#I still say I that I cannot die a happy and fulfilled woman until I hear/see LB's performance of “Straight Up” by Paula Abdul.

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

DJ Lethal & Fred Durst on MTV's "120 Minutes"

(PART 2)

Find the other parts (1) & (3)

[bingejesus]

Spoiler Review of S4 Episode One

Ok so I gave a non spoiler review of episodes 1-3 buuuut it is now time for the spoilers I will be tagging these so no one who does not want to see them will. If somehow, you are reading this part, please please please be aware that from this sentence forward there are spoilers for season four episode 1 of The Chosen. Ok? Ok.

…

Episode One:

Ok so literally episode one John the Baptist is martyred. And it is breathtakingly beautiful. The dancer who played Salome was phenomenal, I don’t think she had a single line, her whole thing was practicing and performing the dance which I feel like really shows how this was all Herodias’ idea and she was really just a pawn. At the same time, we flashback to young Mother Mary visiting Elizabeth and Zechariah, which was funny and sweet and so heartwarming. It really is odd to see a woman clearly in her 70s or even 80s pregnant but knowing the story it just made me so happy. We also see Joanna going to tell the disciples and Jesus about John. It’s all intercut between Zechariah’s prophecy about John as a baby, the party, Joanna, and the actual death of John. The scene of the execution is somehow beautiful even as we know something horrible is happening. As John is being led away, he quotes what Jesus had his disciples tell him, “The lame walk, the blind see, the dead are raised,” and he says, “The way of the Lord is prepared.” Which just sent shivers down my spine. We see the silver platter John’s head will be served on and the soldier says that usually it’s used for a wedding banquet to which John says, “I’ve never been to a wedding banquet, but I’m going to one.” Which again, I’m just sobbing at this point. Right as John is about to die, he looks out a window and sees a spotless lamb feeding outside, like a final sign that his mission is fulfilled. Obviously we don’t see a severed head, but the swing of the axe is just as impactful. We cut to Jesus by himself, as if already preparing for the news. When he is told, we see him mourn. Rip his clothes, and cover himself in dirt. It’s heartbreaking to say the least. Also, it is important to note that Ramah returns and everyone is gathering together. Then, we see Joanna arrive and tell Andrew, and then everyone else. The last thing we see is Jesus approaching the group, torn clothes, dirt on his face, looking…disillusioned? It’s hard to describe it. Almost like he’s been too emotionally exhausted to have a readable expression.

Another thing to note, was that Zebeddee and sons have the olive oil ready and are giving it to the local synagogue for ritual purposes. Yousef says it is to benefit local enterprise, but Rabbi Akira is skeptical. Tamar goes with them but is not allowed in the synagogues being both a woman and a Gentile, obviously upsetting her. (Big James offers to stay with her instead of going in!!!!!!! The ship is real!!!!!)

Oh and I just remembered that Salome did have a line and it was just to say, “Anything?” When Herod says he’ll give her anything after the dance.

The interweaving of baby John and John’s execution was beautifully done. I was sobbing. The moment Zechariah can speak again, he begins prophesying and we hear it over John being led in by the soldiers. I like that John seemed nervous (as obviously anyone would be) but he wasn’t necessarily scared. It was that last moment of seeing the lamb that made him smile just as he died. Oh wow like I said I was crying.

It’s also incredibly hard to watch Jesus cry. I expected it to be, but obviously being a Christian and a follower of Jesus makes it so much harder. Especially after the love and laughter we’ve seen him experience as well. They do not shy away from humanity and that is such a welcomed thing.

Episode One was expected, but still managed to be utterly brilliant in writing and storytelling. We all knew John’s death was coming and it was made into a realistically sorrowful but beautiful reality. I cannot wait until I have it at my fingertips to watch again and again.

So that was episode one. Episode two coming soon!

[cosmama]

‘ you could stay here. with me. ’ aka usagi doesn't want akari to go back to a bad time (teehee)

* love ♥ starters

everything in her desperately wants to say yes...but she doesn't. akari's answer sits within her silence: in the way her hands quickly slip, if not outright snatch, away from the other's as she shakes her head. ❛ you are already aware of the rules. i know you have not forgotten them - so do not bother pretending. ’ as the older woman chides her younger self, deliberately ignoring her growing pout, akari's tired eyes overlook the familiar landscape of her past life with indifference. she swallows the bitter nostalgia that threatens to bubble up as she's forced to remember her own abandoned adolescence: parents with faces that she could barely remember now. friends who had continued to live happy, fulfilled lives without her. her own future sacrificed for the supposed greater good.

the feeling eventually passes, as it always does.

❛ which means you know i cannot stay here. ’ as akari continues her point, silver-blue eyes slightly turn to glance sideways at herself - a look of reproach set across her face ( which notably doesn't reach her eyes ). the truth is that they both know that she's lying, that it's merely a coward's lie out - a common habit with her. she has spent nearly a month here already and while it was in a different 'form', it was such a minute difference. meeting her past self hadn't caused entire timelines to collapse within themselves or broken reality as they knew it. she could stay here and forget the pain of her past if she wanted to. but deep down she knew that she never would - she just couldn't.

❛ i have a duty to return to. ’ that i ran from. ❛ people are in need of me. ’ because i left them to die. ❛ i do not belong here. ’ every statement is a harsh reminder of her endless failures. how could she stay here while so many were left to suffer in chaos' wake?

❛ this future is yours...not mine. ’ at least not anymore. the little composure akari had left is fully chipped away, tears welling in the woman's eyes as she begins to shed quiet tears. a part of her dislikes how much she's cried in front of her; the perception of needing to portray herself as anything but weak still a constant noose tight around her neck. her hands are trembling as she clenches them into hard fists - steeling herself before she can raise her gaze high enough until she's staring at usagi directly. ❛ there is no happiness for me here. ’

[sweetesthaaze]

I don't understand why Anthony was so determined to continue this marriage with Edwina (apart from the fact of his responsibility to his family, his duty blah blah) I don't think these are sufficient reasons to justify all this. Daphne and violet both wanted him to be happy and to be able to choose what he really wanted + why marry the sister of the woman he loves? Anthony only made the situation worse and no one forced him to do it (until kate asked him).

I'm putting these two asks together because I think my response answers/applies to both.

Okay, it's important to note that Anthony has a lot of unresolved trauma regarding his father's death and his mother's grief afterwards. At 19 he watched his father die before his eyes. And immediately afterwards, he had to put his own grief and mourning aside in order to protect his siblings and to assume the role of the new viscount.

Then he watched his mother descend into her grief and could not do anything to help. Violet told him that she wished she would have died during the birth of Hyacinth because she simply cannot breathe without Edmund (I am in no way blaming Violet. She had just lost the love of her life while pregnant and then had to endure a very difficult labor. Anthony would react the same way, had he lost Kate).

That is a lot for an 19-20 year old to go through. And Anthony did it by suppressing any feelings and focusing only on his duty to his family.

I think we also need to address his character arc in s1. Like Siena said at the end, Anthony is lost. He doesn't know how to manage all his duties as viscount and be a brother and be a father and do it all well. Nobody ever taught him. He was thrust into this role after his father died, which he was never able to grieve properly.

When Violet tells him that he needs to be better and do his duty to his family, Anthony shuts down in a way. He's tried to do his best for his family and he's also tried to follow his heart and be with Siena and it still wasn't good enough. In the end he decides that he can't have both. And so he chooses duty to his family, because love has only ever left him and the people he loves heartbroken and devastated.

So I think it's a disservice to Anthony and his trauma to limit his motivations/reasons for continuing the marriage with Edwina to only his responsibility to his family and his duty as the viscount.

Yes Daphne and Violet wanted him to be happy and be with the person he loves. But it wasn't about them. Anthony could not handle ever being the cause of the kind of grief his mother went through. He had seen it almost take his mother away from him and he never wanted anyone to go through that because of him.

Now this is not to say that Anthony hasn't made mistakes. Because he has. SO many mistakes. And he shouldn't have proposed to Edwina and he shouldn't have let Kate convince him to continue with the marriage and he shouldn't have ever let it get as far as the altar. But unresolved trauma affects people a lot. And it makes them do things that they don't fully think through or things that may hurt other people, all as a way to protect themselves.

He proposes to Edwina to squash any feelings of love for Kate and to fulfill his duty to his family. He continues with the marriage because Kate is trying to do exactly what he has been trying to do his entire life; do right by their families. And to not be the cause of anyone's heartbreak. These reasons do not justify his actions, but I think they do help understand why Anthony reacted the way he did.

[mariahthelioness29]

You Can Stop...or Not

Paring: retired! Steve Rogers x Black! reader 

WC: 3.2k 

Warning: Absolute filth, mi gente, mention of alcohol,  SMUT, unprotected sex ( wrap it  before you let .... tap in ), medium rough sex, recording sex and photo taking. spanking, facial. 

So the inspiration came around thanks to this post  Thanks to @blackmissfrizzle  @rasberrylemon​ for encouraging me and @saint-bvcky for being my enabler. 

@avintagekiss24 @siancore @xbuchananbarnes @honeychicanawrites @sapphirescrolls @honestlyfrance @helahades @glittercake @lotusss-flowerbomb @buckybarnesplumwhore @canumoveurseatup-no  @stacee-not-jaxx @extremelyblackandwhite @deansblackbeauty @afriendlyblackhottie @emilykjh @cherienymphe @readinginsilence100

You are at the edge of the pool, taking in the scenery. The pool blends with the vast ocean in front of you. 

It is a beautiful scene, vast blue ocean with islands scattered here and there and the silhouette of mountains far away. 

I’m still in love with you playing on the speakers. You sway to the rhythm. 

“ I’m still in love with you booyyy”, you slurred. That wine is getting you now and you want your Stevie here with you but Stevie was not here yet, he was taking pictures of the local market for some fancy magazine about islands. 

Who would’ve thought Steve Rogers as a photographer, art curator, art director ?  

You smile reminiscing his first exposition, which was you and the clients of Jurnee’s beauty salon. 

You and the journey of taking your braids off and giving care to your natural hair, with his Kodak Duex camera and with other cameras.  Art circles and artsy people made  a new meaning and something revolutionary out of it ,just as the shock of Viola Davis, taking her wig off in How to Get Away with Murder. 

You laughed remembering, cause he did it out of absolute boredom when your friend, hairdresser Jurnee was taking care of your hair.

He was intrigued, you told him it will be a long time and process. Being the stubborn mule he is, he insisted on going with you. Only to be in shock how much time it takes and the procedure. His mouth was agape, when he heard Jurnee telling a woman, how much it was for her microbraids. 

You never heard a group of Black women laugh that much at an expression. Steve Rogers, ex-Captain America, fought purple aliens, dropped from skyscrapers yet he is shocked at the price of microbraids. 

You are a little tipsy so you step out of the pool, dry yourself and wrap your hair in the towel, like a headwrap.  Dancing to your vacay playlist. 

“Shake dat ting miss, Cana, Cana

Shake dat ting miss, Annabella

Shake dat ting yow, Donna Donna

Jodi and Rebecca

Woman, get busy

Jus shake dat booty non-stop”, blasted the speakers. 

When you heard one of your favorite songs, You just had to get on your fours on the lounge chair  and start throwing ass in a circle.

What you did not know is that a very sneaky, quiet Steve was there with his phone, recording. 

Steve just sighs in content, seeing you relax, happy. 

He takes his shirt off, just dropping on the floor.

He sees the bottle of wine that has gone down quite a bit. He chuckles in silent at that. 

You are swaying your hips to the rhythm of those songs you love so much, oh but then you go on all fours and start moving your ass. He has an idea. He takes his phone and starts recording you. He does his best to be quiet, so that you don’t shy away. 

After, coming back from the past, realizing that even going back in time cannot fulfill or make the what ifs come true. He came back but he still had a void. Sam and Bucky tagged him along to various social causes and projects to help the community and it satisfied him but still he needed the warmth of companionship. 

One day he goes day drinking, just cause. He is retired and he can do whatever he wants.

You were the bartender and you clicked instantly . Your warm smile, the gold clips in your braids, your vibrant attitude. He felt something stirring in him. 

He never exposed his layers to someone so deep and so fast. Maybe it was you and the Asgardian mead. 

 The rest is history. You have been inseparable since then. 

“ Oh, what a sight for sore eyes, indeed ”, Steve sigh 

You gasped, and stood up in a flash. When you turn around it was Steve

You let a breath out in relief. 

“ Stevieeee”, you whine

“You have to stop scaring me like that” , you pout. 

“Aww,  I’m sorry, doll. Keep doing what you were doing, honey pie, you’re so beautiful”, Steve smiled again, while picking up the phone again. You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks heat up but you do as told. 

You get on all fours and start to throw your ass in a circle, you turn your head, seeing Steve in trance with how your ass jiggles. You turn around and bite your lip when you see that  big tent in his pants forming. 

Steve, on other hand, is totally forgetting how to breathe. You always leave him breathless with everything you do. 

He loves this, that he only gets to see this part of you. 

The way your white thong brings out your skin, the way you are moving sends shivers to all his body. You turn around and smile.  He smiles back at you. 

“ Come here, stop recording”, you faux chide him. Steve stopped the recording and put the phone in his pocket. 

or… not”, You tell him, you wink at him. 

He feels his breath hitch. 

“ You sure, doll ?”, Steve breathes out, narrowing his eyes. 

You love it, when he is so full of desire, the Brooklyn accent comes to the light. 

“Let’s make a movie, daddy, not a silent one, full of color”. You smile biting your lip, you walk to him. You turn around and you beckon him with your finger. 

He darts his way to you and grabs you, flush to him and kisses you. 

It is passionate, fierce but slow and cadent. You feel all of him and he feels all of you. 

You break up the kiss after a while. You are closed but you smile to his lips. 

“ Your phone”, you point to his pocket. He takes it out and hands it to you. 

You embrace him with his phone on your hand. You stretch your arm to the side , so you can record him kissing you and press record. 

The glint in your eyes, let him know you are recording. You kiss all tongue, slowly, putting on a show for the camera. He nuzzles your cheek ,then he starts peppering your jaw with kisses.  He dives in the crook of your neck and kisses , suckles and licks your pulse point. 

You hiss and sigh with small whimpers  concentrating that you don’t drop the phone. 

“C’mon baby,  you told me is not going to be a silent movie”, Steve reminds you. 

With that he takes the phone away from your hands. 

He makes you lay and spread your legs. He curls his finger and  takes your thong off and throws it on the ground.

You talk a big game but when he makes you spread your legs, you still feel heated under his stare. He kisses your cheek.

You’re breathing is ragged. 

He records how your center flutters around nothing, how you are glistened and glazed like an overflowing honey pot. 

“Look at all that”, he says in awe. 

“Fuck, all for me, baby”, he asks you looking at you 

“ Yes, Stevie, all for you”, you nod, biting your lip. 

He keeps recording how he slips a finger in you and withdraws it  slowly and enters two fingers. 

“Stevie”, you breath

“Hmm”, he just hums when you are moaning.

He withdraws the two fingers and pushes in three fingers. 

“Daddy, please-, your moans die in your tongue. Steve is entranced seeing the recording and biting his lip. 

Your eyes are rolled in that back of your head and your mouth agape. You are moving your hips up  You whimper when he fingers you faster and faster. 

He hiss with you. 

He angles the phone to your face to record how your face contorted in pleasure. 

You look so fucked out and he has barely begun. You whine when you feel his fingers slipping out of you. 

“ Daddy”, you whine.

He licks his fingers, eyes closed, savoring you off his finger. 

“So good” , he slurred 

You just look at him, salivating. 

“ I’m not done, doll, I am going to taste you”, he rasped

He hands you the phone. You change the camera so that it is recording him now. He blows a kiss to the camera and goes down. 

You jolt and moan with the phone in hand.  You grabbed the phone steady and he starts eating you like a starved man

“Yes, Stevie, make me cum like that”, you cry out and you push your center to his face. 

His face flush against your center. His arms looped around your thighs. He looks at the camera, while giving fast tongue flicks on your clit. 

“Ahh, fuck”, escapes you with  high pitched sounds. You are squirming  but he puts in your place. He enters his fingers in you again and you go cross eyed and  almost drop the phone. 

“ If you drop it, I won’t let you come all night, understood ”, he reprimands you. 

You nod furiously. 

He goes back to business, you are a moaning mess. 

He sucks on your clit and slips his fingers in and out fast against that spot. Your thighs are shaking. 

“Daddy, Stevie”- you shrill. 

Everything is heightened, his lips on you and his beard tickling your inner thighs 

You shriek, “Stevie!!” along with a deafening moan as you cum. 

Steve eyes twinkle in the camera. It is the excitement he feels, because he makes you feel like this along with your taste. He flat his tongue, receiving everything you have to offer. He makes out with your pussy. You cry at the sensitivity. He smirks and then stands up.

He takes the phone from your hands, he saves the recording and then kisses you. 

You both moan in the kiss, sharing the taste of you. 

He breaks the kiss and grabs the upper cushion of the lounge chair. 

He drops it on the floor. 

You get the clue and you drop on your knees on the cushion. He presses record again. 

“Take it out, honey”

You do it and it pops out of his shorts. 

You love it. It is as pretty as him. Slightly curved, long and thick, head glistening  with pre-cum. 

You lick the throbbing vein on the underside, while looking him dead in the eye. 

He exhales “ damn, doll”, with his eyes fluttering. 

Little by little, you put his dick deeper in your mouth until you feel him tickling the back of your throat. He grunts “fuck”, when you cough, taking your head back. His dick is wet and glistening from your spit. 

He is moaning, his hand a little bit shaky, holding the camera. 

He guides your head up and down on his length. 

“You like that honey pie, taking all of me?”, he croaks  

You look up to the camera and your eyes smile while your mouth is full of dick. 

He is a moaning mess, cursing and and his eyes close a little. 

Your saliva coats your chin and the corner of your lips. You are teary eyed. 

You jerk him and suck him. You gaped out of breath, you smiled at the camera, while jerking him off.  

“ You like that, daddy ?”, you ask with faux innocence. 

“You know, I do, honey pie”. He breathes out. 

“Daddy, you are going to split me open with this” and you jerk him faster.

“ Yes, baby, I want to so much,” he croaks 

You go for his balls and tug them and you flick your tongue on them.

He groans, “y/n, baby”. 

You just keep doing it, while you keep seeing his mouth open, strangled moans coming out him. 

“ Y-”, he can’t even form a coherent sentence. He just groans and bite his lip. 

You are just bobbing your head up and down. Every now and then you lick the tip. 

“Baby, if you keep doing that, I am going to cum, he rushes in a whisper

You stop and he stops recording, saving the recording. 

He exhales a breath, and traces your lips with his thumb. 

“You and that mouth”, he shakes his head grinning. 

“ I love sucking you off, daddy”, you look up at him grinning too. 

You suck his thumb and then stand up. He takes your hand in his, turns you around and spanks you hard. 

You yelp, surprised by the slap on your ass cheek. It stings so good so you moan out.  

He lands on his knees on the lounge chair. You sit in front of him. He brings you flush to him. He hands you the phone. You know what to do.

You start the camera, press record. 

He is breathing you in. He starts kissing the back of your neck and nipping your earlobe. 

His chest against your back. He snatches your biking top of you and starts jiggling your breast playfully. You both laugh at the camera. He kisses your cheek. You feel his beard tickling your cheek. 

He caresses your perky nipples with his thumbs, putting a little pressure on them. 

You sigh and your head falls on his shoulder, your eyes fluttering, you are still holding the phone. He says to your ear “ I love you”, honesty dropping in every word, while squeezing your breast. You put your hand on top of his and  you say “I love you, too”. 

“ Ass up, face down, doll”, he orders using his Captain voice. 

Here I thought you loved me, hmm, you say with faux disappointment. 

He laughs “ I love you so much, but let me show you how much with my body”. With that you stop the recording and save it. 

You hand him the phone. 

You are ass up and face down. He enters you while filming. 

“Damn”, you groan. Your walls still need to adjust to him after all this time. 

He breathes heavily.  

Wine slow was playing on the speakers 

“ I love it when you shake it, baby, you have the prettiest ass, show me how much you want my dick doll” , he grits out  filming you and the scenery in front of you. 

You shake your ass, almost pulling him out of you and then you slam your ass flush against his hips. You are moaning incoherent sentences, while you were moving your ass to the rhythm of the song.  

“Stevie, daddy, I feel in you in- you moan- in my stomach”, you croak.

He records it all, he encourages you  “ That’s it, honey pie, I’m all yours use me baby and he spanks your cheek. You whine. He takes your hip in one hand and starts thrusting his hips with madness in you. 

You open your mouth in a scream but nothing other than strangled noises comes out. 

He spanks your ass again. He moans when your walls spam around him. 

“ Let me hear you, sweetheart”, he pants. 

He grunts and groans, seeing on the phone, how much you are creaming for him. 

You are whimpering, feeling him in your guts. You feel your inside getting tight, squeezing him

He groans “Fuck is like vice ” ,he grunts. 

“Daddy, I’m close-, you cried out. 

He pulls out, you groan in frustration: “whyyyy!”

“Calm down, baby, my hand is just tired, let’s go to the room, I put this phone on the nightstand and fuck you proper”, he explains to you. 

You stand fast and he just laughs and you laugh. 

“Eager little thing”, he bops your nose and you cast your eyes down, smiling. 

He brings your face up with his thumb and forefinger on your chin and gives pecks to your lips. 

You walk to your room hand in hand naked, the phone in his hand. 

He puts the horizontally on the nightstand against the lamp and with the volume key, he hits the record.

You are laying on the bed and you receive him in your arms. You spread your legs real wide for him. You both kiss until you are out of breath. 

“ I love you”, he pants. 

“I love you”, you repeat to him. 

He folds you more when his knees meet the back of your thighs. Your legs are beside your ears. 

He starts pounding into you without mercy. The room is filled with his pants and grunts along with your cries. The sound of skin against skin. “ You’re so deep, daddy”, you cry out eyes wide like you could not believe he is this deep. 

“ Take it, doll, that’s..- fuck, ahh- that’s where I belong-hmmm- deep in you”, he gruffs. 

He pistons his hips against yours, non-stop.

You can only fist the sheets and moan to the ceiling. 

He look so hot like that, eyes full of love and lust with his hair hanging on front of him

He feels you squeezing on him and he lets out a long moan. He knows he will not last. He starts rubbing your clit fast. 

“ You gasp and you start whining, “ Stevie, baby, just like that”,  you croak. 

You arch off the bed with a long moan, you drop your body back on the bed, you feel electricity from head to toe. 

Steve pulls outs and straddles your torso. 

You start encouraging him. 

“ I am so dirty, daddy, I even let you film me daddy, you coo at him

He is just jerking himself fast. His eyes are almost black from the lust. 

“ Paint my face with your cum, daddy, I needed” , your smile at him. 

“Fuck, y/n, baby, fuck you are such a sight,” he pants. 

You stuck your tongue out to him. He was done for.

He cums with a strangled mention of your name, and a long moan and groans.

You close your eyes, smiling spurts of warm cum, landing all over your face and mouth. 

Steve mounts off your torso. He sits next to you. You sit up against the headboard. 

“ Such a good girl”, he says in awe. He gets off the bed and goes to his bag. He takes his polaroid in his hand. 

“Say cheese, honey pie,” 

You smile big for him with your face full of his cum. The picture slides out of the polaroid camera. He puts it on the nightstand. He coos “ So pretty”, looking at the picture. He sits next to you on the bed. 

He scoops his cum  in his fingers and lets you suck it off his finger. He does that until there is no trace of cum on your face. He kisses you deep. 

“ You think we did good enough for a porn”, you ask him. 

“ I know we did, pornstars, it is their job, and they do a damn good job but we are different, It is love”, he assures you. 

With that he stands up and he picks his phone and stops the recording and saves it. 

“ You know, doll, I like this recording thing”, he says while wiggling the phone in his hands. 

“I already know where I want to do it, next”, he smirks and winks at you. 

“Oh..”, you blink your eyes in surprise with a hand on your chest. 

“How about tomorrow in the deserted beach on the other side of town”, he smiles. 

“ Loving on an island 2”, You say seductively.

You both laugh. He goes to the bed and lays scooting to you.  

He lays his head  on your chest and you  run your fingers through his hair.  Both sighing in content. 

“You know, we have our clothes outside”, you remind Steve

“ I’ll pick them up later”

This is his life right now, enjoying the world he was once denied along with you and his friends. There is only the present and he will enjoy it. 

[headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne]

Lautrec Chain

Original Prompt: How Lautrec landed in that cell in the Undead Parish. We did it! Another chain is complete! A big thanks goes to all the amazing artists and writers who participated in this chain. Please check out their content and blogs.

@acebladespades

“A knight of Carim is nothing without his lady.”

He looked at the man behind the metal bars.

“You knew well what was expected from you.”

He took one step closer to the cell’s door.

“So why are you still alive?”

‐---‐-----------------------------

“I love you.”

His entire world came to a stop. 

Fina’s voice echoed softly in his ear. 

At first, Lautrec believed it was only a trick of his wishful mind. It wasn’t until he felt Fina’s arms resting on his chest, pulling him closer in a tender embrace, that he realized everything was true.

He closed his eyes and gently put his hands on top the golden arms of his cuirass. 

“I love you too, my lady.”

“Then, when the time comes, you won’t hesitate?”

Lautrec couldn’t answer. He knew his silence angered his goddess, but the question had caught him off guard. 

“I see.” Fina lifted her ethereal arms, leaving Lautrec alone with the metallic replicas of his armor. “Your ridiculous honor still means more to you than I, doesn’t it? How foolish I was to think that your love and devotion for me were real.”

“They are real.” Lautrec replied. “You know well you are my everything.”

“Lies. Your claims are nothing but honeyed and vacuous words. They are so typical of you mortals. If you truly loved me, you would have answered me instantly, without any trace of doubt in your voice; yet, all you gave me was silence. That’s not the way a knight should treat his lady, is it?”

“Of course not.” Lautrec smiled in a faint attempt to appease Fina’s temper.

Fina answered by resting her hands on his belly. At first, he mistook the gesture as a sign of forgiveness. His naïve perception changed when Fina dug her nails deep into his flesh and began clawing her way up to his shoulders.

The pain left Lautrec breathless. He fell to his knees, swallowing his screams and forcing himself to endure the punishment in silence. 

Even if Fina’s nails did not make him bleed nor they left visible injuries on his skin, the agony they caused him was real. 

Lautrec only dared to breathe again once Fina was done. The skin where she had touched him felt burning and tender, as if her ethereal nails had been covered in fire.

“If you wouldn’t treat a vulgar wench so rudely, what makes you can act with so much disdain toward your goddess?”

Lautrec didn’t answer. Fina didn’t gave him the chance, for as soon as she was done speaking, she embraced him again from behind.

The melted together, trapped in a blissful moment that Lautrec wished would never end.

“I love you.” 

Lautrec could feel the brush of her breath against his ear even through his helmet. 

“It pains me to hurt you like this, but you left me no choice. Please, my knight, do not make me do this ever again. All I ask from you is an answer.”

Guilt and regret kept Lautrec glued to the floor.

“So, I’ll ask you again.”

The ring on his finger throbbed with an invigorating energy that swiftly got Lautrec back on his feet. He remained still, with only the weight of his armor and the voice of his goddess keeping him grounded in reality.

“When the time comes, will you hesitate?”

“I won’t.” His answer came so promptly that his voice clashed with Fina’s. “Never forget that I am yours.”

“Oh, my knight.” Fina whispered so lowly that Lautrec could barely hear her. “My Lautrec.”

Though she couldn’t see her, Lautrec knew she was smiling.

 Underneath his golden helmet, he smiled too. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“I must say I expected a more courageous performance from you.”

“My lady, it is one thing to fight a horde of Hollows.” Lautrec said once he was done rubbing of the filth off his helmet. “But to confront a ferocious drake, with nothing but a narrow bridge as our battlefield, wouldn’t have been brave, it would have been suicidal.”

“I suppose you are right. At the very least, I’m satisfied you didn’t end up becoming that beast’s dinner. You should be glad that its fire only brushed the surface of your helmet. Had it touched your skin, you’d be cursed with a burn that would never heal nor stop hurting.”

Lautrec had never believed such claims. He had always dismissed them as the exaggerated and baseless statements of antique books and scrolls. 

But he believed Fina.

The memory of the drake and the closeness of its fire formed a hole in his stomach.  

If there hadn’t been a secret passage underneath the bridge, the drake’s fire would have engulfed him whole, either reducing his body to ashes or leaving him covered in agonizing blisters. 

It was seldom that Lautrec felt fear, but there was something dreadful in imagining himself at the absolute mercy of a beast.

Forcedly, he dismissed his panic from his mind. The least he wanted was for Fina to notice how scared he was.

His lady, while gracious and merciful, did not take kindly to displays of weakness of any sort, and she took great pleasure in mocking Lautrec every time he failed to keep his mental barriers up and left his most hidden insecurities exposed.

Though her derision was always heartless and poignant, Lautrec did not resent his goddess for it. He knew Fina didn’t do it out of malice, and had he been in her place, Lautrec would have done the same thing. 

After all, he was a knight of Carim. To be always strong and resilient, especially when in the presence of his lady, was both his duty and his pride. If a lady mocked his knight, it was not to discourage or humiliate him, it was simply to remind him to keep the weakness of his heart in check.

Indomitable, stoic, dutiful, strong and steadfast.

Those were the true qualities of knighthood.

How Lautrec pitied the sentimental Astorans and the savage Catarinians for their deplorable and bastardized perceptions of what a knight was. They were pathetic, weak-minded and pretentious fools without a purpose.

None of them could ever understand what an honor it was for a knight to dedicate his entire existence to a lady. They couldn’t fathom the satisfaction a knight gained from being the eternal protector and the pillar of strength for his fated woman.

And if said woman was none other than Fina—

“Why are you laughing?”

“It’s nothing.” Lautrec said. “I was just thinking of how blessed I am to have you as my lady.”

Fina remained quiet. 

After a small moment, she chuckled.

“You are adorable.”  

She sounded amused. 

Lautrec waited for her to continue. 

When she did, it was only to order him to proceed with his journey. Far from being disappointed, Lautrec was pleased. Though his confession hadn’t given him the answer he’d wanted, he had succeeded in making Fina laugh. 

He had made her happy.

He couldn’t ask for anything more.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After getting rid of some meddlesome Hollows and infected rats, Lautrec managed to infiltrate the parish the drake had guarded so fiercely. He felt tempted to rest for a moment in a nearby bonfire, but Fina did not approve.

“I know you are tired.” She told him, so tenderly and motherly that Lautrec felt ashamed for having even thought about taking a rest at all. “But you cannot stop now. We are close to our destination. Once we are in Firelink Shrine, you will rest there for as long as you need. I want you strong and refreshed when your time comes to fulfill your duty.”

The reminder shattered all sense of peace and comfort Lautrec harbored. He raised his mental walls before Fina could sense his distress. This time, his weakness passed unnoticed by his goddess, but Lautrec still felt a boiling hatred for himself and his own feebleness.

Even if he could fool Fina, he couldn’t fool himself.

His rage and frustration fueled his attacks. 

Every Hollow and any other abomination that crossed his way met their ends at the touch of his swords. 

Lautrec fought his way through the chapel, but his streak of invincible prowess was cut short when the armored boar proved to be an enemy he couldn’t defeat.

The beast charged at him and sent him flying towards a wall of stone.  If it hadn’t been for his armor, the violent crash would have broken his spine in half.

“Don’t even think about dying now.” Fina told him as he struggled to get back on his feet. “If you die, do you know how long it would take you to arrive to this place again? Seriously, if I had known you were so frail and easily defeated, I would have allowed you to rest at the bonfire. No wonder that harlot you used to look after is long dead. She was cursed to an early demise the moment you were made her guardian.”

Lautrec couldn’t move. 

He felt as if Fina had dug a dagger into his chest and had ripped out his still beating heart.  He would have remained there, rotting in his own bafflement for all time, if the loud trotting of the boar hadn’t snapped him out of his trance.

This time, Lautrec avoided the charging attack of the armored animal. He lunged himself forwards and landed on his chest.

Then, his instincts took over. His former bloodlust was replaced by an urgent need to survive. 

He ran. 

He did not look back at the enemies he left behind. He continued running, making use of his blades only if he had no other choice. Many of the Hollows he was escaping from tried to follow him, but they were slow and clumsy creatures.

The few that managed to keep up with Lautrec had their heads severed from their shoulders.

To him, his escape was little more than a blurry vision. It was as if his mind had become disconnected from his body and dull to its surroundings. At first, Lautrec tried to convince himself that his numbness was the result of his exhaustion and stress. 

Like always, he failed to believe his own lies. 

He couldn’t think of anything else. He continued pondering on his weakness long after he was safe again, inside the confines of an abandoned church. 

How he had gotten there was only a hazy memory, as was his fight with the Hollow knights that lay dead at his feet.

His ring finger itched as if maggots were devouring it whole.

“See, my knight?” Fina told him. She caressed his chin, tracing a soft line along the bone of his jaw. “See how effective and lethal you are when properly motivated? Be thankful, Lautrec... for it is I who gave you the strength you needed to overcome your weakness. Go on, say it. Say that you are grateful to me for unleashing your best self.”

Fina rested her other hand on his chest, right above his heart.

“Say that you are grateful to me for being the only reason you are still alive.”

Lautrec’s mouth was bitter and parched. For the first time since he had become his loyal knight, he wished Fina would keep quiet and go away, if only for a moment.

All that Lautrec wanted was to be alone with his thoughts, but he was a knight of Carim. His time was not his to employ as he wished, it belonged only to his lady. 

“I’m grateful.” 

“Grateful for what?”

Lautrec clenched his jaw; he almost committed the offense of pulling away from Fina’s touch.

“I’m grateful to you for unleashing my best self.” 

Then, he felt it. He felt how Fina tried to pierce through the barriers of his mind. 

Lautrec strengthened his walls and hugged the arms of his cuirass.

“I’m grateful to you for being the only reason I’m still alive.”

“Oh, my Lautrec.” Fina kissed him in the cheek. The softness of her ethereal lips was followed by the sharpness of her voice. “If only I could believe you.”

Beads of cold sweat formed in Lautrec’s forehead. He didn’t know what scared him most, Fina’s anger or how easily she had seen through his façade. 

He remained trapped together with his goddess in a cold uncertainty that felt eternal.

“You’ve got nothing to fear, my knight.” Fina said, “As long as do as I tell you, you won’t be giving me reasons to forsake you. As long as you forget about that ridiculous knightly pride of yours, killing that fire keeper will feel as natural as the beating of your heart. The act will be quick, peaceful and pleasant. She will be grateful to you for freeing her from her cursed fate. She will enjoy it, and so will you, if you just let go of your past and embrace your present.”

Lautrec’s lips quivered.

“You are Undead.” Fina continued, brushing away the only tear that escaped from his eyes. “You’ve got no lady to satisfy other than me. The teachings of your homeland have no meaning in Lordran. I am your everything; you are my knight.”

“I am.” Lautrec muttered. He was overwhelmed. Not even the darkest piece of Humanity could have granted him as much peace and comfort as Fina did.

“Then prove it to me now.” Fina’s tone changed. It remained gentle, but now her words sounded like orders. “Over there, at the altar. Do you see it?”

He did.

There it was, at the other side of the church, carved in stone and untouched by time. Behind it, he could see the statue of a woman.

“Not just any woman.” Fina corrected him with a scoff. “It’s me. Approach it, my knight.”

Lautrec obeyed. He felt like almost like a child. 

The silly excitement he felt slowly vanished the closer the got to the altar, and it disappeared completely the moment his eyes understood what the strange figure laying on the altar’s surface really was.

Lautrec was used to the sight of corpses. He had been familiar with death since the time when he had been too young to become a page.

However, as unfazed as he remained by the decrepit state of the corpse before him, Lautrec trembled at the sight of the glowing orb floating just above the body’s chest.

“What a shame.” Fina said, “I would have preferred her to be alive so you could kill her, but it seems someone else already did the deed for you. You must be rather disappointed.”

“But I thought,” Lautrec swallowed before he could continue, “I thought the fire keeper would be at Firelink Shrine, locked for all eternity inside a cave, just like you told me.”

“Don’t be stupid, my knight. This fire keeper is not the same you will murder. This must be the tribute some deluded fool left here for me in a desperate attempt to earn my favor. Whoever he may be, the only thing he’s gained is my disdain. Does he honestly believe I would accept the offerings and advances of every man that comes by, as if I were a common strumpet?  The gall! Does he not know that Fina handpicks her knights and followers? Does he note care? Such offense will not go unpunished! If he ever dares to come back, you will fight him, and you will kill him.”

“I will.” Lautrec promised, wishing that the offender would return and give him an excuse to step away from the altar, but no one came.

“Regardless,” Fina continued once the worst of her flaring temper had passed, “it would be a waste to refuse this soul. I will not accept the offering of a stranger, but if my knight was to offer it to me instead, everything would be different.”

There was no need for Fina to instruct him further. 

Somehow, Lautrec managed to lift his arms. They felt heavy, as if they were made of stone. It took as much effort to get them closer to the corpse as keeping the barriers of his mind up did.

Yet, he could Fina trying to tear down his defenses and reach the deepest part of his mind. She wanted to see it.

She wanted to make sure that his heart was free of all regret and doubt.

Why shouldn’t it be?

Lautrec was staggered by the question as he asked it to himself.

To kill a fire keeper was the greatest sin a Carim knight could ever commit. It was an unforgiveable offense, a taint on his soul not even death could remove.

But he was not responsible for the death of this fire keeper. He had not taken her life; he had only found her rotting corpse on his goddess’ altar. 

He had done nothing wrong. 

He was following his lady’s commands.

So truly, he was fulfilling his duty as her knight. 

He was just—

“Take it.” Fina said in his ear. It wasn’t until then that Lautrec realized his hands had remained stuck in the same position for a while. His armored fingers were so close to the fire keeper’s soul that its gentle warmth could be felt through his gauntlets. “Do it.”

“I will.” Lautrec smiled. His pulse throbbed intensely in his temples. “I am yours, remember? I love you, Fina.”

“Shut up and take it!”

That he would. 

His rebellious hands had just started to listen to his commands when the blade of a rapier emerged from his chest. His blood covered the weapon, concealing the silver of the metal underneath a crimson layer.

Lautrec let out a soft gasp. It was the only sound his pierced lung could muster. 

Fina did scream on his mind; more than a mournful lament, her cry resembled a roar. She cursed the stranger for spilling the blood of her servant.

She damned him for damaging that which belonged to her.

The stranger, if he could hear her, ignored the goddess with sinful indifference. Instead, he focused all his attention on Lautrec. 

The stranger warped an arm around Lautrec’s neck and pulled him closer to him, further impaling him with the blade of the rapier. The weapon cut through the plates of Lautrec’s armor as easily as it cut through his flesh and bones.

“I witnessed your sin.”  The stranger said as he rested his chin on Lautrec’s shoulder.  “And it shall not go unpunished.”

“Kill him! Don’t you dare die without putting up a fight!” Fina exclaimed. Her voice resonated so loudly in his ears that Lautrec was surprised they didn’t start to bleed. “Kill this bastard, you useless coward! What kind of man are you? Are you even a real knight? Don’t you dare die, Lautrec. I will never forgive you if you fail me this way. If you die, I will forsake you and leave you to rot in this cursed land. I have no need nor use for weak men.”

The stranger removed the rapier from Lautrec’s body. His movements were quick, but they were not gentle.

Lautrec swallowed his pain and blood and tried to turn around. He would do as Fina said. He would not die in such a shameful way.

If a knight of Carim was meant to die, he had to meet death in the heat of battle. To perish under any other circumstances was the greatest humiliation imaginable. 

“My lady,” Lautrec stuttered as he tightened his grip on his swords.

Just when he was turning on his heels, the stranger grabbed him by his helmet and violently pulled him down to the floor.

He then grabbed Lautrec’s arm and pulled it behind his back until he let go the sword. The stranger kept pulling, almost snapping Lautrec’s arm from his shoulder.

“Useless.” Fina spat at Lautrec. Her voice was venom, and it spread across his soul like a blight. “Absolutely useless. What a pitiable excuse for a man, what a mockery of a knight you turned out to be.”

The stranger said something. His voice overlapped with Fina’s.

Lautrec tried to reach out for his goddess, but he had already sunk too deep into the darkness of death. His life was leaking away from him, taking with it all of his thoughts and his strength.

Soon, all that remained inside him was exhaustion and the phantom of his own despair.

Lautrec heard a distant, chilling laughter.

It was the last thing he perceived before death claimed him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He got no response from the knight.

Oswald waited, but it was in vain.

He knew the knight was awake and could hear him. Oswald had defeated him; then, he had healed his injuries by forcingly feeding him Estus. 

Sinners like the knight did not deserve to be granted the peacefulness of death so easily. Death, contrary to what most people believed, was not a punishment or a sentence. To those with a clean conscience and an unburdened heart, death was a well-deserved rest. 

Yet, even if the knight had not sinned, to let him die would be an unnecessary waste of time. He was Undead, and for all Undead, death no longer had the same meaning than for those who remained free from the curse.

“You should have taken your own life the moment you lost your lady. That’s what was expected from you, or are you not a true knight of Carim?” 

Oswald said. The knight refused to acknowledge him, but Oswald did not care. 

“That fact you still exist when you’ve got no lady to protect is a sin in itself. How unfortunate that the Undead curse prevents you from fulfilling this last duty... or perhaps luck has nothing to do with this matter, and you sought a way to curse yourself in a pathetic attempt to preserve your life?”

Oswald listened as the echo of his own laughter spread across the church. The knight of the golden armor, however, remained quiet and indifferent. 

He had his chin glued to his chest. His hands were caressing the golden arms of his cuirass.

So, he was one of them.

Oswald’s smile almost hesitated, but he had long learned that to pour any amount of pity into those lost, deluded men was useless.

It was seldom that they broke free from their delusions, and most of them never tried at all. They became drunk on the promises of eternal love of the vainest of goddesses. 

They willingly fell for her empty words. 

Fina’s power over them was only as strong as the power of their own wills. 

It was no wonder she always picked the most broken and feeble of knights.

“Your failure to keep your former lady alive, whoever she was, is an unforgivable sin.” Oswald said. He took a step back from the cell. He joined his hands behind his back. “But that’s not the reason I am punishing you. Whatever sins and mistakes your committed back in Carim are none of my concern, but those you commit her in Lordran are my domain. And I saw what you did, so don’t even try to deny it. At this point, accepting your fault is the least you could do to salvage what little honor remains in your rotten heart.”

The knight did react to this. He lifted his head and looked at Oswald.

Oswald couldn’t see his eyes, hidden behind his golden helmet as they were, but he could almost feel the ice-cold glare of the knight.

“I did not kill her.”  He said. 

There was anger in his voice, but also a deep emptiness. He would go Hollow soon.

Oswald smiled.

“Perhaps you didn’t.” He conceded. “I have no proof, so I cannot thrust the weight of this sin upon you; but I saw what you did. I saw how you tried to take her soul for yourself.”

Oswald expected the knight to say something in return. He was prepared to counter his excuses and tear apart his arguments, but the knight said nothing.

His silence was all Oswald needed to know he had condemned a guilty, dangerous man.

“If you were willing to commit such a vile act, what will stop you from killing a fire keeper yourself the next chance you get?  Certainly not your conscience, even less your pride as a knight. That’s why you shall never leave this cell. You will remain here until you go Hollow.”

Oswald gave one last look to the disgraced knight before turning his back on him. 

“And then I will kill you. But remember this, knight, your death is not your punishment.”

He told him as he walked toward the stairs that led to the church’s roof.

“It is merely the fate you chose for yourself.”

Oswald laughed again. 

He didn’t so out of mockery or cruelty, but out of amusement.

Oh, Fina’s so-called devoted followers.

They would have been pitiable if they weren’t so pathetic in the first place.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fina had forsaken him.

The bitter solitude of her absence had almost driven Lautrec to his Hollowing, just like the death of his first lady had come close to sink him into madness.

But he had endured, though not because he was strong. 

If he had been allowed to keep his sanity after losing everything, it was because he had never lost his faith.

Faith that he could make amends and regain the love of his goddess.

A faith that became invigorated after some poor idiot freed him for his cell.

A faith that was about to be cemented now that the second bell had tolled. 

It was time.

He had delayed the act long enough.

It will be quick.

Lautrec thought as he grabbed the fire keeper by the neck through the barriers of her cell. She showed no emotion in her blue Astoran eyes.

It is peaceful.

Her stoic semblance not once faltered, not even as Lautrec slit her belly with a long slash of his curved sword.

It was pleasant.

Lautrec did not trust this last thought, but when his eyes meet with the agonizing and defying stare of the moribund fire keeper, he could see a glimmer of happiness in her.

It was then Lautrec knew that Fina had been right all along.

The gaze the fire keeper was giving him was not one of hatred or resentment, but of gratefulness. In the last moments of her miserable life, she was thanking him in silence. 

She was grateful to him for freeing her from her everlasting torment.

She was enjoying the moment just as much as Lautrec was.

“You are welcome.”

Lautrec told the fire keeper before letting go of her fading corpse. He forgot about her as soon as her neck left his hand.

In his other hand, floating above his blood-soaked palm, there was her soul.

I did it, Fina. Can you see me? 

Lautrec held the essence close to his chest. His mind, devoid of all barriers now that he had freed himself from his past fears and insecurities, was touched by the soft whisper of a goddess only he could hear.

“I do.”

Fina answered. For the first time since his defeat at the hands of the pardoner, Lautrec felt safe in the tender embrace of his one and only lady.

“My knight.”

Lautrec smiled. 

He felt whole.

@pan-de-torao

@dbzespio

Lautrec leaned heavily on his knees, gazing deeply into the bonfire and its dancing flames. He sighed softly as his wounds began to heal up, and the strength returned to his body.

Yes, this bonfire had served him well. But now, he felt it was time to move on.

His posture still stooped forward, he turned his eyes upward to behold the firekeeper. 

Much like his, her helm hid her face from view, and so he could not tell where exactly her gaze was directed. She was rested against the wall, her body still with a certain poise, one that indicated she was not one to be trifled with. She could hop out of that position and into a battle stance at once, and all with the ease of a well-trained warrior; he could tell. 

He rose to his feet with a slight grunt of effort. 

No, it would not be worth the trouble. He already had one prize; he didn’t need more.

~~ 

Those damned archers…

Lautrec nearly collapsed in relief at the sight of a new bonfire. He practically dragged himself to sit before it, finally allowing his gaping wounds to heal once again. 

“Oh! There you are!”

Lautrec startled, snapping his head towards the voice. 

But it was only a fellow knight, seated there on the floor nearby, just far enough to still be warmed by the flames. The crest on his chest held no significance; the fool had likely painted it on himself in a fit of self-grandeur, or perhaps, sheer lunacy. He also appeared to be adorned with a feather or two and... was that grass? A lunatic indeed.

Lautrec faintly recognized him; he had likely summoned the fool to assist him in battle at one point or another. He merely grunted a sort of half-acknowledgement of the knight’s words and returned his gaze to the bonfire.

The knight politely waited a few moments before speaking again. He leaned forward slightly, his voice friendly. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately. Smooth summoning out there?”  

Lautrec slowly turned to face him again, wishing that his glower could melt through his helm. 

“Anytime you see my brilliantly shining signature, do not hesitate to call upon me,” the knight continued. “I must say: you’ve left me with quite an impression. I would relish a chance to assist you.”

Was that fondness in his voice? Truly a fool, this man was. 

Despite this, a modicum of camaraderie swelled a little within Lautrec’s chest. Fool though he was, this man was still an undead knight, trapped within this godsforsaken realm, no doubt charged with a quest similar to his own. He felt he owed the knight a warning, at the very least.

“Our futures are murky,” he finally told him, turning back to the fire. “Let’s not be too friendly now.”

“Nonsense,” the man proclaimed, the feather atop his helm swaying in place as he fervently shook his head. “You and I are bound together in not one, but two bouts of jolly cooperation!

“Whatever your quest, my good knight,” he continued, his fist held up in a firm resolve, “I feel certain you will see it through.”

“I already have.” Lautrec rose and readied himself to leave. “Now it is nothing more than a simple matter of delivery.”

~~

Breathing heavily, Lautrec willed himself forward before collapsing before the fire. 

That was too close. 

His eyes darted around wildly before settling upon the summon signs around him. 

So there it was. His answer to the ever-constant invasions…

~~

Lautrec and his posse had just cleared the hall when yet another invader formed before them. She was but a simple cleric, but her eyes smoldered with barely suppressed rage as she rose from the haze upon ground. 

“Oh, look! Another one,” Lautrec sneered, waving the others to attention. “How many times must these lambs rush to slaughter? Ah well… Let’s get it over with!”

Lautrec charged forward, his summoned warrior following in his wake. Just behind them, his sage readied his wand. 

The cleric immediately raised her shield, a flimsy thing, really, and certainly no match for his blades. It managed to reduce the impact of the sage’s magic bolts, but now, Lautrec was right before her. He reared back before striking her a solid blow, his curved shotel easily reaching around her paltry shield. The shield blocked his comrade’s spear, but the woman now looked rather breathless. 

“‘Tis a terrible pity,” Lautrec mused, trading his left shotel for a knife as he watched the invading cleric scramble to return her shield to her back. “Like a... moth, flittering towards a flame.

“You fellows… No? Don’t you agree?” He turned back towards his sage and briefly extended his arm towards his warrior, allowing the cleric a moment to ready herself for an attack of her own. 

As if she’d stand a chance. 

He chuckled darkly, watching as she lifted her talisman. She cast Force, which sent the spearman to the ground and the sage’s next magical projectile soaring back to strike him in the face. 

Lautrec himself stumbled before recklessly charging her again. If his companions weren’t able to strike her, it appeared he’d have to finish the job himself. 

She rolled away when he slashed at her with his shotel before charging at him with a knife that he hadn’t noticed she had been holding. He caught it with his own, slashing at her again with his free arm. 

Vulnerable as she was, and with no armor to boot, the cleric staggered from the devastating blow. Lautrec kicked her away, laughing callously yet again. The sage’s magical bolts peppered her several times as she struggled to recover. In the meantime, Lautrec traded his parrying knife for his second shotel, all the while watching her intently. 

Finally she knelt with talisman in hand. He recognized the gesture immediately as one of self-healing. “Oh no, you don’t…” 

With that said, he lashed out with dual strikes and chuckled as her form disintegrated into smoky mists. He helped himself to the humanities and souls she left behind before turning back to his entourage. “Well, well. I thought you were wiser… but I thought wrong.”

His summoned warrior lunged at her now formless remains with his spear. Poor fellow was a bit slow to grasp the reality of the situation. Finally he recognized she was gone and returned to Lautrec’s side. 

“Well, that was rather simple,” he scoffed and scanned the area. He beheld a glowing summon sign near the stairwell and went to examine it further. 

Ah, if it wasn’t the fool himself. 

Lautrec recalled the spearman, and summoned the warrior of sunlight. He arose with his arms in the air in a sun salute before facing Lautrec with a nod. Thankfully, he didn’t talk as much while in a summoned state.

Lautrec led them down the hall and pushed open the giant, double doors. He would have thought the room beyond empty, until he finally took note of a giant, stocky figure at the other end of the area. For a moment, they were so still Lautrec wasn’t quite certain whether they were human or statue. Either way, they wielded a hammer, nearly as large as themself.

Before Lautrec or the others could move in to have a closer look, another figure slowly and gracefully made their way to one of the balconies above. A single hand rested gently upon the railing as the knight, clad in incredibly intricate armor, gazed down at all of them. Within moments, the knight leapt down to stand before them, poised for battle. 

The one wielding a hammer hefted it upon his shoulder, moving the giant weapon with such an ease that it looked as if it were made of feathers. So then apparently this ‘statue’ could move after all.  

Lautrec faintly recognized the pair of warriors; felt certain that he had found their likenesses etched in marble somewhere within the city of Anor Londo. But it hardly mattered; if they stood in his path, they would be eliminated, all for the glory of the goddess.

The knight charged forward, his spear at the ready. Lautrec raced to meet him, easily moving off to the side to avoid the incoming spear. However gifted he may be, this spearman was no different from all others; he favored his right. All Lautrec needed to do was be careful to avoid that side and attack from the left, whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Meanwhile, Solaire focused his efforts on the giant. He would avoid the swing of his hammer with well-timed rolls and slash away with his sword while the giant struggled to reorient himself. He’d have to sprint away whenever his opponent decided to charge him, his hammer practically transformed into a whirlwind. And once his back was turned, Solaire would toss over a few lightning bolts in response.    

Meanwhile, Lautrec’s summoned sage would hurl magic bolts at the giant. He was a large, and therefore, easy target, after all. And with both Lautrec and Solaire keeping their opponents busy, the sage didn’t have much to worry about, so long as he kept himself far from the fray.

Before long, the giant man crumpled to the ground and took his last breath. Ornstein leaped away from Lautrec to stand at his side. He rested a hand against his fallen comrade’s body with a clearly remorseful weight to the action, despite how simple it was. 

But that simple gesture granted the knight a sudden surge in power. His very size surged until he grew to twice his height and weight. His spear sizzled with electricity as he held it aloft, reinvigorated to fight anew. 

“By the goddess!” Lautrec exclaimed as the spearman lunged at him. He rushed away; this time, it was much more difficult to avoid the weapon, given it too had increased in size. 

Solaire took the moment to lob a spear of lightning at the dragonslayer. However, it hardly had any effect.

The sage had prepared a more powerful spell, and this time, several magical bolts struck Ornstein at once. He momentarily flinched before rushing forward to attack the sage.

Lautrec and Solaire used the opportunity to move in close, slashing away at Ornstein’s legs. In response, the knight readied a lighting strike, charging up his spear with crackling electricity. Lautrec just barely managed to avoid being impaled, but his body shuddered as the remnants of lightning burned at his skin. He rolled away and yanked up his helm to chug a flask of Estus.

Meanwhile, Ornstein leapt high into the air, his body practically shining with excess electricity. Both Solaire and Lautrec were knocked off their feet as the dragonslayer crashed back down to the ground, sparks flying nearly everywhere. Even the sage, far from the action, staggered from the impact. 

Lautrec frantically rolled until he was far away, ripping back his helm to down not one, but two flasks of Estus. This wasn’t going to be an easy battle.  

But once he had his fill of Estus, he clenched his fists tightly around his shotels. He would not falter. For, after all, he had the favor of the goddess.

In the meantime, Solaire hurried to his feet and rushed in to attack Ornstein’s legs once again, determined to give Lautrec the time he needed to recover. He narrowly avoided another lunge; his body involuntarily shuddering from the excess electricity. How he longed to drink but a drop of Estus… But he had no time for that.

Meanwhile the sage had quickly gathered his wits and hurled magical bolts at the dragonslayer. He was too distracted with Solaire to fight back, so the mage continued his assault without interruption. 

Reinvigorated, Lautrec moved in to assist Solaire. Together the two kept slashing away at Ornstein’s feet, all while avoiding his near-constant barrage of lightning laden lunges. Ornstein was just about to recharge his spear when the sage dealt him one blow too many, and the mighty dragonslayer finally fell. 

Muscles buzzing with excess energy and skin burning from electrical buildup, Lautrec heaved hungry breaths of air as he watched the knight succumb to darkness. A glittering light was left behind, along with several other treasures.   

But before he could go to retrieve them, the foolish knight hurried to stand before him. He jovially clapped Lautrec’s shoulder until he finally lifted his helm to look him in the face. 

“A truly excellent bout of jolly cooperation, my good friend!” Solaire declared, no doubt a hearty grin beneath that helm. “Here; please take this!”

Lautrec already knew what the man was about to give him, and he didn’t want it. 

Regardless, Solaire found his hand and pressed a warm medal into it. Lautrec could feel the warmth even though the thickness of his armor; the object was indeed strange. But he refused to close his fingers, so the medal eventually fell to the ground once the golden sunlight warrior finally vanished into thin air. Lautrec didn’t bother to give the thing even the slightest of second glances. He simply didn’t need it.

Instead he moved in to receive his prizes. A gluttony of souls, along with Ornstein’s own, and a ring, a lion engraved upon it. He doubted he would find much use for it. Regardless, he tucked it away along with the rest. 

He wandered about the area for a while before coming upon a moving platform. He took it to find access to the balconies above, and to his great relief, a bonfire laid in wait. He took a rest there, allowing his wounds and aching body to heal.

Soon enough, he rose to his feet and made his way to the double doors before him. What laid behind them took his breath away.

There, her beautiful body draped across a plush chaise, laid the goddess Fina. The room was warm; soft light that emanated from the goddess herself wrapped the area in a gentle glow.

“Fina…” Lautrec breathed, immediately dropping down to one knee. 

Fina smiled and extended a gentle hand towards him. “Thou hast journey’d far, and overcome much, chosen Undead. Come hither, child…”

Lautrec blinked. ‘Chosen undead?’ ‘Child?’ 

Did she not see him?

He cleared his throat. “Fina, my beloved… It is I, Lautrec the Embraced. And I have for you a gift...” He procured the firekeeper’s soul and held it aloft.

She beckoned to him again. “Come hither…”

“As you wish…” Lautrec humbly rose, moved to stand just before her, and knelt down, all while holding out his treasure for her to take.

“O chosen Undead,” she continued, her voice soft. “I am Gwynevere. Daughter of Lord Gwyn; and Queen of Sunlight…”

 She had more to say, but Lautrec immediately stopped listening. Rage boiled up within his gut and spread throughout his body as he clenched his teeth.

The blasphemous wench! How dare she pose as the everlasting goddess!

Snarling, Lautrec ripped his shotel from its sheath and slashed the imposter, causing the unsuspecting woman to scream out. But his steel did not taste flesh; rather, he tore through naught but haze. 

The woman was but a mirage. A trick of his mind. 

Just as suddenly as the woman disappeared, the room went dark. It was cold here. 

Lautrec looked about wildly, but he was alone, left with nothing but a soft, almost fading light from the firekeeper’s soul. He dropped his shotel, and it clattered to the ground, louder than ever now. 

Was Fina… testing him?

He clenched his fist. No, it was that woman’s fault. She was a charlatan, a fake. Nothing was worse than impersonating a goddess. And it wasn’t as if he had ever seen a being as wondrous as the goddess herself in person before. How could he have known? 

Yes... yes. He was not to blame here. No, not at all.

In that moment, the silence was broken. 

I witnessed your sin, and it shall not go unpunished. 

Lautrec froze. Too afraid to turn and face the voice. 

Thou shalt perish in the twilight of Anor Londo.

No, this wasn’t happening. Everything he had done… it was all for Fina. 

He couldn’t have…

Slight footsteps from behind compelled him to whirl around. A blue phantom stood within the doorway; she was dressed in light armor, not unlike the painting guardians he had encountered shortly after he had entered Anor Londo. And just like those warriors, she was wielding two short blades. 

He would have bent to retrieve his shotel, but his limbs felt heavy, worn. And before his mind could have the opportunity to overpower his fading will, the warrior rushed forward, her blade plunging into his abdomen. She twisted the weapon, and he shuddered, the pain overtaking all of his senses. She kicked him to remove her blade, and his body easily crumpled to the ground. 

He laid there in agony, coughing up blood and wondering why she hadn’t yet finished him off. Once he finally opened his eyes, he saw her, tenderly holding the firekeeper’s soul. He must have dropped it at some point, or maybe she had taken it from his hand; he could hardly tell, much less remember, at this point. All he knew was that it was ill-gotten. That he had soiled Fina’s good name in taking it.

Before long, his helm was roughly ripped off of him. “This is for Anastacia of Astora,” the warrior stated, her voice cold. 

With that said, she lopped off his ear. “The Dark Sun will be pleased.” Her voice was soft now, devoid of the malice with which she spoke earlier. 

He watched her ready a black separation crystal. “You will not kill me?” he finally managed to ask.

“Killing you would only end your suffering.” She stepped on the wound in his gut and pressed down, forcing him to cry out yet again. “And my wish for you is to wallow in it.”

She finally backed away and activated her crystal, returning to her realm awash in shining light.

Lautrec, bloodied and broken, finally mustered the strength to drag himself out of the room and towards the bonfire beyond. 

But it was not lit.

He coughed again, blood spattering across the marbled floor. His vision blurred; the blood loss certainly wasn’t helping matters.

He crawled onwards, knowing full well he was too far gone to reach another bonfire. But he knew he must try. For Fina’s sake.

Fina…

He had failed her. 

No…! He would never…!

His fingers trembled as he continued to drag himself forward. Onwards.

Everything, yes, everything he had done, all of it was for Fina. For her glory. For his honor. For their love.

But…

Lautrec faltered and hissed. The pain was too great.

Fina was a magnificent, benevolent goddess. Death in her name would only serve to sully her beauty, her magnanimity. She would never allow it.

But the prize.

The endless souls… They would preserve her beauty forever; grant her with eternal youth.

Lautrec’s fingers hit into a wall. He could barely see straight; his body felt cold. He wasn’t certain how much longer he would last.

He pulled himself into a seated position, his back against the wall. He breathed deeply, as best as his tired lungs would allow. 

The ends do not justify the means.

He had failed his goddess, his love, by dishonoring her name. She would never accept any gifts, any love from a man drenched in sin. He knew this now.

He would perish within the twilight of Anor Londo.

As his goddess ordained. 

@lefrustemangaka

@taroris​

Silence always followed death. It was mandatory, as only death could rip things from this world with such coldness and leave a grieving void where the poor soul exhaled its last breath. Once the Shrine’s fire faded, not even the breeze dared to break the deathly quietness.

It took a while for Anastacia’s grasp around the metal rod to vanish; her delicate face contracted in a somewhat painful expression yet with relief under her lifeless blue eyes. Blue eyes which also stared at Lautrec with reproach; reproach because it wasn’t yet her time to leave, because she was supposed to die after fulfilling her role as Firekeeper, not in the hands of a knight who kept her company day after day until turning his blade against her.

With a swift measured move of hand, Lautrec cleaned the blood from his shotel. It was splattered on the floor in front of the rusty cell, which seemed to have been built in a rush by non-expert hands. Her frame paled in the light, not even a murmur was produced by the vanishment process. Then, the delicate soul of Anastacia jingled where her place has been for, perhaps, an eternity; tiny humanities dancing around the pure white light, happy, unbothered by the grim turn of events.

Lautrec picked them up and gave a look at the light and the darkness. Both antagonists floated pleasantly in his hand; darkness around light, light around darkness. The tendrils of Anastacia’s soul seemed to caress the humanities, as a mother would do to their kids. The humanities seemed to love the attention as they appeared to jump and shake their small bodies pleased. The somewhat peace these poor vestiges of a past life enjoyed was finally disrupted, for the image of the very safety and home meant nothing to Lautrec, whose real home was in the arms of a Goddess and the safety was only reached after the brief moments of offering the humanities he separated from Anastacia and placed inside his travel bag.

The Firekeepers' soul seemed to shiver when the mourning was over and the wind blew in the shrine, caressing its tendrils and letting it know of the newfound loneliness.

Truth be told, the reaction of the white soul was rather peculiar. With a tilt of his head, Lautrec observed how it reacted to its surroundings. How it seemed to know somehow that something was off. Maybe the pureness of the Firekeepers’ souls was the one to blame; souls remaining safe of the hunger that leads most Undeads, unbothered by the filthiness of the world that has no room for these same souls unless entrusted with the task to tend fire.

Lautrec scoffed. He was no innocent human, that was as true as the sky was blue. On top of that, he was hungry; hungry to please her Lady, hungry to give her everything she wished for. Staring at the soul wouldn’t do him any good. Then, almost in a whisper, a kind voice spoke to him. It spoke to him about time, about love, about forgiveness. For Lautrec, there was only one thing more absolute than death, and that was her Goddess’s words. He knew what he had to do next: complete his duty in the so-called city of Gods, but which was no home for his Lady. At least, not anymore.

The knight left the Shire, wherein the few beings remaining there barely noticed his leave. He, then, resumed his travel; going through the cathedral, through the burg, through the fortress made to break one’s soul but merely scratched his for the loving voice gave him the strength needed to prevail and move forward. It was such the faith in his Lady’s words that he even travelled through air (carried by nasty ugly demons) to arrive at his destination.

With utmost care, Lautrec inspectioned the place until finding the bonfire and, with the bonfire, the Firekeeper. He felt the arms around his torso hug him even in a more affectionate way, and the joy which washed over his body was almost overwhelming. Yet, he shouldn’t be carried away by those feelings, or he could end up imprisoned again, when the end of his task was within the reach of his fingertips.

When the Firekepeer spoke, Anastacia’s Soul shaked faintly in his travel bag.

“Mmh… You are a rare visitor,” she said once he walked down the stairs. In her voice, there was a hit of something Lautrec couldn’t place right away. “Welcome to the lost city of Anor Londo. If you seek Lord Gwyn’s old keep, exit here and head straight yonder. If you-”

“I will, for now, allow myself to take a rest,” Lautrec interrupted her.

It had been quite a while since he had been around a talkative Firekeeper. Instead, he had grown so comfortable with the silence around Anastacia that he had forgotten how annoying these women can be sometimes; with their gibberish and duties.

“Very well. After all, that is what the bonfire is for,” she muttered, with annoyance and that something which was still difficult to place in her voice.

Lautrec sat down near the fire. His tired legs sighed with the brief break they were given while his hands quickling unfastened the travel bag around his waist.

The moment to observe her came when he pretended to take care of his equipment, of his shotels and armour. It stood out that Firekeeper was nothing like the previous ones he had encountered before; all delicate ladies, sometimes blinded, sometimes too oblivious of the world around her. This woman, instead, looked like a warrior, and it was not because of the pretentious armour befitting of an even more pretentious place like Anor Londo. No. It was because of the aura around her, of the way she folded her arms, the posture she kept against the wall, the way tried to appear like she was self-absorbed but her eyes felt like daggers poking his skin.

It finally clicked. That something hard to place in her voice: mistrust. This woman was, by all means, different from the previous Firekeepers who always thought he was a well-meaning knight searching for their help and fire. This woman was dangerous, because mistrust made you be aware of dangers, of betrayal, and made offering harder. Lautred needed to find help, and by help it meant cannon fodder. For that reason he got up and announced it was time to continue his journey. The knight, then, adventured himself even further in the city, further into the high building.

His shotel cut through multiple enemies dressed in white clothes and who threw daggers. He got no reward from it and the voice whispering kind words suddenly started to rush him to go back to the Firekeeper’s place. Oh, how much he wished to speak with his Lady at that moment, to hold her delicate hands and promise her that she would have the world if only she gave him a moment to do what had to be done to cut the Firekeeper’s throat.

His steps lead him to a cathedral, wide, open, and filled with multiple enemies. Even if it cost him some estus, Lautrec prevailed and the colossals figures and Silver Knights ended up falling to his blade. When inside there was no more than silence (a silence aware of the knight’s intentions and which followed him as it followed death), Lautrec started to search for marks. For marks of unwaries who would have no other choice but to help him fulfill his role; perhaps serving as bait.

It didn’t take him long to come across a well-known yellow sign. Holding back a scoff turned out to be impossible for a solid second, as there was no point in summoning that crazy fool. Lautrec kept searching, avoiding the signs of Warriors of Sunlight as if they were infected with the plague. Then, finally, after walking up and down the hallway, he located it: two white summoning signs. A sorcerer and a spearman. That would serve him well. Lautrec touched the first white light, with black letters signaling a name that he couldn’t care less, before touching the second one. Two men appeared in front of him and spoke words of greeting, too cheerfully for his liking. He barely muttered some words to content them for there were more pressing matters to attend.

After the pointless greeting was over, the three of them walked to the entry, to the closed massive doors. With a sigh, Lautrec started to look for the mechanism to open them, locating a giant lever attached to some big gears.

Upon touching the handle, though, he felt it. The soft rumbling of worlds clashing together. His furrow deepened under his helmet and walked back to his comrades who were looking at their surroundings. Lautrec didn’t feel like playing the mouse and cat game at that moment, so, when the other two men looked at him wondering about his plan, he simply ordered them to wait until the dark phantom appeared.

And the phantom did so. After a closer look at the armour, an amused hum left his lips. The Chosen Undead straightened their back and when their gaze fell on the knight and his cannon fodder, they stormed towards them, sword raised in wrath. The same wrath that filled their voice when they spoke.

“Lautred, you bastard! How dare you kill her?! How dare you kill Anastacia?!”

The knight waited (hearing reassuring words of his Lady that ensured him the victory) for the Chosen Undead to run towards them and for his summonings to defend him, as it was a mandatory rule between the fool Undeads.

“Well, look at you,” he began, dragging out his shotel. “I thought you were wiser, but I thought wrong!”

@thefatladysang​

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Born To Die Vol.1 Tsukinami Carla [Track 3]

Original title: 宴の始まり

Source: Diabolik Lovers Born To Die Vol.1 Tsukinami Carla [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Toshiyuki Morikawa

Translator’s note: All you Carla stans are going to love this track because it’s a full 14 minutes of cute fluff. I am by no means a Carla fan, but I did find the scene where the MC feeds him (and then he returns the favor) to be really cute. The little ‘aahn’ with that deep voice of his actually caught me of guard, haha. 

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 3: The Beginning of the Banquet

“Yes...I appreciate your birthday wishes. (1) Cheers.”

*Cling*

Carla takes a sip of his drink.

“Sandwiches, soup and various appetizers. (2) You have put together a rather luxurious meal. Mm...”

He takes a bite.

*Cling*

“Delicious. You have seasoned them to my liking.”

You smile.

“Exactly. Us Founders do not need food to survive, but your cooking strangely enough triggers my appetite. This is the first time I have enjoyed something other than cured dry ham this much.”

You feel flattered.

“However, it is not enough to please me just yet. You put so much effort into this feast, so I want you to feed me directly.”

You seem surprised.

“What seems to be the matter? Do not tell me that after everything, you cannot complete such a simple task? You want to celebrate my birthday today, no? In that case, fulfilling my wish only seems fit. ...Are you appalled because it sounds childish? However, even I want to be spoilt every now and then. You don’t mind, do you?”

You pick up the fork.

*Cling*

“Hmph. You have finally made up your resolve it seems? In that case...Aahn.”

You feed him.

“...Mmh. Mm...It’s good.”

*Rustle*

“Let me do it next. You should feel grateful.”

*Cling*

“Come on. Open your mouth. ‘Aahn’.”

You take a bite.

“Fufufu...Watching you eat the food I’m feeding you like that, makes you resemble a little baby bird pecking away at its meal. How is it? Is it good?”

You nod.

“Do not lie. Judging by the looks of it, you barely even tasted it, did you? There is no way you could deceive me. As your punishment, I shall continue feeding you until you have gotten a proper taste. Thanks to you, there is plenty of food to go around. Brace yourself.”

*TIMESKIP*

*Rustle*

“This might be the first time I have enjoyed a meal until I felt full. The cake was sublime as well. As to be expected, only the wife of the King of the Founders would be able to satisfy me to such a degree.”

You suddenly yawn. 

“What is the matter, yawning like that? Are you tired?”

You feel embarrassed, apologizing. 

“No need to apologize. You have been up and about all day after all. I assume you are exhausted. However, there is nothing wrong with being sleepy. We can simply spend the night here after all.”

You seem hesitant.

“Of course it is fine. For one, I anticipated this. I had the Familiars prepare a room so it could be used immediately. Furthermore...”

*Rustle*

“Today is my birthday. Is it not only obvious I want to spend it alone with you until the very end?”

You tell Carla you feel the same.

“I see. You feel the same, do you? In that case, let us get ready for bed soon.”

You agree and head off towards the bathroom.

*TIMESKIP*

You enter the bathroom.

*Thud*

“You are finally here. How was the bath water’s temperature?”

You tell him it was perfect.

“I see. I’m glad you were able to warm up. Even though the Familiars had been managing it, I would have not been surprised if it suddenly broke down. More importantly, join me.”

You walk over to the bed, noting there is only one.

“Yes, the bed I am currently seated on is indeed the only one available in this room. Is there a problem with that? We are lovers. It should only be obvious we share a bedroom. Well then, stop worrying about unnecessary things and come here. Take a seat next to me.”

You nod, sitting down next to him.

*Rustle*

“Your hair is still damp. It feels different to the touch than usual. However, I do not dislike your hair. It is soft and beautiful, and I love the feeling of tangling my fingers between the locks.”

Your cheeks flush red.

“...My hair is beautiful as well, you say? It is the first time someone has told me that.”

You tell Carla you’d love to comb his hair. 

“I do not understand why you would suddenly express your wish to brush my hair, but I shall give you permission. Be my guest. However, I ask you do it carefully. I am granting you special permission, but do not forget that these are the locks of a King.”

You nod, picking up the brush.

*Rustle rustle*

You start combing his hair.

“...Hmph. ...Aah. It feels more pleasant than I expected. Just keep on going like that.”

You note he has great hair.

“...It’s smooth? I do not understand why that would make you feel envious, but I shall take your word for it. However...”

You tilt your head.

“When I suck your blood, there are times I find it annoying. Given its length, it ends up getting in my face after all. Well then, you have done enough. Let us get ready to sleep soon.”

You nod, putting down the comb.

*Thud*

*Rustle rustle*

“Speaking of which, I have yet to thank you. I felt happy today. I was surprised when you first brought up the idea of celebrating my birthday. However, after seeing you prepare everything and actually celebrating, I have changed my mind. That there is simply nothing more precious in this world, than seeing the person you love work so hard for your sake. I did not even consider that one’s birthday could be such a wonderful thing.”

You seem happy, excited to celebrate again the following year. 

“You are being rather hasty, no? You are already talking about my birthday next year?”

You nod.

“Fufufu...You were that happy? Even though I’m the one being congratulated. That side is very typical of you. ...This is my way of thanking you for today.”

*Smooch*

“You like kisses, do you not? All I did was place a soft peck against your forehead, yet you have turned red all over.”

You admit liking his kisses. 

“Heh. You are rather honest to admit it so easily. Did the same woman who stubborn refused to give in to the pleasure earlier, have a change of heart once she entered the sheets? In that case, I have to reward you for being honest with me. I shall fulfill your wishes in return for entertaining me today. I shall kiss you wherever you want.”

You ask for a kiss on the lips.

“Hm.. Just as I thought, the lips, huh?”

*Rustle*

“Of course, I am aware. Whenever I kiss you here, you always writhe your body in bliss after all. Go ahead and feel my lips to your heart’s content. Mmh...”

*Smooch*

“Hah...”

*Rustle*

“Your eyes have teared up, as if they are melting. Is a kiss not enough for you?”

You nod.

“In that case, you know what to do, no?”

You beg for his fangs.

“Very well. I sucked blood from your collarbone earlier after all. This time...I’ll suck from here.”

Carla bites you.

*Sluuuurp*

“...How’s that? When I suck from your ear, my voice and breathe echoes into it, no? As if I am directly assaulting the inside of your head...”

*Sluuuurp*

“...Hah. Your blood is sweet and rich per usual. In the past even just having to taste it was painful, but now I have become completely obsessed with its fine taste. It has definitely been worth cleansing you.”

*Rustle*

“I shall suck from your shoulder next. I shall indulge in your blood, while you get to savor the taste of my fangs.”

He bites you once more.

*Sluuuurp*

“...Hm? Your blood has become even sweeter. Are you that excited?”

You beg for more.

“Yes. No need to ask. I shall pierce them even deeper, sucking your blood. Furthermore...”

*Rustle*

“I told you, no? That I would fulfill your wish.”

You smile.

“You seem rather merry. I suppose you were eagerly awaiting this? In that case, I shall satisfy you from head to toe. Go ahead and drown in these fangs, entrusting your everything to me. I shall love you, as much as you’d like. Haahn...”

*Sluuuurp*

“Mm...”

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) He literally says ‘your words of congratulation’, but since we know the CD is about his birthday, I made my translation a little more specific.

(2) It took me forever to figure out what Carla was saying here because he uses the French term ‘hors d'oeuvre’ which are a selection of hot and cold appetizers. 

[crimsonwolfie]

Best Mistake Part 2 — Hamish Duke x Reader

Requested by @shania122600 and many more!

Prompt: The Reader (a Succubus) returns for her love, Hamish Duke, for one steamy night ;)

I haven’t proofread this as it’s 2am and i knew y’all wanted this, i kept you waiting long enough (really sorry!!) but i hope this makes up for it 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

Warnings: smut and fluff :)

Word count: 3.639

Masterlist

Best Mistake Part 1

Tossing and turning, Hamish Duke kicks his legs out from under the duvet cover. Sweat beads drip from his forehead as his grey T-shirt sticks to his hot, sweaty body. Murmuring and groaning, he fidgets from side to side, clearly in and out of sleep.

The window is opened slightly, letting the white netted curtains to dance delicately in the breeze of the wind. Hamish stirs as the breeze hits his scorching hot skin, invigorating him. His lashes flutter as his eyes open gently, squinting as the moonlight shines a beam so bright onto his face. The covers are a heap and the air is thick, muggy with heat...evocation. Hamish sits up with one hand holding his head, rubbing his eyes, whilst leaning on the other hand that holds his weight.

The room is cold against his skin as shivers run up and down his spine like a marathon. He sighs, looking around the almost empty room that surrounds him. The room has an antique tone to it; walls painted an off-white with a singular wall painted a brewing crimson colour, with an unusual tile bordering of moons, stars and other symbols of some sort lining the top of the walls. A window, rectangle and fairly big, is seen beside Hamish. With nothing but the bed, a small wardrobe, a thin nightstand and an armchair in the corner (which is covered in clothes), the room seems fairly new...cosy. It’s minimal, but just right.

Although it’s summer, there’s still a bitter coldness in the air. Not just in temperature, but in ambience. An indescribable coldness that’s descended from somewhere unknown, somewhere utterly dark and unwelcoming.

Hamish wipes his forehead of sweat, pushing his ever-growing hair out of his eyes as it sweeps back effortlessly. His crystal eyes gleam in the moonlight as his skin reflects like milk off a silver tray. His palms are sweaty mom’s spaghetti haha as he grips on the bedsheet, arching his back as he stretches.

He stays still for a second, in a sort of sleepy daze, eyes fixated on the foot of his bed. Head tilting, he quickly snaps out the trance and reaches his arm to his bedside table, picking up his phone. The screen lights up full beam, causing Hamish to squint his eyes in instant regret as he scrambles to lower the brightness.

3:29am

“Great” Hamish mumbles with a croaky voice, laced with exhaustion. He sighs loudly, flopping back onto the bed, his head compressed in the pillows. This is the second week of restless nights he’d had - and they’re getting worse each night. At first, it was only a couple of broken sleeps...you know...nothing too dramatic. Then, it developed into vivid dreams which startle him and disturb him. Now...he hasn’t slept in a week, in order to avoid... them. His body wants to, so badly...but his mind isn’t having it. And it shows. Deep, dark bags surround the sockets of his eyes as his body grows weaker and feeble. His skin loses it’s glow and his mind is scattered. Everyone who sees him notices how much he’s let himself go, and they worry about him. Hell...he’s worried about himself.

Hamish throws his hands on his face, rubbing at his eyes hard, in an attempt to exhaust himself out. He kicks the covers off himself completely, revealing his loose knee-length shorts and bare feet. His mind wanders occasionally wanders to dark places from time to time, however lately it’s been happening a lot more. And every time, it’s the same place. A dark, painful place that he wishes to forget only for the reason that it brings him sadness, a nostalgia that he cannot get back. And what is that memory that his mind wanders to? Well, Y/N of course.

The truth is...every time he’d fall alseep, he’d dream of her. Vivid, realistic dreams of touching her, kissing her, being with her. Any other person would die for dreams like these with the person they loved, but Hamish...he didn’t. For him, it was a constant reminder that he’d lost another love that fulfilled his soul. It reminded him that he would never see her again, and he couldn’t handle that heartbreak.

He would reminisce about when he met Y/N, the Succubus, for the first time. Her beauty, elegance, poise, that mischievous glint in her eye which Hamish couldn’t tell if he was turned on by it...or threatened by it. He was infatuated by her, as if she held his soul in the cage of her heart.

It’s been 3 months since he’d last seen her. 3 months which felt like 3 years. Before he met her, he felt a hole in his soul. Ever since Cassie’s end, he’d never experienced something so true to ‘love at first sight’, he’d never believed he’d be truly happy again, or that he’d ever fall in love again...that was...until he met her. It was short, too short, but it gave him that electrifying feeling of wholesomeness again. Of happiness, love, euphoria. In those moments they had together, it was like he’d been hit by a century’s worth of feelings that he had lost. Both him and Tundra felt it...and she did too.

A single tear trickles down his pale, cold cheek at the memory of her. Lips quivering slightly, he bites down on his lower lip, scrunching his eyes shut tightly. He sits up gently, walking over to the open window for some air.

There’s something about nighttime that is so soothingly calm to him, almost as if he’s free. The silence that echoes around the clearing, the darkness dimly lit by the stars in the sky, the bitter sweet breeze smacking your rosy hot cheeks with an immense feeling of coolness.

Hamish rushes towards the window in desperation as if he cannot breathe, before inhaling deeply, releasing a hot breath into the night air. His head is stuck outside the window as his forearms lean against the windowsill. That familiar scent of fresh grass and slightly damp air surround him, leaving him feeling relaxed and at ease, until he feels the panic and sorrow leave slowly.

Part of him wishes his memories of her would disappear, so he can feel normal again...feel human. Although, part of him wishes they’d stay. Because she made him feel human. She made him feel alive, in ways he never thought possible.

He stares up to the moon, smiling softly.

“Hey, Y/N,” he begins with a voice barely above a whisper, “i miss you. And i know you probably can’t hear me, or see me for that matter...but you’ve messed with my head.” He grins, cheekiness glowing across his face. “I wish you were here, you know that. Well..i- i hope you’d know that...a..anyway”

He brings his hands to his face, cupping it whilst leaning on his elbows. “I think...i love you. And that scares me...really. Because the last woman i loved left me, and i....you know what nevermind. Anyway i uh...i guess i’m just saying hi, and that i miss you...” he looks down, a sad smile across his lips, but sadness painted across his expression. “Yeah...i really miss you.” he sighs “but please...Can you just let me slee-“

“-Only if i’m next to you”

Hamish’s eyes widen at the voice from behind him, as his body whips round and jaw drops at the sight in front of him. His eyes light up, his heartbeat quickens and races rapidly. His body shakes...is he hallucinating? Is this what happens when someone hasn’t slept for a week?

From out of the shadows, Y/N appears. Her beauty as astonishing as ever and her pace is slow, gentle. The gentle breeze pushes her hair from her shoulders as it flows through effortlessly. Hamish is frozen, he wants to touch you to make sure you’re real...but he can’t move.

You smile sweetly, lips berry red and cheeks lightly blushed pink. You take in the view in front of you as you slowly take a step closer to him, your sweet scent knocking him back to reality.

“Y/N...i...how are you here?” His voice cracks mid sentence, his arm barely lifted from the side of his chest. You laugh softly at his astonishment, thinking of how cute he was and how deeply you missed his face.

“Hey, cutie” you sigh, “i missed you, too.”

“I...” he begins, only to stop and rush his hands towards you, gripping you tightly as he lifts you up in the air for a hug, your legs wrapped around his torso and hands around his neck. You smile into his neck as his familiar scent of coconuts and musk fill your senses. He squeezes your body against his, almost as if he’s scared to let go again. Not again. Not ever again.

“How are you here?” His eyes are glossy with emotion and his voice is wobbly. His hands cup your face, as his thumbs rub against the sides of your cheeks softly. Your big Y/E/C orbs locked with his own, softness and comfort hidden deep within each other’s eyes.

“I made my way back to you, like i told you i would” you smile, bringing your hands to his own, which cup your face still, intertwining your fingers into his.

“But i...i thought you had to be summoned?”

“No, well...yeah,” you whisper “but i sort of made a deal with these dumb ass kids...they give me my freedom in exchange for A+ in all their classes-“ you roll your eyes playfully

“That’s not that bad!” Hamish interupts, his face blushing at your touch and his smile bright.

“-for the rest of their time at Belgrave.” you finish, nodding your head down at Hamish, who understands what you’re about to say next.

“Oh...i see...so you...exp..?” He hints, squinting as he looks for confirmation in your expressions

“...i gave them 3 weeks before they’ll be expelled” you smirk, head up whilst looking directly at Hamish’s eyes.

Hamish smirks back, knowing your mischievous side when it comes to making deals...you are a demon at the end of the day!

“They should have known better” he quietly murmurs with a smirk planted across his face. “Well, i’m glad they gave you your freedom. Very, very glad.”

With that, Hamish strokes your face as he brings his fingers to your shoulders, then to your arm. Electrifying shocks run through your body as butterflies roam freely in your stomach at his touch alone. Blood rushes to your cheeks, heating them up with a perfectly pretty pink shade. From the window behind Hamish, a breeze gusts through the room, sending your hair flying back effortlessly. You lean your forehead on Hamish’s, as he leans down slightly to reach you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down and place your lips on his. Passion, lust, desperation and pleasure coat the kiss as the world comes to a stop. Euphoria explodes in your mind as his soft, luscious lips compliment your own perfectly. Ham gets deeper into the kiss, slipping his tongue in between your mouth whilst gripping your waist and pushing it harder into his own body, completely breaking any distance between you both. His hands roam your curves and every part of your body, pushing your head deeper into the kiss. Lightly, you bite onto his lip which causes him to smirk into the kiss, moaning ever so quietly.

“You know that turns me on,” Hamish whispers in a husky tone, a light growl evident in the back of his throat.

“That’s my intention...” you hum on his lips.

Your hands leave his neck and lead to his hair, gently pulling every time the butterflies invade your stomach. Even as a succubus, you’ve never felt this turned on by anyone. And THAT is saying something...

“We have-“ he stutters out of breath in between your kisses, “-have to be quiet-“ your hands roam down to the rim of his shirt, causing Hamish to get a little too excited, “-others are here.” He takes a deep gasp of breath whilst looking up to the ceiling, then looking you up and down.

“Then we’ll be quiet.” A devilish smirk appears on your face, as you lock eyes with Hamish, then look down to his lips...faces barely apart.

Hamish bites his lip, attacking your face once again. Only this time, he pushes you to the wall, pressing your back into it as his body presses into your front. You moan in euphoria with your arms up above your head, hands and fingers intertwined with Hamish’s as he breaks the kiss, leaving a trail of hot and wet kisses on your neck. As he brings his hands down, he knocks one of your horns gently...to which startles him,

“Shit, I’m so sorry” he apologises, concern on his face as his brows and eyes crinkle in fears of him hurting you. Sweetly, you laugh whilst shaking your head and drawing over his features with the tip of your finger,

“Hey, it’s okay,” you reply sympathetically, tone soft and delicate, “you could never hurt me.”

Hamish takes a moment to soak in your beauty in front of him; the way your dark, bold wings form the most magnificent silhouette, how your clothes hug your perfect figure and curves irresistibly, the way your wide Y/E/C doe eyes captivate his soul in the way that he forgets how to breathe, your smile...so bright, contagious and exquisite. With skin as soft as the clouds above and lips as dreamy as sunsets in the heavens, you couldn’t have been more perfect to him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hamish mouths into your skin, causing shivers to run through your body, “i never want to let you out of my sight again”

“Then don’t let me go”

“You can count on it, darling.” He brings his head back up to face you, mischief and adoration in his orbs. He stands there sandwiching you between the wall for a long few seconds, staring deep into your own eyes.

“Hey, carry on kissing me!” You huff, desperation lacing your voice.

“I can do one better” he pipes up confidently, as he begins to untie your blood red, laced top...slipping his fingers smoothly under the straps, letting them fall off your soft, delicate shoulders. As a sudden urge impulses you, you rip his top completely in half, revealing his toned chest. A low growl escapes his throat as he throws his lips back onto yours, fingers working tirelessly at the straps on your top, whilst yours work at his sweat-shorts. You throw your head to the side whilst soaking in the allure and pleasure before you. Before you know it, Hamish removes your top, leaving you in your bra and tight leggings. He picks you up, letting you wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you to the end of his bed...his lips never leaving yours.

Hamish lets you down gently, being careful to not hurt your wings, as he continues to undress you...you vice versa.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He whispers for consent, being the true gentleman he is.

“Of course. I want everything with you” you chirp “do you want it?”

“Why wouldn’t i?! You’re everything to me,” his smile speaks a thousand more words, but right now...you want nothing more than for no words. Just action. Smiling back, you wrap your hands around his neck, before snapping out of the moment,

“okay now carry on. Please.” You beg, pulling him forward from his neck. He crashes his body on yours after removing his sweat shorts impatiently. Skin to skin contact sends waves of pure electric through both your veins as hormones and pleasure flying through the roof. Your skin burns under his as he buries his head in between your shoulder, whilst slowly but firmly thrusting in. His hands search the bed for yours, intertwining as soon as he finds them. With your legs wrapped around his torso, you push yourself closer to his body, deepening the feeling inside you as simultaneous moans can be beard from the both of you, complete euphoria filling your senses.

A single beam of moonlight illuminates the room directly on Hamish’s face, allowing you to admire everything about him; the way his dimples show when he’s either concentrating or happy, how his cheeks are chiseled and his jawline is sharper than thousands of knives put together. His perfect skin complexion soft to the fingertips and his ocean eyes full of hope and life...and how his irises have a black lining around them, which follows the legend of how if one has a black line around their eyes...then they have a soul. Sure you’ve had your fair share of experience, of lust and hopeless devotion...but It’s little things like this that make you realise that love can be real...and that Hamish has truly captured your heart. Succubus’ are notorious for their seduction and willingness to draw emotion to their pray, without having to actually experience any their-self. However...every succubus has their one love, their power source for love, their anchor. Hamish is yours, and it took you until this long to realise.

Squirming under his weight, you bring your mind back to the present. His breath is rigid and his skin is sticky with sweat. Swiftly, you bring your hands to his hair and roughly tug at it, causing Ham to push himself deeper into you. You moan in satisfaction as you crash your mouth onto his with sloppy, wet kisses. Hamish returns your kisses with equal passion, occasionally biting your lip and tugging it with a small amount of force, leaving you to scratch at his back with your nails. As soon as you do so, Hamish’s claws make a quick appearance, gliding over your skin before he shakes it off and yearns control again. Due to your abilities of super strength, you manage to slip from under Hamish’s weight and flip your positions, so he’s now under your weight as you cradle his body with yours on top. It takes him a hot minute to notice, but when he does...he just get even more turned on.

You start to move your hips lightly forwards and backwards, leaving Hamish to squirm under you before moving in synchronisation to your movements. Easing into it, you both move in a delicate and ever so tender fashion, more intimate than sexual.

Hamish’s large hands position themselves on your hips, his thumbs drawing little circles around your skin as his grip tightens, meaning only one thing.

As you begin to feel the hot sweat on your body, you start to slow down, legs shaking upon reaching your climax, Hamish too. You take a deep breath and flop in his chest, your forehead on top of his. With your eyes closed, you think to yourself ‘i have never felt more alive than when i’m with him’ whilst Hamish tenderly kisses both your eyelids in pure devotion. You look up to him, forehead still resting on his, and smile. You lean forward and leave a final kiss on his perky lips before climbing off and lying on the bed, wrapping the sheets around your naked body.

The silence in the room is interrupted with the sound of rapid heartbeats and heavy breathing. Hamish turns to face you with his hands stretched out to rub your skin and one arm holding his head up.

“That was...amazing,” he kisses your nose “you’re amazing”

“I love you” you suddenly blurt out, almost as if it felt natural to say. After realising what you said, your eyes widen and cheeks blush immensely...instantly thinking you’d moved too fast

“I...i mean i uh...i” you stutter trying to save yourself, until realising that you can’t save yourself from something like that. ‘Nice one, Y/N’ you curse to yourself

“Hey, it’s okay” Hamish reassures you, his forefinger drawing small circles on your skin as his other hand runs through your hair

“I love you too, Y/N”

Your heart stops beating all of a sudden. Did he just say he loves you? You’ve never heard that before. You’ve never had someone love you - YOU before. In your eyes, you weren’t worthy of love. That you weren’t worthy of...him.

“I love you and i want to spend every night falling asleep by your side and every morning waking up to your face as the first thing i see when i open my eyes. I don’t care about realm rules or anything like that...all i care about is you.” His face is inches away from you at this point.

You’re left speechless at his declaration, but your eyes say everything you can’t say. Tears begin to drop from your eyes as your lips curl into a heartwarming smile. You pull Hamish into your face, kissing him passionately and intensely.

“No one’s ever made me feel the way you make me feel” you hush, your voice wobbly with emotion. “Thank you for being everything i wanted” Hamish grabs your hand in his, bringing your body into his for a warm snuggle. He brings the covers over you both as you nestle your face into the crook of his neck, your cheek flushed against his skin.

“So urm...was it just like how you dreamt?” You mutter curiously

“Yeah it was act...” his smile drops suddenly in confusion “...how did you know i had dreams of you...of this?”

You laugh playfully as you bring your hands to your face, covering your blushing cheeks from the man beside you “i maaayy have caused you to have those dreams...” you trail off, leaving Hamish to figure it out for himself

“You did dream-walking on me!” He gasps, eyes widening in surprise

“Hey!” You shush him with a finger to his lips “i couldn’t let you forget me could i?!”

I don’t know if i’ll write any more smut as it just felt ✨dirty✨ writing this idk, i have much respect to those who are able to write it 😂 let me know what you thought of this!

[lorilu]

I wrote something so I am sharing it because I can

They say life is hard, especially when you are immortal, but I used to have a more positive view of the curse I was born with. People would look at me in both fear and admiration when the truth was discovered and that’s why I started avoiding the subject. No, it’s not easy, but what else are you supposed to do when the entire world is both terrified and jealous of you?

It doesn’t matter, because in the end it will be the same. One can’t avoid the questions once everyone sees you look the same after years and years of knowing them, and no matter how much you make up, they are bound to know who you really are. And so you run away before time decides to play against you, you start a new life, forget the people you know, become a new person, only to repeat that cycle again later. It isn’t too exciting any more.

I remember like it was yesterday, even when it must have happened hundreds of years ago, this one time when the smallest chance of something happening happened.

I met someone like me, a woman so tied to death she couldn’t die, ironically. A goddess of the afterlife.

Do not ask me how I became aware of this knowledge, as that would compromise her and I do not wish to harm her in any way, not at least more than she already has been, but I will say it was not intentional for me to discover her secret.

In the end I asked her to be the one I spend my life with. What made me do it? I don’t know; maybe it was the hope of finding some peace after all those years of hiding, maybe the realisation that I was not alone in this, maybe even because she was the loveliest person I had ever met, possibly a combination of all of them, who knows, but I don’t think it really matters.

There is this feeling that grows in you, an empty and dark one, a sensation of void that drains you and makes everything look grey and worthless. It takes your determination to do things and it’s so deep that it never seems to end. You think everything is going to be like this forever, and I cannot blame myself for having lost hope on every single aspect of life after so many years of trying to get rid of it. It was not my fault there was nothing to live for.

But her. After the first time I talked to her I thought there was something special. The conclusion to why I thought so that I came up with was because she was beautiful, breathtaking, more than any other person I had ever seen in my entire life, and that was a lot of time.

I needed to know her. I needed to talk to her. I needed to be close to her. I needed to have her in my life. Something about her called me and I didn’t hesitate at all to follow it, and after every secret was revealed, she feared I would run away from her, that she would see in my eyes the same terror she saw in the eyes of the ones she had trusted enough to show her true self. She hated what she was, but there was no possible cure for what she was suffering from. Just like me.

And I am happy to announce that this time it was different for the both of us. She didn’t see hate or disgust, I didn’t back away or turn around to avoid eye contact, no. I looked at her as if she were the most precious creature in the world, which she was and is to the day of today. I could see her teary eyes, she was so scared, but if there was a time when I had to be true about myself, it was this one. I reached for her hand and took it between mine, and closing my eyes so she couldn’t see all the years of pain and misery slipping through my eyes, I narrated the story of my life. We both were shaking, either in fear or in relieve, and a strong bond was created that night. We spent hours and hours explaining some of our most interesting life stories, narrated the lives of people we used to know that died a long time ago, we shared how we had been living and what we were planning to do on the future. That was when I told her I needed her. I gave her the choice to join me, the choice of company, the choice of love.

And she took it.

I experienced true happiness for the first time in a long long time, I felt like the world was a new brighter place to live in. I could finally feel alive. All because of her. I will never be grateful enough for what she did to me. I will never be able to thank her enough for bringing me the piece I was lacking. There is nothing that can demonstrate how much I adore her and how little she has to do to make me realise life is worth living it.

With time we had a child, a beautiful boy. He was radiant. I had never felt so much love towards someone so little and fragile. I promised I would protect him with my life, I would never let anything bad happen to him. All that mattered was his happiness and well being, nothing else, and I know for a fact his mother was thinking the exact same thing.

No one had told us raising a child would be easy, and after thousands of years of life we both knew it would be a challenge, but we managed to do it. We were so proud. Our son was growing, and he was happy and healthy. He was artistic and his soul burnt with the determination of someone who knows what they are doing.

One day he asked us for a guitar and we decided it would be good for him to have something fun to do in his free time, he would have a lot of it having in mind who his parents were. What we didn’t know was the musical talent was in his veins. He almost instantly learnt how to play it and soon he started creating his own music. There was nothing compared to listening to him, it was hypnotising. When he would play for others they would not leave until he had finished, and if he wasn’t there they would cheerfully sing his songs by themselves. Everyone loved him for what he did, and he made sure he returned that same love with kindness and more songs.

If only there were something else special about him.

I think it became obvious way earlier than when we decided to acknowledge the truth, we were too happy that way, so happy we stayed in denial for years. We didn’t want to see it, it was too painful for us to handle. We needed him to be immortal.

But one day he would die.

He, of course, was not aware of that, he thought he was just like us! Just like we told him before we knew what was happening. But we were in shock. The sudden realisation that he was going to die, just like everyone we knew, hit us in the worst way possible. We fought, we cried, we even tried to keep ignoring it again, but it was too much to handle.

I’ll admit it, I did blame his mother for his mortality. The pain in her voice as she told me she thought I was different and the pain I felt when I saw her go away with the promise of never coming back is something I will never be able to forget. It still took me some time to come to my senses and see the depth of what I did after she left. Everyone around her died, not only because of her immortality, but because death followed her. I blamed her for her bad luck and ignored all the things she had suffered because of it. I decided it was alright to get angry because of the one thing she hated so much but couldn’t change, all because I couldn’t handle the hard truth reality is. I attacked her in the worst way possible and refused to take it back when I still had the chance to, only because something bad happened. I lost everything that day... and it was my fault.

All the brightness became dull again. I tried to stay positive around my son, but he was just like everyone else now, the one difference was I could see her in him, her and death. His mere sight was enough to drown me in my own feelings of guilt and sorrow. I had never wished I was dead as much as I did. But of course, I had a child to take care of, and death was not an option for me, and it would never be.

Years passed and I had no way to hide anything from him. He was clever, way too clever. And so when he finally asked about it, I told him why his mother left. I told him the reason why he found no light in my eyes when he looked at me any more. I talked about how he should go live his life instead of wasting it next to me, that he deserved to have a normal life like everyone does. I told him that even knowing he would not be in the world forever, that I am happy he doesn’t have the curse me and his mother had. I told him that I love him and that I only wish the best for him.

After that talk there was nothing else for him where we lived, and so he left with the promise of writing me letters to narrate the adventures he was planing to have. He had great aspirations, so I didn’t doubt for a second he would. And he did fulfil that promise.

After he left too I lived in solitude, avoiding as many people as I could. I moved to another place far away from everyone, not without telling my son where I was going first, so he could keep sending the letters. I decided if I had to be alone forever, that at least I would make sure I had no one to miss at all. It was hard, but nothing in my life had ever been easy, I thought I could live up to my expectations.

Then he sent me the letter telling me he was a father.

All the flashbacks from when we all were together flashed in front of my eyes and punched me in the guts with the same intensity of the pain I felt when I last talked to his mother. I had to find her.

It took me less time than I thought, although I am not saying it was easy to do it. She looked exactly the same way she did when I first met her, and so did I, but now things were way different. Hesitantly she accepted to listen to me, the years had made the bad feelings easier to handle, but never vanish. I updated her on my current situation, and so did her. I talked about our son and how he had been doing. She had to take a moment to calm herself when I showed her a picture of him and his child. She regretted so much having left like that, but there were too many things happening at once, and the feeling of betrayal kept her from coming back. She had also been through a lot of pain, and I couldn’t blame her for acting in the way she did. Immortal or not, a god or not, we were still human, and humans commit mistakes. At least that’s how we saw it.

It took us time to regain the trust we had in each other, but we were progressing each day that passed. I wrote to our son about his mother and he told me he wished to go back home to see her, but that he was way too busy starting a big new project no one had before. He refused to tell me what was it for some time despite my questions, but he finally attached a picture of him, his son, and other people I had heard about from other letters, posing in front of a black and yellow wall, all wearing the same outfit, all except his son and one of the other people in the photo, as context.

He had started a nation. His symphony he called it in the letters. His mother and I could never be more proud.

I had told her that she could always write something to him, that I thought it’d be fair if she wanted to communicate with her own son the same way I was, but she told me that as much as she loved him, talking to him directly would only cause her pain, that she didn’t think it was fair to go away for so long and only come back now that he was gone. She kept repeating that she would talk to him once he decided it was time for them to reunite, that until that, she’d let me be the one to write and read the letters, and I did not argue back because she was right.

Then the letters stopped.

I did not know what happened. The letters had never taken so long to come. Our son had been writing about all the conflict that had been happening on his nation, and despite all the reassuring words he wrote telling us he was doing fine, we could not help but worry about him. There had been wars, he could have been harmed. We decided to wait some more time in case there had been some issues with the letters or he had not had time to write anything, I even sent him some asking if everything was alright, but an answer never came back.

The first day of November I took all the things I needed and said goodbye to my loved one. “I will be back as soon as I can” I told her. She nodded and closed the door, fearing what I would find once I found our son’s nation.

Sixteen days of travelling was the time I took to get to him. Sixteen days of worry and stress. No matter how much I repeated to myself things would be better than I thought they would, I still had all kind of horrible scenarios in my head. And it just happened that reality was way more close to them than I would have ever wanted.

November 16th, the day when I reunited with my son.

November 16th, the day when all my worries were confirmed.

November 16th, the day when my son asked me to kill him.

November 16th, the day when I broke my promise to protect him.

...

They say life is hard, especially when you are immortal.

I have never agreed more.

[rotten-white-rose]

Well well, I will introduce the protagonist of this blog.

Name: Melody Gheata

Age: Apparently 19 (she really is millennia old although she is younger than Karl Heinz)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Birthday: December 29

Zodiac: Capricorn

Nicknames: Mesubuta (by Yuma), Yuki-onna (by Laito), Watermelon (by Ayato), Lilith-san (by Azusa).

Blood type: -A

Status: Dead / Alive

Race: Demon (Succubus) / Vampiress

Height: 1'80 cm

Weight: 60 kg

Eye color: Garnet

Hair Color: White

Body type: Voluptuous

Occupation: 3rd year High School Student, Queen of Hell

Appearance: Melody's style ranges from casual to gothic. What she uses the most are dark colors, such as black, gray, maroon or dark purple. You will never see her in pastel colors or white, since for her, wearing white is wearing a funeral dress. She almost always wears cleavage. Also as an accessory, she wears a special necklace for her that is only removed from her when she goes to sleep, where she leaves safely.

Personality: She is an arrogant and broken woman. She has great pride and always boasts of her benefits. She is flirtatious, she likes to play with fire but she knows the limits and she never gets to the point of burning. Although she flirts more to make the person nervous than to get something. Despite covering herself with an arrogant, frivolous and immature attitude, she hides a woman who wants to be loved just as she is. She always hides her true intentions and feelings.

Hobbies: Studying constellations, reading and playing the piano.

Favorite food: Sarmale (Romanian food)

Relatives:

Father: Lucifer (deceased)

Mother: Rosemary (deceased)

Twin sister: Kuroko (deceased)

Good traits:

Loyal

Charismatic

Compassionate

Kind

Bad traits:

Arrogant

Proud

Immature

Liar

Powers:

Immortality: She cannot die, not even if she wishes it with all her soul.

Self-regeneration: If she receives a fatal wound, she will regenerate, regardless of how long it takes.

Power and custody over two dragons: She ended up ruling hell and with it, by her unwanted power from her, she received the blessing and loyalty of two dragons who rule life and death.

Change in shape or appearance: She can turn into a wolf or change her appearance to hers at a different age.

Clone invocation: She can summon a clone of herself, but said clone is a shell that will only repeat what she wants it to say. Pretty useful if she doesn't feel like doing something.

Story:

In a cold winter, on a night where the moon was bathed in blood, two twins were born who were to be immortal human beings, pure and immaculate beings, all according to the plan devised by Lucifer. However, the older twin was born still alive, with no heartbeat or temperature. A being that was not human, if not a monster corrupted by the demonic and vampiric blood of her progenitors. The younger twin, on the other hand, was born everything as Lucifer had planned, an immortal human. It can be assumed that the monarch of hell was not at all happy with the outcome of it. A plan that ended in disaster, all because of "that thing".

Despite everything, both girls were given love and affection, at least, by her mother, who loved her little and adored Melody with all her soul. From the moment she saw her huge maroon eyes watching her, she fell in love with her tenderness. She was sorry that her husband hated her eldest daughter so much, but she was calm when she saw that she paid attention to her youngest.

"Since Kuroko receives affection from my husband, I will give all my affection to my precious and sweet Melody." Those were her thoughts. However, the demonic blood that ran through the veins of the little one of hers did not take long to blossom, unleashing and corrupting her with only 3 millennia. With an incessant thirst for blood, she slaughtered the army guarding hell and this gave Lucifer the perfect excuse to imprison her. Melody spent 12 millennia imprisoned and tortured. She couldn't die, because her body ended up regenerating even if she didn't want to. She wanted the light, she wanted freedom and wanted with all her soul, her death. But not even that was allowed.

At 15 millennia, she got enough strength to be able to escape from her prison, ending the life of the one who had locked her up and getting the power of hell. Unfortunately, her mother had lost her sanity, due to her guilt and sadness at not being able to rescue her from such an ordeal. Melody fulfilled her mother's request and ended her life in the smoothest possible way. As for Kuroko, the relationship of both sisters was always complex. They hated, envied and at the same time, admired each other. They had a confrontation and the winner was the oldest, although it was not by her own hand. To this day, Melody regrets both the death of her mother and that of her younger sister, she regrets not having been able to do anything. As for her powers, she had become so strong that she ended up gaining the loyalty of the two dragons that today channel her powers. Said dragons were the guardians of life and death: Vitae, the blue-eyed white dragon that hated humans and Mortem, the red-eyed black dragon that, unlike its companion, loved humans.

She decided to stay in hell so she could take over both the kingdom and to investigate her father's writings. She was able to understand the objective that she had set herself to achieve and the reason for those visits with that man who called himself Karl Heinz. That plan ... without a doubt, "that man" had no qualms about using anyone to carry it out. She also found "plan B" and was surprised to see that she was precisely the main target of that plan. She burned the papers after reading them and decided that she would live as a human. It was what she wanted. Freedom and light. She wanted to feel humanity in her own flesh, to feel the warmth and to be able to live among humans. She wouldn't be Lilith… she wouldn't allow herself to be part of a stupid experiment.

Years passed when she had come to the human world and settled in a Transylvanian town. That town was the home of her mother when she was human. Melody achieved a few years of happiness, where she had fallen in love and committed to a human. Just on her wedding day, when she was 17 millennia, she learned secretly that her future husband was only going to marry her to get her fortune and status. She could see that he was with another woman. It was then that she understood that humans were selfish, cruel, capricious, and lying beings. She was carried away by her anger and sadness, letting her emotions speak for her. That is why her snow-white wedding ended up being covered in crimson.

"If my feelings cause this ... if my feelings cause me so much pain ... I don't need a heart!"

She decided to return to hell, where she got a coffin full of white roses. Those flowers were her late mother's favorites and they were her favorites too. She lay down among the roses and decided to sleep for two millennia ... until someone woke her up, for her to continue her reign and receive a visit. Apparently her father's great friend, Karl Heinz, had decided to talk to her about business.

"So, will you accept the proposal, dear?"

“Yes, after all, my life is already boring. Living again between humans and vampires ... fufu, I wonder if your children can really bear it ... I'll make you see that both the plan of "that man" and yours, are not going to bear fruit. Just as my birth was a mistake, the plan to get Lilith and Eve to find two Adam and start a new race… will end in error. "

"We will see if it really is as you say. Until then, I will be a spectator. I hope you don't disappoint me. "

Curiosities:

She has died in every possible way.

She is right-handed.

She has two bodies. The first is the real one, without self-regeneration and the second is the regenerated. Her real body is a decomposing corpse, but due to the self-regeneration that her body unconsciously exerts, she always has a young and immaculate body.

She loves cold temperatures as they make her feel "alive".

She hates and adores winter.

Her fangs are much longer, sharper, and larger than those of an ordinary vampire.

Although she doesn't admit it, she fears loneliness.

She has a great knowledge of the constellations and loves to see the starry sky.

Her hair is extremely long, as she reaches above her ankles.

She is lazy and loves to sleep.

She may feel pain, but she's so used to it that she doesn't notice it anymore.

She tends to woo cute girls, even though she's just kidding.

 When there is a red moon, her powers are increased, while in an eclipse she feels completely weak.

She always wears a necklace that her mother gave her before she died. It consists of a silver cross with five diamond-shaped garnet gems. Behind the cross, there is an inscription in Romanian that says: “You are my light. You are my life. Please live and be happy. " Melody feels extremely attached to that necklace and if it were to break, she would end up devastated, since it is the only memory she has of her mother.

[littlesparklight]

Deaths in Corinth

"Medea, what have you done?"

Medea looks up from Medeios greedily sucking little face as he tries to empty her out to still his hunger, and though she'd been worried by Jason's tone alone, the expression on his face leaves her breathless. The dark gazes of two of the most hostile and contrary elders that are supposed to be their ever-ready and ever-helpful advisers and instead have been like snakes in the grass since she and Jason arrived silences for yet another beat or two. A shiver, chill like the grimmest wind blown in from the mountains, steal down her spine. Clutching her youngest child closer to her breast - which he doesn't mind at all, just yet, Medea straightens up.

"What am I supposed to have done?" she asks, voice light, spine stiff, her hands wishing to curve into claws in answer to those dark, dark eyes of the old men flanking Jason.

"Th--- You, the children, Medea. How could you?" Jason is moments from crying, his voice breaking twice and threatening more, and he is utterly unknowing of the sneering little look from one elder. The other has better control, but Medea can see the aborted twitch that reveals the suppressed eyeroll. She can also see what has happened, and Medes wails a protest as she inadvertently rips him from her breast to pull him close, up against her instead of peacefully laying in her arms, little hand squeezing her full breast.

The children. The children, all thirteen of them, that she'd left at Hera's sanctuary last night as she'd done for the last several years on this very night every time it came by again, to see if this would be the night Hera would fulfil her promise. The children are dead, and those vulture-eyed, dog-mouthed men flanking her husband have killed them. Killed them because they had never been happy at foreigners ruling them, one more foreign than the other, and that a woman should be the primary of said rulers.

Or they have had a part in the killing in some way, even if they didn't do it themselves, which makes them just as guilty as she, though the people she has indeed killed were not her own children.

Medea grits her teeth, then opens her mouth, but between that and uttering her next few words in defence, she can see it doesn't matter what she says. They have poisoned Jason against her, and they have broken him.

"When I left our children at the sanctuary, they were alive, Jason. What has happened?"

The truth is sludge in her mouth, and they all know she's understood what's happened, but her quick understanding has only damned her further. She can see what little light, mad and needy, that still clung to Jason's brown eyes go out like she'd snuffed a candle with her last words. He's not going to survive this. She could drag him with her and he will still die, for it will take her too long to convince him she isn't at fault. In fact, she might have to fight for her life as he wished to kill both of them in whatever last spark of actual agency that might still exist in him.

Oh, Jason.

Too easily downtrodden, always looking for others to lead, so often laid to catastrophising. She'd never minded, not really, but now his faults have allowed others to break him, and they know it.

The only reason Medea isn't planning some way to take suitable revenge is that she knows death will be coming for them anyway, and for the whole of Corinth. They have killed in Hera's sanctuary, and more than that, they've killed children the goddess have promised a gift to. Maybe if the goddess had actually given her gift earlier, they wouldn't be here, but now it is late, all too late, and Medea's galloping heart and tight grip on her last living child can't quiet or soothe Medeois.

The room rings with his cries, and for now that is the only mourning his other siblings will receive. Jason as well, dead man walking as he is. She just hopes he kills himself in a kind way, but she has a feeling he will wish to punish himself when he has done no wrong.

"Medea... You're the one who was last seen with them, and they're dead." Jason closes his eyes, and she can breathe a little more easily for being out under that haunted, broken stare. Enough to jog her thoughts into more than a swirl.

Great Helios, beloved of Rhodes, grandfather, hear me! I am without recourse, cornered like a lioness with only one cub left, the strong father lying slain before her with his great mane covered in gore. Aid your family if you ever had any love left for your mortal children!

She can only hope he has heard her and, more than that, is willing to offer aid that might be when and where she'll need it.

"And it is me you think would kill them? I, who have fed them at my breast, each and every one of them, who have given them to Hera Akraia in the hope of immortality for them, as I was promised?"

Jason flinches at her words as if she's punched him, but, compared to what might have been the result years before, now it doesn't urge him to listen to her. Instead he merely hunches, as if his spine had just been broken, and he looks at her with wide, begging eyes and holds his hands out. They're strong, still, but trembling, revealing the sensitivities and weakness that were always there.

The poison is too deep, and she can feel the smug pleasure of the two elders lurking behind her husband.

"Please, Medea. Just confess," Jason whispers, his voice raw like the blood surely coating Hera's altar right this moment, for Medea doubts the Corinthians have washed it away just yet. No, they needed to have Jason see it, needed him to know it was still there, and it needs to stay until she's dead, until Jason is dead too. It will only condemn them further.

Oh, she has killed for this man, and he has been dear to her, but she cannot kill herself for him as well.

Medea smiles tightly, her ears ringing with Medeios' cries, and stands up. Shifts Medeios onto one arm, tipping her to lie against her chest, head cushioned against her shoulder, and at last his cries dwindle into sobbing hiccups, slowly calming just as Medea's heartbeat is. The breeze coming in from the window is warmer than it was minutes ago, and there's a golden tint to the light that wasn't there before.

"I can't confess to a crime I haven't committed, my heart. I might have killed my brother, I might have killed Pelias, bu---"

"And you killed Kreon," one of the men sneers at her, righteous when there is the blood of thirteen children on his hands. Medea laughs, mockingly. Jason only slumps further, but there's a brief frown she can just barely see on his forehead, there and then gone. He doesn't believe that, at least, well as he might when he was there right with her being summoned to Kreon and heard the man himself.

"I gave Kreon the assistance he wished for, after he'd already proclaimed my birth, as well as that of my husband’s, made us worthy to rule this fair city of yours that you have besmirched with innocent blood. I have killed, but not my children."

Jason, her poor, poisoned husband, starts crying. Medea's heart hurts, but there's nothing she can do. Not when he draws his sword - and not to turn on the men behind him, for the poison they have given him have eaten its way far too deep into his heart, via his eyes and ears. A far more powerful poison than any magical such she could devise.

She smiles as he makes ready to charge her, but he's slow, so slow she has all the time she needs to draw the fragile little glass bottle from the layered flounces of her skirts, and as she throws it he looks almost grateful for it.

Oh, Jason.

She can't kill herself for him, but she can also not kill him, for either of them.

That will be her weakness and another pain to bear into the future, for this is only a distraction, a way for her to escape.

Smoke explodes up as the glass shatters, noxious and dark like the ink of squid, and she is the squid fleeing. Medea whirls around, throwing herself at the window, then out of it, and she almost falls straight off the chariot as she hits it hard with her shoulder and hip, her weight and speed tipping it sideways. Clutching at the rim with strength only a desperate mother could know, Medea manages to pull herself up, grab the reins and urge the shining drakones to move, all without falling off or losing her baby.

Her baby, who is giggling now, despite the shock of their flight, and Medea looks down with burning eyes and tears spilling down her cheeks to the boy in her arm, chewing at one of the golden rings that binds her tresses. He looks like Jason.

"Don't worry, my eyes," she whispers, leaning down to kiss the top of his soft head, tiny wisps of dark curls caressing her chin and cheeks while tears caress Medeios' skull, "they might have gotten all the others, but they won't get you. Or me."

Exhaling sharply, Medea straightens up, tightens her grip on the reins as she turns the snakes eastwards, and lets the golden wind dry her tears.

***

So, this is inspired by, and drawing from, several old/er sources (Pausanias, Eumelos, scholia on Eumelos) for what happens in Corinth. Medea seems most often to have killed her children, either inadvertently, or, as in Euripides, intentionally. The scholia says it was the Corinthians, angry at having a foreigner ruling them, for Eumelos in his Korinthiaka had Medea (and Jason) summoned to Corinth and given rulership, explicitly on the grace of Medea’s bloodline. The children are killed in the sanctuary of Hera Akraia (by the Corinthians in this version), where Medea has been leaving them in expectation of Hera fulfilling her promise to her (here, my intention is that Hera’s promise is the reward for Medea’s help to kill Pelias). In the version where the killings happen inadvertently, Jason can’t forgive her and leaves for Iolkos. So what happens as a background to this is Medea, as an agent of Hera, kills Pelias for his insult to her, she and Jason have to leave Iolkos, they are summoned to Corinth and given rulership, Kreon dies (childless, hence why Medea and Jason have been summoned).

I would honestly not have done this at all but reading all this in Early Greek Myth by Gantz I was just slapped in the face by inspiration, and as much as I am so damn cranky over so many people crowing about Medea doing nothing wrong (her brother and her children says hello), I am pleased with this.

[jebazzled]

SOOO the Drama: Making it Work with Tragic Backstories

Hi everyone, how are we doing? It’s been a while since my last unsolicited tutorial. Is everyone eating well? Is everyone drinking water? Dressing warmly if it’s cold wherever you live? 

Today we’ll be talking about tragic backstories, and how to use them rather than abuse them. 

This tutorial will mention a number of triggers, though not with great detail - more in the interest of providing context. 

Specific triggers mentioned: abandonment, verbal abuse, child neglect, car accident, transphobia, animal death, cheating, bullying, parental death

In the rp community we often joke about loving to put our characters through hell - about really running them ragged - making ourselves weepy. For a lot of us, writing Heavy Emotional Content is a lot more fun than fluff, or characters who are happy, fulfilled, and well-adjusted. I’m literally planning to kill off one of my characters in the next couple of weeks. I get it. 

But there’s also a fair amount of discourse in the rp community about what is pejoratively called “trauma porn.” It’s discourse that is warranted! Because while we love fictional drama, the truth is that sometimes...

well, sometimes it can be too much, can’t it? 

Here’s the thing about trauma: a tragic backstory does not a well-developed character make. Too often, too many of us lean on these traumatic histories as a crutch towards building a character, without meaningfully exploring that trauma with any depth. The truth is, in fiction, tragedy only builds character when when you do. And tragedy is far from the only way to create a nuanced character. 

In this tutorial, we will examine common approaches to character backstories, alternatives to tragedy-as-a-default, and figure out how to have your cake (the feels) and eat it too (with purpose.)

BUILD-A-BACKSTORY

In my experience, the most common approach to writing a freestyle application is writing a chronological history (you can read my app guides, including thots on alternative styles of freestyle, here). Ain’t nothing wrong with that! If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! 

It’s an approach that makes sense, as it forces you to fill in the blanks to answer the question: why is my character Like That? And often, as writers, our first instinct is to provide the saddest answer possible.

“Why is Susie so clingy?” 

Her parents abandoned her at a fire station when she was an infant, and rather than being raised in foster care, she grew up at the fire station. But the entire company that raised her died while fighting a wildfire, and she is certain that any time anyone walks away from her, they will never come back. 

“Why is Brent such a misogynist?” 

His mother never wanted him and told him so every day of his youth. When he hit puberty, she stopped speaking to him entirely, and the day he turned eighteen, she changed the locks while he was at school. 

“Why is Lichen such a high-achieving go-getter?” 

Lichen was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning they break their legs, and every afternoon they break their arms. At night, they lie awake in agony until their heart attacks put them to sleep.

Feels like a lot, doesn’t it? I may have done a little exaggeration, but - not a lot, frankly. 

Especially if other characters on a site are loaded with tragic histories, it can be hard not to equate a certificate from the school of hard knocks with a Pulitzer. You want something juicy to write about, yes? And this is all so juicy! 

But here’s the rub: often, these histories will never come up again outside of an application, or will not be practically dev’d out beyond shock value. Susie will never be reminded of Frank, the fireman who taught her to ride a bike. Brent will focus his sexist comments on objectifying women’s bodies rather than degrading their personalities and motives, which were the issues with his mother. Someone who didn’t read Lichen’s app would have no clue that they have had a total horror show of a life. 

If you are writing a tragic backstory that doesn’t have a continual impact on your character, you are writing trauma porn, and it is doing nothing for your character. 

This doesn’t mean that your characters should be fully and constantly occupied with memories of their trauma - in fact, constant introspection is an easy way to stall threads (per my “why aren’t people writing with me?” guide here) - but it does mean that if your answer to the question, “why is my character Like That” is a compelling one, it is one that a reader should be able to answer even if they haven’t read your app, if they’ve read a few of your threads or other writing. 

This is a careful balance, of course, but think of your characters the way you think of yourself! For example: probably the most Potentially Dramatic thing about my personal life is that my older sister is developmentally disabled, and I am one of her legal guardians. When my parents die, I will inherit my older sister, and will uproot my life from wherever I am living at the time to move back to my hometown and make sure she is taken care of and happy. This is not something that I constantly think about, but it is difficult to know me for any meaningful length of time and not be aware that I have a developmentally disabled sister, as I mention her in passing, think about her when her favorite music comes up on Spotify, and tell people to donate to her favorite charity, Special Olympics. 

If I were writing an app of myself as a character and spent a good portion of the app untangling my relationship with my sister, and then never mentioned her in any of my thread posts, then is she really important to my character? Or was I flexing her for depth?

Do you see what I am getting at here? If it matters, it will come up more than once. If it only comes up once, and it’s in your app, you should think of something to explain your character’s personality and motivations that is perhas a little less loaded. 

BUT WITHOUT THE SADS, HOW DO?

The good news is: you absolutely do not need a tragic backstory to write a nuanced character! Again - think of your characters the way you think of yourself, or of other real people. While everyone has gone through heavy things in their lives from time to time, chances are that your life does not resemble that of a soap opera protagonist. And aren’t you a multifaceted person, full of depth and life? Aren’t you someone whose story is worth telling, even if it feels like your life is pretty ordinary? 

After all, it’s not the past that makes a character - it’s the present, their current voice, actions, and missteps. That is where you want the real juice to be, because that is the shit you’re writing! 

Some potential “everyday histories” for our above cast of characters:

“Why is Susie so clingy?”

In elementary and middle school, Susie was bullied on and off - a few weeks spent hanging out with the in-crowd, followed by a month as a social pariah. She could never understand why. When she moved to a different state for high school, she attached herself like a barnacle to the clique the Tulips, and has made it her goal not to let herself get shaken back to the outskirts this time. 

This isn’t as dramatic as Susie’s earlier backstory - in fact, it could apply to any number of people, being passed between friend groups for years on end. But again: your character doesn’t need a one-of-a-kind daytime talk show-worthy backstory to have a unique and compelling history and voice! 

“Why is Brent such a misogynist?”

Brent’s mother never wanted children, and made it pretty clear to him throughout his youth. His father, though, as always there for him - including when his mother walked out and never came back, after cheating on Mr. Brent’s Dad for years. From then on, Brent and his dad only had each other - and their bitterness towards the woman who wronged them.

This still gives you some family drama - unloving mother, and some adultery - but having Brent be raised by someone who has their own beef with women eliminates the shock value of locking your son out merely for being a boy. Also, this take acknowledges misogyny as a learned behavior.

“Why is Lichen such a high-achieving go-getter?”

When their parents divorced, Lichen only came out to their mother as nonbinary, and presents a fully different persona when they are with their father. Being in the top 5% of their high school class and being a national champion Lincoln-Douglas debater is the only thing Lichen and (deadname) have in common. 

I acknowledge that Lichen’s previous story was a meme. The above story could be made much more intense (for example, if Lichen’s father were a member of the Westboro Baptist Church and then Lichen’s supportive mother dies in a freak accident and Lichen, unable to hide their true identity, is imprisoned in their father’s basement until they pretend to have seen the error of their ways and identify as cis again) but the above gives plenty to chew on! 

While drama and trauma can be satisfying to write, there is plenty of drama to be found in the everyday. Building a well-rounded character is much less about what happened to them and much more about what they are doing, thinking, and feeling now. 

That said, 

TIPS & TRICKS FOR WRITING TRAGIQUE CHARACTERS

Don’t go overboard. If it is not going to come up ever again after the app: leave it out. 

Impact is about the character, not the reader. If it was important enough to leave in the app, it should have an identifiable impact on your character. The main purpose cannot have been to shock the reader. 

It’s not meaningful JUST because it happened. If someone can follow your character’s story for any extended amount of time and not realize that, say, your character’s mother died in a boating accident, then it isn’t actually important that your character’s mother died in a boating accident, and you should let her live. 

If ALL of your characters have a heavily dramatic backstory, ALL of your heavily dramatic backstories lose their meaning. Dramatic backstories are fun but they should not be a constant: they will begin to feel cheap and lazy. 

Your character does not need to dwell on their tragic backstory! While a character should acknowledge their history, a character does not need to realize that their backstory is meant to be tragic. For example, Sally might have been raised by her Aunt Agatha after her parents disappeared in a hot air balloon when she was a baby. Rather than being sad about her missing parents, Sally might think of them as total strangers and of Agatha as her sole parental figure - and her sadness might be for Agatha, who does miss Mr. and Ms. Pumpernickel. 

And that’s literally all she wrote! I hope you find this helpful when you’re writing your characters - tragic or otherwise - and developing their plotlines. The world is not made of trauma and fluff alone, friends. Go forth and contain multitudes!

[kurtty-drabbles]

Postwoman au (part 9)

N/A: Oh, God! It has been years. No, seriously. This one will be straight to the point. Kurt is just messing with Kitty.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @muninandhugin @tieflingteeth

There´s a saying passed down by generations that goes more or less like this: when you´re about to die, you´ll see all your life in a flash. However, the same can apply to one scene that you deem important.

Kitty Pryde never hide the fact she´s a city gal at its core, sure, she may like animals and even ride horse-once and it was thanks to Mirage who lead the horse one time-yet, Kitty would never prefer camping over a day in the city.

Once upon a time, the Prydes ventured camping. Kitty was a small bean- her father´s words, not hers- pouting and complaining akin to a cat, however, the pouts and jokes stop once a wild wolf enters their line of view.

Kitty, herself, doesn´t remember that episode but her mother always gives the details to paint a mental image. The small bean! Kitty tried to face the wolf with all the courage someone so young can muster.

Thankfully, a ranger did pass down and saved the Prydes. A story with a happy ending. However, what possesses a young Kitty to try to face a wolf?

Right now, what posses Kitty to stares down at whatever is gazing at her as if she could win? Stubbornness or stupidity? At this point, it doesn´t matter.

"What...strange little creature you are" his English is too heavy. The accent is too noticeable and almost familiar, but, she can be excused for not paying too much attention to his phonetic.

Kitty hugs the basket with her rocks. A mission is a mission. A job is a job. Her eyes noticed the fog cloud the area. A black fog that has a smell of brimstone-flashes of fire invaded her mind. Fire and more fire. Kitty could even taste her own flesh burning- as her eyes scan the area one last time.

"Rich words coming from a coward that hides in the fog!" Kitty reminisces the time Bobby fought an invisible man. According to him, he was extremely lucky in that fight, because the invisible man had a perfume so strong that even Bobby-who has a normal nose- could pick up. Can this apply to Kitty too?

The voice gave a burst of bombastic laughter. It was laughter or a mini-Earthquake? Kitty scans the area again. She takes a step down as she waits for any attack. Any clue of where this invisible force may be.

"If you think I´m hiding then it means you´re not from here..." his tone is conversational. "Or you´re not from this time..." the fog gets thicker as Kitty can measure up with her naked eye. "Nor I think you´re a witch!" the former is an accusation.

Kitty´s lips straighten in a thin line as her eyebrows narrow. The fog remains. The fog gets thicker and thicker causing Kitty to try to levitate. "I don´t have to answer to you..." She opens her mouth in a perfect O when noticing she can´t levitate. The Fog is not allowing.

"Yet..." the creature continues ignoring Kitty´s rude stares. "your hair says you´re guarded by someone...how interesting" and laughs again as Kitty´s eyes are doing a scan for the third time. "Oh, darling, mein dumme Frau, I´m not here...I´m up here!" his tone is jovial.

Kitty almost screams as her eyes follow up and saw a mountain and two golden moons. Until her mind registers that the creature is the mountain and the moons are its eyes.

"The fog..." Kitty got pale. Still hugging the basket because Kurt trusted her with this mission.

"Me, all me, Schoen Frau" Replied amused. Now, Kitty can see its razor-sharp teeth up close. “What a non-witch is doing with my magical rocks?”

Kitty stills hugs the basket. Kurt trusted her and Kitty, for some reason, doesn´t want to let him down. “I´m on a mission…is all I can say. If you don´t let me do my job, my boss will come here and kick your ass…serious, he´s really scary and into some strange things”

The creature frowns at her briefly. “You don´t know my name, do you?”

Kitty has the perfect counter-answer. “Do you know mine?”

“No, how curious is that…I usually know everyone´s name. OK, mein Frau…you can call me Chernobog” Kitty's expression twisted as the name dances in her mind. “And I´m not as cruel as to prevent a working woman to do her job, so, let´s make you a deal, mein Frau?”

Kitty cannot trust in fairies and Gods-even if what land her into this job was an Outer God- and hissed carefully now. “Depends”

“Oh, don´t look so frightened,  I´ve no intention to harm you. All I ask you to stay here until the sun rises. If you can handle my party, I´ll let you leave with the stones” Noticing her confusion and distress. “I gave my word as a God, Mein Frau if a God breaks a promise….”

“She or he dies right away” Kitty completes the sentence. “If I accept, what your party will entail?” She was vision orgies and maybe some public-speech in languages she´ll never understand.

The creature smiles too inviting. Too above her. “Dancing and music, just that”

Seems…innocent enough.

“Deal”

The fog let her touch the ground. Kitty only has to endure one demonic party. Well, she saw Yana´s parties in the past, this is nothing on her resume now.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Kitty is not even sure if she can still in the mountains. The fog remains. The burning smell remains but as she can walk freely now-she had a paranoid moment where she thought her feet are being mutated and sigh in relief as this is not the case- and notice the lack of life in such a party.

Her brown eyes stare at a procession coming her way. People wearing black and white clothes coming her way. Slow steps as if they have no rush.

The woman manages to take a good look at their faces and cover her mouth with one of her free hands. The procession of the undead is hard to miss. The flash decaying from its owners. Eyes popping out from their socket.

She´s levitating as the undead continues. The Fog takes them- The fog is this creature and all she can understand in the bleak scenario was screams-so many screams. Women, men, and children alike- until the corpses were dust.

The souls are free.

The souls are erring.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Kitty is not sure where her feet, the wind, or even the fog is taking her. All she knows now is how she needs to survive one night to be able to live and never return. "I don´t want to see you ever again" she sniffs hating her own tears.

"Oh, why? The party is only begging" Kitty started as she feels a hand on her face cleaning her tears. Tasting said tears and looking at her. Two golden eyes gaze at her amused.

Words escape her mind/

"Why so quiet, Mein Frau...you´re so talkative before" the creature spoke softly.

Kitty steps back and runs away. The creature is too cruel for using that face...is the only reason, cruelty, and nothing more.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Kitty saw demons being torn apart by the creature. She knows his name. Chernobog. Yet, to her, this God is too alien to use his own name. Too cruel to deserve some politeness.

Kitty sees demons being made in the grotesques way possible. A mockery of birth. More blood is spit, more flesh is decayed and more souls beg for mercy.

Finally, the sun rises and with that, all the torture is put to stop. The sun is shining and Chernobog has to fulfill his deal. "Well, well. You did survive" he analyses. "Even if you cry a lot"

Kitty shakes her head as Chernobog is wearing an indigo face with golden eyes again. How cruel can he be? That´s the only explanation. The only...

"I´m a God of my word, Mein Frau, you´re free to go...hope we meet each other soon"

Kitty didn´t say anything as she used her key and leave that time. She still has the image of everything burned into her mind.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Kitty is back to her present. Having all the rocks needed for the ritual. Santa Claus thanks Kitty-the woman nods absently as her puffy red eyes are a given away of the level of this mission- then she stares at Kurt who has the same indigo fur and golden eyes.

"So...you´re Chernobog or is he or evil twin?"

"I´m Chernobog"

[thefanficmonster]

One Can Never Escape Destiny

Shan-Yu x Empress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Murder scene (non-graphic)

Genre: Angst, Romance (one-sided)

Summary: After fulfilling his plan of taking over China Shan-Yu and his army have made it to the palace of Empress Y/L/N Y/N. However, one obstacle the warrior still fails to overcome is swaying the Empress herself, getting in her good graces. Unable to kill her, he is left to do all he can to have her spare him as much as a civil word.

Requested by Anon. Hi lovely! Thank you so much for such and amazing and so different request from what I’m used to. This is my first time writing for a Disney character, a villain even, so I hope to have fulfilled your expectations even with it being so late in posting. Please enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

She refuses to eat or see the light of day. She’s been hidden away in a single room of the palace ever since China fell. She attempted to fight and gave her all when her eyes met his poisonous ones and her sword’s blade collided with his. The fight was a difficult one, he had to admit. She would’ve won had she not had a heart of gold. Putting her right-hand man’s under the sharp dagger in his merciless hand left her no choice. She loved that man, he could see it in her eyes. And he wasn’t going to kill the pathetic excuse for a member of the Empress’ council, but seeing that look of devotion and adoration in her gaze when her eyes met with his drove him in a fit of absolute rage. He couldn’t restrain himself and let the blade slide across the man’s neck only after the Empress had surrendered.

“NOOO!“ She had shrieked in terror and sorrow, all her pain audible in her cry that echoed all throughout the palace, piercing the monstrous warrior’s ears. He couldn’t bare to see her so distraught, over another man on top of all, so her ordered his men to take her to one of the chambers and leave her to collect herself. She still had fight left in her though. She escaped from his men’s grasps and overpowered them both until a third one knocked her out cold with the handle of his dagger. A choice of action that landed him the second dead body to be thrown out of the palace that night.

He specifically instructed the man taking Y/N to her chamber to be gentle and caring with her and to leave the door unlocked, maybe even open a crack. He didn’t want her to feel trapped in her own home. 

He sat by one of the windows all through the late dark hours of the night and even met the sunrise at dawn. He contemplated so many things, scolded himself even. He had become the ruler of China and yet he had never felt so low and defeated. He even let his mind wander to the option of killing the Empress for his own peace of mind but he knew he wouldn’t be able to the second he realized he wasn’t even able to picture himself doing it. The very though sickened him to his stomach and he was disgusted with himself to have ever allowed himself to think such a thought.

The main thing troubling him was the fact that he didn’t know where such admiration came from. He had never admired nor respected a woman before but he felt the need to bow before her instead of the other way around. He wanted to be her loyal servant, tending to her every need at the bat of her eyelashes. He could barely believe himself either way - killing her or adoring her, they were both thoughts bordering into insanity, he couldn’t tell which was worse. Of course he could, he just wanted to lie to himself. He knew he could never lay a hand on her.

Shan-Yu had fallen under the spell of the very Empress he was supposed to end in order to fulfill his evil plans.

He should want her dead while he’s prepared to kill whoever dares even wish her harm. Funny how destiny works. Or perhaps this is karma punishing him for his evil ways by putting one bump in the road right in front of him - one so easy to get rid of in theory, but he could never commit to it.

It has been four full days since that fateful night and he hasn’t heard nor seen her. He’s not willing to disturb her peace and earn himself an injury from the infuriated Empress but the hours of overthinking, contemplating and self-battling are weighing heavy on him. His men are beginning to notice, although they’d never say anything - they may be cruel, dumb fools but they respect their lives enough to not put them at a risk like that. Not even a risk, more like certain death. They all obeyed his orders of bringing the Empress food three times a day every day and they all witnessed the defeat and worry that washed over their leader’s face whenever they brought back the dishes untouched hours after they had delivered them. 

So, after a lot of self-convincing and doubting, Shan-Yu has bitten the bullet - he is walking the halls to the Empress Y/L/N Y/N’s chamber. He makes it to her door sooner than he’d like, his confidence is not fully built. His composure could easily be shaken. His words are scrambled and even if he could form coherent sentences, he knows they die in his throat.

‘Pull yourself together, you pathetic mutt‘ He scolds himself for the hundredth time in the past hour. Easier said than done, though. She’s a woman of incredible strength, power and character. She was respected by every individual in China, not a single soul looked down upon her. They had already hated him, but now that he has allegedly put their dear Empress in misery, he’d be dead along with his army if they weren’t so strongly feared.

Shan-Yu brings himself to knock on the chamber doors, his voice a faint echo through the massive hallway when he calls out, “Empress, may I enter?”

No answer, as he expected. He is half expecting to not even be there, to have escaped. He knows her better than that though.

Cautiously pushing the door open, he’s met with a dark room only lit by the moonlight seeping in through a small rectangular window directly opposite the door. He sees her silhouette in the windowsill. She’s sitting facing away from him, looking out of the window at the rooftops underneath the clear, starry night sky. She doesn’t bother to turn her head to acknowledge his presence, also as expected.

A small detail he notices sends shivers down his spine - there are metal bars on her window. Why?

“I was a rebellious child. I knew my destiny before even understanding what it meant. All I knew was that I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be Empress. I wanted to be one of those brave souls who were prepared to leave to a front knowing they might not return.“ Her voice rings through the cold, dark space, bouncing off the walls in a haunting manner, enchanting him. “My father knew I would be more than capable of running away so I was frequently spending plenty of time here, locked up. As I am now.“

She is still facing away from him but he still shakes his head as though she could see him. “You are not locked here, Empress Y/N. The door is always open. This palace is still yours.”

“That you are right about.“ Y/N’s head turns finally and his heart drops.

She is pale, eyebags weighing heavy under her tired eyes. Her hair is covering her face but her pale complexion is more than visible even from behind her locks. She looks like she has been crying, not that she’s a woman who cries often. A tear of hers has the same value as a bar of gold.

She continues. “Chu Bao, the man you killed in front of my very eyes, was the only man I’ve ever loved and the only person who saw me as more than my title. I’m not just an Empress! Everyone forgets that!“

He feels hurt by her remark, “Y/N, I know. I know better than anyone. I have overtaken all of China and yet you are my greatest prize...”

She cuts him off, her shaky hands pushing her hair to the side so she can look directly at him, her crystal eyes meeting his menacing yellow ones with such intensity he feels it almost like a physical presence. “I am no prize, you monster! I’m a person who destiny played wrong! I given a role I have never been happy with. But I had to play it to maintain the honor of my family and of China as a whole. It taught me a valuable lesson: No matter the tries, one can never escape destiny. So...” she trails off, her eyes losing their feisty glow as she turns back to the window, “I embraced it and became one with my land, this palace, my title. And I will stay one with them till my death. Now, leave! And don’t bring me food anymore. Don’t check on me. I want it all to end the way it started - in this palace, in this chamber. I want to go out with the last bit of dignity I have. If nothing, I will die without ever bowing to you. I may have surrendered, but consider this me prolonging the fight.” He hears her scoff, a humorless chuckle, “The moment I die will be the moment I win.”

Shan-Yu has never been a man to live to face defeat. He always defeats the defeat, stands up taller than ever whenever he’s been brought down. Now is different, however. His defeat is inevitable. It hasn’t even happened yet, but he knows the battle’s lost. His hands are tied. He would never disobey a wish of Y/N’s nor could he live with her slowly dying. He cannot keep her alive against her will, and he can’t end it all quickly for her either.

She has already won, but she’s not aware.

Empress Y/L/N Y/N has defeated the monstrous, villainous conqueror Shan-Yu twice in her life: once when she had him fall in love with her and again when she chose to put an end to her life, leaving him powerless.

All he can do now is accept his defeat and allow for Y/N to become nothing but a battle scar on his heart.

[written-musings]

Obi-Wan & Padmé post-episode 1

It was a beautiful evening as colorful fireworks exploded and illuminated the night sky of the Naboo, the bursts of the lightshow intertwining with the shouts of glee from the partying crowds dispersed through the depths of Theed below the Palace. The turquoise roofs of the entire city glowed, reflecting the sparkling lights of the show and the gradient pastels of the sunset that ended yet another day as the cool winds from the hills and mountains drifted through the crevices of the capital, greeting one’s face with a comforting embrace of peace. Music echoed through the alleyways up the walls outside of the Palace, the positive and uplifting melodies permeating the air and traveling with the breeze, waltzing away.

Yet young hooded Obi-Wan Kenobi stood outside of his room on the balcony that overlooked the endless stuccos of brick and façades adorned with pillars and carved intricacies, and despite all of the joy and peace that surrounded him, he was full of insurmountable sorrow that seemed to follow him everywhere he went.

Who could blame him? He had watched his Master die and burn before his eyes. He had a new Padawan to teach. He had someone he loved far away. Yet someone was near.

He could feel it.

His elbows rested on the cool stone as he leaned on them, inhaling a deep breath as he absorbed all the emotions he felt from within and right in front of him. Satisfaction should have overcome him, since he was the first to kill a Sith in a millennia, but it did not feel like enough. He had saved millions of lives, but why was the death of a single person such a burden on his heart? It was his fault in his eyes, and it would take him many years to realize that it, in fact, was not.

When there is a battle between light and dark, death is inevitable – because it is merely a shadow that hides between both entities, sneakily snatching their victims until they are satisfied.

Don’t dwell on your feelings.

He released a big sigh as his gaze adverted to the waterfalls that mirrored the pink and purple hues that brushed the dusk sky, bearing the stars of the entire galaxy. But he closed his eyes, thinking of each and every one he could, allowing their light to fill him as the cool, moist, aromatic breeze of roses permeated his skin through his thick robes and suddenly that pained sigh transformed into a sign of relief.

Suddenly, before he could even sense it, a voice greeted him. “Am I bothering you?”

The new Jedi Knight twirled around to find the face of the young, optimistic woman before him with cups of steaming caf in her hands, her face completely bare from the caked makeup she had on during the ceremony just an hour ago. He had excused himself from the festivities of Freedom Day to meditate and not let his intense emotions of sorrow to consume him. But he was glad to see her face, the face of the young woman, not the Queen of Naboo that reverently ruled her people with a sense of pride and advocacy, qualities in a politician he had never quite seen before.

He straightened himself as he spoke, attempting to hide the blush on his cheeks, “Not at all… milady.” She laughed as he emphasized the last term, “Or should I say… Your Highness?” He lowered his hood, revealing his shorter hair and the Padawan braid that trailed his shoulder.

She shot him a look, the look where one narrows their eyes to nonchalantly pierce into their soul – that makes one laugh yet shudder from their grasp...

“I thought I told you not to call me that…” Padmé Naberrie Amidala grinned as she neared him, handing him a porcelain cup of caf, the aromas of the roasted beans filling his nose and making him feel warm.

He took a sip, allowing the dark, hot liquid to linger on his tongue, “I know, Padmé. But I just couldn’t resist.”

Sipping the caf, she joined him on the balcony overlooking the city of her people, the glimmering lights reflecting off of the contours of her face – the twinkles dancing on her cheekbones up to her nose and glimmering on her eyes, then her lips… She leaned against the balcony with her elbows, too, her right only inches away from his left, just two good friends sipping caf on a lovely evening of light.

“If we are using formal pleasantries, then you are Jedi Knight Kenobi, am I wrong?” She turned to look at him with a large smile beaming from her supple lips, the happiest he had seen her since they rode back to Naboo from Tatooine after she finally put Anakin to sleep. This was when she introduced him to caf for the very first time, when they were cold in the depths of hyperspace, warping the dimensions of space and time in the entire process.

“You are not,” he sipped the caf again, clearing his throat with a snarky smirk on his pink lips.

Then there was silence for a while. It was not awkward or uncomfortable at all, but more satisfying, fulfilling as both of these humans were absorbing each other’s presence for all long as they could before they would be apart for however long that would be. After the celebrations, all of the Jedi and Republic dignitaries would vacate the planet and return to Coruscant – where their responsibilities were waiting for them. Padmé had a recovering planet in her hands while Obi-Wan was tasked to train the so-called “Chosen One.” Leisure trips between the two worlds were impossible and both of them knew it.

“Thank you,” she nearly whispered, holding the cup of caf in her hands, watching her reflection slowly dissipate as the sun slowly set beyond the mountainous horizon.

“For what?” He looked at her, his Coruscanti accent emphasized in the last word.

She nonchalantly chuckled under her breath and took a sip, “Thank you for talking me into having the Freedom Day ceremonies despite all the chaos of the galaxy that abounds. You were right.” The woman paused, allowing him to focus on the dark, thick curls on her head that he had not noticed before – they were beautiful.

Tucking some locks behind her ear she continued, “You were right because we cannot dwell on the past. We must continue to walk on our paths for the sake of not just ourselves, but others.”

He did not speak for a moment, only sipping the hot beverage as he was deep in his thoughts. “It’s what Qui-Gon would have wanted.”

Padmé sighed, taking the last sip of the caffeinated treat before placing it on the balcony edge. Turning to him she spoke, “Obi-Wan, I know we have been so busy with our own duties but I never got to pay my respects to y–.”

Interrupting her he shook his head, his eyes wide and serious, “No, no. You do not need to do that. Really.”

She hesitated, wondering what to say. What could she say at a time like this? Jedi don’t die of unnatural causes often, especially from the vengeful hands of Sith lords. Not many Jedi lose their Masters this young. Yet these situations were right in front of her and she had no idea how to navigate them, especially since the person she cared about was right in front of her.

“Obi-Wan… I know you do not want to talk about it and I respect that. Therefore, I will refrain from discussing it. I know that Jedi teach that one should not let their feelings cloud their judgement. However, that does not mean that you should suppress them and compartmentalize them away – not at a time like this.”

“I’m fine, Padmé, I promise.” He still faced the city, not meeting her eyes to hide his tears. He could not break in front of her, he could not.

She somehow felt the brokenness in him, a wound so fresh that it would take time to heal. Not many others saw this, and she saw the façade when Obi-Wan discussed future plans with Anakin during the funeral of the Jedi, the fire supposedly burning all senses of sorrow away. He was composed, stoic, devoid of any sense of emotion. But here, now, in this moment, he was far from apathetic, indifferent from the universe around him. In fact, he was quite the opposite. Padmé could not really see it on the expressions chiseled into the youthful lines of his face, but she tasted the bitterness he had toward himself and the burning pain that accompanied it. It hurt her to see, no, to feel him this way.  Grabbing his sleeve, he turned toward her as the dams he created were so close to breaking.

He was stronger than this.

He had to be.

Yet her presence, by some means, was some sort of weapon that made him most vulnerable and he hurt even more when he saw the concern etched in the crevices of her face.

Before tears could overflow from his eyes, she pulled him close to her in a warm embrace. And suddenly the sorrow and pain diminished as she held him, frozen from surprise by her actions as he felt her head brimmed with curls that rested on his shoulder. He did not know what to say as this warmth filled his entire body from head to toe; it was almost like he had been waiting for something this tangible his entire life and he had been ignorant before this very moment. Inhaling the sobs in his throat away, he smelled the aromatic fragrance of sweet roses and hints of hairspray. Regardless, he somehow felt at… home.

He never really had one.

His arms soon wrapped around her frail frame as he held her closer than he had ever held any other person – and it was the first time he had felt alive in a long time.

He never touched her… Satine… Yet she was far… Far away.

Pulling away, he grasped Padmé’s hands, surprising her as she looked up at him, the lights from the fire show radiating from his blue eyes. “Thank you….” He paused as he never broke his gaze into her caf-colored eyes, the hot, caffeinated, tempting liquid beckoning him, yet he restrained himself. “I have not had someone to truly confide in in quite some time.”

She blushed lightly, “But you did not say anything.”

He shook his head with a coy smile across his lips, “But you understood enough. You reminded me to feel the light.”

She beamed, radiating happiness, filling him with even more light. “I owe that advice to the person who gave it to me and he happens to be right in front of me.” She bore her bright white teeth with a smile he would mentally capture and hold in his heart for quite some time. He did not want to let his friend go.

“Would you like to sit?” He asked, trying to buy time and looking around the grand room only to realize there was nowhere to sit but his bed.

She took her hands from his and spoke, “Are you sure you do not have anywhere to be, Jedi Knight?”

He laughed, his voice so bright and light – it was merely like a leaf drifting in the breeze as it slowly trickled toward the ground to its final resting place. “I should be asking you that question.”

“My decoy is giving me a much needed break for the night. She said saving our planet from invasion and handling the consequences with the Republic have proven to be exhausting. Thus, handling the festivities would be an opportunity for me to rest before I continue on with my term.”

“Ah,” he responded as he gestured to the bed for them to sit, only he plopped himself on the bed to prop his head back against the regal headboard, placing his hands behind his head as his elbows were acute to the side. “You think your people will be like me and notice?”

She snickered as she sat on the side of the bed, “I honestly do not think so…” She was playing with the fabric on the bed before looking up at him with a big smile. “I say you were an exception to the plot… Well… Besides…” She stopped herself and opened her mouth to apologize, but he spoke before she could.

“He did not know that I knew.” He jeered, before he sat up, “So it’ll be our little secret.”

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, “Of course only Qui-Gon knew.”

“Do you think he knew that secretly communicated with the comlink I gave you – so you could tell me all the background information while you were trying to find help on Tatooine?” Obi-Wan cheekily grinned, his mouth opened wide and bearing dimples on his face.

She shook her head, “I most certainly hope not…” Giggling, she looked up at him again, forgetting all the pain that came with the invasion, the torture of her people, specifically the two handmaidens that stayed behind, risking their lives to protect her. Now she was here laughing, and that little thought hurt her a bit. “Obi-Wan?”

“Yes?”

“When did you find out?” She asked him, referring to the moment he found out that she was the queen.

He pondered for a moment, his eyes drifting to the two empty porcelain mugs that rested on the edge balcony barricade then back on her, “I think I realized it when I was looking for Anakin… When I stopped by now Palpatine’s quarters to find a queen preparing for her appearance to the Senate. I must say the Queen of Naboo was quite surprised to see me considering I had barely said a word to her.”

“Really?”

He nodded his head, “Really… Your stuttering, ‘O- oh. A- Ani is not here at the moment’ followed by subtle giggles from the handmaidens. It was quite the show.” He mimicked her flat voice almost perfectly.

She looked away, embarrassed, the warmth of the blood rushing to her cheeks.

Let us be quite honest, these young humans felt many things during this night together. In fact, they felt many things they did not want to acknowledge themselves. But each second they spent together, they relished every little fragment they could. If anything, Obi-Wan Kenobi learned not to take things for granted especially after he had met Duchess Satine Kryze years ago, when his commitment to the Jedi Order prevented him from pursuing anything further. He did not really realize it, but it broke him in some way. Padmé did not know very much, other than the fact that she had dedicated herself to politics at such a young age, whatever she had with that artist years ago had diminished into nothingness, leaving the two souls together as the rest of her homeworld celebrated liberation, freedom, peace. They did not know what the future or the Force had in store, only that they had each other during this time.

They conversed, unbothered and undisturbed, for what felt like hours to the point that the evening chill had filled the room and they had to light the fireplace in front of the bed. Both of their faces were bathed in the fire light as they laughed and joked with one another. It was this small period of time in their lives where they forgot who they were and the horrors of their pasts – they were just Obi-Wan and Padmé, two friends who had met by chance during a planetary invasion. Yet despite their idea of friendship, they had fallen far deeper than they had realized. Soon the giggles and non-pleasantries had turned into stories of their pasts, their aspirations, their dreams, then transitioning into hums of exhaustion as their backs rested on the cushions of his bed, their eyes gazing at engraved flowers of the ceiling as the caffeine wore off and they truly felt the burdens that were placed on their shoulders that allowed them to mindlessly drift into an inevitable slumber.

Together.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13543652/1/Isolated-An-Obidala-Story

[dfroza]

lost & found things

this is what we see in Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament book of Luke in chapter 15:

Jesus became increasingly popular among notorious sinners—tax collectors and other social outcasts. The Pharisees and religious scholars noticed this.

Pharisees and Religious Scholars: This man welcomes immoral people and enjoys their company over a meal!

Jesus (with another parable): Wouldn’t every single one of you, if you have 100 sheep and lose one, leave the 99 in their grazing lands and go out searching for the lost sheep until you find it? When you find the lost sheep, wouldn’t you hoist it up on your shoulders, feeling wonderful? And when you go home, wouldn’t you call together your friends and neighbors? Wouldn’t you say, “Come over and celebrate with me, because I’ve found my lost sheep”? This is how it is in heaven. They’re happier over one sinner who changes his way of life than they are over 99 good and just people who don’t need to change their ways of life.

Or imagine a woman who has 10 silver coins. She loses one. Doesn’t she light a lamp, sweep the whole house, and search diligently until that coin is found? And when she finds it, doesn’t she invite her friends and neighbors and say, “Celebrate with me! I’ve found that silver coin that I lost”? Can’t you understand? There is joy in the presence of all God’s messengers over even one sinner who changes his way of life.

Once there was this man who had two sons. One day the younger son came to his father and said, “Father, eventually I’m going to inherit my share of your estate. Rather than waiting until you die, I want you to give me my share now.” And so the father liquidated assets and divided them. A few days passed and this younger son gathered all his wealth and set off on a journey to a distant land. Once there he wasted everything he owned on wild living. He was broke, a terrible famine struck that land, and he felt desperately hungry and in need. He got a job with one of the locals, who sent him into the fields to feed the pigs. The young man felt so miserably hungry that he wished he could eat the slop the pigs were eating. Nobody gave him anything.

So he had this moment of self-reflection: “What am I doing here? Back home, my father’s hired servants have plenty of food. Why am I here starving to death? I’ll get up and return to my father, and I’ll say, ‘Father, I have done wrong—wrong against God and against you. I have forfeited any right to be treated like your son, but I’m wondering if you’d treat me as one of your hired servants?’” So he got up and returned to his father. The father looked off in the distance and saw the young man returning. He felt compassion for his son and ran out to him, enfolded him in an embrace, and kissed him.

The son said, “Father, I have done a terrible wrong in God’s sight and in your sight too. I have forfeited any right to be treated as your son.”

But the father turned to his servants and said, “Quick! Bring the best robe we have and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet. Go get the fattest calf and butcher it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate because my son was dead and is alive again. He was lost and has been found.” So they had this huge party.

Now the man’s older son was still out in the fields working. He came home at the end of the day and heard music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what was going on. The servant said, “Your brother has returned, and your father has butchered the fattest calf to celebrate his safe return.”

The older brother got really angry and refused to come inside, so his father came out and pleaded with him to join the celebration. But he argued back, “Listen, all these years I’ve worked hard for you. I’ve never disobeyed one of your orders. But how many times have you even given me a little goat to roast for a party with my friends? Not once! This is not fair! So this son of yours comes, this wasteful delinquent who has spent your hard-earned wealth on loose women, and what do you do? You butcher the fattest calf from our herd!”

The father replied, “My son, you are always with me, and all I have is yours. Isn’t it right to join in the celebration and be happy? This is your brother we’re talking about. He was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found again!”

The Book of Luke, Chapter 15 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 23rd chapter of the book of Job:

Job confided to his friends.

Job: So once again you are telling me my complaint amounts to rebellion,

that the heavy hand I feel upon me is smothering my groans?

Would that I knew where to find Him.

I would appear before Him.

I would lay my case out before Him;

I would fill up my mouth with arguments.

And then I would finally learn how He would answer me,

and I would understand what He tells me.

Would He oppose me merely with His great power? Surely not!

Surely He would show me the respect of listening to my argument.

There, in that courtroom, a moral man might hope to reason with Him,

and I would escape my Judge forever.

Alas, wherever I go, ahead or behind,

He is not there;

I am unable to find Him.

When He works on either side of me, I still cannot see Him.

I catch no glimpse of Him.

But He knows the course I have traveled.

And I believe that were He to prove me,

I would come out purer than gold from the fire.

My foot has been securely set in His tracks;

I have kept to His course of life without swerving;

I have not departed from the commands of His lips;

I have valued everything He says more than all else.

He alone is one True God; who can alter Him?

Whatever He desires within Himself, He does.

For He will carry out exactly what He has planned for me,

and in the future there are more plans to come.

Therefore, I am deeply troubled before Him;

when I ponder it at any length, I am terrified of Him.

Yes, God has melted my courage,

and the Highest One has overwhelmed me with His terror.

He could have turned me aside when the darkness came,

but He did not cut me off.

Nor does He hide my face from the gloom that has now overtaken me.

The Book of Job, Chapter 23 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, April 30 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons that looks into our “rest”

It is written in our Scriptures: "Commit your way to the LORD, trust also in Him, and he will bring it to pass" (Psalm 37:5). In this verse, the word translated "commit" comes from the Hebrew root galal (גלל), which could be rendered as "roll away" or "heap upon" (the word gal means a heap or pile of stones). The LORD spoke this word when He said to Joshua, "This day have I rolled away (galal) the reproach of Egypt from off you" (Josh. 5:9) and named the place "Gilgal" (גִּלְגָּל), a word-play meaning a wheel or "rolling away." In great mercy the LORD "rolls away" the reproach of our sin.

The word galal can also mean to trust or to commit, with the connotation of "rolling one's trouble" away from oneself upon someone else who can help. Thus the Messiah entrusted (galal) His suffering unto the LORD (Psalm 22:8), and we are likewise encouraged to "commit" (galal) our way to his loving will. When we trust in His love, when we "roll away" the burden of our lives to His care, our thoughts will be "established" and we can freely enjoy the confidence that God Himself is directing our way (Prov. 16:9, Psalm 37:23). We can then experience genuine rest and shalom, despite the tumult of the world and its tribulations.

As the Lord Yeshua cried out, "Come unto Me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest" (Matt. 11:28), so may we come, rolling away our burdens unto Him, and having our way established in His shalom (1 Pet. 5:7; Psalm 55:22). Amen. [Hebrew for Christians]

4.29.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

April 30, 2021

Jehovah

“And, Thou, Lord, in the beginning hast laid the foundation of the earth; and the heavens are the works of thine hands.” (Hebrews 1:10)

The primary name for God in Scripture is the majestic name Jehovah, occurring nearly 7,000 times. The early Jews were reluctant to use that name for fear of using it lightly (Exodus 20:7) and substituted the word Adonai (meaning Master or Lord) in its place. Our English versions have followed suit, using the term “Lord” for Jehovah (small or all caps to distinguish it from Adonai, or Lord). Thus, the name Jehovah appears only four times in the King James and causes us at times to miss the full impact of the passage.

This is especially true in the New Testament quotations from Old Testament passages that used the name “Jehovah” for which “Lord” has been substituted. Now in the English versions the name “Lord” appears. If “Jehovah” (i.e., deity) were read instead, much richer meaning would be gathered, and it would prove beyond a doubt the full deity of Christ. Consider two examples.

First, our text quotes from Psalm 102:25-27. The entire psalm consists of praise to Jehovah, and here in Hebrews it addresses the Son. If we read “thou, Jehovah, in the beginning hast laid the foundations of the earth” and realize that Jesus is the subject of the passage, we recognize that Jesus can be none other than the Creator God.

Also, in Matthew 3:3, where John the Baptist fulfilled his prophesied role by teaching “Prepare ye the way of the Lord,” quoting from Isaiah 40:3, we see Jesus equated with the Jehovah of the Old Testament, for Isaiah uses the term LORD, or Jehovah.

In these and many other examples, we see Christ as the Jehovah Jesus and that the Lord of the Old Testament is the Jesus of the New Testament. JDM