when Murdock reached over to put a hand on her shoulder, she flinched away from him, violently.

Goddamn it.

“You ok back there, lady?” The older gentleman asked. The car slowed a little as if he might stop, but Beck nodded hastily.

“Sorry. I mean, yes. Yes I’m fine.” She answered, looking out the window. God the city here still made her sick.

A few minutes later the driver pulled into a spot in front of the building Boda had described to her, and to his credit, once more, Murdock helped her out of the vehicle. Standing up from a sitting position made her ribs burn from where he’d punched her but she hid it well enough.

“Don’t—enhanced normally heal quicker?”

“I don’t know what that means.” She muttered, slowly tackling the steps one at a time. He was walking behind her, as if he was afraid she’d fall, but she didn’t like not being able to see him. “But to heal faster I’d need a spell or a potion to fix me up. I don’t have either of those. I’m just lucky Boda was able to pull my glamour charm over the burns. I’d have much rather woken up in that cell than the hospital.”

Murdock grunted, and Beck was too out of breath to hazard a guess at what it meant. They went up one more flight of steps before blessedly reaching the office. A blonde man was talking to a slender woman at a desk when they walked in, and they both looked at her with unconcealed horror on their faces that made her wince.

“Oh my god!” The woman was on her feet in an instant, and Beck took an instinctive step back when she rushed forward, only to bump into Murdock and jump a bit. These people were going to give her a heart attack. The woman froze, and Murdock raised his hands as if to show he meant no harm, but she knew what those hands were capable of. Boda was silent in her head, but Beck could practically feel her disapproval. This wasn’t the smartest plan, but in her defense, it’d been the best one she could think of. At least for the population of the city. Besides, even if she couldn’t help being jumpy, she didn’t actually think he was going to beat her up again. Probably.

Murdock scooted around her and took the other man by the arm, leading him into a room to the side. She could see them through the half-closed blinds of the window talking heatedly, but couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“Please, sit down. Can I get you anything? Anything at all. Water, coffee, soda, tea? I’ve got some bagels in the kitchen or-”

“I’m fine.” That was a lie. She was in one of the worst positions that she’d been in for a very long time, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it together.

“Mrs. Fry. This way.” Murdock said as he finally emerged from the other office. He ushered her into another room and shut the door behind them, muttering to the other two that he wasn’t to be disturbed.

“Beck.” She said, gingerly sitting down. His brow furrowed. “My name is Beck. Beck Tandy. But don’t think that’ll get you any more information on me. Witches aren’t exactly—keen on paperwork.”

“Witches. Right.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. “Is that who is starting the fires? Witches?”

“Uh–well, maybe? And no. Look, can you uh, can you maybe not stand over me like that?”

He considered her request for a moment, and then went to sit in a chair behind his desk. Beck let out a soft sigh of relief. He still looked annoyed with the whole situation. He likely didn’t believe her, and she couldn’t blame him for that.

“The thing starting the fires is called a uuniorava. It is a small, but very dangerous magical creature that kind of looks like the lovechild of a bat, a ferret, a squirrel, and a porcupine. About the size of a large housecat. They’re native to a certain mountain range in Sweden, but the magical division of the Central Park Zoo was given permission to house a mating pair in hopes their offspring might boost the dwindling natural populations.”

“The—magical—division… of the central park zoo.” He said slowly, rubbing his temples. “You know this isn’t easy to swallow, right?”

“I can take you there, if that’s what I need to do to prove it. And I can explain more later. The important thing right now, is that a week ago, the zoo experienced an unprecedented security breach. My friend Midori runs the place, and the board is trying to pin all this on her. But she thinks someone on it is responsible. They want her to take the fall, and the animal brought in dead or alive. Which means dead. Uuniorava have some extremely valuable alchemical agents when—processed but it’s very illegal to kill one without cause. We think someone set her loose so they’d have an excuse to send poachers after her. Now every time she spooks she burns down half a city block, but she’s just an animal. She’s scared and separated from her mate and just trying to protect herself. When you came across me last night, I was trying to part the flames and get inside the warehouse. I knew if I could calm her down, she could douse the flames. But she flew off. So she’s still loose in the city and until someone catches her, the city is still in danger.”

Murdock’s fingers were drumming on the desk. It was a lot to take in, and to his credit, he wasn’t completely freaking out. Though he did look pale in the face. He opened his briefcase and pulled out the plastic baggie with her things.

“Why you? Do you work for the zoo or something?”

Beck grimaced. “Uh, no. Dori is my best friend. She’s amazing at her job, but animals are my thing. Plus, she’s under investigation for all this shit.”

They lapsed into total silence for the longest minute of her life. She could hear the clock ticking, the muttering of his associates outside the door, the distant beeping of a car horn wandering in through the open window.

“... It really wasn’t you.” He said, as if he was only just allowing himself to believe that. “God. And I…I’m so sorry. I don’t normally just-”

“In your defense, it feels like a pretty honest mistake. Right? Trust me, a black eye, a swollen throat, and a few bruised ribs is nothing. You might have even saved my life. If I’d have gotten in there and panicked, she probably would have burned me to death.” It wasn’t the first time she’d had to reassure someone that had hurt her. It wouldn’t be the last. At least it was partially true this time.

“You can’t go back out there like this.” He said, deathly serious. “Let me take you to a doctor. I know some people that would be discreet about it.”

“No.” She snapped. “I don’t need a doctor, but that bag in your hand could do me a whole lot of good.”

Reluctantly, he handed over the plastic bag of her things. He even opened it for her, but she noted he was extremely careful not to make the mistake of touching her wand again. Beck reached in with a soft hiss of discomfort and pulled out a small, fawnskin bag. She reached into its charmed pouches, fingering through each space until she found her potions and pulled one loose.

“Can you, uhm.” She extended the jar of salve to him.

“Of course.” He twisted the cap, but it didn’t budge. He had to try two more times before it popped off. “That’s a hell of a seal.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Trust me things are enough of a mess in that bag. And this shit isn’t cheap.”

She took a bit in her hands and waited for it to soften from the warmth of them. The cool cream smelled of cloudberries and dandelions, and it offered instant relief to the hidden wounds on her arms. As she rubbed it in, she gave him a cautious look. “Can I ask? You can say no, but it’s kind of killing me.”

“No. I can’t see.” He said, not even needing to hear the question. “But I can sense things. Hear them, smell them, feel them.”

“Like my heart racing.”

He nodded slightly. “Yes.”

“So why the whole, goat-man costume? Cosplaying baby Baphomet?”

For the first time since their unfortunate meeting, he smiled and it looked genuine. “It’s a devil.”

“How very—Cristian.”

He chuckled. “I was raised a good Catholic boy.”

“Yikes. Now you’re chasing criminals in red spandex and getting hickeys from witches. Which—by the way—I don’t know who covered that with makeup, but they did a shit job blending it.” She crossed one leg over the other and flexed her fingers, the burns weren’t healed entirely, but enough that she could physically use her hands without it being agony.

“Damn. The lady at Sephora promised me this foundation was my shade.” He said, and Beck felt a little less on edge now that he wasn’t so tense. “I’m not going to turn into a monster or something, right?”

“I’m a witch, not a vampire.”

Their conversation drifted for a while, and Beck tried to tell him what she could. He apologized about a dozen more times for the night before, and Beck brushed him off every time. She was tougher than she looked, she assured him.

They lingered around his office for several hours, waiting for the sun to go down, and when the city was swathed in darkness, she stood.

“Thank you, for getting me out of there. And for lunch.” She said, pulling her bag over her shoulder and standing to her feet. “I meant what I said. Give me a bill, and Harper’ll write you a check. Whatever you want.”

“I’m not taking your money.” He insisted. “Are you really going to go back out there alone? I could help you.”

She shrugged. “Teamwork isn’t really my thing. Besides, she saw you last night, and will probably spook again if you show back up. Trust me, getting me out of that police station helped plenty.”

“They’ll want you to make an appearance in court. Even if it is just to drop the charges.”

Beck snorted. “I’ll be long gone by then. And I have a sneaking suspicion all records of me being there will be too.”

#;;my drabbles #i actually like this drabble's content even if i don't think i portray matt well

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comet-soda-lite · 3 years ago

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I am going feral over the fact that Belos' plan was literally to murder every single witch and demon in the Demon Realm in one horrific fell swoop and then just... walk away. This whole world full of life and wonder, left empty in the blink of an eye, reduced to a landfill of corpses. And once it all went silent, Belos was just going to waltz through the portal door like nothing happened. Move on and return to his normal life, centuries spent living on the isles left behind like it never happened. Logically we've known this was his plan for a while now, but seeing it in motion was just so jarring and horrific.

Of course, he's been so warped by his time in the Demon Realm that his intentions never could have lined up with reality even if everything went perfectly. He isn't the same Phillip who got stranded there so many years ago. And the Human Realm isn't the same as he left it. He could never have just walked away like nothing ever happened, mission complete, chapter closed. None of this could have ever been as neat and tidy as he wanted it to be. But Belos couldn't see that, he was blind to how he'd changed. Multiple lifetimes lived, an entire world destroyed, and he'd convinced himself it didn't mean anything, that he was still that same human even as he became a monster unrecognizable and fundamentally incompatible with the world he once called home.

#Toh #toh spoilers #the owl house #the owl house spoilers #king's tide

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lampmanliveblogs · 2 years ago

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Where we last left off, Luz and her Cool Aunt Lilith, the Bad Girl Historian had just traveled back in time to the Deadwardian Era of the Boiling Isles, a time during the Savage Ages. They are in search of any clues on how to perfect the portal door that Luz needs to get home to the Human Realm.

Meanwhile, I had a thought cross my mind that I’m honestly a little embarrassed took me so long to think of.

So Luz & Lulu have traveled back in time. Actually, physically traveled back in time. Not just viewing another era through a magic pool, they are really there in history. The mission is to figure out how to build a functioning portal door. The way to do that is to find Philip Wittebane.

As I may have mentioned once or twice before, I have a bit of a sneaking suspicion that Philip Wittebane is Emperor Belos.

And depending on what kind of time travel rules this series follows, all of this has already happened, Luz & Lulu were always a part of history.

In that context, Belos’ words about looking forward to meeting Luz could take on a slightly different meaning…

But I’ll guess we’ll see. Let’s get back into it.

I-is… is that him? Is this it? Has the time come to meet Philip Wittebane, the man we have heard so much about yet know so little about? Is it finally time to meet the man who… has a different hair color than Belos….huh.

The creators are trying to be clever. The different hair color and hiding parts of his face under a beard and mustache to make it harder to compare the shape of his face with the images we have of Belos and the Wittebane brothers. I still did, and I can still see the resemblance. For one thing, he has the same light blue eyes as Belos. There’s also the little strand of hair hanging in front of his face that we could see on his statue, on Hunter (and to lesser extent Philip’s brother) as well as on Belos himself.

His voice also sounds kinda different, but I can hear shades of Belos in it.

Anyways, Philip is being troubled by two large ogre-looking fellows as he owes them money. The implication is that he’s hired them as muscle to aid him on his quest. We know he’s had at least six different companions follow him on his journeys, some of which died. With that in mind, I’d say these gentlemen are more or less justified in demanding their pay upfront.

And so Philip Wittebane meets The Good Witch Luz, as she heroically swoops in to save his precious journal from being destroyed.

Hey there Lilith, you wanna help?

(hol up… the figures that accompanied Philip to The Collector… one was as tall as him and the other shorter… could it be…?)

Meanwhile, or, uh… in the present, Eda is hiding from her parents. Things really haven’t changed much since you were a teen, eh?

So as I was saying before, she doesn’t want to see her dad because she still feels guilty over the Owlbeast incident all those years ago, the one that (maybe) ended up costing him an eye. And yeah, that would be a very traumatic experience, I don’t blame Eda for feeling guilty. But at the same time… her dad wants to see her again and there is very little to suggest he has any resentment towards her. It was an accident, she wasn’t in control of herself. Taking that first step might he scary, but it could also be a step towards healing.

Or she could go with whatever idea King’s joke about Lilith gave her, that works too. What’re you gonna do, pretend to be Lilith?

I compared the leftmost silhouette with the statues in Gravesfield, and it kinda looks like Philip’s brother. The more hooked nose in particular, as well as that single strand of hair that looks a lot like Hunter’s.

So Philip already went to Eclipse Lake, and if that is him and his brother in the corner, then his brother went with him. And didn’t return. Except he must’ve returned, because Hunter exists in the future. So… ???

Furthermore, the ogres mention their own brother, Blue Fang… and that something happened to both him and his palisman. The implication being that Blue Fang died while journeying with Philip, probably during the Eclipse Lake escapade. As for his palisman… I know a certain someone in a few hundred years who has an appetite for palisman juice.

(also, Philip’s leg is hurt. that might be important later)

#the owl house #liveblog #the owl house liveblog #toh s2e12 #elsewhere and elsewhen

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dinogoofy · 4 years ago

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Scorpion/GN!Reader.

Might kiss you, might rip out your guts.- part one

If you think you've read this before, you've read the earlier version! I've edited and changed enough of the story to need a new post about it, so here it is!

A short summary would be that this is a enemies to friends to lovers fic between a winged reader and Hanzo Hasashi. It will be split in 2 or 3 parts!

I also feel like I should clarify that Hanzo is only referred to as Scorpion because the reader does not know his name until the next part.

MAJOR TW FOR DESCRIPTIONS OF GORE

You could still remember it.

The arena. The smell of the blood, the stench of death. The bodies you saw wheeled out in masses of champions. Blood spattered weapons and walls. A picture was clear in your mind of the horror you felt. Of the anxiety and fear you had to push down every moment you remained in that coliseum. After all the training you had been through, nothing could've prepared you for this.

Being a renowned half breed, one of earthrelm and outworld, you and all your feathered glory was never under the radar of the Gods. After spending your life in earthrelm with your mother, Raiden believed that he could trust you. He had tracked you down and informed you of the details months earlier. Asked you to ready yourself the best you could, earthrealm couldn't lose this. And there you were, stalking the hallways before your battle.

You were nervous. Who wouldn't be? You were a hunter, not a fighter. You tracked your targets from the sky, taking them down before they had a chance to truly fight back. Your fighting style had never been meant for a closed in fight like this. You had almost told Raiden no for that reason, but with the fate of Earthrealm in as the prize, you couldn't do so with a clean conscience.

You remember the little girl, the servant who was being harassed by a separate contestant. One that was sure to die, if you got your hands on him at least. You had separated him from her, roughing him up just a bit so that he'd run off. Keeping at least one person out of harm's way. You had no idea of the powerful ally you had just made.

When the arena was ready for you, it was safe to say that it was more than a bit overwhelming. The cheers deafened you, the bright white outside blinding your first steps out of the dark corridors. You had splayed your wings wide, trying to make yourself look bigger than you were. You kept your head high as your enemy entered the arena.

When scorpion's form stalked into the arena, your stomach had dropped. He was confident. He knew he was going to win. You hoped you didn't look as afraid as you were. He was a renowned powerhouse. Strength, agility, he had it all. You were at a disadvantage, the huge wings that sprouted from your back becoming a curse. It was nothing you couldn't handle however, you had been in tighter spaces than this.

Hadn't you?

The fight started quickly. You weaved out of his range and dodged his attacks. It was wearing you down. After narrowly missing a particularly nasty kick, you knew you couldn't keep this up for forever. Lifting yourself into the air to try and get an upper hand was easy. You circled the arena around him, preparing to swoop down on him from a nose-dive when-

"GET OVER HERE!" The blade pierced though your right wing, through the muscle and into the bone. A scream of pain ripped through your throat as you were yanked back onto the ground.

A string of explicit words left your mouth as the blade was yanked out. You got your feet just in time for Scorpion to charge at you again. You couldn't dodge this time. He managed to land a punch, but when you blocked the second you had a horrific realization that you were too close to him. There was no chance to evade the attacks easily now, he could just yank you back to where you were. You blocked his blows as best you could, landing a few hits of your own, when he reached a hand out and grabbed your wing.

The excruciating pain had burned itself into your memory. His hand lit up in flames in a split second, charring your wings. You cried out in pain, trying to push him off of you, but he remained unmoveable. Your wing caught fire, and the flames tickled and singed the feathers of the other one.

The pain was all you could think about as your lifeline burned and faded, and you hardly noticed when his blade ripped through your throat. He dropped you to the floor, the fire starting to burn out all the while you gasped and gurgled for air.

It went black quicker than you expected. You had died. What a pitiful ending. Slaughtered in the arena, killed while fighting a pathetic fight. All your years of training, and still you weren't good enough.

The first breath that came back to you felt awful.

The room was quiet. Muffled cheers and screaming was heard from outside the dark brick walls. You brought a hand up to your throat, wincing from the pain that erupted from the charred wing as you stretched. The wound was closed. It was healed. Small, delicate hands steadied you as you sat up. Kind brown eyes watched you with concern. It was the servant girl from earlier. You tried to speak, but let out a horrendous series of coughs. You took a deep breath when they finally stopped.

"I… I thought I was… What happened?" She gave you a tight-lipped smile, showing you her blood covered hands. Runes were carved into her skin. The child had revived you with a magic you couldn't recognize. Your intreage turned to concern as you reached out for her. Holding her hands gently.

You never learned how she knew such powerful magic, and you didn't press her about it. In fact, she never spoke. The servant girl beckoned you to follow her, and led you through tunnels underneath the raging battlefield. Twist after turn, corridor after another, she stopped at a small, empty room.

Three, dead end entryways sat in the circular surroundings. The small girl sat down, giving you a smile, before plucking a sharp, glass dip pen out of her pockets. Out of all the horrors you had seen, your stomach churned and wanted to revolt at the sight of the kind girl cutting along her hands.

Stroke after stroke, she created runes on the backs of her hands, connected them to the ones on her palms and intertwined their meanings. When she had finished, she pocketed the pen again. You went to call out to her, to ask if she was alright, but the words died in your throat as she slammed her hands onto the floor.

With a bright flash, blood ran from her hands, trailing across the floor in dripping, intricate lines. The streams of blood ran straight up the corners of the doorways, lining all three. She sighed deeply and the center doorway lit up.

It was a portal. To home. To earthrealm.

It was beautiful. The chance to leave it all behind. To go home. To rest and recover and… and live.

You couldn't leave her like this. Not without a thank you. Not without something of worth. The girl looks up at you as you move to stand in front of her, hands glued to the floor. She smiles, and in a raspy, broken, almost intelligible string of noises, she speaks.

"F… feather…?" You teared up at the sorry sound of the sweet girl's voice. And knelt down to her, careful of the lines of blood. With a wince, you plucked a feather from your one, good wing, one the size of her forearm. You gently set it in her lap, but she shook her head.

You understood what she meant. With a shaky breath, you finally look over at your charred, destroyed wing. The pain was easy to ignore as long as you avoided the sight. But know there was no ignorance, no pretending it never happened. Your bad wing twitched in a motion that had you crying out in pain, but amongst the remaining, once soft down that fell, a single, black, ashy, sooty, burnt feather fell to your knees. You gingerly pick it up, and give her a skeptical look before setting it in her lap with the other. She smiles again, softly. And bows her head to you.

You turned to look back at her after you stepped through the portal. She finally stands, and bows to you again as the portal closes.

You never saw her again. In fact, you never saw Outworld again. But even though you didn't believe that a feather offering would ever be enough to thank her, you did not forsake her gift to you. It took years for your wing to heal, for the feathers to grow back. A patch of scarred skin still remained where Scorpion's hand had touched you, but with the addition of many different salves and medicines gifted to you by kind strangers, the fluffy, beautiful feathers returned to you. Flight, However. Was harder to take back.

You read almost every book you could find- created every exercise, every lesson you would need. But the burns left behind nerve damage along with the scars. It hurt to move the places that weren't numb. But you couldn't lose this. You couldn't lose your flight. It was the one thing you would refuse to give up. Eventually, and you did mean eventually, you had it back. You were a little wobbly, sure, but once you got up there… once you got in the sky, floating along the wind currents, relaxing in the cool air… It was almost like you have never lost the ability in the first place.

You never fought again. Nor did Raiden ever ask you too. You imagined he still believed that you were dead, but it was none of your concern anymore. You left that life behind. It took years to heal both emotionally and physically from what happened, and in the meantime you realized that the life you had before… it really wasn't for you. You didn't want that pain again. Didn't want the chance to have everything taken from you again.

You sighed, flipping onto your back to glide along with the wind, wingspan on full display. You had taken up traveling after you had learned to fly again. Hopping country to country, island to island, exploring the beauty of your own realm. But all this traveling had started to wear away at you. You longed for home. For your old friends. For family. But you refused to settle back down, traveling despite your homesickness. You'd find a place eventually, but only once you had seen the world. You didn't want to die a second time without experiencing all the lands had to offer.

This time, you didn't actually know where you were traveling to. You had just been cruising along the wind current, relaxing in the sky. The lands below were lush and beautiful, the sky a cloudy grey. A nice, cloudy day had always been your favorite to fly in. Days like these being a kind reminder of the days you were young, and energetic, and still learning the sky. You close your eyes, breathing in the fresh air, the tenseness in your back completely disappearing as you glide. For a moment, all you felt was peace.

Your heart rate spiked as a scream sounded off in the distance. Your wings faltered, and you bobbed in the air. Regaining your steady glide after a moment. You frantically searched the ground, shaky hands flexing into fists. You spotted a Cliffside, eyes immediately focusing in on the small form hanging onto the edge.

It became harder to focus. You started to panic at the sight of a small boy holding on for dear life. One of his hands slipped away, and you flinched, almost dropping into a dive by reflex, but you had to stop and think as his final hand remained.

You debated with yourself on if you could carry him, or if trying would kill you both. He would die from that kind of fall. You could die from that kind of fall. Could your bad wing take it? You didn't know, but you were running out of time. You dropped into a nosedive as his strength gave out.

The adrenaline almost put you into autopilot, the wind against your face becoming your only sensation. You hadn't gone this speed in years. The base of your bad wing started to tingle at the thought, reminding you of just how numb the rest of it was.

Stop. Calm down. You can do this.

Your panic cooled into a still determination as you grew closer. The boy faced up towards you, eyes wide and panicked and scared. You fought the wind with your arms, finally looping around his waist.

You caught the little boy just 20 feet from the ground. He clung onto your shirt tightly as you started to slow, wings struggling to lift you up after how fast you were falling, after a few, difficult, sore, flaps of your powerful wings, your weight slowly carried you into the gravelly ground below the cliff in a heavy thump. Your knees buckled at the landing, and you cradled the boy underneath you as you collapsed onto your elbows, panting for breath. Your wings surrounded the two of you like a limp cage.

Your bad wing twitched as you struggled to relax it again, and the soreness started to set in. Shit. You really should've practiced that dive in your self-taught physical therapy. Then again, you never thought you'd have to do that ever again.

"Are you ok?" A little voice asked. You opened your eyes to peer at the scared, worried face underneath you. You tried your best to muster a tired, pained smile, and sat up, letting him go. He didn't move far, crouching beside you. You realized that he couldn't have been much older than a six year old.

"I'm fine. I just need a moment…" You mumbled. "Where are your parents, kiddo?" He frowned for a moment, sitting down beside you with his knees underneath him.

"My grandmaster is somewhere in the forest, " He gestured towards the lush greenery of the field around him. "-but I think I might have to search for him." He said, glancing up at the cliff. You nodded in response. Grandmaster huh? You analyzed his clothes. A ninja in training maybe, you didn't know how you hadn't seen it before.

"Don't worry. I'll help you." You smiled up at him while splaying and retracting the bad wing back and forth. After a tense moment, you collected yourself. Making sure that your bag was still secure on you after the fall, and standing. The bad wing drooping limply while the other folded behind you. The boy stood with you, gazing at your wings with wide eyes. You chuckled at his curiosity, holding out a hand for him to take. He stared at it for a moment, and then back up at you.

"Well? Let's go find him." You nudged your hand forward again, and he smiled, taking your hand. You smiled back at him, trying hard not to grimace at the painful soreness of your wing.

Glancing around, you managed to pick out landmarks you had noticed while flying. Creating a path in your mind of how you could make it back up to that shady, tree covered cliff, you tugged the boys hand lightly. He quietly followed beside you as you walked.

You wandered away from the gravely clearing and into the forest around. Helping the child pick his way through the bushes. The short journey took only about twenty minutes. Mostly consisting of following the edges of the cliff until you could find a slope, and a path that he recognized.

He only let go of your hand when the two of you had to climb a steep side of the path. He quickly scaled it, turning towards you. You smiled up at him, stretching your wings to boost yourself up there out of reflex, but you stopped. Wincing at the soreness once again. The boy looked at you quizzically, and you shook your head at him. You slowly climbed the slope, and continued on. Soon enough, you were moving through the flat patch of shady, woody, land just before the Cliffside clearing. The boy took your hand again.

"Thank you." He said softly. You smiled at him again, squeezing his hand, but not speaking. "...I'm Takeda." You were taken aback for a second, and determined whether or nor you should be giving the child your name. It couldn't hurt, could it? Your voice cut clear through the silent woods as you spoke.

"My name is..."

You started to trail off as a man silently emerged from the brush on Takeda's side, knives at the ready for just a moment. His eyes locked with yours, and then widened. Shocked at the sight of you, his defense faltered a bit, but still remained. You, on the other hand, bristled. Huge wings defensively folding around you and the boy.

You wished it was rage that invoked such a reaction, but it was fear. Your eyes stinged with watery tears that you desperately tried to keep under control.

"Takeda, get back." You commanded, pulling him closer to you by his hand. Takeda tried to speak, but you couldn't hear what he was saying. The awful flashes of memory, the smell, the pain, all of it was running through your mind. Your bad wing twitched and almost retracted back into your body, but you painfully forced it still, desperate to protect Takeda.

"I'm not here to fight you, and I'm certainly not here to hurt Takeda." Scorpion spoke, gaze soft. He hesitated for a moment, but sheathed his weapons. He held his hands out to show you that there were no tricks. Bullshit. You didn't back down, keeping an angry stare set squarely on him. You could see it in his eyes that he knew that you weren't convinced. Takeda quickly put himself between you two, and you almost reached out to yank him back.

"This is my grandmaster," He spoke in a loud voice. Your eyes widened, flickering back and forth between him and Scorpion. It didn't seem like he was lying, he didn't seem like the kind of kid who would lie- but a child being trained by the deadliest member of the Shirai Ryu? You looked squarely at Scorpion with suspicion, looking him up and down. Your defensive demeanor never let down for a moment. You scowled at him, but when Takeda came back over to you, and reached up for your hands again…

You gave Scorpion a warning look, and relaxed your wings. Feathers smoothing out and wings folding behind your back. You squeezed Takeda's hands gently.

"I thought you were dead?" Scorpion's voice was clear and unwavering, but the question portrayed more than his voice would give away.

"I wonder why." You spit the words like venom. Your bad wing twitched again, this time it felt a little more painful than the twitches normally did. You hissed as you held it still. Takeda frowned, looking like he was about to tear up himself. Scorpion's face fell in a guilty look. This supposed new persona of his had to be a trick. Takeda turned to face his grandmaster. Speaking a few quiet words to him in Japanese that you didn't understand. You were to focused on the pain in your wing to care anyway.

You gazed fondly at the little boy, and sighed. It was clear to see that he was indeed Scorpion's student. You were no longer needed. You inwardly scolded yourself for becoming so attached to the boy so quickly. Sure, you had been longing for a connection… for a family… but this, this was not the place, nor the time.

You looked around, the clearing and cliffside edge was close enough that you could see it through the trees. In an almost dejected manner, you started to make your way over to it. The cliff would provide a great spot to make returning to the sky much easier.

"Will you be able to fly?" Takeda's voice called out to you. You stop in your tracks, turning just slightly so that you could see him, and stretched your wings. You winced as you did, the movement bringing back the soreness and pain you had glimpsed while climbing the slope earlier. You pressed your lips together, only glancing at Takeda before looking back at the sky that shone between the leaves.

If you couldn't leave, where would you go? You certainly couldn't stay here. Not with that Man. Not with Scorpion.

"The Shirai Ryu will extend our kindness to you, if you will accept it." You side-eyed Scorpion as he spoke. Fully prepared to decline before you saw the worried look on Takeda's face. You fully turned towards the two, wings low behind you.

"What does that 'kindness' entail exactly?" Your voice came out just above a whisper, but the malice behind it remained. Scorpion's serious face was a contrast to his student's.

"I am offering you shelter at the fire gardens until you have re-gained your strength." You looked at the boy, and then back at the man who killed you, and then at the sky. Who should you trust? Takeda? Or your own broken body? If you took a fall-

You took a deep breath, bit your fear back, and approached Scorpion and Takeda.

#scorpion x reader #hanzo hasashi #scorpion #scorpion imagines #mk scorpion #mkx #mk imagine #mk x reader #mortal kombat x reader #enemies to lovers #if you are still reading the tags i applaud you #part 2 is coming soon i promise

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awsugawara · 4 years ago

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bnha hcs with an artsy s/o [1/?]

i’m going to make this a mini series, so expect to see this AND haikyuu characters too :) i will also do the k-pop hcs too, so look forward to that !

note: your quirk will be the same all around, if implied you have one!

Quirk: AMBIENT ILLUSION - with a single touch of your hand or glance, you are able to make your opponent think that they’ve been taken to another “realm,” but in actuality their body movements mimic those in the illusion; it’s a quirk that can be used for good or for bad; your creativity isn’t limited, but the side effects are headaches, nausea, and sometimes insanity for a short period of time until your stamina runs out or unless someone knocks you out

Hero Name: Chiaroscuro or Chiasu [for short]- referring to the major contrast of light and dark in an image; in italian it is said to literally mean light-dark

enjoy :)

---

s. aizawa

> teacher x teacher scenario tyvm

> you were a popular teacher at U.A., teaching in some of the general studies classes as an art teacher

> students in class 1-C, D, and E would flaunt how cute/hot and talented their pro hero of an art teacher was

> midnight was gossiping about you with present mic and aizawa overheard

> he knows you have your own agency, so how you double that plus being a teacher was beyond him

> “oh midnight! i was actually looking for you :)”

> aizawa-seeing-a-cutie.exe has stopped working.

> for someone who is low energy and stoic for the most part, this was new

> got more acquainted with the other teachers, but you were really close with aizawa

> funny thing is,,,you and aizawa met up a lot after school and you eventually started dating

> the other pro heroes at the school only found out is when midnight had walked in on them kissing

> the students found out about the relationship when aizawa walked you to your next lecture class as he left class 1-A with present mic

> aizawa glared at them and as soon as he left, your students pelted you with questions, until the teacher told them to quiet down

--- k. takami

> keigo is like a SIMP for you

> he practically with go out of his way just to buy you new art stuff

> “babe...i don’t need anymore sketchbook paper...i have an office at the school and they supply my paper-”

> “you can never have enough, my dove”

> you work at U.A. as an art teacher and met keigo when you were walking home from the school

> you had a run in with a villain, who was on a mission to kidnap you and he swooped in to save you

> your art was scattered all over and some destroyed and keigo caught a glimpse of them and noticed your U.A. badge

> “you’re a teach at U.A.?”

> keigo walks you home, if you chose to stay late to work on your art

> when you first started dating, he was wondering why you would stay so late, and you had to explain your quirk to him

> he wants to be your #1 source of ideas, but he gives you space when you’re truly at an artist roadblock

> when he took you flying for the first time, he vowed to take you every now and then because seeing how your eyes lit up at the city below made it worth while

--- t. shigaraki

> shiggy treats you like glass

> i see him as someone that really admires you and your quirk, let alone your ability to be able to create such fine pieces of art

> you were a lone wolf, who met dabi, who introduced you to the league

> when shigs laid his eyes on you for the first time, he was SMITTEN

> childishly rants to kurogiri when you and dabi are out patrolling

> “why do they always have to go with that burnt piece of shit”

> #getrekteddabi

> shiggy sucks at socializing and it doesn’t help that you always have a resting bitch face™

> you’re actually a softie and a sweetheart at heart, but you notice shiggs advances and are quite confused

> “uhm...hello, tomura-senpai,,,is there something i can help you with?”

> rip shiggy from the CUTENESS

> one day when you didn’t show up at the base and dabi did, shigaraki and kurogiri gave him a look

> “oh, if you’re looking for Chiasu, they’re at home sleeping...idiot stayed up painting again.”

> shiggy left after demanding dabi to reveal their location

> when he got there, he rang the doorbell and questioning why he came because this really isn’t something he does

> “hmm? tomura-senpai? what are you doing here?” **rubs sleep out of your eyes**

> he felt his heart leap

> “i came to see my s/o after being told that they stayed up working. now, are you going to let me in or am i going to have to force myself inside your house?”

--- dabi

> you were at witz end with your life as a pro hero

> you weren’t depressed or anything,,,just bored,,,no ideas or fighting spirit

>one day, you had happened to run into dabi committing one of his oversized fires

> he tried reading you, but all he got was just your stoic, almost sad, expression

> you hadn’t moved and he was walking toward you, stopping and moving his face down to your level

> “well, well what do we have here?”

> you hadn’t remembered much from that day, but you hadn’t run into dabi and the only time you really left your house was to get more art supplies and food

> when you were trekking home on the same path, dabi stepped from the shadows in front of you

> you just gave him a blank look and tried to side step him, but obv he didn’t let you

> what happened next was probably the most shocking,,,he embraced you

> you didn’t know what to do other than cry...for losing your fighting spirit

> after that day, dabi would check up on you frequently and eventually he convinced you to stay with him, so he can stay with you

> it took about 2 months to get you to smile and boy was that worth it

> you were grateful of dabi for sparking [pun not intended] your creativity

> “if you’re so grateful, why don’t be mine?”

--- h. toga

> innocent is how toga would describe you

> her attraction to you was much more different than the times where she’d feel the need to cut someone up

> she wanted you in one piece, unharmed

> so she dragged you to be apart of the league of villains with her

> shigaraki was skeptical letting in a quirkless civilian into the league, but he found your ability to design and draw potentially useful

> dabi likes to mess with you to rile up himi

> “you lay another burnt hand on my s/o, i WILL cut you”

> himi doesn’t like the fact you’re close with some of the LOV members, so she whisks you away to her room or somewhere that’s not the base

> if you go to school and you’re adamant in finishing, himi will kinda leave out the villainous aspects of her life so you can finish

> if you go to school and you really don’t care for it, she’ll try to convince you to become a full fledged member of the LOV rather than an associate

> the mission with the yakuza was probably super nerve-wrecking for you after you saw it on the news

> you were greeted with a toga at your door that evening and you just glomped her and expressed how concerned you were, knowing what her role in the mission was

> himi met you online and then began kinda figuring out when you went to your fav cafe and art store and what you like to buy and the such

> attentive, but psycho was how you described her at first, but just accepted that aspect of her

---

k. chisaki

> for someone who looks like a plague daddy- doctor none of the members of the yakuza would have imagined him dating a cutie with a QUIRK

> for starters, you kinda once over the media on the yakuza, more so concerned with your art

> so when you accidentally ran into kai one evening, you kinda just shrugged it off and continued to walk home

> he was so confused like didn’t you know who he was?????????

> nonetheless, he saw you again, while you were making your way home from the convenience store with your [fav. drink + snacks]

> “oh hey! i remember you!” **insert tense kai** “you’re that guy from the other day! how are you?” **cue confused kai**

> you didn’t really have much of a reaction when you FINALLY put two and two together on

> “you’re a part of that villainous yakuza, right?” **insert tense kai** “it’s okay i won’t tell, i like you too much to turn you in :)” **cue confused kai**

> he wasn’t sure whether to be more concerned about the fact you’re letting him, a villainous yakuza go, or the fact he is starting to develop feelings for you

> regardless, kai had “kidnapped” you more like you willingly agreed to stay with him, hidden away somewhere, where you were safer

> he allowed you to continue your artistry, but he made sure to stay away at least from that aspect of your life

> he wanted you to feel like you had those forms of freedom with the line of work that he was involved in because he loves you very much

> BONUS: you held a grudge on kai for keeping eri hidden away from you and for what he did to her and got a couple of hits on his ass, but you stayed with her and aizawa after kai was arrested

---

sorry some of these are short or kinda are,,,,idk bad? ^^;

#bnha headcannons #aizawa x reader #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #shigaraki x reader #overhaul x reader #kai chisaki x reader #himiko toga x reader #dabi x reader #keigo takami x reader

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lightdancer1 · 3 years ago

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A preview of the next chapter of Sins of the Fathers:

The worst part, Azulon decided upon awakening, was that this nightmare was an entirely self-inflicted problem. For all his other faults, he was not blind enough to see this even in a dream. She had swooped down upon a force of his guardians like a demon from Yama's realm, clad in all-black armor, blue fires blazing beneath her feet.

She had landed neatly as she pleased, his soldiers too unmanned to fire back.

"I am the Scourge of Agni!" Her voice echoed cold and clear and loud. "If you had not committed such sins, Agni would not have sent me among you!"

He saw her draw back her breath, the black armor having an almost blue sheen to its back, and her eyes began to glow a brilliant blue as it did with her charged Firebending. There was that booming sound, inexorable and devastating.

And then that blue fire lanced out again, in a spiral fashion that brought fire and ruin with it. In a single sweep of her head his granddaughter destroyed forces, the survivors either fleeing on fire or simply running.

Her steps echoed like peals of thunder.

Slow and inexorable, as if a Goddess walked toward him clad in black armor with blue glowing eyes.

She said one word.

"Burn."

He awoke to the smell of scorched flesh and the look of hate in glowing eyes, shivering.

#atla aus #sins of the fathers

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years ago

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God of you

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30280023

--.--.--.--.--

Scared, aimlessly walking down his own frozen path, he started to feel his heart slowing down. The cold freezing him from the inside was familiar, and it horrified him

(Could anybody see him? Hear his silent cries for help?)

His name was Langa. This storm was his creation. And that was all he knew.

--.--.--.--.--

When they met for the first time, it was an accident.

Langa had gotten lost, to be true. His own blizzard out of control, icicles sparing right through whoever was dumb enough to get close, an avalanche of cold, merciless snow burying those who lingered. Pain and death and desolation, and a young, lost boy right in the middle of it all.

Where was he? Who was he? What was he doing here?

(What was he doing to himself? To others?)

Scared, aimlessly walking down his own frozen path, he started to feel his heart slowing down. The cold freezing him from the inside was familiar, and it horrified him

(Could anybody see him? Hear his silent cries for help?)

His name was Langa. This storm was his creation. And that was all he knew.

Then, suddenly, a strange, painful sensation in his hand. He looked behind him, and the bleeding red was like a jab to his eyes, used to only white and light blue.

And it didn’t stop there. Tan skin, bright eyes, colorful robes that covered very little for the unforgiving weather surrounding them. Looking at this person was an entirely new experience, evoking a feeling deep in his chest and down to his stomach that he didn’t know how to name yet. It was scary. It was exciting.

“Jeez, dude. Look at the mess you’re in. Are you okay?”

His hand, his hand, it hurts! But then, as he got used to the feeling (too surprised to snatch it away), he noticed that the stranger’s fingers cradling his hand weren’t trying to provoke damage. It was a soft, mushy sensation. Pins and needles at first, but… enticing, now.

“What… are you doing?”

The other man smiled a bit, tightening his grip. Langa felt an irresistible compulsion to turn around and completely face him, so he did.

(He was confused and didn’t know more than his name, but he still thought it wasn’t like him to deny his impulses.)

“Trying to warm you up”, he replied, fingers rubbing at his palm in soft, circular motions.

Warmth. That was the feeling, in his hand, in his stomach, surrounding his chest. It was… He wasn't sure what it was, yet. But. He liked it?

“Trying being the magic word; you’re freezing,” he followed up with. His smile turned into a worried frown. “Can you even feel my fingers?”

They were all Langa could feel, to be honest. His throat was dry.

“How did you even get here, the closest village is about two hours of walking.”

“I… I don’t know.”

The other looked at him in silence. Seemingly trying to decide on something, he finally sighed and gently tugged on the hand still in his possession.

“Well, come on.” At Langa’s confused stare, he smiled, broader than before, and tugged again. “I can’t exactly leave you here by yourself, now can I. My home is a bit far, but if we can make it there by sundown, my mother will have dinner ready and hopefully we’ll warm you up enough to keep you from death. My name is Reki, by the way.”

“Reki…”, he repeated. It tasted sweet, on his tongue. The warmth in his hand was climbing up his arm, and now he felt it on his cheeks. “I’m… Langa,” that much, he knew. Everything else, he’d have to figure out.

But there, walking behind Reki, cold and warm fingers intertwined, he thought that maybe it wouldn't be scary, the meantime.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The Kyan family lived in the village’s outskirts. Owners of a field (a big one, at that), they weren’t doing bad enough that they couldn’t afford to take Langa in.

He learned a few things, staying with them. The feeling of a warm, hearty meal (Mrs Kyan was a very good cook). The sensation of mud between his fingers (as the only man, only Reki worked the fields; as an unpaying guest, Langa helped). The quietness of a night without snow storms (it was always warm, inside the house.)

(But that might be just because of Reki.)

Langa didn’t mind his fleeing memory (questions about who was he and where did he come from seemed to dwindle with every afternoon spent trailing after Reki as he completed his chores), nor the hard work (there was something about this man, Langa couldn’t help but think, that he made everything fun). But the dark looks of worry Mrs Kyan and Reki would get, as winter seemed to get worse and worse, kept him awake at night.

So he tried. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was doing, only that it seemed to work when the ice covering the Kyan’s crops would get thinner with each passing day, despite the surrounding lands being completely white with thick snow. And he made sure to do the same the following winter, and the one after that.

And with that relief came back Reki’s brilliant smile, growing with each warm meal his sisters finished, with every happy laugh line furrowing his mother’s forehead. It’d only grow brighter as he held Langa’s hand between his and claimed what a good luck charm this weird foreigner was, that ever since they took him in, winter seemed to pass them by and leave them untouched.

Privately, Langa thought there was no one to thank other than Reki himself. Because it was him who unknowingly gave him the tools to morph his strange, almost uncontrollable powers into something malleable and useful.

It was Reki who taught him about warmth, and that was enough to help melt his unforgiving frost.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

His memories eventually returned, but it was too late by then. Too fucking late.

Because when they did come, it was just after war had taken all warmth from him.

Reki was gone.

The… the idea didn’t… Langa just couldn’t…

Reki was gone.

War had come, and he’d been called to fight. As the only man in his family, there was really no other option. And even when Langa had raged and shook, insides freezing over despite it being summer, demanding he took him with, Reki had stayed firm. As firm as he was when he found a strange man lost in a blizzard and took him home. As firm as he was when the villagers looked at them walking around, pointing at his strange, delicate features, his white skin and blue hair, and spoke of curses and demons. As firm as he was when people noticed his crops remaining healthy throughout the winter and spoke of witchcraft, or blessings, or miracles, and did their damned best to either hurt Langa or steal him for themselves.

The same firmness that made him feel secure and steady despite his blurry past and uncertain future, caused him now such unfathomable despair.

Because Reki was gone. And he hadn’t taken Langa with him.

When warnings about the dangers of war hadn’t been enough to stop him, Reki had played dirty. He spoke about his mother, too old to work the fields, and his sisters, some of them even approaching marriageable age and a little bit too tempting to those seeking to harm young girls, or to take advantage of the Kyan’s prosperous wealth.

Fear made him desperate to go with Reki, but duty forced him to stay. So he did, and he worked the fields in summer, and fixed the roof when it broke during the storm season in autumn, and kept ice off the crops during the harshest days of winter.

And when spring came, so did his memories.

And so did news of Reki’s death.

Reki was gone. And Langa was eternal.

He was a God, he knew then. A young, lost one, who after straying too far from his realm had gotten stuck in mortal lands. And then, after meeting Reki, he couldn’t leave.

Because a God that forgets themselves and loves a human might not return home as long as their dear heart remains in life.

But now Reki is gone, the warmth he shared with Langa taken with him, far beyond where he’d ever be able to reach.

He was a God. He could blow mountains away with a single breath, destroy villages with the swoop of a hand, could will the cruelty of winter away or force it to stay with scarcely a thought.

But he couldn’t bring his love back, couldn’t keep that heat blaring brightly inside himself. Without Reki’s warm palms protecting the flame, it died off like a candle left outside during a storm.

Langa’s pain, his broken heart, brought fore disasters previously unheard of. Lands freezing so completely, life couldn’t survive there. Winds so cruel and cold they’d cut anyone stupid enough to brave them. The battlegrounds in which Reki’s blood had been spilled were promptly destroyed, the strength of the blizzard he sent there opening the earth below worse than an earthquake. The only place left untouched, after Langa’s rage simmered down into heart wrenching despair, was the Kyan’s household, abandoned but for himself after their scared inhabitants had decided to migrate away from all the destruction.

Reki was gone, and Langa’s hands (and his heart) were cold again.

He had forgotten just how painfully numbing the chill in his bones was.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Eventually, Langa’s despair became too much for anyone to handle. Life on earth was going to be no more, unless someone stepped up and did something about it.

But there was only one thing that could melt the God of Snow, and Winter, and Cold. A person that was long gone, lost forever.

But what’s forever for a God?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was the God of Dreams and Nightmares that searched in Langa’s memories for his beloved. The God of Youth and Strength the one who built his mortality, piece by frail piece. The God of Spring and Beginnings that breathed life into it. The God of Tricks and Determination who travelled far beyond anyone else’s reach, to steal back the soul needed to tie it all up together.

(Because Langa wouldn’t accept it, unless it was real. It was no good, if it wasn’t this one.)

And so they worked together for the first time ever, resolutely, tirelessly. Until they could softly place this new human (this old being) on Earth and will it to live.

Until one bright August 8th afternoon, thousands of years after his death, Kyan Reki, all of ten seconds after his second birth, opened his eyes and cried.

And all the way across the world, a God heard him. And his heart started beating again, slow but steady. And his love, his never dying love, drove him (eager and willing) away from his Godly lands and into mortal ground again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He didn’t recognize him by looks, but touch. So it wasn’t until hours after their introduction (hours after Langa, itchy mortal skin covering his godly one, had entered that classroom, tired and cold and still so fucking lonlely), when this bright eyed boy had offered him a hand to get back on his feet after falling off his skateboard, that he felt it again.

When their hands touched, the warmth in his fingertips traveled fast and vicious through his arm and shoulders, until finally settling over his chest. Surrounding a heart that was beating wildly, desperate to reach out to its other half.

And Reki, who was mortal but also a little bit more (built by the Gods themselves, from pieces and ashes and stolen remains), gasped in syntony with Langa.

Trying times would come, the presence of a strong God and an existence that wasn’t fully human nor godly drawing the attention of other powerful beings. Beings that, following Langa’s example (curious as to what exactly was tempting enough, to drag one as grand as him down from his frozen throne), donned mortal skins and meddled with their affairs.

Some would try to help, some to harm, others just to observe. It really didn’t matter, to Langa.

Because he had Reki’s hand in his again, his flame now a burning fire in his veins, and he wasn’t going to ever let go.

#my writting #Renga #Kyan Reki #hasegawa langa #reki x langa #langa x reki #langa is WHIPPED #but what else is new am i right?#I don't even know what's this #reki is a ray of sunshine #renga fanfiction #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 the infinity fanfiction

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atomic-taco-muffin · 4 years ago

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The Lost Princess Chapter 38

Warnings: same as the last chapter

Rating: SFW

“A scattered dream that's like a far-off memory.”

“A far-off memory that's like a scattered dream.”

“I want to line the pieces up--yours and mine.”

It was your birthday yet again in Daybreak Town. All of the foretellers gathered together and released lanterns for your birthday.

“How long do you think we’ll keep this up?” Aced asked.

“Till I get my daughter back,” Ira said.

“But we don’t even know if she’s alive. How do you know that you’ll get her back?” Invi said.

“I can feel it in my heart. She’s alive and she’s happy. And she will return.”

~~~~

Xehanort smirked at the sight of the lanterns entering Scala ad Caelum.

“So, he’s still hopeful of his daughter. He won’t be for long,” he said. He summoned his Keyblade and broke one of the lanterns.

“That girl will fall into darkness. She just needs a little convincing,” he said.

~~~~

Roxas walked through the basement corridor. He saw two capsules with familiar faces inside.

“...Donald. ...Goofy?” he asked. He turned to the door at the end of the hall and entered. DiZ was standing in a completely bright room in front of a single large capsule.

“At last, the Keyblade's chosen one. The protector of the Spirit,” he said.

“Who are you talking to? Me? Or Sora?” Roxas asked.

“To half of Sora, of course. You reside in darkness. What I need is someone who can move about the realm of light and destroy Organization XIII.”

“Why? Who are you?”

“I am a servant of the world.” DiZ laughed.

“And if I'm a servant, then you should consider yourself a tool, at best,” he said.

“Was that... Was that supposed to be a joke?” Roxas asked as he summoned his keyblade.

“'Cause I'm not laughing!” he said. Roxas ran up to DiZ and struck through him. The Keyblade created a wave of data through DiZ. Roxas, surprised, stood straight.

“My apologies. This is only a data-based projection,” DiZ said. Roxas screamed in anger, and futilely struck DiZ repetitively with the Keyblade. DiZ vanished and reappeared behind him while Roxas caught his breath.

“Come, over here,” DiZ said. Roxas stared at DiZ.

“I hate you so much...” he said.

“You should share some of that hatred with Sora. He's far too nice for his own good,” DiZ said.

“No! My heart belongs to me!” Roxas ran and cut again through DiZ. DiZ disappeared and the capsule glowed. The mechanical petals opened slowly and revealed what they contained.

“Sora...(Y/N)...” Roxas said. There, you and Sora were sleeping soundly in the capsule.

“You're lucky. Looks like my summer vacation is...over,” Roxas said. Roxas turned around and faded to white.

“Sora? (Y/N)?” he asked.

“Huh?” you asked.

“Who's there?” Sora asked.

“Sora! (Y/N)!” Donald said.

“Wake up, you two,” Goofy said. You and Sora woke up and the capsule opened again in front of Donald and Goofy. You and Sora stretch and the other two laugh at how small your clothes have gotten. You and Sora jumped out of the capsule in front of them and grabbed them in your arms.

“Donald!” you said.

“Goofy!” Sora said. The four of you laughed and hopped in a circle. Jiminy Cricket climbed on Sora's shoulder, yawned, and stretched. Odile did the same thing on your shoulder.

“That was some nap!” Jiminy said. Jiminy hopped down to the floor.

“You mean, we were asleep?” you asked.

“I guess we musta been, or I don't think we'd be so drowsy...”

“When do ya think we went to sleep?” Goofy asked.

“Uhh...” Donald said.

“Let's see...we defeated Ansem...” Sora said.

“Yep,” Goofy said.

“...restored peace to the world...found Kairi... Oh yeah, and then we went to look for Riku. And my brother gave me Odile and showed me memories of my parents. I think that's right so far,” you said.

“Then what?” Donald asked.

“What does your journal say, Jiminy?” Goofy asked. Jiminy took out his journal.

“Gee, there's only one sentence... ‘Thank Naminé.’ Hmm... I wonder who that is,” he said. You, Sora, Donald, Odile, and Goofy looked at one another and shook your heads.

“Some journal that is,” Donald said.

“Well, what do ya say we find out where we are!” Jiminy said. You and the group walked to Twilight Town and entered the Usual Spot.

“You know, I think I've been to this town,” Sora said.

“Me too,” you said.

“What's it called?” Donald asked.

“Hmm... Guess we must've imagined it,” Sora said. Hayner, Olette, and Pence were boredly lying around the room.

“What do you want!?” Hayner asked.

“Uh, nothing. Just wondering what was back here,” you said.

“Now you know. This is our spot.”

“Umm...” Pence said.

“What?” Sora asked.

“You're...new around here, right? I'm Pence.”

“Hayner. Nice to meet you, but we got stuff to do, so catch ya later,” Hayner said as he left.

“My name's Olette. Hey, did you finish up the summer homework, yet? Independent studies are the worst, huh?” Olette said.

“Homework?” you and Sora asked. The two of you looked at Donald and Goofy, who shrugged.

“Hey, what're your names?” Pence asked.

“Oh. We’re Sora, (Y/N), Donald, and Goofy,” Goofy said.

“And this is Odile,” you said. Odile popped out and looked at everyone.

“Aww, she’s so cute!” Olette said as she scratched under Odile’s chin. Odile purred at the feeling.

“You know, we just met someone who was looking for you,” Goofy said.

“He sure seemed in a hurry. He had a black coat on so I couldn't see his face, but he had these big round ears,” Pence said.

“The King!” Donald said.

“Where'd you see him?” Sora asked.

“At the station,” Pence said.

“The station! Thanks!” you said.

“Well, we'd better get back to that assignment,” Olette said.

“Later,” Pence said. Him and Olette lef the Usual Place, leaving you, Odile and the trio by yourselves.

“Oh boy! The King's trying to find us!” Donald said.

“Yeah, let's get to the station!” Sora said. The five of you entered the Sandlot and found Seifer, Fuu and Rai.

“Hey you, where'd you come from?” Seifer asked.

“Uhh...” you said.

“You here to pick a fight with us or something?”

“Fight? We're not here to fight,” Sora said.

“Yeah, you big palooka!” Donald said.

“Okay, smartalecks... Time to teach you how to behave in my town. Bring it!” Seifer said. Him, Fuu, and Rai took defensive stances. Odile stood in front of you and the trio in a hostile manner.

“Calm down, Odile. We’re not gonna fight these guys,” you said.

“Man, what a jerk,” Sora said. Donald nodded and the five of you continued your trek to find the station. The five of you continued to Central Station and were suddenly surrounded by Dusks. You all fought them, but were overwhelmed and became exhausted. Mickey appeared on the ledge of the station. As the Dusks striked again and Sora held up his Keyblade while you held onto your dagger and Odile, Mickey swooped down and destroyed the remaining Nobodies with his own Keyblade. You and Sora were amazed. Donald and Goofy pushed you and Sora down and out of the way.

“Your Majesty?” Donald asked.

“Shh! You gotta board the train and leave town! The train knows the way,” Mickey said as he held out a pouch of munny.

“Here,” he said. Sora took it and Mickey ran to Market Street.

“Your Majesty...” Donald said.

“The King... Was that really him?” Sora asked.

“It coulda been... Yep, I know it was!” Goofy said.

“Now we know he's okay!” Donald said.

“The king was locked in the realm of darkness, right?” you asked.

“Uh-huh,” Goofy said.

“But we just saw him,” Sora said.

“Yep,” Donald said.

“And if the king is here, that means Riku’s here!” you said.

“He’s gotta be!” Donald said.

“Well, (Y/N) and I are gonna go look for Riku. Then we can go back to the islands together. Kairi’s there waiting for us! What are you two gonna do?” Sora said.

“Gawrsh, Sora. Do ya have to ask?” Goofy said. You and Sora giggled. Odile nudged your cheek, grabbing your attention.

“Huh? What is it, Odile?” you asked. Odile moved around, asking about Vanitas.

“Vani...I don’t know. I don’t know where he is or if he’s okay. But as long as I have you, Odile, I think he’ll be okay,” you said.

“You really care about him, huh?” Donald asked.

“Of course. He was my best friend and my brother. I have to know if he’s okay.”

“Hey, what do ya say, guys? Let’s stick together for one more journey,” Sora said. You all nodded in agreement.

“To...where again?” he asked.

“We hafta board the train!” Goofy said.

“Oh yeah.” You and Donald sighed while Odile shook her head.

“C'mon!” Sora said. The four of you ran inside the station.

“Wait up!” Hayner said. Him, Pence, and Olette caught up to you.

“Hey, Sora, (Y/N)...” he said.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing, but...”

“We came to see you off. It just seemed like something we oughta do,” Pence said.

“Oh...really? Thanks!” Sora said. Suddenly, there was a ringing sound.

“You should hurry and get your tickets,” Olette said.

“Right,” you said. Sora took out the Munny Pouch at the teller and Olette noticed.

“What is it?” you asked. Olette took an exact copy of the Munny Pouch.

“They're the same,” Goofy said.

“Yeah,” Olette said. Sora looked to both pouches and shrugged.

“Four tickets, please!” he said. The teller gave him four tickets.

“I can't help feeling like we won't see this town again...” Sora said.

“Why not?” you asked.

“You're thinkin' too much,” Goofy said.

“Yeah, you're right!” You and the Trio boarded the train and followed it to Master Yen Sid’s tower.

~~~~

A girl was walking along the halls of a castle, trying to find her sister. She soon found her, reading a book in the seating area. She walked over to her and looked at her.

“Ugh, what do you want?” the sister asked.

“Father wants to see us,” the girl said. The sister groaned and followed the girl to their father’s office. The girl knocked on the door and waited for her father’s response.

“Enter,” he said. The two girls entered and saw their father at his desk.

“You wanted to see us?” the sister asked.

“Yes. A spirit has awoken. Find her and bring her here,” he said.

“A spirit? I thought that we were the only ones,” the girl said.

“Well, you’re not. Now go and don’t keep me waiting.”

“Yes, father,” the two girls said. They walked out of his office and walked down the halls.

“Should we ask Uncle Xigbar for help?” the sister asked.

“No. I think we can handle ourselves. Besides, it’s just one spirit. We’re far more stronger than she is,” the girl said. The sister smirked and summoned her weapon.

“This is going to be fun,” she said.

to be continued...

#kingdom hearts #kingdomhearts #kingdom hearts imagine #kingdom hearts x reader #kingdom+hearts+imagine #kingdom+hearts+x+reader #kingdomhearts imagine #kingdomhearts x reader #kingdomhearts+imagine #kingdomhearts+x+reader

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foxsstoriesarchive · 4 years ago

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Legend of the Demons

The Legend of Demons

~~~

“In the times before the great undoing, a mythical Phoenix swooped the underground causing an eternal fire to light. That, was the beginning of life.”

~~~

The Realm of Demons (Known as Ura) had come to life only when the seven fallen princes were banished to a barren underground land. The sun didn’t shine, yet it appeared that the land was naturally lit up with the fire that burned as well as odd crystals that soon enough would be harvested to create an eternal light source. Each prince began plans for what they wanted to do with the land, and upon arguments they came to a solution. They were to create seven cities across the land, each city ruled by one of the princes. Six in a circle with the final seventh city built around the burning fire that never seemed to go out; Shortly named the Infernal Fires. To build these cities took time and they had to gather followers. With their fall however, roughly 2,400 angels came with them. With more buildings created, the cities grew into something like metropolises, brimming with life and energy. Each city had its own rules, yet main rules governed the Realm of Demons, keeping a neutral ground for all. These rules weren’t as strict as those of angels, and were almost nothing alike to the human ones. Many demons inhabited the cities. From Demons of Fate, goblins, Incubi and Succubi, Wandering groups of Demons visiting from other realms that decided to settle. Demonic familiars, Drudes, elemental demons, demons that were born from a union of a demon with a human. The mischief makers, the chaotic. The dangerous and the ones not to be underestimated. There were many demonic races within the realm that came together, making the Realm what it is known as today. The seven cities and their princes are known as; Plamerium, the city of Greed and led by Mammon. This city is what you could compare to Las Vegas the most. Bright with many lights, there are a lot of casinos and flashy buildings here where demons can waste their time away making bets and deals that to a rational human might be beyond understanding. Everything is fair game here. The more you own, the wealthier you are, the better for you. The more you gain in this city, the better your position is on the hierarchy and the billboards. Azepolis, the city of Lust and led by Asmodeus. Azepolis is known for its high population of Incubi and Succubi, whom find it the most attractive place to live. If you’ve ever heard of the ‘Red Light District’, imagine this the huge version of that. Plenty of places to visit if you wanted a ‘good time’ although you coming out of there alive might not be guaranteed. Lust for sex, lust for life, this is how the demons of this city roll. Vakadeium, the city of Envy led by Leviathan. Envy is a powerful one to tamper with, and oftentimes in this city there is a lot of stealing. Finders keepers as they say, although it’s not always about just the taking of people’s physical items. From statuses, abilities, to even powers and traits, this town is known for being a huge masquerade of thievery. Everything and nothing belongs to everyone, it’s a constant fight to see who can collect the most. Visit with caution. Liosontry, the city of Gluttony led by Beelzebub. The city of food! Everywhere you go there’s places to eat. Restaurants, demonic versions of fast food restaurants. And the food? The food is well known for being addictive, making the individuals want to eat more and more. Even with demons having a rather quick metabolic system, the amount of food consumed really could leave you in chair for days. Luckily a lot of demons are good with burning down toxins. Now, anyone up for a pig leg? City of Straka, lead by Amon and the city of Wrath is the home to some of the most dangerous demons in the Realm of Demons. Even by the realm’s standards, some of the demons that live there are outlawed due to how chaotic they are, destroying things in their path. The demons living here have a notorious tendency to escape to the human world, which causes grave danger for the supernaturals living peacefully with the humans around them. There’s no love, just fury and hatred. Enter at your own death wish. De’Klaco, the city of Sloth belonging to Belphegor. The

quickest way the the best way. This city is filthy in more ways than one; The demons living there are known for their laziness and procrastination. They want to play but not put any effort into what they do, which leads to half-assed efforts from them and oftentimes unfinished businesses. These demons can’t be trusted with anything and honestly are the worst when it comes to productivity. They’re sly too, they know how to get things with the least effort to put into it. And finally the central city Stellatinam, the city of Pride led by no other than Lucifer. The city of pride, the excessive belief in one’s own abilities. There’s a strong Victorian theme running throughout the city,- Horse carriages pulled by demonic steeds can be seen trotting through. Those living in the town are often rather prideful of their abilities, but it’s also known as the least dangerous city to live in. Not to mention that this city is built around the Infernal Fires of the realm, protecting them and of course, priding themselves in being so close to the ‘treasure’ of this realm, reminding them to burn as brightly as those flames. The city has a fancy feel to it and while formal clothing is often seen outside, who knows what kinds of deals go behind doors and windows of the buildings. Would you dare to visit?

~~~

It is known that sometimes other supernatural races might visit the realm when they need something to be done. But the most interesting thing is the fact that in the Central city, Stellatinam, there is a main building that holds every single file of every supernatural living on Earth. From where they came from, to the main points of their lives, all information seems to be noted down about each person. The place is run by demons who sort and file out sheets, keeping in check with any newcomers and timestamping actions that happen in the individual’s life. After all, someone has to take care of the beings on Earth after the increased supernatural apperances, and Lucifer seems to have taken it onto himself, alongside his daughter. The archive building is perhaps one of the most important locations within the City.

~~~

Over time, the Infernal Fires began giving birth to demons. It is a very rare Occurrence that roughly happens every thirty or forty years, producing a single demon each time. No one is quite sure how this happens or for what reason, but these demons tend to have unique traits unlike most of their kind. It is sometimes said that the souls of demons that died return to the flames in hopes of one day coming to life again. Whether this lore is true, no one knows. One thing is well known though, is that demons born from these fires are often born curled around a large crystal of some sort. The colours differ but more often than not, they're called the demon's 'soulstone'. Whether they are kept or not is up to the demon to choose. Their usage is still being studied, but they seem to be connected to the demons in one way or another. Concept Realm of Demons ideas;

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libraryofcirclaria · 1 year ago

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6 - Meona Bell: Part One

1 September 1281

It seems like yesterday that I was dealing with Cray Fenton and Oscar Lehman. That was twenty years ago. So much has changed, both on the outside and the inside. We parted ways that year, but Sari Frame and I went in the same direction, supporting a growing demographic within the ranks of the Third Level Society Caucus, a demographic who had long been voicing a long-ignored desire to create a medieval version of the Arturian Realm, set in parallel to life in Remikra during the age of John Dane and the advent of the hot air balloon. Such a proposal had been made in during the off-weeks Caucus meetings, and had been repeatedly for at least the last two decades; every single time, it never was taken seriously. The number of extra dymensional plane servers needed to be built for this simply put the cost beyond the Society's current budget. Our call was answered, however, by two unexpected individuals: Marcus Terrings and Jon Beyon. We met with them in the city of Cenofan across the Circlarian Ocean on the continent of Canticula. Marcus and Jon had a lot of Canticulan friends, many of whom willing to not only invest in our desired medieval dymensional plane, but to set it up across numerous expansive servers located in branches across the Midland River States. That started in 1261; and by 1267, we were at such a height that I began to believe my life to be defined in major part by this enterprise. Then came the Provans. Their small, tiny state in the far East of Canticula, apparently a republic, came under sway of some sort of a charismatic figure, who invaded her neighbors and then pushed Westward. Nothing could stop the Provans. They played politics, taking advantage of a rivalry existing between the Midland River States and the Chokian Republic by pushing both sides into war. And then, as conflict broke out, the Provans launched their offensive…against both sides. Neither side had the capability to match them. The Provans annihilated both sides in one fell swoop. I personally was not present in any of their grim battlefields, thankfully. But I did ride in an airship over one of the Midland River capitals, which was nothing but a blackened area. Apparently, Provan bombing and created a large inferno that raged there in days past. Rumor has it that the Provans destroyed that city with one large "device of mass destruction." Even today I hardly believe that. To conceive of a single bomb capable of setting an entire city ablaze is something I buy with difficulty. I believe it was most likely the work of a thorough raiding job. Regardless, we were forced to close up shop and locate back to Remikra. Some of us went back to try and retrieve the trecholators. We succeeded in retrieving two of them, but the rest were either destroyed or salvaged by the Provans. In some instances, some of our people were turned back and had to go home. So we were forced to start over.

Up to that point, though, we had become just as guilty as the Third Level Society, in that we never took the time to consider an idea voiced by a growing number of our people: setting up a dymensional plane of Remikra, itself, during the tenth century. Similar to Medieval Arturia back in the Third Level Society, the Remikra imitation idea was never taken seriously due to the ridiculous costs. But now that we were back from Canticula, having settled in West Terredon, Combria, the idea of Medieval Remikra, preferred now by a majority of our members thanks to Jon Beyon and Marcus Terrings having thrown support behind this, finally received the funding and opportunity for implementation that its original creators long asked for. Unfortunately, the idea of rebuilding Medieval Arturia was put in moratorium and has been largely forgotten. Also, the realism expectations of Medieval Remikra have called for extensive research into history, geography, and culture. And it's definitely proven to be as daunting of a task as we feared back in 1267. It is now fourteen years later, and we are still researching.

There have also been quite a lot of changes in my personal life, but I guess I will dwell on those later.

Am I strange to say that I am both excited and dreading the whole Ceri Mains and Mary Kormann thing?

For the entirety of Part One: 6 - Meona Bell: Part One

#libraryofcirclaria #thirdlevelsocietyfirstversion #thirdlevelsociety

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bi-outta-cordonia · 5 years ago

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Ebb and Flow

Last chapter moved kinda quickly in terms of progression and maybe there’s a miniseries lodged somewhere in all the development I’m shocked we didn’t get to see. Hopefully there’s more hiding in the later chapters. We’ll see!

Blades of Light and Shadow. Tyril Starfury x f!elf MC (if you squint, now complete with light touching!) sfw, all ages. Tags include: Tyril has secrets, that’s why his hair is so long, because it’s full of secrets, also he’s still grappling with some of that juicy early onset sexual tension with Ashala, maybe he’ll deal with it one, maybe.

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

“Salt of the air, taste of the fury on the tongue. The high winds rise as the sea roll low. Clutch the vessel starboard and let Honerva flow!”

Tyril’s ears twitch along to the melody, lifting and bending easy from years of involuntary practice. The priestess—Nia—her song is familiar to him but also completely foreign. Parents of Undermount sing the same tales to their restless and misbehaving children, not as an upbeat shanty but rather as a warning to the wise. Honerva is a goddess that demands much from the mortals that traverse her realm. Stay humble but maintain vigilance. Stay the course but do not ignore the many weaving paths that make up the sea. Honerva may grant safe passage or she may dash a ship full of innocents against craggy stones, whichever mood strikes her first.

Nia does beautifully as her voice ebbs and the sailors whoop heartily. She offers a dainty bow and heads back to her bunk beneath deck with Threep still perched on her shoulder.

Much like the odd whims of Honerva, the air shifts as soon as familiar magic cuts through the thin barrier around him. He often erects a small shield when he stands on his own, nothing like the ones he forces up in battle. It’s just enough to give the humes pause as they walk by him—perhaps they’ll turn away so he doesn’t have to stomach looking at them. He knows how they take to him all too well. Better to steer them clear of him before something unpleasant unfolds.

Even so, there is no guarantee that all the walls around him will remain in tact. Ashala Venralei is impossible to miss and her magic is advanced enough that crossing into his doesn’t give her the overwhelming need to be elsewhere. She quietly folds her hands one over the other and leans against the wooden rails.

“Honerva is not a gentle goddess yet humans have such cheerful songs about her,” she says.

“I see,” is all he says. “I didn’t think you’d know of the stories surrounding her.”

“Did the mage miss the morning ritual I conducted prior to our departure?” she teases, head turning completely towards him. He glances at her from the corner of his eye and frowns heavily. “Perhaps I am more elf than he cares to admit—I practically begged for safe passage. Honerva changes moods as often as Mal changes the details of the stories he’s already told. We should be grateful that her temperament has not changed yet.” Her lips quirk. “And that Mal’s stories are amusing. We move amongst seasoned travelers, it seems.”

“Ah, you speak not of I, lowlander,” he corrects. “Undermount has been my home for decades until now. What stories Mal provides come from his adventures. The ones I provide belong to me yet seem to surface whenever it suddenly becomes the fancy of one extremely nosy lowlander.”

She doesn’t laugh and it irritates him in a way. Instead, he watches that sly smile of hers crack across her face, golden eyes as bright as the beaming sun. What little she conveys with her body he can read upon her face.

Sometimes.

“You could always stop me yourself,” she says. “Two days out from port and you’ve yet to spend time with anyone aside from myself. A choice, I presume?”

Tyril doesn’t answer for a long moment. In the skies above, a flock of gulls circle and swoop down towards the sea to scoop up fish for their meals. White feathers shine wetly as they beat their wings and head back to land. He averts his gaze and stares at the distance ahead of him—nothing but miles and miles of endless sea, the horizon almost indiscernible between the place where the sky meets the water.

“I don’t…” He stops and narrows his eyes. “All that I could say about the life I’ve grown accustomed to matters little compared to the reality I embrace now.” He stands taller but takes a shaky breath of the salty air. “Stories of the past often matter greatly depending upon the context but my stories are nothing. Just the ramblings of…”

He grows quiet, bowing his head a bit, and he dares not risk a glance towards the woman beside him. His old governess would give him a whack on the knuckles for such weakness. First and foremost are the lessons of propriety—how to maintain veneer with ease and how to trick one’s enemies into believing the face displayed for them. Of all the sickly sweet smiles and taut smirks, nothing delivers more emphatically than the look of unwavering curiosity brimming in Ashala’s eyes.

Slowly, Tyril turns his head towards her and meets that gaze with his. She exudes smoke and ash, chokes the world around her into a violent submission for it has walked its course over her. She will walk her own path to save a man unrelated to her by blood but in between, the natural well of magic in the world will tip in her bend and the elements all around her will move aside for she refuses to be moved by them.

“You are…” he starts, resting his chin upon his hand. Her eyes flash—a warning or amusement? He isn’t entirely sure. “A strange creature.”

Ashala shrugs. “You are blue. And tall.” She squints at him. “And horribly gruff. I expected elves from the city beneath the stone to be a lot more refined.”

“I can be if I choose so.”

“But you choose not to be in any given moment.” Her head nods towards the door leading to the bunks beneath deck. “Save for when you interact with Nia, of course. Imtura seems unbothered but Mal does everything in his power to crack the frosty exterior you put up.”

He chuckles. “And you seem to think I exist for the sake of reciting old stories. You and Mal are no different in that sense—you are both bothersome. Only he seems to do it because nothing else in this world could possibly entertain him more.”

“You have a vein that pops up on that rather large forehead of yours when you get riled up,” she says. His fingers twitch and his jaw works. He will not rise to the bait. He is better than this.

Better than the coy smirk that tugs at her lips when he does reach up.

And much better than the playful glint in her eyes as he silently tucks his hair behind his ear, very much avoiding the spot on his forehead where the vein could be.

He will not think about this later.

“Is there something in particular you desire, lowlander?” he hisses. “Or have you come to pester me for yet another story?”

She remains silent for a long moment. Her golden eyes sweep back over the water and take in the sight of clear skies all the way in the distance. Her body closes off, turns away to face completely forward. There is a blankness about her face and his brow furrows.

“We all carry secrets, Tyril,” she says quietly. Ashala’s head remains high despite the strange air settling between them. Before the words leave her mouth, he knows the question sitting on her tongue. “Undermount is your home, yet the minute you called out the next destination, there seemed…there was a hesitation on your part.”

His lips press together. “I see.”

“Your skill is unparalleled. Of the five of us, it is clear your training as House Starfuy’s heir—” His jaw works, “—has granted you the boon of power beyond imagining. Knowledge, tactics—there is much to speak of regarding you but we respect your need to hold such truths to your being. Perhaps there is something we are unaware of that is too painful for you to recall—something that would leave you vulnerable.”

He sighs and lays his arm flat against the railing.

“No, it…”

Memories flood the empty space within his mind. Meditation keeps it clear but there are nights where he is restless, tossing and turning as events of the past play out in the form of nightmares most unimaginable. Where there is wisdom there is pride most evil, most corrupting of those that cross its path. His mother—her face is there but hazy. Fanciful feasts, the boisterous laughter of men and women dressed in the finest of silks as servants present delicacies from far and wide—

There was a man whose lips he can still taste—

The woman with straw blonde hair that smiled so beautifully—

House rankings, climbing the rungs of hollowed out ladders that snap so easily but mend just as well if only he would think.

Climb faster.

Push harder.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs again.

“It’s…far too complicated to explain at the moment,” he finally answers. Weight presses on his shoulders and a knot forms in his belly. He remembers a sensation like this back then, only it was much more constant. “In some ways, I envy the life you’ve led.”

Ashala offers nothing at first, her eyes never straying from the horizon slowly moving in the distance. “You’ve been surrounded by luxuries most of your life. Your knowledge of our—of your culture is far more extensive. I cannot fathom the idea of envying one born to nothing.”

“I...I was not lacking for anything, no. You assume correctly in a sense. Even the happiness was constant for a time.” Quiet again. At the very least, she does not push. “Everything moved towards a single goal and that was the most exhilarating aspect. To be able to provide for the house meant just as much as being a part of it. Climbing the ranks was a ruthless game but standing atop the other children brought glory beyond compare.”

“You were heir,” Ashala says.

A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “Everything I could ever want at my very fingertips—and now? Now, I travel the world committed to a mission that the others of our kind would rather blatantly ignore.” His head shakes. “What good does it do to only partially stop an evil that would destroy us all? Why stop at splitting the shards and why not completely cleanse the world of the Court’s influence?”

Ashala hums but does not respond immediately. Her head turns and she observes him quietly.

“Then it was pure altruism that saw you abandon such a lucrative role?” His eyes dart away and he knows the exact number of whacks on the knuckles the gesture would earn him.

“I’ve been away from Undermount for a long while,” he says. “It’s been months at best yet I know the exact number of whacks I’d get for being so loose with my feelings.”

“Oh? How rare to see such a sight,” she says, hand raising to point at the corners of his mouth twitching. Tyril jerks his head away and snorts, drawing a small laugh from her. “A rare yet delightful thing to see. Perhaps I was mistaken about your ability to express any emotion aside from disinterest and disgust.”

“You could stand to repress some of yours more often,” he fires back. “Humes are widely regarded as loud creatures—you are an elf. Some stoicism would make you tolerable at the very least.”

Her laugh is a full-hearted cackle. None of the heat nor venom of his words take for she finds any slight instance of his annoyance enjoyable. Heat floods his cheeks and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips as she howls with laughter.

“To have an elf accuse me of not being stoic enough!” she wheezes, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “Would you believe that humans find me to be the most unapproachable creature that walks this land? The children would often run from the pull of my magic lest it would swallow them whole. I suppose those in possession of magic naturally terrify the folk who have so little experience with it.”

He nods. “Much of yours was self-taught, however. Being able to conceal it is one of the first lessons a proper instructor should’ve taught you, but…” He coughs. “I suppose I could…show you. It would be a useful skill when we face certain enemies.”

She quirks a brow. “Now you instructing me? Perhaps it is a moment I eagerly await if only to see the bitter disdain on your face when you realize how difficult it is to teach me!” His eyes roll but she ignores it. “You still didn’t answer my question, Tyril.”

“It was…” He pauses for a long moment. “It was mostly for that reason, yes. But in truth, it is like you mentioned before. There are some secrets I would still prefer to ‘hold to my chest,’ as you say. It isn’t…it isn’t the most pleasant thing to recall, not now. I…”

Again in an instant—

The faces of hundreds who looked upon him with hope—

That looked broken and angry when he turned his back on them—

There is no shame in doing what needs to be done—for doing the right thing. Pride is not the only source of his sense of self. It makes up only a small portion of all of him but the thought still eats at him—the question of what could’ve been always lingers no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it isn’t important to know the answer.

Tyril crosses his arms and gently smooths his fingertips over his bracers. His head bows and he stares at the water violently lapping at the hull as Imtura’s ship cuts through the sea.

“You don’t regret this,” Ashala says, pulling him from his thoughts.

“No, not at all.”

“But there are things you wonder about. Things that you cannot change or reverse as a result of your actions…”

He stands still for a moment before nodding once. “All that I do here matters more to me than the circumstances that put me on this path. I chose it, yes. There are factors that led me here, that is also true.”

She stares at him for a long while, that piercing gaze stirring something a bit unsettling within him. It’s like looking into the base of a flame all consuming, a void all encompassing. Ashala Venralei—would he ever tell her the truth about her name and all the reasons why no person in Undermount would ever consider stringing such words together to form a child’s name? He knows what Tyril is—Orthonus, Livienna, Myhri, and Rashki.

“The child born from ash and dreams”—to get to where they needed to go, Ashala’s parents burned a considerable bridge that meant that home would never be a place they could return.

“We will stop the Shadow Court,” she says and she does something dangerous—far too dangerous—

She reaches across and lays a warm hand on top of his. He swallows and stares into her eyes once more, something far more uncomfortable welling in the pit of his belly. It’s a warmth and a storm in one that starts in his gut before it shoots through the rest of him in uneasy webs.

He wills himself to nod curtly. When she graces him with a warm and genuine smile, he quivers.

It must be luck she turns on her heel and leaves him before she notices.

#playchoices #choices #blades of light and shadow #bolas #tyril starfury #tyril x mc #tyril #tyril the mage

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