#Servant Manifestations [ Threads ]

[nobuverse]

"It is I-! Emerging from the great depths of darkness to come bring terror and jealousy to all those who oppose me! Tremble before me! The great! The mighty ! The one and only: Nobuuuunaga !"

And what was a great hero without ae dramatic entrance?! Hell yeah!

[nobuverse]

@mysticallities

Fk!Tristan vc: Keep lying to yourself...

"No, no...you must be quite confused, poor thing. It's most certainly me."

[nobuverse]

miraruinada

"Primal, you say?"

"Yeah! Primal! Not as in in primitive - as in 'essential to life' or 'original!' Apocalyptic! I picked up a dictionary, once!"

[nobuverse]

"...I hope I sound that cool when I grow up."

She only got about half of it, but it sounded really awesome. ( She did get the overall message, though! Promise )

[nobuverse]

This was shaping up to be quite the challenge. While heroic spirits could be called into any time period and from any world, Nobunaga was in a situation that was significantly to her disadvantage in the long term: she was an archer that specialized in taking down tradition and the divine, not advanced technology. She had the element of surprise to her advantage for now, but a world as far advanced as this one could come up with a solution to counter her in time.

Though, maybe it's her ambitions looking too far to the future again, she thinks. There was no need for her to conquer planets, was there? For now, she only had one soldier to save. It was probably better she keep that information for a time where it was more appropriate to be shared.

She let out a slow breath as she closed her fist, recalling all her rifles back into nothingness; save for one she spawns to keep at her own side. ( Much as she'd like to keep them all in case of an emergency, she was going to run through her mana reserves very quickly if she had to make another display like that again ). "Well as far as I see, we've only really got two options here" she begins, one hand raised with its palm towards the ceiling, while the other held onto her archaic rifle. "We try to that evacuation point, or we stay here and tough it out until rescue comes - if it comes."

A pretty obvious statement, maybe - but in chaos, sometimes bringing things back to basics helped. Never hurt, anyways. She gaze wanders to the window as she considered the pros and cons of each.

"I don't know the lay of the land here- charging out there would be a blind run. Unless we're really desperate, I wouldn't think about it."

She shrugs, but then lets a less-than-serious smile come back to her face.

"Unless, of course, you've got a map of this place. Then we might have more to talk about."

Magic? Was this truly what that was? It had to be the only explanation. A part of her was saying that this was some sort of technology that hasn’t been discovered yet but it clearly wasn’t forerunner nor covenant. Something to be explored at a later time.

Rebecca tried to return a smile to say that she felt reassured but it came off as half hearted. These events haven’t reassured her in the slightest. A thought had crossed her mind that she had actually died in that explosion and this was all some weird purgatory but the pulsing pain in her arm was a reminder that she was still very much alive.

The comment about more aliens existing was of interest to Rebecca. It meant more life was out there. Hopefully more non-hostile life. She would have to ask about it when they were at a point of safety.

It took Rebecca a second before she moved out of cover wanting to be sure there wasn’t any remnants of the Banished forces. She did know that they would have to move soon. The Banished didn’t have a habit of leaving survivors, especially ones who could fight back.

Stepping towards Nobunaga, she looked out the window then back to her.

“Not many that will fly this way. The group I was with was heading to an evacuation point when we were ambushed then you arrived. It’s three kliks out to the west. There is one person I know who might be able to fly in and get us but he was on the other side of the planet. I hope the emergency transponder will work.”

Fishing through her pack she pulled out a remote that had an antenna and a case over a red button. She flipped up the lid and pressed the red button. The signal was out now a response was needed.

[nobuverse]

"Mmm, mm... that does remind me-! I did cut off a man's hands for strangling a child. I remember being so proud of myself for that : having found a solution that meant he could both live and never hurt another child that way again...

But can you believe it? People were even more terrified of me for that! Well, I assume they were, anyways, since they don't usually scream that loudly when I kill someone."

[nobuverse]

"...Hey fellas, aren't we all technically....just ghosts really? Ghosts with superpowers?"

She's trying to figure out if she should be offended or not.

[nobuverse]

@himedachi

(crane girlie voice) I do expect you to be a little taller, Lord Nobunaga…

"T-that's hardly my fault-! Legends never match up to what you're told anyways! My legacy is larger than life-! Of course I could never stand up to that!"

[nobuverse]

There was no need for him to keep the door open for her, her material body having dissolved to nothing but a fine, invisible dust; but it wasn't as though the gesture went unappreciated. Had she been in her physical form, she would have cracked a smile at the innocent gesture.

His request, though - it's rather odd. It's not as though she minded coming back to his side, but how strange for him to request so with the exclusive reason of healing her, especially with such a superficial wound.

"Ah, master - there's no need for you to waste your energy."

She protests, though only lightly, as she emerges to his side. The haori she'd wrapped around her wound as a makeshift dressing was already starting soak up some blood. If she had any intention of hiding her attempts to treat it herself, it would have been impossible now.

"This cut should heal well if I stay in my spirit form. Maybe it's better if you rest- I can imagine that experience must have been frightening for you. You don't need to worry, if anyone comes after you again, I will be watching over you."

Soon the duo would soon find themselves in a small apartment. Daniel would open the door and enter. He would keep the door open for like a minute or so, not really understanding the whole Spirit Form thing, she would be able to enter. After a while he blinked then closed the door.

"Alright, we are alone." Daniel would call out before locking the door and moving to the couch. The apartment was not very big, a lounge and kitchen sweet, to the left was a small hallway that led to a bathroom on one side and a bed on the other side.

There were some windows on the far wall that showed the street below, they were on the third floor.

"Saber? Can you come out so I might heal you?" He sounded concerned as he felt horrible for not dealing with the wound as soon as he could.

[nobuverse]

@mysticallities

Reines vc: A tyrant king? Not a little brat? Quite a misjudging there, Nobunaga-san.

"Yeah! Exactl-"

"Hey, wait a second! That's not what I meant! Shut up!"

[nobuverse]

@miraruinada ( Plotted )

Loyalty. That was the principle she was raised under. The part of the shinsengumi she took the most seriously. To serve all orders absolutely and without question.

It something that induced comfort rather than fear in her; as Okita was not one who liked to get lost in complex moral conflicts. At all times, she'd developed the habit of avoiding the process of making her own decisions altogether; lost with her childhood self. To be trapped in her own mind, unable to speak of the horrors she'd witnessed for fear of shaming her murdered father, had been too terrible a fate to endure. So instead, she had emptied it. Her goals were never again her own, her own desires ignored.

This part of her - the ability to follow a leader so unconditionally - was unsurprisingly brought with her as a servant. She would never betray her master. Lay down her life to protect them. Such was the way of the noble samurai.

Even if she was summoned outside of a grail war - she would serve. Even if he had no intention of letting her enter the battlefield she had made her home in, she would listen. Even if he commanded her to never leave this laboratory, full of men and women with soulless eyes, she would obey. The fairly nervous man seemed ready to use the first of his command seals when someone asks her to stay still for the first time. She barely flinches, however. Though the feeling of the needles and electric wires is far from pleasant.

But it it's fine- she tells herself. She's been through worse. Nothing can be as bad as the last year of her life, when consumption had taken every nerve and joint in her body hostage. Leaving her in crippling agony, taking her ability to move bit by bit.

Never once did the thought of betrayal cross her mind. Even when it started to become obvious her presence here was for nothing more than the advancement of science's marriage with magecraft and heroic spirits.

I must endure it if it's what my master wishes.

She doesn't ask questions, even if she has some vague idea of what's happening. Instead, she keeps that though running her head as her mantra, as her mana circuits are fried and reconstructed, again, again ...and again.

Now, her will is as strong as that of any other Wolf of Mibu - but weeks into it, it starts to become too much for her to want to endure. Maybe it's these white, empty walls that are driving her mad, the pain wracking her body, or her solidarity with her own thoughts but she begins to have her own selfish thoughts.

I don't want to be here.

It's not a thought consumed by anger, an emotion she was occasionally privy to in the past, but rather a painful longing she's not familiar with.

I want this to stop.

But the thought of turning against them - it's not in her capacity to think of such things. So she endures. She lives and continues to endure it.

Time starts to blur in on itself - and Okita attempts to continue and empty her thoughts to rid herself of the knots growing in her stomach at the start of every new day. ( Was this what fear felt like? She'd not felt it in so long ). She almost forgets who and what she is - so when her duties as a servant are requested, she can barely remember how to hold her sword.

( Defend us. Kill the outsider. )

It feels strange to be on her own two feet - to move forward of her own free will. She does so slowly, despite their protests, her arms and legs filled with too many scorches and pinpricks to care about the shove she gets.

She doesn't give acknowledgement to the servant as she steps outside, eyes instead focused far away over his shoulder.

"I don't think I've ever noticed how beautiful the sun is before now..."

[nobuverse]

@witchofthedeepwood || Plotted

It feels like hot iron's filling her lungs. The crushing weight on her chest is unbearable, her sides cramping with the continuous force it took for her hack and wheeze - any desperate attempt she can make to get a breath in.

ah - it's been a while since it's been this bad.

She should have taken the hint this morning - to recognize that familiar pain in her joints to tell her that this illness was on the verge of rearing its ugly head again.

But Okita had never been one to listen to her body. Always pushing the limits of what was possible. Ignoring pain and exhaustion had always been the norm for her. ( Because anything was better than being alone with her thoughts).

Had she known it would have been this severe, though, she'd have chosen to stay in her room - as to not burden anyone else. Practically anywhere would have been a better pick than the often-used simulator - which someone was bound to notice she'd been using for far too long now without any progress.

"Ah...a.."

She can't even suck in enough breath to speak a comprehensive sentence. Her head barely wants to listen to her as it lifts up to approaching footsteps. It doesn't do her much good, anyway - her vision's too blurry to make out who it is.

"H...he...hel.."

One hand claws at the ground at the ground, attempting to bring herself forward, even in a crawl. The other grasps at her haori, now covered in blood and mucus.

Help me.

[nobuverse]

"Well - what's stopping you? Sake's usually served warm anyways -! Hey, hey - I know! We can make it a cultural exchange! I'll pick out a bottle for you to pour in, and you can let me try some of that french onion soup!"

It probably wasn't the best case scenario for them to be trying news things, but who's judging? Nobunaga's wife wasn't here - so not anyone important!

"Hmm. I mean that is funny but, like people add alcohol to cooking all the time. Why not soup? I wanna get drunk while eating onion soup."

[nobuverse]

@midnightactual ll Plotted

It had been a routine mission at first, one Nobunaga and many other servants with the skill of Independent Action would often undertake. Davinci's sensors had located a holy grail replica, somewhere in the reaches of time. A singularity, as they called -it a breach so grand in the timeline of history that it threatened the very reality they were trying to restore.

Nobunaga's inherit powers as an archer allowed her to stay manifested for around two days without her master around, but they never dared send her out for more than a few hours to scout ahead without Ritsuka, and only when the threat to reality was considered rather minor - the type of thing that would barely require an effort to fix. As faint as the signal was that the staff achieved, they didn't disturb the young mage's sleep to mention the situation. They'd report to him in the morning, everyone figured, after Nobunaga's return report.

The coordinates are set for somewhere in Japan, sometime after 2016. Close to the time period they had wrongly labeled as "The final singularity". Simple. Easy, even.

But something goes wrong. Drastically so. The servant could knew it before she had even finished rayshifting to the coordinates. A blinding, searing pain shot across her nerves; like all her mana circuits had been fried at once. It ends as quickly as it starts. She stumbles out of the coffin with a gasp as the thing slowly dissolves from the world. She attempts to contact Davinci back on the ship, but gets nothing but static in her communicator. Useless.

Although she didn't feel any pain, it somehow felt as though she was missing a part of her- like a limb had detached itself without warning. Regardless, she figured the best thing she could do at the moment was simply get on with the mission that had been assigned to her, if for nothing else than a distraction.

She decides to begin in spirit form, walking in the space between the physical and ethereal planes. Though she can't interact with anything around her, she can at least take a good view of the city without drawing attention to herself. She finds nothing unusual, much to her dismay, but a thriving city. Certainly, one with its fair share of some less than appealing areas, but nothing that could explain what had peaked the interest of the radar. She would have usual taken the time to revel in the modern marvels far outside her time period, but she can't focus now. That uneasy feeling of anxiety was only growing stronger and stronger.

She materializes back into the physicals realm a few hours later. Thankfully, she was able to get a hold of Chaldea this time. But, as expected, the news isn't good. She's ended up no where near where she's supposed to- in another universe, entirely, even. It was one that ran parallel to that of their own - not interfering with their timeline at all. It means she can't simply rayshift back, it'll take a long time to get her back. Then, comes the worst news of all: her contract's been severed. She's lost her connection to her master- her source of mana. Though they'll try everything they can to save her, it's unlikely to happen within the span of two days. It's suggested she stay in spirit form to conserve the mana she has left.

-----

Two days come and pass, although it seems like an enteral wait. It's through either determination or sheer luck that she's managed to live this long, hoping to be reunited with her loved ones on board the ship: her wife. her brother. her best friend. her niece.

----

It's in a vain attempt to distract herself, spirit wandering from one rooftop to another, that she sees it for the first time. This shadow, a presence unlike any she's ever seen dragging its lumbering feet through the city gravel. It's half the size of an average house, figure both human and distinctly inhuman all at once. A large hole in its chest, gnashing teeth behind an ugly mask.

Nobunaga's first thought is how incredible it is that no one's reacting to its presence: only the destruction it accidently causes as it moves along. This beast was moving along unseen, overturning sidewalks and bending light posts.

She wants to reveal herself, but can't. She's been warned that if she manifests in her physical form again, there wouldn't be enough mana in her left to turn back - and she'd drain away her reserves before the end of the day.

Foolishly, she follows it. Even though she knows her time in Chaldea has made her soft, even though she knew she wouldn't be able to stand by if it went after a human life.

The result is predictable, in hindsight. When the mangy creature reaches for a teenage boy, sleeping on a bench in the middle of the summer afternoon, she breaks. Feet hit the roof tiles with a clatter as she manifests, a wave of her hand summons a matchlock rifle, and she fires. It roars as the bullet goes through its shoulder, the teenage boy awoken by the sound of the gunshot. Her rifle falls, sliding down the roof as it dissipates again. She focus on running now to lead it away, manifesting another between two houses, just enough to allow her to jump the gap. Her communicator has to be turned off, as it's already started annoying her ceaselessly. ( No doubt with Davinci and Sherlock screaming at her from the other side. )

She sprints as the beast runs after, leaving debris in its wake as it tries and fails to reach for her. Her only thought is getting it away from the general population, into an empty, open soccer field she had noted earlier.

Her landing is anything but graceful. She stumbles, almost falls. She decides to conjure one last loaded rifle, into her arms this time. She aims, and fires just in time as the white mask comes only a few meters from her. Blood splatters on her face as it falls, hopefully for good.

" Freak." She muttered, spitting at the ground. She had to get one last insult in before she collapses to her knees. Exhausted, but also not gone yet.

In a few hours time, though, that would change.

[imclimbingthestairsoforthanc]

Starvation - Glorfindel x Touch Starved!Reader

You look for comfort in places from which you have restricted yourself from. Glorfindel can't seem to keep his hands off you.

Warmth and softness and plush and one’s every wish, in that regard, enveloped you in the stillness of the night. You hummed and allowed the phantom fingers threading through your hair to remain inconspicuous. The lump in the duvet was not large enough to be two figures, but in your hazy state, you paid it no mind. You exhaled the shattered remnants of the festering hunger in your soul. Affection and intimacy manifested with hidden venom in gooseflesh and content sighs, but in your wake became no more than shards of ice shattering pink stained-glass windows. Colder and sharper and ever more bitter is the gentle, brushing texture of your sheets and the touch of the phantom body in your dreams–it is as cruel as sandpaper on your skin. You inhaled the frigid, biting air of the day that had been at night his warm breath on your neck. As the moon squares his shoulders to the door, unsure of how to say goodbye, the gentle, fleeting caress of his arms becomes a brutal heat that burns your very bones in the sun.

You cry out and sit up straight.

The smile drops when you awake.

It is not yet dawn, and there are only a few servants who are awake. You are not a servant, but you are among the aroused. You sigh and sit up from the dreamy comfort of your bed, the escape from the empty reality of one so loved and so alone, and you are not even consoled by carpet on your feet.

‘Really need to get a rug,’ you add to your mental to-do list, ‘I’ll do that this week.’ 

Fabric feels plush to the skin and course to the heart as you change and prepare for the day. It is simple attire: a long, comfortable open robe with a loose fitting v-neck and tight riding trousers. The council will meet today, but you doubt it will be anything of social importance; you scratch diplomatic off the list of styles you are choosing from. 

Bathor awaits you in the stables, head rearing with the rising sun.​ Trampling hooves clomp along the ground towards the south road. The aging steed has become content with paced strolls. When you pass the last boulder and ride into the open target range, however, he does not cast aside his namesake. Bathor stomps once and begins to pick up the pace; the more arrows that are loosed, the quicker he moves. At his quickest, he rears up high, seemingly planning on staying there, as you loose your final arrow. You cannot tell if you are being bitten or caressed by the wind of his movements. You love it either way. Bathor’s front hooves make a harsh impact with the ground, and in your state of bliss, you are nearly thrown off. 

“That was quite a sight,” rang a clear, honey-rich voice, “Though, perhaps if you do not revel so ignorantly in your success you will not stumble in the aftermath.” 

You sighed and dismounted, “Do not articulate it so. It is said, ‘Pride comes before  a fall.’ It is apparent your pride has not been rescued by the truth.”

Your words were harsh and honest, but Glorfindel laughed at the affection just underneath the surface of your tone.

“What ever do you mean?” Glorfindel feigned hurt as he handed you a piece of a honey cake and a cup of fruit.

“I mean, dear friend,” you said before taking a bite, “You must be blissfully unaware that we are all tired of your pedestrian, unoriginal oral disquisitions. Not to mention, you preen quite obnoxiously.”

Glorfindel huffed and watched you feed Bathor a piece of an apple, “Do not waste your breakfast; I cut that fruit just for you. And, I do not talk so much and so elaborately that it is tiresome.”

“Maybe not, but we tire of it nonetheless.”

The two of you made eye contact with one another for a long moment before laughing. You removed Bathor’s saddle blanket and spread it out for the two of you to sit on. Asfaloth and Bathor made their way to the grassier part of the field while you and Glorfindel found satisfaction in honey cakes and watching the rest of the sunrise. 

Quiet and calm was interrupted when the fabric of Glorfindel’s shirt rubbed against your bare forearm. Suddenly so many things were important that had not been: did you smell of sweat or horse from this morning? Was your hair out of place? Maybe you should have taken more care with your attire after all.

“Are you quite alright?” Glorfindel asked, sensing the tension and making it worse byt leaning towards you ever so slightly. You began to tremble, “Are you ill?”

You flinched when he began to reach up towards your forehead. He furrowed his eyebrows and backed away. He racked his mind for what could be the matter, until an idea popped up into his golden head. It was getting chillier out, and it had been particularly windy. Perhaps, he thought, you were cold. 

He did not hesitate in removing his outer robe as he voiced his concern. His worry grew when you startled at the action and stood abruptly.

“No!” you cried, “I am not cold. Though, I do think I am unwell. Perhaps I should lie down before the council meeting.”

You did not think your words through before looking up at the sky. It was well into the morning. The meeting would be starting soon.

“Nonsense, dearest,” cooed Glorfindel, “I will alert the other counselors that you are feeling under the weather. You need to stay home, and rest.”

  You sighed and averted your eyes. This was just what you had wanted to avoid. You had been absent at the past few council meetings, and some of the other members were beginning to doubt your reliability. Of course, at the end of the day, it only mattered what Lord Elrond thought; nonetheless, you did not wish for strife within the governing forces of Imladris. Embarrassed at your frenzy, you had not the will to admit to Glorfindel exactly what had your mood out od sorts. You simply nodded and mounted Bathor. Glorfindel made a mental note to return to the range and fetch your belongings after the meeting. 

__________________________________________________________________________

A warm bath was what you needed. Upon arriving at your chambers, you busied yourself in preparing the works: clean sheets, a comfortable, stylish nightgown, and a good book to envelope yourself in after your bath. You lit candles and prepared yourself a glass of wine to have after the bath. Of course, it would not wash off Glorfindel’s touch, but you could at least use a warm bath to take your mind off of it.

Or to relive it.

Gentle hands massaged fragrant soaps into your hair, tearing apart all the grime and build up from your riding sessions. Fingers threaded through your damp locks, spreading oils throughout the ends. Bubbles and suds tickled your skin, standing out from the hot water like his silk robe tickled your arm in the midst of the day’s whining wind. Droplets of water left fleeting caresses down your arms, back, chest, down your legs as you stood. It was a glorious feeling - but not quite like the real one; he did not know you that intimately - to have the touch of a friend encased in your bath water. 

The smell of the candle mingling with the taste of wine snapped you out of your daydream. It flickered on well into the afternoon, and when you were ready for a nap, you pinched it out in favor of feeling a sear on your fingertips. 

__________________________________________________________________________

Glorfindel wasn’t quite sure whether or not he should check on you.. You had had quite the outburst over something he couldn’t even perceive, and he had begun to wonder if he had done something wrong and thought that maybe he should let you have your space. His stomach growled when he finished retrieving your tack and other belongings from the range and a thought occurred to him: had you eaten supper? It was after supper time, and he did not see you about the halls or around the kitchens. You were quite the cook, so the kitchens were where you were often found at that time of day. Things seemed to be getting stranger by the minute. 

It was then, he decided, supper and a subtle wellness check for you was indeed in order. He had managed to talk one of the kitchen staff into showing him the ropes for broccoli and cheddar soup, taking into account one of your favorites. 

He made his way swiftly towards your room, steaming soup that he hoped he did a good job making and maybe a hint of some special chocolates he had acquired resting delicately on a silver tray. He knocked, and did not receive an answer. It was unlike you to lock your doors, even at night, so upon trying the knob, it silently slid upon. 

You lay on the bed, limbs sprawled about, with the last hues of the setting sun illuminating your silver-clad form.

 Glorfindel had always found you easy on the eyes, pretty, even, but had never voiced this. Yes, you were pretty, but you were intelligent and kind, and many other things. He valued those traits of you; without them, your friendship wouldn’t be what it was. It wasn’t until now that he’d had an overwhelming urge to tell you of your dashing good looks. He abstained.

“My friend? Are you asleep?” You stirred, and after a moment, you were sitting up rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You smiled, and Glorfindel blushed lightly when you stood. It was not uncommon for the two of you to be in your nightclothes around one another, or even to undress, but the thin silk material and lace embroidery on your nightgown caught his eye in an unsettling way. He cleared his throat.

“I hope you are doing all rightl,” my friend, “I’ve been a bit worried.”

You smiled sleepily, “I am feeling better. I do not know what came over me.”

That was a lie. 

“I brought you some soup.”

“Join me,” you said as you slipped on a night robe over your nightgown, “It is a bit chilly, but we can eat at sunset. I have an opened bottle of wine.”

Glorfindel swallowed and cleared any unwelcome thoughts from his head as he followed your lace-clad figure to the bench on the balcony.

__________________________________________________________________________

“It is a relief, after all,” you said as you finished off your soup and began the chocolates, “that no one thought anything of my absence. Though, I fear if I miss any more they will believe me to have deserted them.”

Glorfindel laughed, “No, my friend. None of them mentioned it. Erestor and Lindir asked for your well-being. I simply informed them that you did not feel yourself, and that some quality rest was needed.”

You and Glorfindel sat on opposite ends of a bench, but the proximity felt unreal. His smell, his voice, his warmth – he was all-consuming. You cursed yourself for bursting the way you did that morning. You would give anything in the world to feel the brush of his robe now. Of course, he was oblivious, and kept on the small talk. You watched him from your side of the bench. 

His hair hung limply around his shoulders - the golden locks looked soft to the touch. His eyes were a mosaic of every beautiful thing that has ever graced his sight. They were radiant. His skin was porcelain and smooth, and ever so exposed. By the Valar, you wanted nothing inappropriate, but you wanted his touch like a horse wants his pasture.. He looked like he could burn you and turn you to ice in the same embrace. 

You involuntarily reach out for him. He reaches back, and when your hands meet, Glorfindel’s ears are met with a whimper. He furrows his brows and shuffles closer. You do not stop him, only make another strangled noise and revel in the proximity.

“Are you alright?” he says with his arm thrown around the back of the bench behind you, “Darling, you are flushed.”

He put the back of his hand against your cheek. When he tries to pull away, he is stopped by a grip around his wrist. You are overwhelmed: sparks shoot through your fingertips at the contact with his wrist and your heart hammers, nearly finding its way up your throat, at his hand on your cheek.

“Please,” you whisper.

He lets out a breath he’d been holding. It is a warm sigh on your face.

“Please what?”

You close your eyes and sigh, “This hunger has festered in the depths of my soul for far too long. I beg you to sate it. Be near to me.”

That is just what he does. You had never been one for physical affection, unlike himself, though he supposed that was the cause of your current state. Cautiously, Glorfindel placed a firm hand on your shoulder. Fireworks must have erupted in your chest - you gasped sharply and even threw your head back in bliss as he pulled you towards him.

Glorfindel’s worries had washed away, replaced by a mixture of pity, amusement, and something else entirely that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He finally understood the cause of your strange actions. It wasn’t healthy for one to be so deprived of such a trivial but necessary thing. He smiled as he made a mental note to be a touch more affectionate with you. You had asked him to sate your hunger, and sate it he would. Friendly affection, after all, was his duty! Though, that wasn’t to say he didn’t plan on having a good time with it.

[nobuverse]

@burdenedreverence From here

"I do not have, such a luxury." His words come out calm, his eyes closed. He is currently gripping a metal rail which protects those from following off the top of this particular building. On the horizon the Soul Society is bleeding, flames lick at ruined buildings. Those on the ground look like ants with the way they move about, tending to the wounded or collecting the dead. His shoulders are tensed and raised as he puts his weight onto the metal, it groans beneath his hands. He looks over the ledge, and a part of him wishes to leap. He does not have the luxury to determine when his war might be over, even once the swords enter their sheaths, he knows that his watch does not end. It is immortal, and immaterial, until fate deems his time up. A hundred a years ago, he was just a man. Now he is a monster. Slitting throats in the night, murdering men for peace, and any number of crimes which have stained his soul black. Blacker than midnight, blacker than the robes he wears, light cannot exist within him anymore. And yet as he draws a shaky breath, his eyes sting. Salty tears form on the edge of his vision, his eyes close tightly. His mouth hangs open slightly while his throat clenches. His anger is his grief. And it pours from in, spilling into the world like an overturned paint can. The container, which is body empties itself, in this moment of supreme privacy. His rage is not that of clenched fists and gnashing teeth, it is that of tears and choked words. "God… be damned…" The words slip out as fingers crush metal as if it was nothing more than tissue paper, gripping the torn metal he throws it over the edge of the building. He screams. It rises from his stomach, it bellows from his throat. The metal is flung an impossible distance, a reminder he is more than a man. He has become a monster. She asks him to forgive himself. He cannot. He will not. This world has need for its monsters, it has need for him. He falls to his knees; his palms face upwards with his knuckles pressed against the stone floor. He cannot begin to forgive himself for everything he has done, and everything he will do.

The scene is as horrifying as it is mesmerizing to her, in some strange way. It is a horrifying marvel compared to everything the agent of the counterforce has seen in - months? Years? She'd lost track of time completely in the amount of time she'd spent in the great beyond.

Everything there had been veiled in a bright shade of white. All that existed was light. No concept of space, beginnings or ends. An endless void which only held things that should not exist. Monsters and abominations she was tasked to cut down, one after another.

It was so beautiful to anything else but that. Even if the colors of flames do assault her eyes the first time she looks at them. How wonderful it was to see humans again - looking at them helping each other in these times of great danger. How wonderful that was.

Wielder, don't you think we should see what's happening?

Rengokuken's voice rings clearly in her mind.

"Mm. Can't. Too loud. Need to wait. Very overwhelming." she speaks in simple phrases, mind eroded by the passage of time. It'd take her some to get back to her usual self.

Understood. Take your time.

When she sees a lone person sometime later - she begins to get excited again, thinking of it as the perfect opportunity to help integrate herself among humans again. But something's wrong. She feels a certain - loneliness about him.

"You. You are sad. What is wrong?"

She's not really able to follow what comes next. Maybe because he's speaking too fast, or her thoughts are too slow to keep up. She only seems to understand that he's angry at someone for something.

Ah. She knew the answer to this one: Let your anger out, then let it go. Forgive him.

....Maybe not, though. It really only seems to make things worse.

"....sir?" her fingers girp nervously on her blade's hilt for reassurance, like a child clinging onto a mother's hand. "I see- that was...the wrong answer? Um, please don't be upset...I'll get it right next time...!"

She briefly panics at just how responsible she is for this, her tense body giving a jump back as the railing is torn from the rooftop. That display of strength was rather, shocking to say the least. He's probably not a normal human then...and he's not a monster - since the counterforce wasn't asking her to kill him. So..

Oh! He must be a hero, then! A grieving and heartbroken hero...

"Well, um - if we could find this - 'luxury' would you be able to? I could help you."

She can't remember the details, but she seems to remember that sometime, a long time again, she used to help someone find very important things too. And seeing him like this - it pains her. She wanted to help.

"...Maybe I should find that railing first, though. For safety reasons. I don't want someone to fall off. You threw it over...uh...there right?"