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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 4 years ago

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26th November >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Luke 21:20-28 for Thursday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time: ‘Hold your heads high’.

Thursday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA)

Luke 21:20-28

There will be signs in the sun and moon and stars

Jesus said to his disciples, ‘When you see Jerusalem surrounded by armies, you must realise that she will soon be laid desolate. Then those in Judaea must escape to the mountains, those inside the city must leave it, and those in country districts must not take refuge in it. For this is the time of vengeance when all that scripture says must be fulfilled. Alas for those with child, or with babies at the breast, when those days come! ‘For great misery will descend on the land and wrath on this people. They will fall by the edge of the sword and be led captive to every pagan country; and Jerusalem will be trampled down by the pagans until the age of the pagans is completely over. ‘There will be signs in the sun and moon and stars; on earth nations in agony, bewildered by the clamour of the ocean and its waves; men dying of fear as they await what menaces the world, for the powers of heaven will be shaken. And then they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. When these things begin to take place, stand erect, hold your heads high, because your liberation is near at hand.’

Gospel (USA)

Luke 21:20-28

Jerusalem will be trampled underfoot by the Gentiles until the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled.

Jesus said to his disciples: “When you see Jerusalem surrounded by armies, know that its desolation is at hand. Then those in Judea must flee to the mountains. Let those within the city escape from it, and let those in the countryside not enter the city, for these days are the time of punishment when all the Scriptures are fulfilled. Woe to pregnant women and nursing mothers in those days, for a terrible calamity will come upon the earth and a wrathful judgment upon this people. They will fall by the edge of the sword and be taken as captives to all the Gentiles; and Jerusalem will be trampled underfoot by the Gentiles until the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled. “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on earth nations will be in dismay, perplexed by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will die of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. And then they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. But when these signs begin to happen, stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand.”

Reflections (7)

(i) Thursday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

In today’s gospel reading, there is a clear reference to the destruction of the city of Jerusalem, which happened forty years after the death and resurrection of Jesus. Jerusalem fell to the armies of Rome, under the general Titus, who went on to become Emperor of Rome. In the time of Jesus and the early church, the all-powerful Roman Empire must have been seen as eternal, as destined to last forever. Yet, in the first reading, written towards the end of the first century, the author declares, ‘Babylon the Great has fallen’, ‘Babylon’ being a code name for ‘Rome’. The author recognizes that even the great, invincible, Roman Empire would not last forever, and declares that it is God and his Son who will last forever, ‘Victory and glory and power to our God’. In the gospel reading, Jesus speaks of himself as the Son of Man who will come ‘with power and great glory’. Nothing lasts forever, not even the great and powerful empires of the world. Only God and his Son endure; they are the beginning and the end, yesterday, today and tomorrow. God’s relationship with us endures; Jesus’ love for us lasts forever and every day he says to us what is said at the end of today’s first reading, ‘Happy are those who are invited to the wedding feast of the Lamb’. The Lord calls us to his feast, in the future kingdom of heaven, but also in the here and now of the Eucharist. You will recognize that beatitude from the text of the Mass. The Lord’s call to us to be in communion with him is the constant in the midst of all that is changing. That awareness can inspire us to always ‘stand erect’, holding our heads high, in the words of the gospel reading.

And/Or

(ii) Thursday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

This morning’s gospel has a very dark tone to it. Jesus speaks of the destruction of Jerusalem and the terrible consequences for all who are living there. He goes on to speak of great disturbances in the cosmos that will bring fear to people everywhere. Yet, just when all is at its darkest, Jesus declares that the Son of Man will appear in all his power and glory bringing redemption, liberation, to all who welcome his coming. There are times in our lives when our own world can appear to be falling apart. Disturbing events happen over which we have little or no control; we can be left shaken and frightened. This morning’s gospel reading is reminding us that it is above all in such moments when we are most aware of our vulnerability and frailty that the Lord is closest to us. He stands by us in his risen power, giving us strength in our weakness. His presence has the power to liberate us from our fears and to give us the confidence to stand erect with our heads held high, in the words of the gospel reading. We can be tempted to let the darkness envelope us. We need to resist that temptation because the light of the Lord’s presence shines in the darkness and we are assured that the darkness will not overcome it.

And/Or

(iii) Thursday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

This morning’s gospel reading is full of the darker side of human experience. It makes reference to wars, to destruction, to great upheavals and to the fear they generate. Yet, the gospel reading also speaks about the coming of the Son of Man into the midst of all this darkness and it promises that those who are open to his coming will experience liberation. We all need to be liberated in one sense or another; we all need to be freed from whatever it is that is holding us back from doing what the Lord is calling us to do, from being the person the Lord is calling us to be. It is only the Lord who can free us to live as we are meant to live. Saint Paul speaks about the glorious freedom of the children of God that awaits us beyond this life. Yet, here and now, we can begin to taste the first fruits of that glorious freedom, to the extent that we open our lives to the coming of the Lord and to the coming of his Spirit. Saint Paul also says in another of his letters, ‘where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom’. We are only truly free when we are living in tune with the Spirit of the Lord, when the Holy Spirit is bearing rich fruit in our lives. As we come to the end of the church’s liturgical year and as we begin a new liturgical year, we pray, ‘Come Holy Spirit’.

And/Or

(iv) Thursday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

The gospel reading this morning paints a rather grim picture on this November morning. It speaks of the fall of the city of Jerusalem to her enemies, the destruction of its people and disturbing signs in nature. Yet, this grim time is also the moment when the Son of Man will appear in great power and glory. In the time of greatest darkness a light begins to shine. That was true of Golgotha also. This time of great darkness was also the time when the light of God’s love shone most brightly. The gospel reading assures us that there is a light at the heart of every darkness. In our own dark experiences the light of the Lord’s presence never ceases to shine. That is why, when the darkest times come our way, in the final words of the gospel reading, we can stand erect and hold our heads high.Next Sunday, in these dark days, we begin to light our Advent candle. We are being reminded that the light shines in the darkness and the darkness will not overcome it.

And/Or

(v) Thursday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

In the beginning of the chapter of Luke’s gospel from which we are reading this week Jesus spoke about the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. In this morning’s gospel reading he goes further and speaks about the destruction of the city of Jerusalem itself and of the land of Israel. ‘Great misery will descend on the land’, he declares, ‘and Jerusalem will be trampled down by the pagans’. All of that happened forty years after the death and resurrection of Jesus when the Romans destroyed the city of Jerusalem with its Temple in response to the Jewish revolt against Rome which had begun four years earlier. Yet Jesus assures his disciples that this awful prospect is not the complete picture. He goes on to speak about the coming of the Son of Man with power and great glory bringing liberation to those who are in need of it. For that reason even in the midst of the chaos and loss the disciples can stand erect and hold their head high. Even though there may not be much ground for optimism, we are called to be hopeful because the Lord is coming, not just at the end of time but here and now in the midst of time. We can let our heads drop when so much seems uncertain and the future seems bleak, but the realization of the Lord’s constant coming into our lives, into our church, into our world, inspires us to stand erect and hold our head high in hope and expectation.

And/Or

(vi) Thursday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

The gospel readings at this time of the year tend to be rather gloomy, at least on first hearing them. We are in the last days of the church’s liturgical year; the new liturgical year begins on Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent. As the church’s year end, we hear of cataclysmic endings in the gospel reading, the ending of Jerusalem, and, even, the ending of the cosmos as we know it. Yet, as well as talking about endings in our gospel reading, Jesus also speaks about comings. More especially, he speaks about his own coming as the glorious Son of Man, bringing liberation to those who await his coming. At the very moment when everything appears to be disappearing, a new reality begins to dawn. The final chapter will not be one of death and destruction but one of new beginning and a new liberation for all. This is but one expression of the basic message of the gospels, that the Lord works in life-giving ways in the midst of death and destruction. There may be great darkness in the world, the darkness of evil and suffering, but the Lord’s light shines within it and the darkness will not overcome the light. It is this conviction which keeps us hopeful even in the midst of pain, loss and death. That is why in the words of the gospel reading, we can always stand erect and hold our heads high, not in a spirit of arrogance but in a spirit of hopeful conviction that the Lord’s liberating coming is assured, no matter how dark and distressing the moment.

And/Or

(vii) Thursday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Today we have another of those rather dark gospel readings that are typical of the concluding days of the liturgical year. Jesus depicts the disturbing scenario of the destruction of the city of Jerusalem with traumatic consequences for its inhabitants. We can think of cities that are being destroyed today, cities in parts of the Middle East. We are very aware of the suffering of their inhabitants at this time. We can be tempted to ask, ‘Is there life beyond all this destruction?’ In the gospel reading, the answer of Jesus to this question is a resounding ‘yes’. He speaks of the coming of the Son of Man in the midst of so much destruction and upheaval. He will come with power and great glory announcing that liberation is at hand. Death and destruction does not have the last word in the Lord’s purpose. He enters into the heart of every darkness with great power, always with a view to our ultimate liberation from all that diminishes and damages us. He has come that we may have life and have it to the full. He sheds tears when we chose paths that bring destruction and death to those he loves. He is passionately committed to our present and ultimate well-being. He is constantly coming to bring this to pass, to bring to earth the kingdom of heaven. If this is to happen, he needs us all to welcome his coming into our own lives and to allow him to work through us in all his liberating power.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

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froggybaek · 6 years ago

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beauty and the beast - hwang hyunjin

♛➩ genre: fluff, angst

♛➩ pairing: fem!reader x hyunjin

♛➩ warnings: cursing and mentions of death

♛➩ summary: there were tales of a prince so beautiful, so handsome that even the gods would bend to his will; he was said to live alone in a castle by the lake, rumored to have killed his parents to earn aphrodite’s blessing. you are but a poor villager who strayed too far from the path home, lost in a haunted forest - until a certain, mysterious boy rescues you.

♛➩ word count: 9.4k

“Father, please stop trying to fix what is already broken.”

“Y/N my dear, just about anything can be fixed if the right tools are used!” The plump, graying man chortled in a burst of usual optimism. His hands, covered in calluses from years upon years of laboring away in the tiny workshop off the back of the house, were holding a hammer and nail respectively. Back hunched over the edge of the creaking desk that was littered with tools and dust, the man aimed the head of the hammer and slammed down on the shiny silver nail, forcing it to dig into the bracket of the door he was trying to fix up - for the third time that same cold season.

Usually you would try to help your hardworking father, but ever since you had finally hit the ripe age of eighteen, he would insist that you save your “delicate” hands for less laboring jobs; like knitting, or perhaps sewing hats. Most of the other girls and women did the same, though there were a handful who worked more tiring jobs.

You would have given anything to be like them - to wake up early in the morning to get dressed for a long day of working at the local mill, maybe even the more populated woodworking shop in the heart of the village. Whenever you passed such a woman on the streets, you would occasionally admire how toned their muscles were, how simply powerful they looked wearing a traditional yellow or baby blue dress whilst they made their way to work.

You were not as lucky as them, though; you weren’t too toned nor built due to staying indoors a majority of the time, either reading or baking to your heart’s content. Before you had turned eighteen, you would pop into the quaint workshop resting off the other side of the kitchen area, munching on a freshly baked muffin or cookie; then, you would get to work on melting materials or handing off tools to your father while he continued to work.

The day you’d turned eighteen, your father had made sure not to put you in any possible situation that involved, well, anything remotely difficult or potentially damaging. When a girl came of age in your country, it was tradition that they halt any and all activities (namely ones that would dirty their skin or crack their nails) until they married. You were, of course, now put into that circle until you got married, but truth be told you didn’t plan on doing so any time soon.

That isn’t to say your father was a terrible man who believed in the system, but he was more than aware of your family’s low status in the village. After all, you still wore your late mother’s hand me downs from when she was your age, and it had been years since you had the proper luxury of being able to shop for your own clothes. You were tempted to sew or knit your own, but at the end of the day, you knew that it was better to sell the crafted dresses and skirts for a bit more money.

If you were to marry, he wanted you to be as pristine and beautiful as you always were in his eyes; this meant no hard labor and more time for you to have just about nothing at all to do some days. On such days you would either watch your father, or you would venture out into the village with a friend. Said friend would constantly point out richer looking men that the two of you came across, hinting that perhaps they might fall for you and, in turn, provide a better life for you and your father.

You found that mighty ridiculous, to say the least. “Right, just like your tools helped you fix the same exact door not even two weeks ago.” The words seemed to slip out of your mouth more naturally than your father would have liked, since he heard from around the bar that most wealthy men preferred women who were soft spoken or didn’t speak their mind at all.

Not that he agreed with any of that particular nonsense, why - he preferred you just the way you were; although it did mean he was the victim of your somewhat blunt undertone more often than not.

“Aye, my sweet little dove,” he hummed in a jolly tune, still pounding away at the hinges of the rickety door, “this damned door was fixed not once, but twice before! Door be damned, I’ll be able to fix it by the time the moon rises over the castle on the hill.”

“Yes, door be damned,” you said in amusement, chuckling to yourself as you turned and began to head towards the front door, tattered bag slung over your shoulder, filled to the brim with hand-made clothes made to be sold at the marketplace, “I’ll be home in time to make supper, father. Have a nice day!”

“You need to stop with the cursing, Y/N!”

But you couldn’t hear him, having already shut the door behind your figure in favor of leaving the shack that you called home. Your home rested on the edge of the village, not too far out to be considered an outlier, but it was enough to convince the other villagers that you were only at the rear end of society; more so than you could have ever imagined before.

By the time you had reached the marketplace, you had heard just about every insult known to man thrown your way.

Bitch.

Lowlife whore.

Forgotten trash.

Considering you had heard all of these names before, you could only hope that the minuscule brains of your harassers were able to conjure up better insults next time you came into town.

There was only one empty stall left for the taking, thankfully enough, though by the time you’d walked over you realized why no one had used it. Or rather, who had made sure no one else claimed it.

“Good morning, Jisung.” You smiled in greeting to the slightly taller boy, who grinned in a maddening joy upon seeing you set your bag of clothes onto the stall he had so diligently protected the past hour while he had waited for your arrival. “Thank you, for saving this stall.”

“Ah, it’s no problem at all, Y/N!” The blonde beamed in delight, “Today is Friday, and Friday is our day.”

You started to lay out a dress over the edge of the wooden stall, just under the hood of the balcony draped over with a purple linen cloth so the harsh sunlight wouldn’t make the dress too hot in case someone bought it and decided to slip it on in the inn just a few feet away. “I know, I know! We might as well just open up a booth together and split the profits at this rate.”

“One day, my dear friend; one day we’ll earn enough coin to build our own shop from the ground up, then we can run it together and become filthy rich!” He insisted loudly, a soft laugh threatening to escape your lips when a couple of girls flinched at his booming voice.

“Well, I’m afraid that I might be missing a few days of selling,” you hummed casually, catching how the blonde’s eyebrows quirked in curiosity at your words, “I am going to close my booth early today so I can go out and... look for a proper job.”

Your companion chokes on his breath, which had visibly hitched in his throat upon hearing your mini-declaration. “Y/N, n-no offense, but you aren’t exactly the blacksmith kind of material. And I don’t think any of the other shop owners are hiring - women... sorry.” He reminded you gently, his pink lips curling into a hint of a sympathetic frown. Both of you knew that women were still looked down on in the local villages and towns, though there had been talk of a movement in the more northern sanctums of the country.

Unless you were as fit and strong as can be, it was rather difficult to find a steady job in your village as a woman. Blacksmiths were always looking for hardworking men and women to help them forge weapons for the war effort to the eastern coast, but any other establishment was focused on saving money in case said war reached far enough into the countryside to force anyone to flee; because of this, a handful of workers had been fired and many more had been rejected of work so that the owners wouldn’t have to use their money on their efforts.

“I’ll find someone to hire me, Ji!” You insisted, “who knows, maybe there’s a couple who might need a midwife, or there could even be a tailor who needs an extra hand.” Your optimism is bright and burning, which you hoped would help you get through the day ahead of you, especially considering you figured you would face a handful of rejections before you found what you sought out.

————————————————————————

You certainly hadn’t been anticipating so many rejections, at least, not at the amount that had hit you in the face full force. Bakeries refused to even give you a chance, using excuses that were along the lines of them not needing any new workers; even if it was one that you knew was going into debt due to the lack of bakers. Any blacksmith was out of the question as well, you simply lacked the manpower to properly work a smithy or carry loads of iron bars. Why - you even tried the newspaper stand at the other end of town, but the boy working there at the time, Felix, could only offer you a sympathetic frown as he informed you that his boss couldn’t afford to pay another worker.

Luck had clearly not been on your side that day, or the next day - or the following five days after that. An entire, unsatisfactory week had passed, leaving you with a semi-permanent frown gracing your chapped lips as you once again made the long track home from your stall at the town marketplace.

The moon, cut into a soft crescent, glowed dimly down onto the path of pebbles and dirt you walked upon, occasionally kicking a gray stone aside to quench your everlasting boredom. Yet another uneventful day had passed, the only payment in the depths of your bag being a matching pair of copper coins, which had been given to you by a soldier as he bought a pale yellow dress for his wife back home.

He had said that his name was Minho, that he was a soldier for the country’s army. The raven haired man had also mentioned that his pregnant wife was practically all alone back home on the countryside, her only real company being her younger brother, a boy named Jeongin, who was already busy tending to the farm most days to ever take her out. When he had told you that she was more than likely going to give birth while he was fighting in the war, you had felt a surge of empathy rush through your veins. You offered him a lower price than you would have given to any regular customer, telling him to give it to her as a gift when he got home to his wife and baby.

Curse you for being so empathetic! A measly two copper coins would barely be enough to purchase a loaf of warm bread; you figured that you would have to make due with a bit of flour instead so you could bake the bread yourself, and then you would likely use the rest of your money to buy fresh carrots to prepare a broth...

In the midst of your brooding, you failed to notice that you had slightly strayed off the path to your home on the edge of town; in fact, the crescent shaped moon had thoroughly been blocked out by the canopy of haunting trees that stood proud and tall, how you didn't realize that you had stumbled into the blanketed forest leading towards a hillside, you would never know.

Only when a twig snapped nearby were you brought out of your hefty daze, your gaze shooting upwards from the ground to take in the sudden new scenery around you. The air had become chillier, more menacing than before when you were out in the open and exposed to the elements. Now, lanky tree roots dotted the less populated path and dense shrubbery popped out of seemingly nowhere.

Before the utter panic of being lost, or at least in a new territory where it was totally unknown to you, could settle in, a puff of cold air brushed past the side of your head. “Are you... lost?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the voice, twisting and turning your body to feel less - vulnerable, so to speak, your chest heaving as you attempt to quickly regain your breath. The man - no, boy, now in front of you radiated a strange sort of aura, his hair as dark as the night sky and his skin as clear as any pool of water.

“W-who are you?” You manage to stutter on your words in pure nervousness, feeling all too small compared to the tall stranger a few feet away.

The boy appears to be at a loss for words, his lithe fingers twiddling with the cuffs of his oddly fancy, lavender button-up shirt. You give him a hasty once-over to size up his character while he hesitates to speak up, taking note of how his black dress pants and shiny brown shoes stood out from the familiar common rabble in the town. Putting yourself in his shoes would be an unfamiliar experience, due to your tattered, raggedy cloths, which seemed incredibly inferior to his almost noble attire.

“I’m Hyunjin, I live in - in the castle on the hill,” he finally replies to your question, his voice cracking as if he hadn’t spoken in centuries, “I don’t mean to intrude, but you seem a bit... lost. It’s dangerous for anyone to be out this late in the forest, you know.”

The only forest you knew of anywhere close to town was Cupid’s Forest, said to be seething with the rage of spirits who hadn’t been granted access to neither the underworld or the gates of Olympus. Since Cupid itself had originally been resurrected in the forest of spruce and pine trees, it had been dubbed of his name; but that legend was not what brought the area fame - or rather, mystery.

There was apparently a “lost prince” who resided in a lone castle on the single hill overlooking both Cupid’s Forest and Echo’s Lake, rumored to be a monster who had sacrificed everything he had to the goddess Aphrodite just to gain her blessing-

Oh.

“Y-you’re the pr-prince,” you breathe out in a stunning realization, eyes widening all at once. You watch carefully as Hyunjin’s muscles tense under his clothes, the boy clearly troubled at how you’d addressed him.

He tried to close some of the gaping distance between your bodies, both of you tense and mildly unnerved from the odd interaction so far. “Please, come to my castle - just for tonight,” Hyunjin pleads with you, stiffening even more than before at the chilling sound of a howl in the distance; it was not the howl of any beast he knew, rather it was the harrowing call of a spirit waking from its slumber at the presence of mortals in its forest, “if you wish to live, you must trust me, please.”

Damn it - damn it all. How could you have possibly roped yourself into such a situation?

“Lead the way.”

————————————————————————

Hyunjin had hastily led you to his home - his castle, for god’s sake, in record time. The second he slammed the front doors shut (which were a good eight to nine feet tall, something you didn't quite understand) both of you were subject to listening to the furious spirits pounding on the dark wood, their aged moaning and groaning akin to someone raking their nails down a chalkboard.

Even as the two of you hunch over to try and catch your breath, exhausted from the run through the periling forest, you can’t help but lift your head to scan your surroundings; after all, you were still technically in the home of a complete and utter stranger - no matter how handsome or kind he appeared to be, you had done well to remind yourself of the unsettling rumors that aged with his castle, his very existence.

Bright candles burned to give flickers of light inside the cobblestone structure, some of them engraved with odd details that nearly resembled a human face - though you assumed you were imagining that aspect of the décor, even if it did carry onto a particular bookshelf and an antique tea set.

In the center of his castle were two grand spiral staircases, blooming with vines and pink flowers that dwindled from the ceiling and entangled with the gold spindles that traced the outline of the white painted stairs. Craning your neck to get a better look at the dazzling staircase and the chandelier that hung above it, you spotted what looked to be a rounded, glass case of sorts at the very top of the stairs. You couldn’t quite make out whatever was inside the case, though you could see the tint of red and green that mingled together in the transparent glass.

“Miss,” the owner of the looming, mysterious castle uttered softly, catching your attention. You bring yourself out of your second daze of the night to glance over to Hyunjin, curiosity bubbling through your veins. Despite the nasty rumors you had heard on more than one occasion, the so-called prince had welcomed you into his lonesome home and saved you from the spirits outside in the haunted forest, why, even his voice was softer and kinder than you expected it to be. “I can take you to one of the guest rooms for now, if you like. I’m afraid there isn’t any food prepared, since I wasn't quite expecting a guest tonight - or... ever, actually.”

Your stomach rumbled hungrily at the mention of food, or lack thereof, but you didn’t feel the need to pry for a meal; not when Hyunjin had let you into his home. “That’s alright, I’m not too hungry anyway,” you lie easily, “but I am awfully tired.”

“R-right... well then, follow me.” He ushers out quietly, turning his backside to you so he can lead you through his enormous castle. You silently follow behind his figure, eyes flickering all about the cobblestone walls decorated with paintings and other knick-knacks that seemed somewhat out of place - even inside a castle belonging to a prince.

Instead of hanging paintings of his family, there are portraits of wildlife creatures that were either said to be myths, or they were known to be so dangerous that no one dared to go into their lands. From the likes of a dark coated Cerberus to the golden maned lion, it seemed as if Hyunjin had a taste for collecting paintings only of menacing beasts.

There were also out-of-place items that piqued your interest, such as the silver lined mirror that radiated a desire for you to take a peek at your reflection, although you ultimately decided not to in favor of keeping a steady pace behind the boy walking ahead. All across the walls were different symbols representing doves: including a painting, a wreath hung above an archway, and a statue depicting a trio of white doves circling a fountain of sorts.

How... strange.

So caught up in your observations of the grand castle, you hadn’t even noticed that the boy had began to lead you up one of the spiral staircases; at least, not until you tripped on one of the ledges, a squeak of surprise escaping your lips as your body begins to fall forward.

But you never hit the stairs. A pair of arms catch you just in time, slowly wrapping around your back to help lift you back up on your own two feet. Breathing a bit heavily from your awkward stumble, you manage to lift your head, quickly (and unexpectedly) met the gentle brown gaze of Hyunjin.

Hands still wrapped around your waist, fingers trailing along the ragged cloths that hung over your body, the boy’s pink lips parted in question. “Are you alright?”

“I - I’m fine, thanks to you.” You breathe out with the most minor of blushes, flustered by the immensely close proximity between your bodies. He smiles awkwardly at your thanking him, his own melanin cheeks showing a hint of red. When another few seconds pass in complete silence, both of you realize the little distance in the space between your bodies, and Hyunjin hastily lets go of your waist while you cough to break the almost perplexing sound of nothing.

Not another word is spoken in the time that he continues to lead you to one of the guest rooms in the castle, the sickly sweet silence deafening compared to the unabashed quietness echoing in the halls. Eventually you reach the end of one of the various hallways, Hyunjin opening the lone door that creaked open with a loud screech.

“Sorry about t-the cobwebs and stains, like I mentioned earlier, I wasn’t really expecting any sort of company.” He apologizes again, scratching the back of his neck while you step forward and take in the atmosphere of the bedroom.

Thankfully there aren’t any paintings of beasts or anything of that nature, since you figured that the haunting images on the canvas would likely gift you with nightmares of being hunted by the wild animals. Nestled in the corner of the room was a bed bigger than you had ever seen - no, ever dreamt of. Pearl white sheets drifting over the sides of the plush mattress, those which were covered mostly by a large, pastel pink blanket. A trio of fluffy white pillows rested against the wooden headboard, just asking for you to plop onto the soft material and roll around in all its greatness - but you held yourself back.

The cobwebs, which mostly dangled around the edges of a tall bookcase, didn’t really bother you all that much; after all, it wasn’t like you weren’t used to spotting them in the corners of your home, no matter how often you would clean the crannies of the tiny hut. “It’s nothing I’m not used to, Hyunjin. Besides, the rest of the room outshines the occasional cobweb - it’s... beautiful.” You echo your thoughts aloud to the quiet boy, fully stepping into the bedroom.

“O-oh, that’s good,” Hyunjin murmurs in relief, sheepishly wringing his cold hands in front of him while he watched you, a beautiful stranger, ogle over the room he considered to be a mess of filth. It hadn’t been occupied in years, unfortunately, having once belonged to - a friend, yes... a friend. “Please, get some rest. You must be exhausted after walking through the forest.”

Gods, did he suspect that you were someone important, trekking through the haunted forest all alone? “Yes, thank... you. I am pretty tired, to be honest.” It wasn’t quite a lie, as your feet did ache from the walk that had originally gotten you lost, though you neglected to mention how you were just a peasant who had stupidly strayed from the simple pebble path. If he was truly a prince as everyone said, he might be so bold as to kick you out should he discover your identity... then again, the raven haired boy has only been kind to you.

Hyunjin nods, but upon realizing your back is turned and you can’t see his actions, he clears his throat and slowly starts to shut the bedroom door, the creaking catching your attention once more. “I will wake you in the morning, my lady. After breakfast I shall escort you back to the opening of the forest.” He informs you, accepting your little nod as response enough before he finally closes the door, leaving you all by your lonesome in the guest bedroom.

You hurriedly kick off your dirty shoes and throw yourself onto the plush double bed, laughs of disbelief pushing past your lips. You couldn’t believe you luck, being (technically) rescued by a prince and offered a room for just a night in his wonderous castle. On top of that, said prince was awfully welcoming and, to an extent, just like any normal boy; not counting the fact that he was extremely handsome.

Ah, no need to dwell on that now, you thought to yourself, tucking your body under the plush pink blanket and white sheets as your head nuzzled into the comfort of one of the stray pillows, sleep poking at your senses, I was just lucky, that’s all.

Just as your eyelids began to flutter shut, you see something move in the reflection of a standing ornate mirror by the bed. Blaming the strange vision on your exhaustion from the events of the day, you shrug it off and huddle closer in the pile of sheets and blankets to block out the sudden chill that swept over the bedroom, falling into a peaceful slumber.

————————————————————————

The next morning, you wake to find that you aren’t in the small, uncomfortable bed that was tucked into the most cramped room of your house. Instead, you come to the quick realization that you are still tucked into the seams of the bed in a guest room that belonged to Hyunjin, the considerate boy who had given you a place of shelter for the night.

You recall him promising to wake you himself, but he is nowhere to be seen. The only trace of him having been inside at all was a stack of clean clothes sat on top of the bedside table, which had previously been empty when you first fell asleep hours ago. Clearly he had meant for you to see the bundle... did he mean for you to wear them?

Sitting up from the bed, you latch onto the clothes and bring them into your lap, carefully inspecting the fine material and sewing that went into the cloth. The top was a cotton, green button-up that closely resembled the shirt Hyunjin had been wearing the night before, adorning the same fancy sort of cuffs and perfect handiwork. The accompanying trousers were made of a foreign, incredibly soft but protective material, dyed a tan color that closely resembled the delicate skin color of your friend, Jisung.

In no time at all you’ve slipped out of your rags for clothes, letting them drop to the floor with no care in the world before you tug the cleaner, nicer cloth onto your body, all the while hoping that you weren’t in need of a bath; to stink up his own clothes would be pretty rude, you thought.

You choose to head out of the bedroom and into the hallway, not daring to explore the depths of the castle without the owner in your presence. Recalling what twists and turns he had made to lead you to said bedroom the night before, you retrace your footsteps until you come to the two spiral staircases. In the center of the balcony, there laid a pedestal - the very one that let the glass dome you spotted before rest on its top. Now, you could make out the familiar shape of a single rose inside the clear dome, the prickly stem green with life and stuck into a mound of... air?

“By the gods...” you can’t help but snort in wonder, taking a tentative step closer to the encased rose, blinking many a time to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. The delicate plant was seemingly floating in midair, the blood red petals still attached to the bud.

Suddenly, a sensation of chills ran up your body, goosebumps trailing your covered arms. You look around the balcony, trying to see if perhaps a window had blown open and let in a cold chill, but you found that they were all shut tightly and covered by the burgundy curtains accented with gold entrails. When you look back to the rose, a single petal had already mysteriously fallen off, going to float in the empty space of the dome.

Shying away from the rose, you shake away the unsettling feeling stirring in your stomach and make your descent down the staircase. A delectable aroma wafts through the bottom of the staircase, tempted your hungry self to follow the scent in search of food; you hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before, leaving you quite desperate for at least a snack.

The fascinating aroma leads you into what you suspect is the kitchen of the castle, stacks of fruits and vegetables tucked inside wooden crates, two stovetops nestled beside one another with lit fires brewing underneath them.

“Good morning,” the boy cooking his concoction greets you warmly, his back muscles moving with any twitch of his arms against the oddly tight gray shirt he donned. His black hair was messy and unkempt, though it only added to his charming, boyish appearance. “I apologize for not waking you earlier, my lady. I’m afraid that a blizzard blew through last night, covering the only path to the opening of the forest. If we try to trudge through the mounds of snow, we will surely get a bad case of frostbite or even hypothermia.” He explains as he cooks.

So that was why you kept experiencing sudden chills - he had to have a stray window open, you just didn't see it. “I don’t wish to die in the midst of a blizzard, so... I suppose I’m stuck here for a little while longer, then?” You hum quietly, not wanting to sound intruding as you point out the obvious. Hyunjin nods to himself at your observation while you make yourself comfortable at the dining table, admiring the chestnut color and plush seats.

“I’m afraid so - not to be rude, but may I know your name? Calling you my lady out of sheer politeness is beginning to sound somewhat redundant.” He questions you as he finishes cooking, placing the food he had made onto two separate plates before he brought them over to the dining table, setting one of them down in front of you. He sauntered over to the empty seat opposite of your own, munching on a slice of bread.

You look down at your own plate, nearly drooling at the uncommon scent of ham, fresh bread, and jam; commodities you weren’t able to enjoy on a daily basis. “No - you’re fine, Hyunjin. My name is Y/N.” You answer him, grabbing a fork and stabbing the ham so you can bring it up to your lips, munching on the meat with a quiet sigh of content.

He smiles to himself at your enjoyment, having grown accustomed to having practically the same meal every day for his own breakfast. “Y/N... such a pretty name,” Hyunjin can’t help but mutter, repeating your name like a mantra inside his damning thoughts. For some reason, putting a name to your face only made his heart race faster and faster in his chest, made his words knot together in his throat as he tried to continue the conversation. “H-how did you come into Cupid’s Forest, anyway, Y/N? Most people tend to avoid it because of the spirits, even if it is daytime.”

“Erm, well-” you hesitate to tell him the truth, engrossed with the elegant meal and the oddly caring aura that radiated from his curious figure. Would he be upset that a commoner had wandered inside his walls, his safe haven? “I was walking home, but I got distracted and sort of... stumbled into the forest... by accident?” The words you say come out more so as a question, as if you were silently praying for him to avoid asking you anything else.

Luck was not on your side, apparently.

“Is your home really so far from the main hub of the town? Why would you take such a long path in the middle of the night? Isn’t it dangerous-?”

“I’m a peasant, Hyunjin… I have no other choice.” You finally burst out to put a halt to his questions, your fingers gripping onto the handle of the fork while your eyelids squeeze shut in sheer embarrassment. Gods, you were wearing his clothes - his expensive, brilliant clothes! And here you were, admitting so clearly that you were but a peasant in his castle - you’d blown it.

“Oh... well... you must find a different path home, then.”

You cracked open an eye in confusion, peeping to see the boy in front of you still casually chewing on his breakfast. “W-what?”

“I don’t want you to accidently wander into the forest again, you might get hurt if I’m not there at the right time.” He insists with a furious blush, letting his unkept black hair dangle just in front of his eyes to hide how nervous he was. “... And, you can keep my clothes that you're wearing.”

The only thing you can utter out is a hushed, “thank you,” your own cheeks mimicking the beat red color that dusted his cheeks.

————————————————————————

The damned blizzard had lasted three days since then, meaning you had been gone from home just shy of a week, and even now the terrible weather showed little signs of letting up. They were not uncommon in such a cold season, of course, as you could recall experiencing shut-ins due to many a blizzard in your time. However, you could not once think back to an instance where the snowy storm had lasted for such a long period of time - that in itself worried you deeply.

Was your father alright, all alone in the hut you called a home? Would he be overworking himself to distract him from the thought of you being gone for so long?

Did Jisung make sure to shut all his windows as the storm hit? Was the blonde, passionate boy safe and eating well? After all, he couldn’t have known that you hadn’t made it home those days ago, not with how dangerous the weather conditions were outside.

What of the soldier who had bought one of your dresses? Would himself and his fellow soldiers bare the harsh, dropping temperatures in measly tents and spare scraps from a local inn? What of his pregnant wife and her younger brother - could the boy properly take care of them all alone?

“You’re thinking again, Y/N,” you’re ripped out of your thoughts by the boy next to you, the sleeves of his knitted, caramel brown sweater pushed all the way up to his elbows as he slaved away at the bottom pane of the giant window he was cleaning. On the third day of your stay in his castle, you finally caved and began to clean his dusty, dirt ridden home, and he had joined you in favor of being a gentleman... and to clean up his home, of course. “What’s on your mind?”

You pondered on how to answer Hyunjin’s question. It wasn’t invasive, no, but you tended to hesitate on the idea of your friends and family back in town; not that you didn’t care or worry for them, you simply didn’t care to dwindle on the idea of leaving the castle when the storm finally lifted. Should you elaborate on your worries aloud... perhaps it would bring that reality closer than you would like.

“I’m thinking about my father and friend, wondering if they’re safe in such a dangerous blizzard.” You admit with a hum, steadying yourself on the step of the ladder as you scrubbed away at the top window pane with a key diligence.

“I... I can’t promise that they will be alright, Y/N, but I wouldn’t worry too much. Worse has happened, surely a blizzard won’t put them in a vast amount of danger.”

“I think Jisung will be okay, but I worry for my father,” you explain with a sigh, unknowingly gripping onto the damp washcloth tighter and tighter the more you pondered the fate of the only family you had left. “He’s probably worried sick about me and is overworking himself since there’s no way he can possibly look for me with this weather. Not to mention w-we didn’t have a lot of food left in the pantry before I left that day - oh dear, he’s all alone!”

For some reason, the panic for your dear father only just begins to truly settle in. He wasn’t as young and healthy as some of the other men in your town, he would struggle to move the logs into the fireplace - oh, what if he couldn’t even start a decent fire? He would surely freeze! What of the food? Knowing him, he would be too busy fretting over your sudden disappearance and working to remember to eat enough to sustain himself-

“Y/N, love... come here.”

You unconsciously listen to the concerned boy stood beside the rickety ladder, reaching over to take his hand and walk yourself down back to the ground. Immediately he wraps his sweaty, toned arms around your waist, effectively pulling you into his warm chest. A wave of warmth floods your senses as he tries to comfort you as best as he possibly can, going as far as to gently press his palm to the back of your head and encourage you to rest into the crook of his neck.

“You have to relax, love,” Hyunjin says truthfully, slowly walking you over to one of the loveseats in the main living area, just outside of the dining room where you’d been cleaning moments ago. He sits back on the red cushions, carefully adjusting your body so you could fit on his lap; the close proximity made his heart do cartwheels like gymnasts in a circus, but he didn’t mind. All he wished for was to help you relax and calm down. “I... I’ll tell you a s-story, if you like. Maybe it can help you calm down.” He offers softly, glancing down and taking your slight nod against his neck as a yes.

“Hmm... once upon a time, there was a royal family from a far, far away land, where the sea was as blue as the skies and the beach stretched out from town to town. They were a happy little family of three, ruling over their promised land in content - until a nasty woman who claimed to be a goddess came down from the skies with a message. She said that their only child was too beautiful, too good for this mortal realm - that he didn’t deserve to be seen as he was by the people of their kingdom. The woman was jealous of the family, especially since they openly defied her very existence and those of her strange family,”

“So, she banished the three of them to a lone castle in a distant land, surrounded by vengeful ghosts and terrifying beasts who could tear them limb from limb if they wanted to. In her mind, she assumed that they would drop to their knees and beg her for her blessing, which in a way meant they would surrender to the very being that they had defied for so long. But she was terribly wrong - they stood by their beliefs, their morals, no matter what she did to them...”

He started to trail off, a lump growing in his throat. When you shifted in his hold, though, he quickly cleared his throat and continued.

“For months they would go into the nearby town and offer refuge to any who needed it, and by the sixth month of their stay at the castle, most of the rooms had been filled with thankful civilians; from nobles to peasants, all were welcome. Then, one night, their son was foolish enough to try and venture out of the castle in the middle of the night. He wandered into the forest all alone, seeking out a spirit - by his logic, he thought that he could help them move on to a better life, but he was wrong,”

“No, a spirit didn’t get ahold of him - a wild wolf did. It nipped at his legs, tearing the muscles from one of them so harshly that he would never be able to walk without a limp. The beast clawed at his face, ripping down a set of scars that wouldn’t heal properly, leaving him to look like a mangled mutt. One of the residents at the castle, a friend he called Seungmin, heard his cries all the way from inside his bedroom. He quickly brought out two other residents and somehow managed to rescue the prince, bringing him back home for his parents to see...”

“They recoiled, immediately swearing that the boy they had brought to them was not their son. They raged, stating vehemently that their son, a prince, was handsome and fit - the very opposite of the mangled boy at their feet. In a state of disbelief, they fled, never to be seen again. The goddess laughed at the prince’s misery at first, but grew furious when his friends insisted that looks didn’t matter, that he was still beautiful on the inside and on the outside. S-so... she cursed everyone living with the prince, turning his only friends into inanimate objects and forcing his body to return to its normal state. She said, that whenever he fell in love and kissed the person of his dreams, he would revert back to his ugly form from the attack - sure to scare away the only other person who could ever love him... the end.”

You whine into the crook of his neck, dissatisfied with the ending of his story. “The prince has to be happy, Hyunjin… I think that his love will stay with him, he sounds lovely, after all.” You insist with a light yawn.

The boy chuckles half-heartedly at your words, using his fingers to soothingly rub your back and encourage you to sleep. He found it amusing how you were so far from the truth, yet so close at the same time - you even knew he was a prince, apparently. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Hyunjin mumbles, eyes glazed over in sadness. “But he isn’t as lovely as you might think, love. He drove his own parents away-”

He pauses mid-sentence when he hears a light snore escape your parted lips, looking down once more with a fond sensation crawling into his heart. Your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, a tiny bit of drool pooling at the corner of your mouth, but he didn’t dare try to move you away from him.

Not when this was as close as he could possibly get to you without ruining everything.

————————————————————————

You weren’t sure how you ended up back in the bed of the guest room, truth be told. The last thing you could fully remember was Hyunjin telling you a story, with you curled up in his lap - oh... and hadn't the story been awfully sad, as well?

Perhaps you could ask him at breakfast. Yes, that is what you would do; had he heard the story from a book, or did he know the prince in the tale himself? It sounded so, so familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

With a huff you slide out of bed, running your fingers through your messy hair as you stand and look to the bedside table, expecting to see another fresh bundle of his clothes for you to wear; but nothing was there, nothing at all. Maybe you had woken up before him, for once.

Not wanting to go out and see Hyunjin in dirty, likely stinky clothes, you hop over to the closet by the window, opening it up and searching its contents for a top and trousers. Soon you come across a plain gray sweater and green trousers - that would do.

Slipping the new clothes on, which were a tad bit smaller than Hyunjin’s, you fix your hair as best as you can, taking a quick, nonchalant peek out the window. Your jaw gaped in shock at what you saw, or rather, lack of what you saw. All the snow had melted, leaving remnants of the blizzard by the traces of white on the leaves of the trees on the prickly grass. The blizzard had come and gone - meaning that you could finally go home... away... from the castle, away from Hyunjin.

Why was it so hard to accept? You knew that you would have to go home at some point, but you had come to enjoy being at the castle... being treated as an equal. You - you enjoyed being with Hyunjin.

Feeling less enthusiastic than before, you trudge out of the guest bedroom, heading straight for the staircase. Unknowingly, you look at the rose in its dome, blinking sadly as you realize that only one petal remained. The others had since wilted off the flower, deemed worthy to only float in the space of the small glass cylinder. It seemed as if both you and the rose had succumbed to an eerie sort of sadness.

You finally find Hyunjin in the library, his nimble fingers slowly tracing the black ink of the novel he was currently engrossed in. His midnight black hair had been combed neatly to reveal the true, soft nature of his head of hair, though instead of the usual cuffed shirt or sweater, he now donned a long sleeved white top and black vest, his dark trousers held up with a belt that was decorated with a single sword nestled in the hilt.

“Good morning, Hyunjin,” you greet the boy in a soft manner as to not startle him, smiling bittersweetly at his cute jump of surprise and the noise that escapes his throat. Turning to face you, he opens his mouth to speak, only to fall silent. His sharp gaze runs up and down your body, a hint of... a scowl, of all things, gracing his features.

“Morning, love,” Hyunjin puffed after a moment of utter silence, sweeping his gaze straight back up to meet your own confused one, “... my clothes are outside your door, I didn’t want to accidently wake you up so early today. Go change.”

“I - excuse me?”

He flushes at his harsh tone, quickly shutting the book in the palms of his hands and pushing it into the bookshelf, back in its original spot. “S-sorry... I um, I just - this is your last d-day here... I would like for you to wear my clothes, I guess.” The soft-spoken boy finally admits with a burst of semi-confidence, catching the both of you by surprise.

“I - would... like to wear them, I guess,” you echo him sheepishly, feeling a wave of heat crash into your cheeks, cursing yourself for blushing so easily in front of the boy. He visibly brightens at your words, straightening his posture to appear less nervous.

“Good - I mean, great! W-we should-” he’s harshly interrupted by a pounding sound from the front door of his castle, causing both of you to freeze in surprise; you, more with confusion, him, more with fear. Hyunjin was no fool, he knew of the rumors surrounding his castle - his life. No one dared to approach his castle on their own good will, he had learned that lesson long ago. “Stay behind me, Y/N.” The prince ushers you behind his figure in haste, one hand holding your hip to keep you safe while the other rested by the hilt of his sword. He knew you would try to follow him if he pushed you into another room, so he figured keeping you behind him would be better than nothing.

Slowly but surely, he walks towards the front door, leading you out of the library and to the tall entryway. Whoever is on the other side is persistent in their knocking, furiously pounding on the dark wood as if their life depended on it. Hyunjin carefully opened the door, breath hitching in his throat at the sight before him.

A crowd of soldiers and townspeople were gathered at the front of his castle, brandishing either torches, rakes, shovels, or in the worst case, swords.

“Y-Y/N! Sweetheart!” A booming voice snaps you out of your wonder - no, it couldn’t be, right? Still, you peek around Hyunjin’s arm, nearly crying out in relief when you see your father. “Get away from my little girl, you foul beast!” He calls out to the boy stood frozen in front of you, waving his lit torch around threateningly.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Hyunjin was no beast, he had saved you, protected you - treated you like a real person. “Father, you must be mistaken,” you answer him in bewilderment, causing a ruffle in the crowd, “Hyunjin - he’s the only reason I’m even alive right now. He saved me from the spirits and gave me shelter in the blizzard.”

The crowd of civilians and soldiers brush off your words with no hesitation, a few of them stepping closer to brandish their weapons at the raven haired boy. His grip loosens on your hip, until his hand falls completely off of your body. “No, he’s right, love. I - I am a monster.” Hyunjin whispers, much to the satisfaction of those throwing insults at him.

“That’s bullshit, Hyunjin,” you curse at him in hurt as he tries to back away and let you go to your waiting father. You can barely make out the sound of your father insisting for you to come to him where it’s ‘safe,’ as well as Jisung calling out your name in pure confusion. Yet, you don't move, choosing to stand your ground in front of the wilting boy. “You are anything but a monster. Why - why would you think anything like that?”

“B-because I am the prince in the story, Y/N!” He shouts in pure, heartbroken fury, lifting his head to meet your concerned gaze, his brown eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. “The real me is ugly and unlovable - fuck, I was so ugly that my own parents ran away, and they died because of it! If I hadn’t been so fucking stupid, I wouldn’t have been attacked! I - I wouldn’t be a monster that scared his own mother and father so much that they would run from the only safety they knew, only to get killed by the other beasts in this damned forest!”

You hear the people behind you shifting, as this had been the first time anyone had confirmed any of the boy’s backstory - and it came from the prince himself. The prince...

“The second I kiss my one true love, they will see what I truly look like! T-they will run away in horror at how fucking disgusting I am - and I can damn well prove it...” Hyunjin breathes heavily, throat sore from his screams of rage, of pain - of loss. Without a second thought, he pushes away any hope he has left in his soul, stepping forward to cup your cheeks in the palms of his warm hands.

The heartbroken boy brings your lips to his own, passionately kissing you with everything he had left - he just knew that the second you opened your eyes, you would run. You had only known him for six full days, there was no possible way you had fallen for him like he had for you - but he knew you were the only person for him. The second you had stepped into his castle, one of the petals from the rose Aphrodite ‘gifted’ him had wilted, revealing that his time as the handsome prince he used to be would be over soon.

And this - this was that time.

When Hyunjin pulls away, you slowly open your eyes and see him. There’s a set of scars running from his hairline all the way down to his bottom lip, the flesh not fully healed from the devastating attack. You glance down, spotting his left leg, once normal, now lame and slightly wobbly. He has to lean against you to hold himself up, but he clearly expects you to push him to the cold, damp ground and flee back to your father’s arms.

You kiss him. You kiss him with all the love you can muster, bringing your fingers to his scarred face and tracing the wounded skin as if you were mapping him out for the first time. In just a measly six days, you had truly fallen for the lonely but sweet prince, loving him for his soft-spoken words and nervous stumbles, his cooking that certainly needed some work, his talent for storytelling - for him.

When you pull away, you smile up at the stunned prince, eyes flickering all across his beautiful face. Scars or no scars, he radiated warmth, and he looked just the same to you.

“H-hey, where did you come from!?” A soldier suddenly calls out in surprise, causing both you and Hyunjin to look towards the entrance of his castle in confusion. His eyes light up when three other boys stumble into the sunlight, all wearing different styles of clothes and donning differently colored hair.

“Woojin, Chan, Seungmin - h-how?” Hyunjin stuttered in utter shock, leaning against your side for support since he couldn’t properly walk towards them.

One of them steps closer, glancing between you and his friend with an amused glint to his gaze. “I guess Aphrodite gave up since your girl didn’t run away - oh, by the way, you’re wearing my clothes, miss.” The brunette boy hums with a cheeky smirk. You blink, glancing up at a flushed Hyunjin in quiet amusement.

So that was why he wanted you to change back into his clothes.

“I - I suppose you’re right, Seungmin,” he breathes out softly, happily squeezing your hip as he turns to face the mumbling crowd. “S-sir, please - I know I’m the farthest example of a man you could ever expect, but... I truly love Y/N.”

You turn in his grip to face your father, who narrows his eyes almost suspiciously at the black haired boy holding onto you. And then, he says, “- welcome to the family, my boy!”

Wait -

Your pudgy father waddles over to you, placing a hand on both you and Hyunjin’s shoulders. “I suppose if anyone can win my daughter’s heart, I must approve. I’m afraid some of these men in town are only after her because she’s so damn pretty. She’s much more than just a pretty face, you know!”

“Trust me, sir, I’m well aware,” Hyunjin laughs quietly, fondly looking at you once more.

“Sorry about the soldiers and shit,” your friend from town speaks up, having finally pushed through the bustling crowd and approached the little group, “we all thought you were like, a murderer or something. Rumors and all, not too kind to you.” Jisung apologizes with a sheepish laugh, all the while shaking Hyunjin’s hand.

At the mention of the awful rumors, a majority of the crowd quietly apologizes as well before dispersing; after all, a mere boy was no real threat to them, not when they learned the truth.

You smile up at Hyunjin, stepping up on your tip-toes to reach his mouth, pressing a faint kiss to the corner of his lips, just above part of his scar. He blushes furiously and does the same to you, resting his forehead against yours, his soft breaths fanning against your lips.

“Thank you, love.”

————————————————————————

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at-this-point-i-dont-even-know · 5 years ago

Text

Fix-It Time-turner fic

Something I am working on, let me know what you think :)

Four hundred and sixteen days.

Four hundred and sixteen days of being stuck in the Malfoy dungeons. Hermione wanted to scream, but her voice had left her seventy days ago. It had given up after one particularly bad torture session and she didn’t miss it.

The sad, pathetic sound of her own screams were grating. She was better than this.

She had been better than this.

Once upon a different time, when the war just a future thought, she had loved the sound of her own voice. Loved how she sounded when she laughed with her friends, loved how she would raise her voice to answer a question or yell at her boys.

But everyone was gone now.

Harry.

Ron.

Neville.

Remus.

They were all gone, dead at the hands of Deatheaters. All dying for her, bodies thrown in front of her own to get her here.

How they would weep to see her now.

She stared at the wall opposite her. Her nails had scratched tally’s of the passing days, or what she thought were days. She had not seen the sun in just as many days.

Does the sun even shine in a Voldemort run world? Does it still glisten off the morning dew, do people raise their faces to enjoy the warmth in brought.

Or was the world plunged into darkness like it always did when the bad guy won in old muggle movies?

I hope the world is in darkness she horribly thought as she tossed a tiny bit of rubble at the wall.

This was not how the world was meant to be, this was not the future she had envisioned.

Harry was meant to win. He had almost won. But the battle of Hogwarts had taken a horrible turn after Harry had leapt from Hagrid's arms.

He had dueled Voldemort, their wands connected as they both aimed to kill. Everyone had all stopped their own fighting, Deatheaters and the Order all standing still as they held in their breathe.

Hermione remembered how Voldemort had smiled as he pushed his magic onto Harry. How the grin had taken over his face for just a second she could almost understand why people followed the horrible man. But then his wand moved, the connection lost as he turned his wand to her.

“Do you love the little Mudblood?” he had sung before a green light had erupted around them. She had froze, waiting for the magic to take her onto the next adventure. To finally have a rest. But nothing came except a scream. Ginny screamed and sobbed next to her as Hermione took in what laid at her feet.

Who laid at her feet.

Harry stared up at her, his green eyes fixated on nothing as his body cooled almost instantly. He was gone.

The battle was lost from that moment. Ginny died clinging to Harry’s lifeless body, her sobs seemed to echo long after she had fallen silent, her body laying protectively over Harry's.

Hermione ran, she had never felt bad about running. She had grabbed Ron's hand and called for a retreat.

The Order were in so much shock they were sitting ducks, so many innocent lives fell as they ran back towards the Castle. Hermione not once letting go of Ron's hand. Curses fell from her lips as she haphazardly threw spells behind her.

How many deatheaters that fell from her wand, she would never know. But as each day passed she wished the number was high.

The weeks passed quickly as the remaining Order ran and hid. They managed to hold Hogwarts for three weeks before the great doors couldn’t hold up against the dark magic. Hermione had stood in the entrance way her wand out and her feet planted firmly on the ground. She had kissed Ron goodbye and sent him running further into the castle.

“You’re mum won’t forgive you if you die.” she whispered before pushing him away, tears falling from each of them as they held their hands together for just a moment longer.

“I love you.” he whispered to her and she shook her head, her long curls falling free from their band.

“We could have had a great life.” she pulled him in for one more kiss, clinging to him for just a moment longer before pushing him off her and turning her back.

“For Harry.” She said to the remaining Order members, all older than her but all whom looked to the young Witch as their unofficial leader.

“FOR HARRY!” they called and then the doors slammed open.

For the second time in her life the green light of death surrounded her.

And for the second time the green light could not touch it.

Ron's body fell into her arms, his warm to touch she couldn’t comprehend what was in front of her and she wanted to scream, so take a moment to hold him tight, but strong arms pulled her from him and Ron Weasleys body fell to the floor with a silent thud.

Remus pulled her away, protecting her as she stumbled over even more bodies of fallen friends.

Her mind was clouded for days after Ron's death, she couldn’t remember how they got out of Hogwarts but after a few days she pulled herself together and awoke to find themselves in the Welsh countryside.

Remus and Neville were the only two with her that she knew, but in makeshift tents and lean to's there was about fifteen witches and wizards all looking just how Hermione felt.

Neville was with her the whole time, his fingers entwined with hers as they both tried to find comfort in the other. But as the welsh weather turned from damp to terensial in just a matter of days and the camp was forced to move on.

They couldn’t go back to London, the owls they had received before the weather turned told them that it had fallen, the Dark mark now hung over the Tower of London and the Muggles were being rounded up in the hundreds.

Hermione had silently sobbed at the thought of all those poor Muggles but she allowed herself a moment of selfishness to be pleased that her own Parents would not be amongst the fallen.

Hermione listened at the adults make decisions to go and hid further into the countryside, or flee to the continent. And she had never felt so much rage as she had in that moment.

“This is still our world! You can’t just run and hide.” She had whispered around the campfire one evening once the rain had given them a small reprieve.

“Listen girlie, you can go fight if you want but it's a suicide mission.” The man to her left spoke, Hermione couldn’t place his name but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was all the nodding heads that echoed his.

“So? Is your life more important than anyone else's? Are you more important than the people being tortured on the streets?” She stood up, Neville grabbing her hand for either support or to stop her, either of them could tell which.

“Did you know Harry Potter died for you? He died for all of you! He laid his life on the line year after year from his first birthday for all of you and you are just going to sit here and what? Wait for it the blow over? You-Know-Who is here and he has control! So we can hide here and let the world go to hell or we can fight?”

She had kept her tone calm, and her own tears at bay as she settled back onto the seat besides Neville. She searched for Remus on the other side of the fire, he nodded his approval, his brow furrowed as he stood.

“Hermione and I will go to London. Two people won’t be as hard to catch than all of us. If you want to help us, go to villages and recruit. The Order of the Phoenix is now open to anyone.”

“I’m coming to.” Neville said, sounded stronger than he ever had. Hermione had accepted his help with open arms.

But now she wished she had told him to stay for three days later Neville Longbottom would be dead.

He had stood in front of Hermione as a werewolf bared down on them near Leicester Square. They had been hiding in an old shop front and Greyback found them in less than two days. He had scratched open Hermione's face, leaving three long gashes over her right side before Neville stood between the two and gave Hermione and Remus time to run away. His screams would haunt her forever. If she made it that far.

The scars never truly healed, it had been two weeks from the full moon so she would not turn, but the scars were still magical in nature so no spell would remove them. Remus had treated them to the best of his ability but she had wept that night for the loss of her friend and for her scarred face. It had seemed to be such a childish thing to weep for but she couldn’t bring herself to look in a mirror. She didn’t think she would recognise herself.

She and Remus stayed in London, spending their time rescuing any muggle they could find, Apparating them out of the city and into safe pockets of Wales and Scotland where the Order was slowly rebuilding. Neither Hermione or Remus stayed with the Order for long. Remus had refused to even go back to Scotland where his Mother-in-law waited after the news Tonk didn’t survive the Battle of Hogwarts. He couldn’t bring himself to look his son in the eye after he had failed.

They both confessed their fears of failure after they had found a long forgotten bottle of vodka in an apartment they had stayed one night in. The Deatheaters had been through days before so it was as safe as possible.

Rems confessed his failures as a friend, as a husband and as a father. The heavy weight that sat on his shoulders mirrored Hermiones, as she spilled the secret of wiping her parents memory, of failing Harry and failing Ron by not being able to love him so much sooner. Of not having any time to be a teenager.

They had fallen asleep that night holding each other, as Remus sobbed quietly.

It was two months later when their run luck out, Hermione had been on look out as Remus checked on old cellar that was rumoured to be housing Muggle Born kids and their parents.

Remus was halfway down the stairs when the first curse hit him.

“HERMIONE!” he screamed before trying to run back up the stairs as she reached for him.

She looked over his shoulder to see a swarm of Deatheaters in the cellar. Their masks were long gone now, there was no need to hide your face when you control the power. She knew some of them, Crabbe and Goyle stood out amongst the older faces.

Remus pulled Hermione behind him and for the third time someone who loved her died protecting her.

Hermione stood alone on the stairs, her wand outstretched as she fruitlessly trying to fight them off. Curses hit her but she remained standing, her left side numb from a stunner but she kept her ground.

“We want her alive.” came a boring drawl from above. She turned slowly and took in the back lit figure of Draco Malfoy.

“But-” Crabbe tried to interject but Malfoy sent a lazy silencing curse his way and the goon learnt his place.

He walked down and grabbed her and pulled her close.

“I’ll get us out of this.” he hissed into her ear before pulling her hair back and stared at the scars. Hermione stayed silent, her mind buzzing from his confession and from the pain of her hair being pulled.

“God you’re ugly.” he muttered before shouting ordered for her to be brought to Malfoy Manor.

“Untouched.” he warned before apparating on the spot.

That had been Four hundred and sixteen days ago.

Malfoy had kept his promise, other than a torture session every other day she was still alive. No deatheaters snuck in to find her in the dark of night and only Malfoy visited her.

But he came for nothing but silent companionship.

He was stuck there as much as she was and from the screams she heard at night, he was being tortured just like her.

She leant back against the wall and closed her eyes, tears were a thing of the past for her but she still felt the undeniable pain of loss as she tried to recall the last time she had been even remotely happy.

“Get up.” Draco seemed to magically appear before her. As a Malfoy he would apparate inside the manor so it shouldn’t have been a surprise but Hermione still jumped. She glared him down but he just smiled back.

“You’re getting out today.” the stupid git was still smiling as he pulled a small necklace from his pocket. She was drawn to the gold piece as it swung from side to side in front of her. Her scarred hands, caked with old blood and grim she couldn’t even register they were her own.

But as she brought it closer for inspection it dawned on her.

It was a time turner.

She looked from it back to the Slytherin who was still smiling like a lunatic.

She cocked her head to the side and parted her lips to argue but the sound was barely anything as her throat was torn from screams and misuse.

“A time turner?”

“Yes, its You-Know-who's back up plan. It can go back 18 years.”

She stared him down and waved her hand for him to continue.

“Contingency Granger! If he failed at Hogwarts he would go back 18 years and try and kill Potter as a baby again! Now I have it, so you can go back and kill him then.”

Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing at all. If couldn’t be happening, magic like that couldn’t work.

“Dark magic?” she croaked out, fear filling her stomach.

“Yes.” at least Malfoy had the good idea of looking uncomfortable about the fact. “But you are still going to use it. I can break the wards for a minute, apparate to Hogsmead and then turn it.” he pulled from his robes her wand.

Hermione was beyond tears but the weight of it in her hand as she snatched it up almost brought them on.

“I can’t.” she shook her head, “I fail everyone-you go?”

Draco shook his head and pushed the time turner into her hand.

“Granger, can I be selfish? I want to grow up in a world where I’m not a death eater, where the only thing I care about is quidditch and boys.” He pulled another thing from his pocket.

Her pink bag.

“This is amazing magic, you really were the brightest in our class. I added a few things for you, a list of all his followers from the first war.”

“Your father?”

“Is on the list- I would rather be without a father then grow up with him. Just-” his voice broke and he looked away tears falling freely, “just don’t let me be a twat. Make sure I know whose side to be on.”

Hermiones heart broke again and she pulled him into a hug, her arms weak from disuse but she still held him close.

“Okay.” she whispered into his ear.

He smiled broadly and pulled her to her feet, she swayed a little but with the comforting arm of Draco, once her enemy and now maybe her only friend, she stayed on her feet.

“You will have two months.” he flicked his own wand and she felt the magic of the wards that surround Malfoy manor break around her.

“Go!”

She took one last look at the man before her, so much like his father yet so different. His blonde hair hung to his collar, tied back with leather he could have been his father's spitting image, but it was the determined look on his face that showed him as his own man.

“You would have made a wonderful gryffindor.” she smiled before turning on the spot.

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

The use of magic after so many months made her fall to the ground as she landed uncomfortable in the centre of Hogsmeade.

The once quaint town was in ruins, the Three Broomsticks and Honeyduke were just smouldering rubble now. She blinked away the spots that formed as the sunshine shone down on her face.

So the sun does shine on a Voldemort run world.

Hermione didn’t even bother climbing to her feet as she pulled the time turner around her neck. Eighteen turns and she will be back in time.

Her fingers hesitated for a moment, was she doing the right thing?

Changing time was a lifetime sentence in Azkaban if she was ever caught.

But her own word came back to haunt her.

So? Is your life more important than anyone else's? Are you more important than the people being tortured on the streets?

“For Harry.” she whispered before twisting the dials.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

…...

#hermione granger #draco malfoy #fix it fic #time turner #harry potter #hp ff #fanfiction #hermione timeturner #hermione granger is a badass #work in progress #hermione granger x sirius black #hpff #wip #jk rowling #everyone dies #everyone lives

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eorzean-partners · 6 years ago

Photo

This is a story of Souji’s past, and after the story are some photos of him before the calamity, when he was simply a clerk and scholar. Here is the post about the present Rising.

“Voidsent have breached the city gates! Fall back, fall back! Take shelter where you can, move further into the city!”

The commanding shouts of the Flame soldiers - calm voices barely hiding their strain and fear - could barely be heard over the panic of the populace as civilians raced through the streets paying no attention to who or what passed. In the distance, under a sky bathed in the red glow of Dalamud, the false moon, Souji could just hear the leathery flapping of ahriman wings, the screeching of gargoyles and imps - all creatures he’d read about, but had never faced, never thought about facing. It was enough to make anyone thinking too hard about it go mad.

He wasn’t thinking about it, however. The only thing on his mind right now was finding his family, who he prayed were somewhere in this crowd. Although they weren’t from the city, Souji had managed to convince his father, Ryotaro, and his sister Nanako to come live with him once the Imperial army started encroaching on Thanalan; it was safer than being in the countryside in the path of an army that filled its ranks and coffers by killing and conscripting.

Or so he’d thought. Even though he knew that they would have been no safer with the Imperials than they were now, it was hard not to feel like he’d brought them into danger, rather than out of it.

As the miqo’te ran past one of the gates, he saw the massive wooden doors shudder; people passing behind it barely had a chance to clear the area before the screech of rending metal and the groans of shattering wood filled the air and the large panels collapsed inwards, crashing to the ground. Through the dust that filled the now-gaping portal, he could just see otherworldly shadows and shapes he didn’t want to even try to place; he was just turning to flee with the others, however, when he noticed that for every ten that fled, there was one who stayed, holding a blade or a staff and advancing towards the danger, rather than away from it.

For a moment, he half-remembered his classes in Sharlayan, the magical theory and defense classes that he’d sat through because they were interesting, not because he’d ever thought to use them. He thought of the deck of cards in his room, sitting on his desk, and of the whispered rumours that the those brilliantly-patterned squares could do more than simply illuminate the future.

Right now, however, he didn’t have the time. He shook the thoughts from his head just in time to see a figure fall to the side, blood streaming from a leg that couldn’t work under such a wound, and he stopped running. He might not be a hero, but healing magic was something he knew a little about. Dodging the crowd, he dropped to his knees beside the injured person, an elderly hyur. He could do little more than stop the bleeding, but that was enough to at least help them to their feet; ignoring the man’s protests, Souji helped him through the crowds, towards the makeshift medical area set up at the headquarters of the Immortal Flames.

He was just helping the hyur onto a bed when he heard a young female voice shout, “Big bro! Big bro!” His head snapping up, Souji didn’t even wait for thanks; dashing toward the voice he was met halfway by a young miqo’te girl of no more than ten or eleven who wrapped her arms firmly around his waist.

“Nanako.” Souji’s voice was choked, and he didn’t care that tears were rolling down his cheeks. “Nanako, you’re safe. What about dad-?” It was a scary question, but he was relieved when she nodded, turning to point. As she did, he looked up to see his father pushing through the throngs of people; he was with them within moments, hugging both Souji and Nanako, and for the first time that day, Souji found himself relaxing, just a bit.

As he did, he thought back to those people who had stayed behind at the gates. Tightening his arms around his sister, he closed his eyes, and his next half-whispered words were both a prayer for the present and a resolution for the future.

#ffxiv #ffxiv screenshots #souyo #ffxiv glamour #ffxiv the rising #the rising #souji hanamura

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weareinquisitor · 6 years ago

Text

A Wolf in Hound’s Clothing

Fighting Not for the Flock but for Vengeance

A final addition to the Iconic Inquisitor roster.

Name: Inquisitor Mikkel Groennlie Age/Gen/Race/AL: 72, Male, werewaheela Human, Lawful Neutral Height/Weight: 6′5″ 272 lbs Class and Level: Slayer, Alchemist, Inquisitor (Sanctified Slayer) Long, long History under the Break (He’s 72, give me a break) I wrote a novel and we’re all the worse for it

Art by Sergey Kolesov, Art below the cut by Mike “Daarken” Lim

Mikkel Groennlie was born in the Norhern outpost of Groennlie, in the frozen wastes that only the hardiest men and women inhabited, mer being poorly adapted to such frozen wastes and dwarves turned away by the lack of precious gems and hardy metals. In this hellish wasteland, warlords and bloodthirsty warriors made their home, sustaining themselves by raiding south down rivers in longships, kept safe by Ser Winter and Mistress Mud.

Their land was the last bastion of an ancient curse, one long ago purged from the world by the High Church, but one that remained in the Northern Wastes simply because the outlaws could survive and thrive due to their condition and they did not present a threat to the faithful, only to bandits and other outlaws. The Northern Wastes were the land of the werebeast.

Born the third son of an ambitious warlord, Thorbjorn Groennlie, Mikkel was unfortunately a very frail child. He was, however, incredibly sharp and cunning, gifted with incredible wisdom and intelligence. In truth, it seemed like his body was solely for the purpose of housing his great intellect and for little else. Only his father saw the value in this child, everyone else derided him for his absolute lack of martial prowess. Not even being the chieftain’s son shielded him from the abuse.

His father would bring him every book, map, history, and treatise he could find, and Mikkel eagerly learned it all. He became fluent in the languages of the south, knowledgeable in their geography, and aware of their social and political intricacies. Many techniques used against werebeasts in the Great Purge were adopted by the defenders.

Mikkel’s 16th birthday coincided with a full moon, and it soon turned into the worst night of his life. The largest, fiercest werewolf that had ever been encountered somehow slipped past the defenses, and went on a murderous spree that only ended when the chieftain’s sons and daughters lured it into a keep and collapsed it upon themselves and the beast. Come morning, the warriors tore the rubble apart searching for the bodies, only to find a stunned Mikkel surrounded by the mauled corpses of his brothers and sisters.

He was indicted with the crime, and he would have died come morning had he not pieced together the clues and information he had, and come to the conclusion based off of the Southerners’ writings on the curse that his father must be cursed with lycanthropy as well, and he was not a werewolf, but a skinshifter who had undergone his first, frenzied transformation. Armed with this knowledge and the superhuman body his curse, no, blessing had granted him, he strode with confidence to the executioner’s block, only to burst into his wolf form in broad daylight, stunning guard and warrior alike and allowing him to escape.

From there, he made his way South, and in his frenzied, distraught state he would join a band of marauding bandits. For a season, he burned, pillaged, and raped his way up and down the continent under the name of Helmut. Helmut was a wild man, considering the only sin in life to deny oneself, and as such freely indulged in any desire he had, no matter the cost or harm done to others. This very attitude would write the next chapter of his life as one drenched in sin and with no redeeming qualities.

Now known simply as Helmut the Tall, he would join a band of pirates, eventually finding his way into the legendary crew of Siegmund the Black. He would come to be called Siegmund’s Salty Dog by a noble, and at first detested the name. Come a few months, Siegmund decided he desired a castle, and they stormed this very nobleman’s seaside castle. Helmut personally broke the defenses, and proceeded to beat down the noble and walk him on a leash in front of all of his men and family.

It seemed like the golden age of Helmut and Siegmund’s lives, but this very pinnacle was also the day the seed of their rift was planted. For the nobleman’s daughter, Eloise, was by far the most beautiful girl either man had ever seen. Had they been ordinary bandits, they would have simply slaked their thirst on her then and there, but hers was a beauty so refined and graceful they wanted to drink long and at their leisure from its overflowing pools. As such, both men reigned in their wilder sides, and they set about to courting the poor girl.

Helmut, drawing from his past life as Mikkel, would make progress by leaps and bounds, as he recited to her poems and discussed philosophy with Eloise at length. Siegmund grew jealous of Helmut’s progress and distraught over his closest friend’s sudden and drastic change. He decided if he couldn’t have Eloise forever, he could at least have her once, and forced himself on her. Helmut’s anger was unparalleled the moment he found out, but Eloise asked him not to avenge her and instead to simply escape with her.

Helmut reigned in his fury in, and taking a rowboat attempted to make it into the countryside with her. Siegmund knew Helmut well, however, and how he thought, and as such eventually caught up with his old friend. Distraught over the fact Eloise had stolen the Helmut he once knew, once they caught up he had Eloise killed on the spot. Helmut’s grief overflew, and for days he ate and drank nothing. Siegmund attempted to talk to his friend at first, and then resorted to shouting, which soon turned into beatings.

In truth, Helmut died alongside Eloise that day, and now Mikkel was once more rising up within Helmut, Helmut’s battered and broken iron being melted down and reforged by the fires of fury within the furnace of grief. The next port they stopped at, Mikkel, left barely guarded in his comatose state, slaughtered his way out of the ship while most of the crew was drinking and left. For the second time in his life, Siegmund felt fear at the thought of Mikkel out there hunting him.

Leading a band of the King’s Enforcers, Mikkel hunted down Siegmund much in the same way Siegmund had hunted him: simply knowing the man and his habits. When they finally caught up, the battle was nothing but pure sound and fury. And yet among the chaos of it all, the heaviest blow that fate dealt was accompanied with two words, spoken calmly: “For Eloise.” Siegmund was dead, and Mikkel felt content to enlist under the King’s Enforcers as Matheas, once more donning a false name and becoming the mask to run from his past.

But his time with the King’s Enforcers quickly turned into an extension of his time as a pirate, and Matheas found himself surrounded by more murderers, thieves, and rapists. The only difference between the King’s Enforcers and Siegmund’s pirates was that with Siegmund, Matheas had had a friend, but now, under the King’s Enforcers, he only had taskmasters. Mikkel’s stint as Matheas was short-lived, and Mikkel waited patiently until they stopped in a cove. And there, he once again allowed himself to run wild, slaughtering the entire crew and mangling the corpses to cover the fact his body was missing.

Mikkel wandered the countryside aimlessly, hunting in wolf form when he was hungry, doing odd jobs to earn money. Burdened with rage, he became a smith and took out his fury on hot metal. He grew masterful at his trade, but found no satisfaction there. He would eventually resolve to die, no longer being able to come to terms with all the damage he had done. He decided to die with purpose, however, and would slowly make his way North, finding more of his kind and hunting them down.

In these borderlands with the Northern Wastes, he would simply live from day to day, anxiously awaiting the nights of the full moon. On these nights, he had difficulties finding other werebeasts, as his own form was so powerful others would flee out of fear and respect. What he did find one night was an ancient temple, worn by time and full of pools of water left unattended. In this sanctuary, he would encounter the dying deity Selene, sustained solely by her connection to one of Renova’s two moons.

For a time, he meditated under her watch, and she taught him the truths of his curse and the natures of its origin, explaining it as a curse placed on an ancient king for his refusal to bed Selene’s twin sister, Hecate. Since then, its plaguelike nature caused it to spread like wildfire, only to be contained periodically by Selene’s disciples or by the High Church when infestations got bad enough. Seeing an opportunity to amend his old ways, Siegmund’s Dog became Selene’s Wolf and left to begin his hunt.

For another time, he lived only off the land, hunting anonymously and seeking no renown. Maintaining communication by seances, Mikkel would be directed to the Old Woods, where he hunted Hecate’s witches’ covens. Between this and the hunting of Hecate’s great beasts, Selene was sending her sister a clear message: she had a grip in this world once more, and she was coming for her.

But Hecate was cunning and devious, and sent her own champion, a wyf-fox by the name of Blathnaid to poison and murder Mikkel. But Mikkel’s curse was not that of a werewolf, but of a werewaheela, and as such fully stomached the dose that Blathnaid gave him. His curse gave him an inordinately long life as well, and Mikkel was nearing the age of fifty at this time. His face was that of a younger man, but his eyes were grey and piercing and those of an old soul, and Blathnaid soon found herself falling for the tired huntsman.

Hecate succeeded in sequestering Selene’s champion in the end, as Mikkel found himself falling in love with Blathnaid as well, and neglected his duties, ignoring the call in order to spend time with her instead. She taught him herblore extensively, and the two were happy for three years and a day. But on that day, the townsfolk discovered Blathnaid’s wyf-fox nature, and she was burned at the stake while Mikkel was gone hunting for a week.

Losing himself to grief once more, Mikkel proceeded to hunt down werebeasts ruthlessly, and for a time he hunted and hunted and hunted. He tracked the beasts down, chased rumors, learned to discern the truth from the rumors, and began to map the incidents. It was in this way that he discovered a pattern, and a pattern soon became a trail. The trail would finally become a hunt as Mikkel sighted it: some unnatural monstrosity, part wolf, part boar, more than twice the size of a bear, but gifted with the speed and cunning of a fox.

It was the sum of all his enemy’s strengths and none of their weaknesses, and Mikkel wished he had never encountered it at first. This hesitation cost him their first encounter, and for months Mikkel would track it. But the breakouts it left in its trail would slow him down, and months turned to years soon enough. Mikkel would have many adventures during this time, coming to hone his skills relentlessly against dozens of the werebeasts in his preparation for the ultimate foe.

As Mikkel neared his sixth decade, Selene and Hecate would both come to pass into obscurity, but while Hecate’s disciples mourned her passing and erected shrines in her memory in hidden corners of the wilderness, monuments that would testify to her for generations, Mikkel instead enlisted the help of a powerful cleric, and imbued a longsword with Selene’s essence, preserving his deity as his main weapon and turning her into his lifelong companion.

He traveled the world, hot on the beasts heels, constantly resolving the problems it caused. He caught sight of it multiple times, and on more than one occasion he wounded it gravely, only to have it flee and simply walk the wound off, for such was its size and constitution. Whether it was bent on never fighting him conclusively or it was constantly searching for the perfect battlefield, Mikkel never knew.

But as the weeks turned to months and the months turned to years, Mikkel fears more and more that the answer is the latter, for Mikkel recently entered his seventh decade, and his age is finally catching up to him....

#inquisitor #iconic inquisitor #mikkel groennlie #tw rape

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buckmink · 7 years ago

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Night Flight

In which Garnet goes for a walk and runs into somebody unexpected.

Garnet emerged from her temple room, careful to step quietly so as not to awaken Steven, whose light snores sounded throughout the house. She couldn’t help but take a moment to stop and smile fondly at him sleeping so peacefully. Lion, who lay atop Steven’s bed next to him, half-opened one eye in a lazed gaze and gave Garnet a small grunt of acknowledgement before rolling over and dozing off again.

With that, Garnet set off outside, gingerly closing the door behind her. Leaning on the balcony facing the ocean, she closed her eyes and took in the cool, salty breeze. It was incredibly refreshing. Upon opening her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of the full moon; its pale yellow glow illuminating the dark indigo sky and the deep blue tide. Against this backdrop, Garnet stepped onto the beach ready to begin a needed night walk to clear her head.

Focusing on the feeling of the sand on her feet and the sounds of the crashing waves against the shore, Garnet headed towards the water. She held her arms out and raised her head unwavering, allowing the sea water to cascade down upon her several times. She stepped back after several minutes, shaking herself dry and regaining composure. Letting the waves descend upon her and wash any physical tension that built up in her body was incredibly cathartic. Therapeutic though it is for her, this particular ritual is one which she did not care to explain to anyone, not even Pearl, Amethyst or Steven. Not that she was ashamed of this particular ritual, it was simply easier for her not to have to explain it to anyone.

Stepping away from the surf, Garnet headed toward the northwest side of the coast around the temple. Treading the sands with a relaxed gait, she casually scanned the beach until she spotted a glowing green fleck in the sand. She crouched down to pick it up and upon inspection it was a piece of the Gem ship that crashed down nearly 2 years ago. She frowned. She thought they had combed the beach free of the debris but it was an inevitability that trace amounts would remain serving as a reminder of the looming threat of Homeworld.

Whoosh!

A sudden gust of wind rushed in behind Garnet nearly sweeping her off her feet and scattering the sand forward in a huge flurry. Looking in every which direction, a bemused and shaken Garnet attempted to discover the source of it. Whatever it was, it was not from the usual atmospheric changes as the skies were calm and the breeze was light. Garnet made sure to pay better attention to her future vision. On nights like these when she went on her walks, she made more of an effort to ignore her future vision in order to relax. However, with a potential threat on the horizon she could not afford to do so this time.

She continued her walk away from the temple keeping her guard up until she came upon some caves carved into the cliffs over time by the wind and the water. She entered one of the caves. Moonlight dappled through the cavern roof openings both big and small illuminating the puddles of water within. In order to get a better look around to ensure she was alone, Garnet lit up the room with the gems on her palms and with a keen eye spotted a shadow of a figure flee into the darkness.

Garnet smirked. Using her power, she could determine that whoever was hiding was no threat to her at the present time, so she picked a dry elevated surface at the mouth of the cave to sit down and chill. Business as usual, though the constant shuffling from the unexpected presence was really ruining the vibe.

"I know you’re there Lapis Lazuli. It’s alright, you can come out,“ Garnet said calmly.

A blue Gem in a dress and a crop top crept out of the darkness slowly approaching Garnet. She let her gaze roam from Garnet who was looking straight ahead to the cave entrance. Her movements betrayed her indecisiveness at wanting to either escape confrontation or stick it out. She chose the latter and settled down next to Garnet.

She greeted her with a simultaneously wary and deadpan “Hey."

"You could have just flown away you know. And yet… you chose to stay and sit here with me.” Garnet remarked, staring into the distance.

Lapis hugged her legs close to her chest. “Yeah, well don’t think it’s because I wanna be all ‘buddy buddy’ with you or anything. I just figured if I didn’t, you’d question me about this later. Might as well get it over with I guess.”

Garnet raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Heh, the Lapis I’m familiar with would try to avoid this exact situation.”

"Ha! You’re one to talk Ms. I-can’t-let-anyone-see-my-weaknesses-so-I-use-isolating-coping-mechanisms-to-deal-with-my-stress. At least, I’m taking baby steps,” Lapis snapped wryly.

She continued speaking after a short bout of silence, cocking her head towards Garnet. "Bet you’re wondering how I know all this right? Well, being trapped in a mirror, you get to see and hear everything within earshot and viewing distance of those using you whether you want to know about it or not."

At this, Garnet stared down shifting uncomfortably but turned her head back towards Lapis as she continued. "Let’s just say that in between your numerous sessions of using me to admire yourself, I’ve heard you say things about expressing doubt about your capabilities of being a leader and living up to uh… her… uh Rose Quartz’s legacy as one too.”

"Ah, I see.“ remarked Garnet.

"Heh,” Lapis bitterly chuckled. “Do you? Do you see?! You and the others used me without a second thought and that’s all you have to say to is ‘I see?!’”

"I-I’m sorry…” Garnet said, remorse echoing in her voice.

Lapis turned her head towards her, making an effort to look at her. “Hmph. Better late than never I guess. Well, uh I’m sorry too.” She gestured twirling her hands vaguely. “Y'know, about everything that I did to you guys like stealing the ocean and losing control with the whole Malachite situation and stuff.”

Her chest heaved as she sighed deeply. “And everything else I’ve done too. Jasper… Peridot… you all… I’ve hurt a lot of people. I don’t expect forgiveness, but it feels good to actually get the chance to really apologize to someone I’ve hurt. I-I’m sorry I snapped at you like that. It’s just… you know still hard… living with those memories and not having them be acknowledged by those who hurt you. It just felt dismissive, y'know?”

Garnet reached out her hand to put a reassuring hand on Lapis’ shoulder reflexively, but pulled away when she thought better of it considering the still delicate state of their relationship. Things were finally going in a positive direction and she didn’t want to ruin it, so she decided to proceed carefully with her words. She removed her shades revealing soulful, apologetic eyes, looking at Lapis as she spoke.

"I understand. I-I’m glad that I’m getting the chance to apologize to you too. You know… even as a Fusion formed from two very different types of Gems, I, as well as Ruby and Sapphire, still have internalized a lot of Homeworld’s toxic societal influences. To deny someone their autonomy and put them in an object and use them without a second thought… Even though I didn’t put you in the mirror, I-I’m deeply ashamed that I was complicit in using you like that. I emphasize consent when it comes to fusion, but when it came to your situation I…“

Her eyes welled with tears, but she quickly brushed them away. "I… didn’t give it a second thought, but… I should have."

She gave a heavy sigh. "We all have things to unlearn and we all have to take responsibility for the things we’ve done that have hurt others. I’m glad that you’re starting to do that and I hope I can continue to do the same. Again, I’m sorry."

A somber silence followed as Lapis and Garnet both stared at each other, the only sounds in the cavern being water droplets falling from the stalactites into the shallow pools and the roar of the waves echoing on the inside. Lapis was the one to break the tension. She stood up and took a few steps towards the cave entrance and turned around to face her, rubbing her shoulder bashfully.

"Hey, uh thanks… for keepin it real with me. I’m gonna leave now but I was thinking that, you know since I kinda barged in on your destress sesh and all that I could make it up to you by taking you on a night flight with me. That’s how I destress. Maybe you might like it too."

Garnet was taken aback. "I’m appreciative of the offer, but I’m very surprised you want to do this considering everything."

"Truthfully, I don’t really know what’s come over me right now either. I just wanna try to move forward now that we’ve actually talked about it and this is my way of doing it,” Lapis shrugged.

"Well… alright. I’ll take you up on it!”

Lapis approached Garnet and scooped her up now cradling her in her arms. It felt a bit strange for Lapis at first all things considered but she was determined to see this through.

"Alright keep your arms and legs inward while in the air. We’re about to take off,“ ordered Lapis as she materialized her wings and prepared for takeoff.

With a massive beat of both wings, Lapis and Garnet shot up into the air above the beach and set off disappearing into the clouds. Garnet didn’t know where Lapis was taking her but she didn’t care to ask. She just wanted to enjoy the ride. Also, she never asked questions. Ever. It was just her way.

The scenery below changed gradually as they flew further from temple and Beach City. Sandy beach transitioned to lush forest which in turn transitioned to green countryside. Though she was enjoying herself immensely and wanted to continue further, Garnet knew that she needed to return before dawn and so told Lapis who turned around back towards the temple.

Garnet felt Lapis shift her arms a few times adjusting her position in her arms. It was evident that she was getting tired.

"Don’t drop me now!” Garnet remarked playfully.

A small smirk crept across Lapis’ face and a few seconds later Garnet found herself in the water.

"Woops!“

She disappeared beneath the depths for a few moments and reemerged finding the blue gem playfully flying circles around her with a shiteating grin on her face. Garnet simply shook her head at her.

Lapis stopped in front of her and shrugged tauntingly. "What? You said not to drop you 'now’ so I dropped you a few seconds later!"

"Having future vision, I really should have seen that coming. Good thing I’m a really good swimmer,” Garnet commented dryly, turning her face to one side in an effort to hide a grin.

"Heh, sorry had to take the opportunity to have a bit of fun with you!“ Lapis said crossing her arms casually.

"Eh, it was pretty funny. You have a good sense of humor Lapis!"

"Pssh!” Lapis scoffed trying to hide a blush.

"Heh,“ Garnet chuckled.

Lapis scooped Garnet up from the water and they continued their flight in silence. When they reached the beach, Lapis dropped off Garnet in front of the sea cave from where they had taken off.

"I’m glad we ran into each other tonight Lapis,” Garnet smiled.

"Yeah, same,“ Lapis replied, sheepishly rubbing the back of her head.

"You know…” she continued after a pause. “If we ever run into each other like this again, I could take you flying around again or whatever.”

Garnet smiled at her. “I’d like that.“

A long pause followed thereafter until Lapis broke it once again with an unintentionally abrupt:

"Well, uh goodnight!” And flew away into the night.

"Goodnight Lapis!“ Garnet shouted after her waving goodbye. Lapis looked over her shoulder and waved back.

From that night thereafter, they both made arrangements to meet each other every so often to have conversations that they felt they couldn’t have with anyone else. There were other times when there would be a comfortable silence between them, both enjoying whatever the night had to offer wherever they decided to go or stay.

EDIT (8/21/18): Fixed some awkward wording.

#steven universe #su garnet #su lapis lazuli #lapinet #su fanfic #my writing

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beyondmistland · 7 years ago

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Westerosi Worldbuilding Wednesday: Hidden History of the North: Lost Lore (Part II)

 Letter #7: The mountain clans were the first to bend the knee to Winterfell. In exchange they were promised protection from their enemies, chief among them House Blackwood and the Ironborn.

 Letter #8: The bloody war between House Stark and the sorcerous King of the Ravenwood lasted nearly two generations before Winterfell finally emerged victorious.

 Letter #9: Moat Cailin was built through the combined efforts of the Marsh King, the Red King, and the King of Winter after an army led by Andahar I got past the Neck.

 Letter #10: The most infamous King of Winter prior to the War Across the Water was undoubtedly Cregan the Lout, a monstrous giant of a man said to become an equally monstrous wolf whenever there was a full moon. (Many Maesters believe his black reputation has more to do with the fact that people at court frequently disappeared during his reign rather than anything supernatural.)

 Letter #11: When House Glover rose in rebellion and then refused the unusually generous terms offered by Gaven the Proud, they were reduced to the rank of master as punishment for their crimes against the crown.

 Letter #12: The nadir of Stark power came during what smallfolk call the Bad Times and Maesters the Twenty Years' Trial.

 Letter #13: This dark period began with Eddard the Fool. A vain and frivolous man, he surrounded himself with fools and lickspittles who encouraged him to make war upon the Red King, already then known as Royce (I) the Ruin. Unwisely, he heeded their advice. Marching out the gates of Winterfell with an army composed entirely of Stark levies King Eddard linked up with Jon Umber, King of the Last Hearth, at Long Lake before entering the Lonely Hills. Alas for the King of Winter, his campaign ended much quicker than expected for the Red King had long been anticipating conflict and to that end had made preparations accordingly. Thus, the Three Kings' War came to an end less than two years after it began at the Battle in the Lonely Hills, where Royce I ambushed the Stark-Umber host after spending months killing their outriders and foragers, starving them of food and water, and leading them into traps.

 Letter #14: Amongst the slain were both the King of Winter and the King of the Last Hearth. King Eddard's son and heir, Elric (the Alchemist), was captured defending his father's corpse from a dozen enemies. Rather than have him flayed however, the Red King granted Elric his freedom in exchange for the promise that the elder of his twin sons, Ellard, would wed the Dreadfort Princess, Mariah. A year later Elric died of a sudden illness (though many to this day suspect that it was, in truth, poison by one of the Red King's agents).

 Letter #15: Upon donning the Crown of Swords, Ellard shocked his court by revealing that he had wed (and impregnated) the Lady Robyn Ryswell. When word reached the Dreadfort Royce I's response was swift and certain: If the King of Winter did not set aside the Pale Mare in favor of his daughter there would be war. Ellard responded by sending back the messenger short a tongue so that the Red King could see how he dealt with "empty threats". Thus, began the Cruel Wooing, which lasted little over a year before coming to an end at the treacherous Battle of the Whetstone, where King Ellard's host was attacked from three sides and driven into the river.

 Letter #16: The King of Winter survived the carnage, albeit at the cost of all his blood-brothers. (Though an informal brotherhood, Maesters have taken to calling these royal companions the Wolfguard.) With the Red King hot on his heels, Ellard rode hard for Winterfell, where he procured a fresh horse before riding out the Hunter's Gate with a wet nurse and his newborn daughter in tow. (Queen Robyn had died in the birthing bed after a grueling, three-day labor.)

 Letter #17: His younger twin brother, Brandon (the Bad), was thus left with the choice of whether or not to surrender Winterfell without a fight. Upon seeing the size of the army coming over the horizon, the prince made up his mind, striking the banners. What then followed was less pleasant than expected.

 Letter #18: Royce I declared Brandon the rightful Lord of Winterfell and wed his daughter to the prince, who was powerless to stop the Red King from occupying the Wolfswood after placing a bounty on the elder Stark brother's head in what came to be known as the Wolf Hunt. (Brandon died a year later after falling off his horse though many to this day suspect his death was, in truth, unnatural given that it occurred mere days after the birth of his only son and child, Rickon.)

 Letter #19: For the better part of a generation the Red King ruled Winterfell in all but name, his men terrorizing the countryside in an effort to find Ellard and his daughter.

 Letter #20: They never succeeded for the smallfolk not only sheltered the pair but also struck back against the "skinners" whenever they could despite the ravages of an onerous five-year winter. And so the corpses began to pile up until a petty lord fallen on hard times betrayed the rightful King of Winter, who was presented to Royce I in chains.

 Letter #21: Rather than simply take his head, the Red King had Ellard gelded so that he could serve as a proper fool for his nephew.

 Letter #22: Though he performed this unhappy task without complaint for more than two years many could not help but look askance at his habit of carving wooden hooks by the hearth at night, particularly when he began muttering about how these "sons" would avenge his mutilation.

 Letter #23: When first told, Royce I gave a rare laugh, believing the Stark king had gone mad.

 Letter #24: Little did he know how wrong he was for one night Ellard snuck into the Red King's chambers with the help of a blacksmith and pinned him beneath his bed sheets using those selfsame hooks, after which he set the whole tower aflame before fleeing into the night. (By this point Royce I had sent most of his surviving host home. The few who did remain with him at Winterfell died that same night at the hands of the household.)

 Letter #25: Woken by the screams, the Dowager Queen quickly fled the castle along with her son and a guard by the name of Walder.

 Letter #26: When they arrived at the Dreadfort the new Red King promised to support his nephew's claim to Winterfell and to that end raised a fresh host. This army was then stiffened by the arrival of men from Blackpool, Oldcastle, and the Last Hearth. All told, the Red King commanded an army ten thousand strong.

 Letter #27: The King of Winter gathered swords about himself as well though in the end he commanded only eight thousand, his chief supporters being House Glover, House Cerwyn, House Mormont, House Talhart, and the mountain clans.

 Letter #28: The two armies came together north of Castle Cerwyn in the midst of a heavy snowstorm and though the struggle lasted well into the night neither side was able to claim victory.

 Letter #29: As a result, Ellard and the Red King exchanged missives for nine days. On the tenth, they at last came to an agreement.

 Letter #30: Ellard (now known as the Eunuch) would be Lord of Winterfell for the remainder of his life. In return, he agreed to acknowledge Rickon as his heir. (These terms would be sealed by the marriage of Rickon to Ellard's daughter, Serena, once the former came of age.)

 Letter #31: Thus ended the Great Battle of Winterfell. (Anywhere between four to six thousand men lost their lives that day, making it the bloodiest battle in the history of the North up to that point.)

 Letter #32: Ellard would devote the rest of his middling reign to rebuilding Winterfell.

 Letter #33: Rickon was a very different sort of man and so he devoted most of his reign to conquering the petty kings that had betrayed House Stark earlier. (Ulwyck Umber met a particularly gruesome end, having been torn apart by horses on the King of Winter's orders. As a result, Rickon is known in the chronicles as "the Ripper".) (Over a hundred years would pass before a Bolton of the Dreadfort again wed a Stark of Winterfell and just as before, the offspring of that union was one of the North's more infamous kings: Brandon Ice-Eyes.)

 Letter #34: Three hundred years after Rodrik Stark won Bear Island in a wrestling match, Dorren the Glam seized control of Skagos early in his reign only for that dreadful island to rebel once he grew old. The uprising lasted for a whole generation, coming to an end only when three champions of House Stark defeated three champions representing House Crowl, House Magnar, and House Stane.

 Letter #35: In the aftermath of their great victory at the Weeping Water, the Hungry Wolf turned upon his erstwhile ally with a vengeance, slaughtering the Red King's men, seizing his ships, and compelling him to do homage at the point of a bloody sword.

 Letter #36: During the blood-soaked reign of Theon the Hungry Wolf, Winterfell's writ extended as far south as the Fingers for a time. (This partial conquest of the Vale did not even outlast the King of Winter, who was more interested in conquest than consolidation.)

Letter #37: His grandson made common cause with Robar II but was unable to land in the Vale until after the Battle of Seven Stars due to a series of storms sweeping the Narrow Sea. (According to a translation of certain runic records at Winterfell by Maester Halys, the Grey Wolf may very well have intended to betray Robar II after they had dealt with their common foe so as to claim the whole of the Vale for himself.)

As always, share, comment, and critique.

#hidden history #asoiaf #worldbuilding #house stark #the north #lost lore #Westerosi Worldbuilding Wednesday

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strainingfororiginality · 7 years ago

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7.4 - Choices

Note from Author: Here we go lovelies. It’s time to jump down that rabbit hole.

Devil Like Me - Rainbow Kitten Surprise

My heart and soul were never mine to own

What you care to die for?

We die alone

From the moment the Archangel grabbed his temple, violating him in a way he’d never experienced before, his mind lit on fire and memories flooded over him, overwhelming every part of him. Though the energy sparking across his soul was pure torment, it was the emotions that bombarded him that crippled Quintus completely as Michael flicked the pages of his memories as if it was a book that the Governor was casually perusing.

He was still screaming but at least he wasn’t the only one. He could hear Abraham and he could hear Sempronius, both closer now than they were, calling for Michael to stop. Pleading in desperation for his sake.

In a flash, he caught a glimpse of Michael throwing Sempronius backwards into the bookcases across the far wall and he could see that Abraham was already on the ground. They were trying to separate them, but the Hayyoth pushed them aside as if they were nothing more than rag dolls.

So many memories ...

First Century, The Roman Countryside ...

Admiration. Gratitude. His garden. A girl. A woman. His women. He was playing hide and seek with Sura … Tasa was bringing water … a kiss .... a laugh …

Nope. Next. Michael turned to the next page.

60 AD, Rome

Rage. Anguish. He was pulling Liviana from the aqueduct … her decomposing body falling apart in his hands as he carried her. He wept like a child when he burned her … taking a piece of her for his sword … vowing to never forget her beautiful soul … before setting out to crush her husband’s skull between his hands … The first person he would truly kill in cold blood ...

I’m sor-- … no ... Michael pushed the sadness away.

19th Century, England …

Desire. Infatuation. A cobblestone street. A blonde woman. She’s beautiful. He was taken by this beauty … so very lovely but nothing more … pointless … the very definition of monotony. Beauty is powerful, but fleeting. "Beauty". After knowing his poet, he was ashamed he’d been taken by someone so … simple. Loui--

Nope. Not it. Michael said with annoyance and flicked to the next memory.

64 AD, Rome, House Sertorius ...

Shame. Regret. A chamber. A priestess. Lady Sertorius was laughing as she commanded it of him. A free man now ... he could have refused ... but the Lady would have just commanded it of another … another would not have been as gentle as he tried to be. She nods to him and he bows his head in shame. They all watched as he bent the thin Priestess virgin forward, taking something precious from her ...

You are such a piece of shit, aren’t you? She deserves so much better than you. Michael grabbed for the next memory.

106 AD, Dacia ...

Satisfaction. Accomplishment. A city. A lost civilization. He sat upon a horse as he watched his men burn the entire city to the ground … the last of his father’s minions screaming from within the flames as he smiled … he had thwarted the Master yet again …

Stop fighting this, you little shit. Michael ripped the book of Quintus open wider and the dhampir cringed.

Fighting him? What did he mean? Surly he had NO control over what was being taken from him by the Governor … did he? Everything streaking by were all powerful memories and he considered for a moment, in the middle of this torture, if he actually had control. Clenching his jaw, he pushed a specific memory forth from his mind.

1922 AD, Urkhammer, Iowa ...

Pride. Brotherhood. A burning barn. A bleeding farmer. He was a son, a father, a grandfather, a husband, a fighter, ... a good soldier. The lone survivor of the Urkhammer outbreak. By the time Quintus arrived, this one man killed them all. He was putting the gun to his temple but Quintus was fast and he was pulling the gun out of the farmer’s hands ... offering him eternal life … offering him vengeance … Vau--

Damn it, boy. The page turned again.

They were powerful memories … physically and emotionally. He reached for another, pushing it forward towards Michael for consumption.

79 AD, Pompeii ...

Fear. Pain. A city. A mountain. His father within his grasp, fleeing down the street like the coward he was, when the wind shifted and the first explosion rocked the city … the smoke … the heat … the burning … oh god … the burning. His body was on fire … How could he have survived that day? He felt his body turning to ash … how could he have …

Quintus thought he’d never experience pain like he did that day again when the molten rock was running over his skin, hardening and encasing him … but the pain that day was nothing compared to what Michael was inflicting on him in this instant … his soul was on fire right now.

The more you fight me, the longer you’ll be forced to endure this. Michael threatened as his fingers dug into the dhampir’s temples.

Perhaps lobbed at just a man, this threat would have held some merit, some power. Perhaps lobbed at anyone else in existence, the threat of this pain would have caused anyone else to falter, but Quintus could and would endure any amount of pain ... for her. He gritted his teeth as he forced himself to finally stop screaming, reaching up as he put his hands on either side of the Governor’s fingers, still clutching his skull and Quintus smiled gloriously as his native language flowed freely, as it usually did when he was enraged.

“Flocci non faccio!” Quintus spat in utter defiance, pulling the next brutally powerful memory from his mind. He picked this one because it helped him drive past the torture, drive past the agony. He pulled those dragonfly eyes from the depths of his mind … “Memoriam tibi velis? Me auxilium vobis!”

Last year, The woodlands of New York state, not far from Lake Onondaga ...

Vulnerability. Anticipation. A tiny, warm, secluded cabin. His trembling love. He was peeling the cold clothing from her shivering body, piece by piece as his heart raced, his eyes sweeping over each and every inch of her visible skin.

Gah! No! Stop that! Michael cringed and flicked the memory away immediately.

Quintus smile gloriously wide. “Quia odisti? Et dabo vos ultra.”

Last year, The woodlands of New York state, not far from Lake Onondaga ...

Love. Ecstasy. A tiny, warm, secluded cabin. She was straddling him on the couch and he was staring into her face, closing his eyes and asking her to say it again as he closed his eyes. A touch. His hands were on her thighs, inching her body up so he could take her again. Her lips part. "I never knew what love was--"

"You little shit!" Michael snarled out loud and pushed the memory away with angry vigor.

Did the Governor truly think he was more defiant than Quintus was? Perhaps he did not know him as well as he thought. He would show him how very wrong he was. Though his head pounded with even more pain as the golden electricity danced with growing strength between the Hayyoth’s fingers, running through his mind. Fighting the urge to scream again, he recalled that day further and he smiled.

“Alius, Irrumator?” Quintus was laughing now as he thrust another one forward.

Last year, The woodlands of New York state, not far from Lake Onondaga ...

Trust. Appreciation. A tiny, warm, secluded cabin. She was standing, her arms nervously trying to shield herself from his inquisitive eyes as her face frowned considerably. "You wanna break me?" She was on the verge of tears as he scrutinized her carefully.

"Very much the contrary, you are already broken. I wish to fix you." He purred to her as he brought a lock of her hair up to breathe the smell of it in. Angelica … it was everywhere right now. Was it just in this memory? Quintus flinched.

"Enough!" The torture escalated and Quintus’ legs buckled as he began to scream again. Sempronius was pleading now, pulling at Michael’s arm.

Powerful memories … He struggled now and one of the most incredible moments in his long life sprang forth. He welcomed it as he could no longer focus on anything other than the increasing pain.

Tasa’s Birthday, The Roman Countryside ...

Acceptance. Happiness. A pond. A stag. The wind. A locket. A promise and … a dragonfly. The dragonfly. The wind. The wind. The wind.

Wait … what the fuck was that? Michael gasped.

The pain alleviated a bit and Michael didn’t push this memory away. Instead he held it in place, rewound it and watched it again and then again. Something had caught his attention … the dragonfly? Something shifted in the Governor’s grip and the scene continued to play out slowly … again … and again.

What … no. No ....

The dragonfly danced in the wind’s embrace and took refuge from its force on the locket that Quintus was holding, open handed in his palm.

No. No. No ...

It was large and it sat squarely on the center of the small sculpture, covering the profiles underneath entirely. A promise of what was to come ...

As it landed, the wind ceased.

No. No. No … it can’t be. Michael whispered and Quintus’ confusion intensified as he tried to push the memory away, but the Archangel held onto it with an iron grip. Michael rewound and played it again and then again.

The stag … the moon, high and full in the morning sky … the dragonfly. The wind.

"No. F … fa … father?" Michael’s voice cracked with confusion.

Wait … Quintus flinched again … what? Everything shifted and Michael lost his hold on the memory as the Archangel’s own memories came rushing forward, overwhelming both of them as he felt the angel begin to shudder. Even being hidden behind the helmet, Quintus could feel the tears through their connection.

It was Michael’s memory that played out next and Quintus wouldn’t allow him to pull it away. He was sitting in the grass, laughing. Ozryel next to him. Others were there and the rainbow-eyed, raven-haired boy was frolicking about, chasing those same winged insects everywhere. The wind was ebbing and flowing and Quintus felt that presence again. Terra? Fate? … God?

"He knew … this entire time … He was there …" Michael stuttered and Quintus could feel the betrayal laced in his words. “He’s always known … he did this.”

Quintus’ words to Barqan the first time they met rattled through both of their minds as their memories slammed together and converged:

"I have always had good luck with the wind being on my side."

"Perhaps the wind likes you, Forbidden Prince."

The wind was always there whenever he needed it. Bringing him that dragonfly at the pond. In his youth, aiding him in defeating the Characitani people. Alerting him to her presence at that factory. Pointing him in her direction when she fled the house and later the cabin. Halting the Master's escape from that roof top ... Michael tensed as Quintus remembered each and every instance in his long life where it had guided him.

No. Stop. You ... no ... lies.

They were lost, so entrenched in each others thoughts, they didn’t feel it when a fist grasped each of their chests and forced them apart with incredible strength. Quintus stumbled backwards, falling into the arms of Sempronius, who steadied him, preventing his collapse.

Blackout - Nick Phoenix

The Governor staggered from the sudden disconnect, but balanced himself, throwing his arms wide to confront whoever had separated him from his prey. He gazed upon his mocha-skinned brother and silence befell the situation.

"Michael." Raphael’s voice was unusually loud with anger. “What is the meaning of this?”

"How dare you!" The Governor took a desperate and angry step forward to the dhampir as Sempronius pushed his son behind him in a show of paternal instinct that Quintus would later appreciate, Quintus allowed it as he was still grasping at control over his weakened body and mind. “Out of my way!”

Even as the Governor advanced, Raphael stood unmoving, slamming both of his palms against the armour while Michael grunted loudly. "I’m NOT finished with him!!! Move out of my way, Raphael!"

Quintus could feel divinity spark in the air all around them as the blue light began to dance across mocha skin and he looked down to see all of the tiny hairs on Sempronius’ arm stand at attention. His father grabbed his arm and took several steps backwards.

"Explain this … intrusion!" Raphael demanded furiously. “This is not you, Michael! Explain yourself!”

"If you do not move, little brother … " Quintus could hear the irrationality in the Governor’s voice and he understood it was driven by that memory … by the revelation that just occurred … whatever it was. Rage and betrayal were the only things fueling the Hand of God right now.

"I will move, Michael …" Raphael’s voice was deep, with uncharacteristic menace, as he tilted his head to the right and Quintus saw the serpentine features morphing across his face while he smiled and the sparks dancing across his visible skin turned from blue to a dark violet. “Only if you are capable of moving me.”

Then came Gabriel and behind him was Uriel. They felt the impending fight and Gabriel’s eyes were wide with concern, as he tried to step forward to place himself between his two brothers. Pulling Quintus back another step, Sempronius took a deep breath in as Abraham finally got himself up from the floor, still reeling from where Michael flung him earlier.

"What the hell is going on?!" Gabriel began, but the staff was in Michael’s hands, as he flung it around to strike at his little brother’s temple. The motion was beautifully fluid and so fast that Quintus was sure Sempronius and Abraham were not even capable of witnessing it.

"Oh fuck no. Everyone just needs to chill--" The massive angel screamed as he lunged forward, Uriel making a similar move, but neither were as fast as Raphael as he caught the staff with ease, mere inches from his head. Muscles tensed as the shorter angel grabbed the shaft with both hands, fighting Michael for control of the weapon.

Gabriel and Uriel froze. They held it between them, horizontal to the ground as their eyes locked onto each others. Gold and purple sparks crawled over the swirled metal as Raphael tensed his body, his mouth in a snarl. It seemed as if it would be a stalemate, neither moved the other, but Michael’s stance began to buckle as golden lightning began to flake off and away from his body, dissipating into the air around him.

The sudden weakness allowed Raphael to win the battle of strength, viciously connecting the middle of his staff into the helmet of his older brother as the shockwave of the strike flung everyone surrounding them back. Quintus shielded his eyes as he leaned fully against Sempronius. Gabriel, being the closest, was flung back against the book-cased wall while Uriel stepped back, watching, entirely unsure of what to do.

Energy continued to leak from his body and Michael’s grip on the weapon failed, releasing it as he staggered backwards in retreat and Raphael advanced without hesitation, throwing the staff down to the ground as Michael stood upright, putting his hand on the handle of the celestial blade in a threat. "I don’t want to have to hurt you, Raphael."

It seemed as if he would draw the blade against his brother, but instead the armoured angel doubled over forward, grabbing his midsection as something ripped at his body, making him cry out in torment.

"Michael?" Raphael’s anger immediately turned to concern as his brother fell to his knees as he looked down at his empty hands. “Michael, what is happening?!?”

"What the fuck is going on?" Gabriel demanded. “Mikey--”

"He knew … this whole time … he knew." The Governor whispered as he looked up into Raphael’s eyes. “We’re all just puppets to him. We’ve always just been puppets.”

"Michael--" Raphael tried, but the Governor reached out, calling the staff to return to him instantly. Though his little brother tried to close the distance, it was too late. Michael was already gone.

"What the fuck just happened?" The massive brother asked immediately as Raphael whipped around to lock eyes with Quintus before shifting his attention back to Gabriel.

"Something was … “ Raphael shook his head in disbelief. “... syphoning off his divinity."

"That’s not possible." The mountain of an Angel argued. “So where the fuck did he go?! Why the fuck were you fighting him?!”

Raphael looked down, considering the first question carefully as he pawed through the Nexus. "Shit. The Gate. He’s at the Gate! He closing it!" There was a brief hesitation and the violet-eyed angel turned back to his two brothers with wild concern. “GO NOW!”

"Fuck me." Gabriel uttered quickly before both he and Uriel were gone.

Before Raphael vanished to follow, he turned around to eye Quintus again. "I will be back for answers."

As Sempronius eased him down into one of the only chairs still upright, Quintus took a quick look around. The scene was a complete disaster. The table was overturned and books spread across the ground haphazardly.

Tipping the table back over, Abraham began to collect the volumes from the ground at once, finding the Dream Journal and clutching it possessively to his chest. The scene caused more than a small crowd to form on either end of the massive room as people stared at the three men in confusion. As his senses returned to normal and the pain within his head abated, he could hear the whispers spreading. Slowly, his head began to clear and his senses sharpened further as he stood, swaying only once as Sempronius urged him to sit back down.

"Quintus, you should--"

Michael’s last words haunted him more than anything at this moment and he growled at their implication. They were all just puppets. If this were the case, then he had many questions for the puppet masters.

"I need to go." He countered quickly as his mind bounced from thought to thought. He knew he needed to proceed with the mission he previously had in mind. It was now even more important than it was before as he took deep breaths of the air around him.

"Go where exactly?" Sempronius was more than annoyed now, his voice rising in apprehension. “Where do you need to go right now? What just occurred?! What on Earth did you do to warrant--”

"Sempronius." His hand flew up to silence his father’s barrage of questions. “Please. I promise I will answer all questions when I return, but I must go now.”

"But go where, Mr. Quinlan?" Abraham asked. He was no fool to what the angel was after. “Did he get what he wanted from you?”

"He did not." Quintus answered cryptically. “And I go for answers, professor.”

"From who?" Sempronius asked. “Quintus please. I’ve given my help without prying, but now--”

"I seek answers from the one person whom I suspect has them all …" His eyes flicked to the journal that Abraham clutched possessively to his chest and the quick glance did not escape Sempronius’ sharp intellect.

"Quintus--" Sempronius began but the dhampir was already walking away… pushing himself to find those blue eyes .. to find the woman who had looked at him across the street. The woman who had eyes of the angel prophet. The angel who disappeared with the Creator ...

His senses returned fully and he breathed in again. He dismissed this sense earlier when Michael held his head in his hands. He thought it was simply part of his lingering memories of her, but now, it was everywhere. All around him and he cringed at its implication.

The fifth invictus hesitated as he took a deep and precious breath in, turning back to his most trusted friends, commanding them. "Find me an image of Michael."

Abraham called out after him as he began to walk away. "Mr. Quinlan? Why is that important right now?"

"Just do as I ask. Please."

It was everywhere now and he loved it. The golden electricity only intensified the scent causing it to smell slightly burned, but he knew it nonetheless. He would know it anywhere.

It was Angelica.

Note from Author: Updated the date on this chapter today (8/27). I'd gotten Louisa's name from an acting website that listed her role's name on the Strain and nothing more. This was all a giant guess and I wasn't far off at all. After a bit of research on the name itself, I guessed on the century (was off by one, damn. 1888 would have been the 19th century and not 18th. England was a total guess, hehehehe. Everything was a total guess.

#the strain fanfic #quinlan fanfic #Mr. Quinlan fanfic #quintus sertorius fanfic #quintus densus #an insatiable ache #chapter 7 #PART 4 #let the shit hit the fan

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planckstorytime · 7 years ago

Text

William Shakespeare’s Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

https://planckstorytime.wordpress.com/2017/11/07/william-shakepeares-jojos-bizarre-adventure/

The Tragedie of Jojo and Dio

Dramatis Personae:

Jojo

Dio

Jojo’s Father

Erina

Wang Chan

Robert E. O. Speedwagon

A Dog

Guards

Thugs

Speedwagon’s Gang

SCENE ONE

JOJO’S FATHER:

Hark now, a carriage comes round yonder bend

To our illustrious mansion, breaking day

And with it my prestigious ward, a Son!

Entrusted by my creditor and hero

Who rescued my son Jojo and myself

From certain doom beneath a wrecked wagon.

His name is Dio, gentlemanly raised

And brought before us to live in our home.

Here, Jojo, come greet your brother and friend!

Dio steps from the carriage, posing dramatically and casting a menacing glare at the mansion. Enter Jojo.

JOJO

Before now, I thought I was quite alone,

The sole boy aged as I am, in youth’s throes,

But Providence has blessed our household twice

Such that I may enjoy fraternity.

[Jojo’s dog comes running up]

My truest friend, this hound, greets you as well!

[Dio kicks the dog right in its side, sending it flying and whimpering away]

Be you mad? Why attack my treasured dog?

Dio adjusts his collar and looks dismissively.

DIO

The brute surprised me, causing me alarm.

In my astonishment, I kicked the beast.

It is only natural to react

With force when safeguarding one’s personal effects,

Including one’s own life and dignity.

[Aside] Truthfully, I do abhor these creatures!

JOJO’S FATHER

I’m certain Dio meant no harm to him.

Egress with me, sons. Supper’s on the stove.

JOJO

As you wish, father. Dio, please excuse me;

I meant no disrespect or suspicion.

With this misfortune past us, I’m quite certain,

We’ll presently become fast friends, you and I.

Jojo extends his hand, but Dio scoffs at him. He passes by him into the house; Exeunt All.

SCENE TWO

Erina, Jojo’s paramour, is skipping down a countryside path. Dio and a few of his goons stand under a neighboring tree, looking for trouble.

ERINA

My darling Jojo, how I love thee:

Thine eyes doth glitter with a radiance

Surpassing beams of sunlight on spring days,

And thy form manly gives me cause to swoon

As if I was a bleating baby lamb.

Your virtue certainly eclipses all,

And marketh thee as one blessed by fate,

With numinous worlds borne aloft by you

Sustained by your immensely strong shoulders.

No man can capture my heart but you, dear!

THUG #1

Be that Ms. Erina?

THUG #2

It would seem so.

DIO

She’s Jojo’s dearest pet, no? I’ll meet her

Here, shadowed by the fading sunset red

And plant upon her parted lips a mark

Of passion and shame that symbolizes

My envy and my hate for Jojo’s soul,

That pampered bastard, vain and ignorant

Of earthly cruelties. Puppet, come to me!

[Dio forcibly yanks Erina toward him and plants a kiss on her mouth. She eventually pulls away, gagging, and falls to the dirt.]

Had you imagined Jojo to be first

To break the seal of your sweet, tender lips?

But I’m afraid you were mistaken, dear.

Your first kiss was not with your noble love –

For it was with me, Dio!

THUGS #1 & 2

What a swell guy!

ERINA

You fiend! Defilement foul as this won’t stand!

Before you can blink, Jojo shall ride in

To safeguard me, reclaim my honor, fight,

And avenge the offence of thou three swain!

Exit Erina. Dio and the Thugs laugh. Dio returns to his nearby home. Exeunt the Thugs. He sits down to read a book. Enter Jojo, bursting through the front door and delivering an uppercut to Dio’s chin.

JOJO

Thou scoundrel, Dio! How dare thee behave

In such a cruel, brazen manner, cur!

In Erina’s name, I shall pommel thee

Until you cry, fall beaten to your knees,

And beg for mercy, which I shall not grant!

The two continue their fisticuffs, knocking over furnishings. Eventually, a splatter of Dio’s blood impacts a strange stone mask mounted on the wall and provokes some sort of reaction. Spider-like tendrils emerge from the back of the mask. Dio notices this, and attempts to flee.

DIO

[Aside] Jojo’s battle prowess vexes my mind!

It would be unwise to challenge that fool

While his passionate wrath doth burn brightly.

I must act with subtlety and cunning.

Downfall I bring yet to your house, Jojo!

Mark my words! Till that time comes, however

I shall bite my tongue and bide my time here.

But down, thoughts! To the shadows I return!

Exeunt all. Curtain falls. Intermission. “Roundabout” by Yes plays.

SCENE THREE

Years have passed. Jojo and Dio are now adults. Jojo is walking down a foreboding alleyway – the infamous “Ogre Street”.

JOJO

My father’s health has suffered as of late

And only worsened since that serpent fraud,

My brother Dio, started treating him

With alien drugs from locales unknown.

A sample I procured from Dio’s hand

And carry here with me to Oni Street,

A den for robbers, vagabonds, and thieves,

Where I might locate and interrogate

Some crude apothecary with no charge

To keep his business straight, nor clientele

Protected by frail oaths of privacy.

Alas! I observe several ruffians

Converging on my person! Have at thee!

Enter Robert E. O. Speedwagon and several members of his gang, bearing bladed weapons.

SPEEDWAGON

You look to be a fortunate young man

Caught in a less than fortunate event.

My boys and I are ruthless highwaymen

Who’ll slice your neck as quickly as your purse.

To arms, lads! Pick his corpse clean of doubloons!

Jojo fends off several of them, catching one’s blade in mid-air.

JOJO

I haven’t time to quarrel with you lot;

My father lies on death’s door, suffering

At the hands of a toxic medicine

Provided by that treasonous, vile hound

Who postures himself as a brother mine.

Assault me or assist me; I care not.

For my quest shall not be deterred by you

Nor Dio, nor the earth, sun, moon, or stars.

SPEEDWAGON

Hold, fellows. We have here a model man

Whose bravery demands our reverence.

My name is Robert E. O. Speedwagon,

Reputed outlaw and bewitching scamp.

My gang recalls an alchemist corrupt

Who deals in odious toxins similar

To that which you possess in your hands.

Allow me to serve as your shepherd true

Conducting your path towards the devil’s lair.

Embark we on an orphic odyssey

To breach the gates of Hell and steal back life!

Exeunt All.

SCENE FOUR

The Joestar Manor, night. Dio stumbles in, drunken and disheveled. As he steps into the parlor, he finds Jojo there, ready to confront him.

JOJO

Thy plan is foiled, Dio. Give it up.

I know thy treachery and wicked plot.

DIO

Perhaps you know, but of what use is it?

I, of course, have no motive to slay kin,

Be they of common blood or otherwise.

My father true passed from some nameless germ

That poisoned his old humours. It seems now

Your father suffers an affliction same.

The heavens are indeed cruel, I say.

How could you pin such evils on my name?

Speedwagon lights a pipe, revealing himself.

SPEEDWAGON

At Jojo’s order, I scoured the abyss

Of this city’s underworld, and found this!

[Speedwagon pulls back a curtain to reveal Wang Chan, a small, seedy man in Oriental clothing]

This man sold poison to you, Dio, no?

WANG CHAN

Ay, it is certainly he, no doubt!

He came to my shop seeking bottled death

Which I carry in abundance! Seize him!

Another curtain draws, revealing Jojo’s Father and several Guards, all of whom have heard this exchange.

JOJO’S FATHER

My heart doth rupture over this ordeal.

My son, how could you be so sinister

As to attempt the murder of the one

Who warmly welcomed you as family

I wish it untrue, this grotesque affair,

But I must entreat these loyal constables

To take you into custody posthaste.

Oh, Dio! May God grant thee clemency.

Dio feigns guilt and appears to accept his fate.

WANG CHAN

No prison can hold one keen as he!

His face is marked by an infernal brand,

He toys with fate as the horned Devil would!

DIO

I would prefer it if you bound my wrists,

Respected brother Jojo.

[Jojo approaches Dio with binds]

I know now

The limitations of our mortal clout,

That is, the more we scheme for revenge

The less predictable the end result.

It’s futile to commit such evil deeds

Whilst subjected to human folly’s yoke.

But Jojo –

[Dio produces the stone mask and knife from his cloak]

T’is not evil I renounce,

But humanity that I reject!

[Dio lunges forward with the knife, attempting to stab Jojo, but Jojo’s Father takes the blow instead, collapsing in Jojo’s arms. Jojo cries out in grief. Dio dons the stone mask and rubs the blood of Jojo’s father on the mask, triggering some sort of metamorphosis.]

Thy lines’ blood I hath spilt tonight, Jojo!

Now, you all will witness awesome power

And the birth of a new God! Kneel to me!

The Guards all rush and impale Dio, and though it seems to work for a moment, with his head lolling to the side, but it then snaps back. The mask comes off, and he sprouts monstrous nails that he uses to cut the throats of all the guards. Jojo and Speedwagon are shocked by this display.

JOJO

My God, what manner of monstrosity

Has Dio conjured? Was this evil beast

Inside him all along? That horrid mask!

It must possess the power to transform

Men into monsters, and what’s even worse,

It can turn villains into vampires foul!

SPEEDWAGON

Yea verily, I, even, am afraid!

Dio continues his rampage. Jojo looks around the parlor, trying to find a way to stop him. He begins lighting mansion on fire.

JOJO

We cannot let him leave this house alive.

Run, Speedwagon! Off! Here I will remain,

Ensuring that my brother perishes

Amidst the scorching fingers of these flames.

Speedwagon retreats. Jojo ascends the staircase, followed by Dio, who appears to walk up the side of the wall. Exeunt All.

SCENE FIVE

Jojo and Dio stand on the rooftop, wreathed in flames.

JOJO

Here me now, Dio! This house that raised us

Will soon be the pyre for our funerals.

DIO

I have no intention of expiring

In your damnable home at all, Jojo!

Soon, a million voices will praise my godhood!

I can see my destiny, clear as day:

I shall rule this world, from mountain to sea.

I think neither you nor God in heaven

Can destroy me, perfect as I am now.

JOJO

My father, home, and life have been laid waste.

So nothing matters but your last demise.

A spiraling inferno beckons us.

Come, Dio. We’ll both die in smoke and ruins.

[Jojo tackles Dio and they grapple as they descend through the burning mansion. Dio attempts to cling to a wall, but Jojo grabs the knife from earlier.]

There’s no escape. This knife is stained with blood

Of innocence, born through betrayal black,

But it can yet atone. With this steel blade

I sentence thee to the death thou deserve.

Jojo stabs Dio, causing him to shriek in pain. As their falling bodies separate, Dio is impaled on a statue in the foyer.

DIO

Inconceivable! To be slain this way

By the likes of you! Be warned, Jojo;

Any agony I feel now shall pale

When compared to my eternal fury!

I await thee deep in Hell, young Jojo.

Dio dies. Jojo is blown out of the house by an explosion. Speedwagon and Erina find him.

SPEEDWAGON

He yet lives! He defeated that dire foe.

In time, this man shall be the champion

Of everyone worldwide. But even now,

He is our honorable paladin,

A star that shines beyond all other lights.

Exeunt All. Fin.

#planckstorytime #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's #dio #speedwagon #play #poetry #dungeons and dragons #iambic pentameter

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