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barbwillbrb · 2 months ago

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Snippet Sunday!

Thank yee @ladyofcrowsandcoffee for the tag! I finally got snippets to share for once thanks to the monstrosity of an RP @faerunsbest and I got going on.

I wanna show various aspects of Mortimer's persona, so here are five snippets showing different sides of him.

Combat Mortimer:

It was too strange, too surreal; faint memories flickered past his troubled mind, the ghost of his past life haunting him. Walking in his childhood footsteps, Mortimer worked his way through the house that was his personal hell, finding his way to the uppermost floors. His senses on high alert, he reached out with his magic, searching for any signs of life, but ultimately seeking one soul in particular– sure enough, Mortimer could feel him, a dark, angry force above him, in the office. Some things never change.

While most of his father’s forces seemed to convene on the bottom-most levels– the man always, always hated being interrupted during his work, a lesson Mortimer learned all too well as a child, earning the scar on his wrist– a few lingered upstairs, holding fast to their positions as carnage echoed up the stairwells. The distraction proved fruitful; they never heard Mortimer approach, nor had the time to react when the wizard flooded their lungs, water blooming in their chests– the guards dropped dead, drowning where they stood, liquid tinged with red dribbling from their lips.

Hysterical/Sad Mort:

It wasn’t like Mortimer didn’t try, wasn’t like he didn’t want to– the gods themselves knew how much he wanted the man back.

Fear, however, was an insidious, ugly thing– especially fear wrought from deep-routed traumas and broken memories.

Mortimer knew damned well it wasn’t Sybyll that hurt him– not really, no. Sybyll wasn’t to blame for any of this. Unfortunately, the harm that befell Mortimer unlocked parts of his mind he kept buried for his own survival: all the very worst moments of his wretched life– the darkest, most vile recollections from his time with the cult, his time imprisoned. He couldn’t sleep without being taken to a dark, awful, choking pit. Nightmares weren’t nightmares when you knew them to be true, their marks buried deep in your skin.

On the nights he could sleep, he woke in a cold, panicked sweat; Mortimer had taken to relying on potions to maintain any sort of rest.

Mortimer didn’t just lose Sybyll; he was losing his damned mind, his peace, his sense of self.

More Sad Mort because making him miserable is fun, and he had to break in order to get better. Also, he swears!

It seemed fate would not bring Mortimer a moment’s peace, regardless of his misery. A knock came from the door, followed by Lennox’s voice; of course the wizard forgot something. Mortimer was half tempted to dismiss the werewolf’s concerns, simply wave away the questions or just refuse to open the door… if he didn’t know for a fact that Lennox would simply break it down to figure out what was wrong.

Besides, Mortimer didn’t want him to think something was wrong with the chair, not after everything Lennox had done for him. Gods– all this work to fix himself, and Mortimer was still a mess. Broken… incomplete. Without Sybyll, that’s exactly what he felt like, a puzzle without all the pieces.

And Mortimer lost him.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Mortimer swore under his breath, wiping his eyes with his sleeves, his hands balled into fists in his frustration. He did his best to dry his face, pinching at his cheeks, and looked over the mess that was his desk. Hurriedly, he stowed the bottle and glass away, shutting the cupboard drawer. If he delayed any longer, Lennox would surely knock the door off its hinges. “Coming, coming,” he muttered, hating how hoarse his voice sounded; he should have brought water with him. Then again, his plan was to get shitfaced and forget about everything, wasn’t it? Thank Lathander that he only had the one so far.

Mortimer being a disastrous romantic

It wasn’t that he had nothing to say– quite the opposite; the words came quite freely in regards to his feelings. The difficulty was trying to narrow down the torrent of emotions he felt for Sybyll into something that didn’t come off as the barely coherent, lovestruck ramblings of a madman– or led to him practically begging forgiveness for his stupidity. Although, if Mortimer was honest with himself, the shortest note he scribbled was probably the most accurate: “I am sorry, I am a fucking idiot, and I love you. Please tell me it’s not too late?”

A groan left him and he threw his head in his hands. At least Pinky was not trying to kill the goldish, or Mortimer very well might have lost his mind. Nothing was coming out right. Mortimer looked at the drawer of unsent letters, all pulled from his heart. Each one was a silly mess of fluff, pining, begging– unedited and raw. Why didn’t he send them before? Pride? Worry that it would be too much?

Each letter was nothing but honest. Mortimer needed to be honest– and damn-it-all, he didn’t give a shit anymore about his pride.

Sybyll thought he was alone. Mortimer was determined to prove he never left his heart.

He gathered all the letters and placed them in a box, surprised at the weight– he might as well have written a novel– tying it closed with red thread. Whatever Mortimer wanted to say, he would say it in the moment, and if Sybyll needed proof about his feelings– well, here it was, wrapped in a bow.

... aaaaaaand spicy time Mortimer

The vampire yanked his robe's collar free, fangs dragging lightly along his throat; Mortimer hissed in delight, feeling his lover trace an intoxicating path against his skin. The wizard wanted to be patient, to take this slow– but when Sybyll lay back, erection firm against his stomach, looking up at Mortimer with a pleading pout on his pretty red lips– he couldn’t hold back. “By Gods, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much– and I’ll fucking prove it,” Mortimer growled, removing his fingers, snapping into life a mage hand that quickly took on a more appropriate form.

Working quick but gentle, Mortimer wrapped an arm around the smaller man, flipping their positions in an instant so Sybyll straddled his lap. His hands went to the man's waist, holding him in place as the ghostly cock slid between Mortimer’s legs, beneath his lover’s waiting entrance. Eyes dark with barely contained lust, he pulled the ribbon free from Sybyll’s neck with his teeth, kissing his way up to the vampire's jaw, then lips. Mortimer guided Sybyll down onto the cock, gripping his hips tight. “I’ve longed to do this for months,” he murmured, beginning to move Sybyll, his hold firm.

No pressure tag time: @lemonsrosesandlavender @faerunsbest @kimberbohwrites @commander-krios @savriea

#snippet sunday #my writing #bg3 tavs #tav: mortimer #rp snippets #drabbles

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lya-dustin · 2 years ago

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Someone will remember us

Chapter 58

Cw: mentions of murder of children, regular murder, mentions of sexual assault

Gif by @boutellas

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @stargaryenx

By the time Arryk Cargyll had stumbled into the Princess’ chambers, he was half dead, when Ser Erryk used the last of his strength to finish the job, Rhaena had already killed him.

Despite the strict training Daemon had given her, Rhaena had never killed someone.

“It’s over, sweet girl, he can’t hurt you.” The Rogue Prince held her as a father should. “You will be safe in the Vale, with all of Jeyne Arryn’s knights there to protect you.”

Even evil can love their child, Aemma supposed.

Rhaena was silk hiding steel, deadly and sharp.

Arryk had thought the girls easy prey.

“Gods forgive me.” The knight had said over and over again until he fell to his knees with Rhaena’s dagger in his neck.

“He was here to kill your daughter, an heir for an heir.” Daemon speaks, not to them, but her mother who has left her rooms in a fright.

She had run here, weeping and fearing the worst.

“Did he hurt you?” she asked as she moved Gerardys aside and checked Aemma for even the slightest of injuries.

“No, Rhaena killed him before he could carry out his mission.” Daemon answered for her to her annoyance. She’s never liked him, now Aemma is sure she hates him.

Hates how casual he is about violence, how he prances around here as if he had not ordered the death of a little boy and the rape of his sister while their mother, brother and grandmother watched helplessly.

Hates the glaring similarities between him and Aemond.

“I am fine, mama, we are fine. Thank gods, Rhaena had her knife on her.” Aemma said and tried not to look as terrified as she was.

Ser Erryk was not.

His wounds too severe to treat and every scream threatened to be his last.

Gerardys has said he will confer with the Sea Snake’s Maester and see to the best course of action regarding the knight, but they all know he means, whether the knight will choose to die painlessly or die in agony.

“I will have the princess be attended by midwives at all times, your grace, I would not be surprised if the little prince were to decide to make an appearance before the week is over.” The maester finished his report to the Lord Hand, his wife and her mother.

“I do not understand, why would they do such a vile thing?” the queen asked and only Aemma seems brave enough to tell her.

“Because Daemon ordered two men to kill Jaehaerys in revenge for Luke’s murder. Aegon wanted revenge.”

Rhaenyra had assumed it was just some bullshit he had made up in his drunken stupor. He was prone to speaking nonsense when drunk.

He had killed Rhea, spoken in his cups about how he took a rock and bust her head open with it.

But then Rhaenys told her Laenor, her last true friend, had been killed by his orders.

He killed their nephew, a boy of four.

Jaehaerys had been murdered after his twin was raped while their mother, baby brother and grandmother were forced to watch and choose who was to die.

She feels wretched.

The man she loves has never stopped being the monster she and her father refused to see.

“I avenged our son; I promised you his death would not go unpunished.” He defends himself and she pulled away from his touch in terror.

“He was a little boy; sweet Helaena has never done anything to deserve that! Wasn’t it enough that my brother rapes her each night that you had to make her watch as they raped her baby girl?” the queen berates her husband who lacks the compassion to care for anyone who isn’t in his immediate circle.

“It was out of my control, I only asked for the head of one of the princes. Blood and Cheese claimed they couldn’t get close to Aemond because your daughter let him back into her bed and Aegon was too heavily guarded.”

Aemma was not received warmly into his heart.

Aemma had correctly guessed that the man killed that night had not been Laenor, Aemma had seen it before Corlys tortured Laenor’s murderer for the truth.

Rhaenyra had been like that once, too smart for her own good and never taken seriously by her father and his council.

Cursed to love a man bathed in the blood of the innocent. It was the curse of dragon women, to love a man to the point of madness.

“Do you think me a fool, husband?” the queen asked her consort. “You did not want justice for my son, you wanted to hurt them where it hurts the most.”

“And so what if I did? It was only supposed to be the death of either boy, Blood and Cheese did as they were told.” He defended his actions, his violence and cruelty. “Everything else was just an unfortunate accident.”

Daemon spoke as if this had been as trivial and commonplace as if one of the children had accidentally lost a milk tooth playing in the gardens.

“Leave.” She cannot kill him, cannot punish him because she knew who he was before she agreed to marry him mere weeks after Laenor’s death.

“I did this for you and your ingrate daughter, you cannot dismiss me as if I were some servant, Rhaenyra!” he was taken aback by her single demand.

“I know.” The queen admits. “But as your wife, I only ask that you give me time to reconcile myself with that.”

“You!”

Helaena snarled and pointed a shaking finger at them.

She was not supposed to come, Helaena was too fragile to attend or so everyone had said.

But she comes anyways, wearing black for mourning, black for defiance.

“It is because of you that my baby boy is dead! You killed us all!” the Queen screams at her mother and grandfather.

They say she is mad, and maybe she was, but she has never felt more herself until now.

No more being a good girl for mother, no more being the passive puppet she and grandfather wanted her to be.

It ends now.

Everything she has done out of duty has been for naught, everything she was forced to sacrifice on the altar of their ambition screams at her from where her baby lies under a dark green shroud.

“Daemon killed your son, my love.” Her mother tries to coax her into being her little lamb again.

But no more.

The queen has gone mad, they whisper about her in pity.

“He too will pay, but they will make you pay too. Did you think the gods won’t punish House Hightower for the sins you and the Lord Hand committed?”

She needs to leave, to take her daughter and remaining son and hack away at the roots until she and her children are far far away from them all.

Yes, they will fly away and never look back.

But for that to happen, King’s Landing must fall.

#aemma velaryon #someone will remember us fic #asoiaf fanfic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #ocappreciationtag #fyeahhotdocs

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riotseas · 7 months ago

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The seconds where Clive holds him, arms mirroring his own—Cid is whole.

Though, the moment is over as quick as it came, and he feels he's being torn in two. He may be holding onto him, but for it to not be reciprocated like it usually is hurts like none other; and yet he won't beg for the touch, despite how much he wants it.

Because he deserves it—after all, he hurt the one person he promised he never would. However, Clive has yet to move away entirely, so that's a good sign. He's tangible and maybe—maybe Cid can be forgiven.

He can feel the other talking more than he can hear it. His voice reverberates through his lungs, all the way up through his throat. The rasp, the trembles—evidence he's just as broken over this as Cid is, if not more. Just how long has he been at war with himself, with this decision? How soon after Drake's Head did Ultima manage to sink his claws into him?

Ultima may not be possessing Clive, if what he says is to be believed. But there's a part of him, tainting what normalcy he had left.

It's enough of a hassle bearing one Eikon, but Clive—he possesses several, ones willingly and not so. To be a Dominant is no easy task, it's grueling, and has presented them more hardships than not if one wasn't born into a place of worship.

Cid's been there, barely a man over eighteen. He's not sure whether he can truly call himself lucky to have been taken in by another Dominant like himself, but it got him on his feet and away from eyes that no doubt could've done much worse. Cid was of use, he guesses.

Still, though Clive has proved to have a handle on these primals—Ultima is of a different breed. This wretched, vile beast that cannot be bound by a vessel.

❝ Stop— ❞ He chokes into the meat of his shoulder, Cid's heard enough.

He's heard enough.

He removes himself from Clive's space, but keeps hold where he can. Shaky hands squeeze his sides, gentle, as they rise up to rest back on his shoulders. His thumbs smooth over the muscle in attempts to soothe what hurt he had done unto them earlier in his fit of rage. He's sorry, he's so sorry.

Cid's eyes are worn and heavy, tears that had just began to slow start up again at Clive's question—of course, how could he think such a thing?

How could Cid let him think such a thing?

❝ You've always been my Clive. You always will be—You were before Ifrit, you were before any of this. ❞

He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, regaining what little composure he had left so maybe he could understand more than he does.

❝ You won't get rid of me that easy. But I... ❞ Cid lets go, reality weighing him down, and looks at the floor. ❝ I tell you don't go dying on me and it's like it goes in one ear and right out the other. ❞

A wave of his hand, and he laughs quietly.

❝ I'll have lost you before I can even think better of it. How fair is that ? ❞

This has been a topic of discussion for a while. Clive was very obviously skilled in his craft—he has yet to see anyone better—but there's times where it's uncontrolled, downright barbaric. He fights dirty and violent and while it can come in handy, it's not exactly ideal for every situation. Does the fool think he's invincible? Or does he just not care?

He thought they were doing better; Clive wasn't actively looking for someway to kill himself and Cid was becoming more attentive.

Alas, he had to go and screw it up by nearly dying.

❝ What happens after ? We slay the Mothercrystals, go fight him—is that part of him just going to up and fizzle away or is he going to take you with ? ❞

It's a plea, a cry for Clive to tell him it isn't so. For Clive to ease his worries and tell him he'll be okay, that he'll stay here with him and build the life they've dreamed of.

As empty as the promise may be, Cid still wants to hear it. He's not sure he has much left if he doesn't.

The bitter laughter and bitter words spoken makes Clive flinch. Cid is talking to him in a way that he's never talked to him before and Clive doesn't like it. Not one bit. He wants to yank away from Cid and run away to prevent further shattering of his heart.

He didn't think he'd ever be the subject of Cid's ire. That he'd be spoken to like so many others have been spoken to him before. The worst part is, Clive can't blame him. He stands there and takes it despite how much he wants to run.

With every word spoken, his heart breaks more and more. As if breaking into a tiny million pieces that he won't be able to pick up and put together. Not without Cid, at least.

He wants to die because death is far better than this. This anger that is so heavy and thick that it makes Clive want to whimper, to sob, and the tears flow down his face in steady streams. The tears aren't stopping, he's never cried because of Cid's reactions to him, or the fear that Cid might leave him.

He's never really feared that. Not truly. Sure, his mind had often played tricks on him, he's often waited to see if Cid would think he's too much and leave. But it had never been like this, the possibility had never seen as real and as solid as it does right now.

He wants to leave before Cid does it for him.

He grunts, Cid falling against him surprises him so much his arms instinctively wrap around Cid to prevent him from falling and knocking them both to the ground. He stumbles, nearly falling to the ground with Cid on top of him but he plants his feet on the ground firmly and regains his balance.

Then, he drops his arms, because he's not sure Cid wants to be touched. He may be sobbing into his neck right now but Clive's not sure his touch will be welcoming or comforting for that matter so his arms dangle at his sides.

This time, the sob can not be held back. The fear of the unknown, the sound of Cid's cries, it makes it worse. Maybe Cid should leave him, maybe he'd be better off without him. Maybe he wouldn't hurt Cid so much, as unintentional as it had been.

At the time, Clive hadn't realized just how manipulative Ultima's actions had been. Ultima had taken advantage of his grief, his sorrow, his drive to protect those he loved - especially Cid. It had been an impulsive decision that Clive is now regretting.

"I just wanted to protect you, Cid. I can't lose you. I can't lose any of you." He thinks he might as well give himself up to Ultima completely if he loses those he loves. "Ultima isn't taking control of me, I know it's hard to understand but there's only a part of him inside of me. Like the other Eikons." Is explaining this making it any better? He doesn't know.

"I was desperate, Cid. I was desperate and now I'm faced with the reality that I might lose you anyway." It's unforgivable, what he's done.

He should have never let Ultima manipulate him like this but it's too late to go back now, no matter how much this hurts. Regret fills him in waves. Regret, guilt, and remorse. That much is clear when his voice trembles as he speaks again,

"I'm still your Clive, aren't I?"

#EVENING THE ODDS [ R; ]#taleswritten

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cuntycassandra · 3 years ago

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Discussing Omega’s childhood on Kamino

Maybe I’m one of the only people curious about this as we’re all very hung up on Crosshair right now (understandable, I want our king back too), but I would really like a conversation between Omega and preferably Hunter, but anybody works fine, to delve into what her life was truly like on Kamino. How she was treated, raised, reprimanded, and how this all reflects on her relationship with the bad batch, and specifically in moments where their actions have fatherly intent behind them.

So, here’s what we know so far:

She was essentially raised by Nala Se.

She’s a first gen/holds unmodified Jango Fett DNA. Whether she was created at the same time as Boba, we don’t know, although it is unlikely.

Due to the fact she was unaltered, she must’ve been raised from infancy on Kamino.

She wasn’t allowed her own bedroom, so I speculate she either slept in the medical wing or had some sort of shared quarters with Nala Se.

She was frequently tested and experimented on, quite often against her will.

She was perceived to be property and nothing more than an evaluative source to help further Kaminoan research by everybody excluding Nala Se (potentially)

Her title role was a ‘medical assistant’.

She didn’t have a very warm relationship with the other clones, as we’ve seen they labelled her a “lab scrapper”.

She made friends with the existing medical staff, who were all droids.

And that is essentially it. Of course, we can make speculations, (a few of mine are: she must’ve been tormented by the other cadets for not being like them, she knew 99 and he kept her company whenever Nala Se left her alone, and that although she was educated accordingly for her medical training and basic education, she was very sheltered from things without ‘purpose’ to her life (as we all know, the Kaminoans don’t do anything without purpose) but we don’t actually know anything else about her time on Kamino!

First of all I really want to know WHY she was created. Taking into account she isn’t the same age as Boba (it’s very much suggested she isn’t, I mean she acts, looks, sounds and is treated significantly younger than Boba ever was), and Jango also didn’t request two unaltered clones, she must’ve been created a few years after Boba. Therefore, was Jango aware of her existence? And if he was, did he want her? Again, if so, what did Boba think of her? (We don’t actually see Omega’s reaction to being told she’s different, so although she might not have known of their exact relations to her, it’s very likely she could’ve potentially met Jango and Boba at some point.) So many questionsssss.

Moving on, I’d love to know more about her relationship with Nala Se. We’ve seen that the doctor has a soft spot for Omega, most definitely because she raised and grew to love her instead of deeming her a piece of property (not excusing Nala Se’s vile actions with the other clones, she can still rot, Omega has better parental figures now.), but was it always like that? Did she neglect smaller Omega for being just another clone? Before ‘Mega could show personality and differentiate herself, did Se still view her as nothing more then a test subject? How did that affect her relationship with Omega as a young child.

Speaking of which, what was Omega then like as a smaller child (hard to believe, she’s still so smol lmao), but I’m talking toddler age here. She is basically a regular person, going through regular human changes due to the fact she isn’t altered, which means she would’ve had all of those wretched toddler phases that parents dread. We can most likely assess that she was playful and curious, she still is now, bless her, but how was it received? Smaller children don’t have the complexity to understand the level of technicality that the Kaminoans work at, she wouldn’t have understood the necessity of sitting still and behaving, would she have been severely reprimanded? Was Nala Se nice to her about it? How was she raised to interpret mannerisms of other people in regards to this?

Furthermore, I want to know what tests they were performing on her too. She’s clearly important due to her first hand DNA, but before that was an asset, before the Kaminoans needed that, what were they doing to her? Why were they testing on her? How much pain was she in? Did she receive any comfort afterwards or was she expected to dry her eyes and get on with it? (I’m speculating it was the latter.) I need to know what they were doing and why. What was the purpose!

Her entire previous life is a huge mystery to us and I want to know more! And I hope I’m not the only one!

Just looking at her precious little face hurts because we know she didn’t receive the ideal childhood, if anything it was borderline abusive (I mean, not just testing on her, but the mind games the Kaminoans played with this poor kid, the fact she was well aware she was just an asset to their research and yet she constantly received mixed messages. It’s no wonder she idolised the bad batch so much; they seemed to be the only people who hadn’t either treated her like garbage at some point up until then, or died. Honestly despite the few slip ups, props to them for actually taking her in and being decent towards her.

I mean, this isn’t the purpose of this post, but just look at the comparisons.

She finally receives her own bedroom.

Said bedroom isn’t even a proper room, but they made do with what they could. She even acknowledges this and she still absolutely loves it. It’s decked out just for her with fairy lights, blankets and toys.

As said, she actually owns toys now, we don’t know if she ever did on Kamino, but I’m speculating it was most likely very few if any at all.

She has her own weaponry and equipment, she’s actually being assisted to defend herself and her squad, she’s gaining knowledge the Kaminoans wouldn’t have ever dreamed of giving her.

As we’ve seen with the amount of times she runs to Hunter for protection, she trusts them immensely. They’re doing everything right to gain her apprehensive trust so quickly.

And of course it isn’t just with Hunter (I’m a stan so pardon my consistency with bringing him up) but she’s the same with the entire batch, even Cross to a very mild extent! She trusts Wrecker with her life, she forgave him so easily after the Bracca incident because she knows the difference between someone purposefully trying to hurt her and them having no control over their actions.

We see she’s been patient with Echo and Tech, she loves to listen to them, she’s picked up on Tech’s dialect (as seen in episode seven) and she trusts him to help her whenever necessary, she has such a touching bond with Echo too, their little interactions melt my heart.

I could rant for hours about her bond with Hunter, so maybe that should be it’s own post at some point, but honestly just how she always seeks him out specifically for comfort, protection and reassurance. It’s so beautiful.

The way she’s addressed Crosshair over their few co-existent moments too. She’s tried to reassure him it isn’t his fault, because she knows it isn’t, she trusts him because she has no reason not too, everything he’s done and said to her hasn’t been within his control.

These are all severely different reactions to how she responds to both the Kaminoans on planet, whenever they’re mentioned, and from what we know in regards to how they treated her.

I’m repeating myself from a previous post here but honestly petition to give Megs all the hugs in the universe. She deserves ‘em. 💛

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envioussin · 2 years ago

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Anonymous asked:

They're a 10, but their critical thinking skill? Zero to none. Never puts in the work to get what they want out of life and cries about how unfair life is 'cause the world doesn't revolve around Envy. And don't get me started on the daddy issues, the only reason Kimblee bothers keeping you around is the entertainment your destructive abilities provide. Roy can't stand being in the same room with you, let alone even look at the monster who killed his best friend. Sounds alot how father sees you.

THEY’RE A 10, BUT — accepting

It hurt. Why did it hurt so much?

When words rolled off their shoulders like water so many times before, when they scoffed at some puny human’s attempt to insult them...where was that now?

It’s not like they don’t try. Every second of Envy’s existence was a trial, always under the scrutiny of Father and their siblings, a forever uphill climb. But, somewhere along the way, the gradual hill became a cliffside, looming over Envy as if it were one of the Briggs mountains themselves. Their claws are ripped from their hands, all strength and agility sapped away, left in their most pathetic form and told “climb”.

Envy does think, despite what most believe. They scheme and plan, and always follow orders, acting in whatever way deemed fit. The poor thing can’t help giving in to emotions, though. They are jealousy incarnate, a discarded feeling, so of course they yield to such. Try and try again, they always failed. Mistake after mistake.

Like you.

No, that isn’t true. It can’t be true. Right?

But just look at who they are, WHAT they are...who would intentionally create a monstrosity like Envy? So ugly, envy. It’s no surprise they were discarded so easily.

How can this human sit here and accuse them like this? How, when no one could possibly comprehend the raging torrent of suffering that lurked at Envy’s core. A normal mind would break, snap right in half like a twig. But not Envy. They are strong. They must be, or how else could they continue to exist, day after day, when forever in pure agony.

No, the world doesn’t revolve around them. It revolves around Father. And Envy knows that, has always accepted it. They have never been the main character of their own story.

So why does it hurt?

But they can make it through this. This is all things they’ve heard before, hell, even told themself. Brush it off. Stand back up. Prove your strength, your right to live. Make Father proud.

However, the simple mention of two names drives the final nail into place. Tears well in pink eyes, threatening to spill over. Can a Homunculus even cry?

Of course Kimblee doesn’t love you. From the beginning, you’ve known this. Kimblee loves one thing, and one thing alone, and it isn’t Envy. How wretched, little Envy watching over Kimblee as he orchestrates destruction in Ishval, like an angel of death. How fast they fell, upon witnessing all Kimblee could achieve. They had wanted nothing more than to be his muse, his confidant, his everything. But he would never see them that way. No, Envy was nothing more than the stone at their core. That’s what Kimblee really wanted.

And Roy....how utterly pathetic you are, dear Envy. The very second you get a taste of humanity, a drop of emotions other than your namesake, you give in and crave the enemy, the one you could never have. You thought Kimblee could love a monster, but Mustang? Never.

They had not only murdered his best friend, but then bragged about it! No remorse was shown then, so why do you feel it now? Stop pretending. He will never forgive you, and never love you. No, you will be forced to watch him prosper with another, leaving behind the insignificant worm he had burned to death in those tunnels.

Because that’s what you should be: DEAD.

Why should Envy get a second chance at life? Envy, the sin, the murderer, the vile, the corrupted, the UGLY. How cruel, that the universe chose this worm to return, and not a good person everyone missed, one who was actually wanted.

Tears fell in full force, as Envy experienced heartbreak, unadulterated by their jealousy for the first time. Behind the pain was an emptiness, vast and fast consuming, almost like a void. Jump in, it urges.

And oh, how Envy wants to. Please, have pity on them. Let them rip their heart out again, succumb to the pressure that builds and builds and builds. Let it end. Free them from this prison of their own making.

Yet they remain. For Envy is a selfish creature, as they always have been. Despite wanting nothing more than to end it all, they remain, clinging to this second chance at life they will never deserve. Because Envy will always want what they cannot have.

Curled in on themself, the sin sobs, unending tears dripping onto the floor. But no matter how much they cry or scream, no one is coming. Not Kimblee. Not Roy. And not Father.

They hear his voice in their mind, echoing in their skull, a lesson carved into their very soul.

“No one will ever love you.”

#[ i'm not phased ; only here to S I N ] -- (answered)#[ a dwarf in a flask ] -- (anon ask)#well then.....#long post tw //#depression tw //#suicidal thoughts tw //#suicide tw //#self hate tw //#abuse tw //#ask to be tagged //

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bitchassbucky · 4 years ago

Text

.eps (explicit)

Word Count: 2k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment/beheading, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: i told y'all there's more <3 the special character treat is for @sarge-barnes-sir mwah!

this is queued shdhhsh gonna fix the links in the mornin’

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS ABOVE, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THIS VERSION, GO AND CHECK OUT THE NON-EXPLICIT VERSION.

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

So you stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walks into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Starting with his left shoulder, you jab the knife between the bone and the soft flesh of his armpit, bringing the blade downwards. The sickening smell of blood swirled along with the image of muscle and fat being sliced made you gag.

Does the brain know that it’s seeing something it shouldn’t?

A rational part of you wanted to look away but the time is ticking, it’ll be much harder once rigor mortis sets in an hour.

You swing the knife down, cracking the bone once, and then again, and again, and again until the shoulder bone splinters and dislocates itself from the rest of Bucky’s torso. You had to switch knives and blades and a fucking bone saw to get through the rest of his limbs, leaving only his chest, head, and stomach untouched. After taping up and packing the arms and the legs, you work on putting the rest of Bucky into a nondescript suitcase.

The only problem being his head getting into the way of things.

Wanting to preserve even a shred of his dignity, you left his face untouched. Well, save from the crack in his skull.

You begrudgingly take a hefty chef’s knife and start cutting through the jugular vein, only stopping when the blade hits the spinal cord by his nape. The serrated blade of the bone saw sits on your blood-soaked gloves, scrape-scrape-scraping until it snaps into two.

The human head weighs around 10 pounds, kinda like a bowling ball.

An opaque black garbage bag containing Bucky’s head looks nothing suspicious as you put it inside a backpack—into a firepit you go.

His limbs—arms and legs alike—are going deep into the ocean, forgotten and to be used as fish food.

The limbless torso will be finding its home in a deep hole in the middle of a densely wooded area, far from the city.

But you’re not quite sure what to do with the mason jar of teeth though; the clinking noises of it remind you of the seashells you used to collect when you were a kid. Maybe you’ll stash it away with the torso.

Placing the bags into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale.

The drive to and from the places was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and went straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

#bitchassbucky writes #dark!bucky #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x fluff #dark!bucky x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader angst

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flowerflamestars · 3 years ago

Note

I'm in a very angry-with-the-IC-and-Rhys-in-particular mood, and since I'm just rereading Daylight I was wondering, what is going through Rhysand's mind throughout the events of Daylight? Because it's basically his entire life CRUMBLING around him and I'd love to see the mental gymnastics he does to fit it all into his "I'm the good guy, actually" narrative. Or just his general reaction.

this is a FABULOUS question, thank you!

Daylight! Rhys is, in my opinion, the closest to a canonical (pre-acosf) character representation that I go for. He's so SO fucked up, and sublimating and burying all that trauma has, of course, failed, and it's all manifesting, in all these different directions.

To understand the level on which Rhys is losing his shit, it's important to go back to the very beginning: Rhysand, to Rhysand, is always, always the hero of the story. The down on his luck knight with truth in his heart. The struggling, just man.

He CANNOT seeing beyond himself for even a second. He casts himself in the most important role, as the only person whose personal consequences exist.

His mother, at probable great risk, takes him to Illyria to be trained- the precious, first-born, godly son of Night. To learn to fight- to learn, presumably, her culture- to see what that culture is reduced to, a harshness he will on day have the power to change. Rhys had to be, at some point, a great hope for Not High Fae denizens of the Court.

What does Rhysie learn? Illyria is harsh. Illyria is bad. Backwards and cruel.

He hates his father for...presumably, the crime of being a pretty traditional High Lord? Rhys hates the cruelties! the Court of Nightmares! the broken system!

So what does Rhys do when he has power? he fires everyone. He doesn't like them, he doesn't like whatever they did under his father...so instead of hiring new people, he removes himself entirely from a potential role in changing/mitigating those policies. See also: the Court of Nightmares, cowed occasionally, but not in any way governed by Rhys.

But he's the hero! He's destroyed the oppression! His Court of Just his Bros is made of women and Illyrians!

(Rhys removed the terribleness from his direct experience...because only his experiences matter)

So, Rhys in his head: the struggle, the hero, the man just trying to do it right.

Which brings us to Daylight....and Feyre. I know we can attribute the way the characters stop even remotely being sympathetic between acomaf and...everything else...to poor writing, but I also think there's some (maybe accidental but PERFECT) character work there: in acomaf, pre-acknowledged bond, Feyre is an important possession/ally- she's on the same level as the other members of the Court of Dreams, if the jewel of the collection, a high point in the story Rhys tells himself: HE saved the HERO OF PRYTHIAN

(which...let's not even touch on the fact that the deal he makes in acotar is CREEPY and he can only justify it later. she wasn't someone he wanted to work with in acotar- she was a vulnerable, hot young woman he fully took advantage of)

And then they're mates.

And then, slowly but surely, Feyre's personhood disappears. For two reasons: 1) Feyre is on a pedestal so sky-high it blots out everything. Good, pure, true hero Feyre whose adoration Rhysand needs like air. the happy end of his story, the prize and the salvation, the one who sees him.

and 2) ultimately, to Rhys, Feyre is an extension of him. A symbol: his happiness, his peace, his endless power, what he fought to keep.

She's his whole anchor staying sane, which isn't great, considering...ya know, everything. But the Story is Over. They are Happy.

Except- except- nothing is over. Post fifty straight years of torture, a freefall into war and fuckery, teen marriage and literal death, the consequences for all those things AND THE SHIT RHYS WAS PULLING LONG BEFORE AMARANTHA TURNED HIM INTO A CHEW TOY, are still present.

But now, he has something to protect. His golden future. His puppy Mate.

Because Feyre's safety is the safety of his power and vice versa. Anything he does is justifiable because the loss of Feyre is Not an Option. She is Happy. They Are Happy.

It bleeds into everything- and then it intensifies, because this is the breaking point.

The Az/Lucien thing and Feyre incredibly hurtful blindness? No Rhys isn't going to interfere- Az is so private anyway- if Feyre believes its a romantic bond, Feyre is right, she knows her sister, not that it matters because Elain is totally out of her mind.

Sending Cassian to Illyria? Illyria is a backwards shithole right? They're fierce fighters and that's what Rhys values them for- as the hammer of his power- and nothing else? why would there be anything else? Look at them fighting and hurting each other.

Nesta runs and Cassian is left throwing himself in battles actively trying to die and Rhys? Rhys is totally smug. A problem that hurt Feyre and his brother is GONE.

But it's not gone. Az isn't talking to anyone- and Rhys thinks this probably means Lucien is probably, finally fucking him- but even Feyre understands that Azriel knows where Nesta is. When this is proved (when Elain surfaces and they have the very fun kitchen fight) Rhys isn't happy- but he understands. Azriel has always felt responsible for broken things.

But thats not his job, it's Rhysands job, and Rhys has already made that tough choice for the safety of his own: Nesta has no place here. When she resurfaces inevitably, broke and wanting something, Rhys will stop her before she gets close enough to upset (hurt) Feyre. It's his job.

Cassian goes missing, and Rhysand sets upon what will become his eventual move: Illyria's value is strength. (a martial strength that belongs to RHYS). But they think they can take from him? They can destroy their own best chance? (Rhys recognizes Cassian's value to Illyria even while, you know, ordering him to slaughter Illyrians) They would threaten his power? hurt his family?

Rhys will not allow a world to exist where Feyre can be hurt.

If Illyria can't be controlled, Illyria will be put down, like the rabid creatures they are. (They were always backwards, Rhys thinks. Freeing my mother was the one good thing my father ever did)

But Cassian lives.

Rhys asks Azriel if he's been cursed. Az laughs in his face.

And Cassian is a terrible enemy to have. The strategies the loyalists are using? His, filtered through Rhys. The magical contingencies? Cassian and Az, trying to prevent bloodshed.

Feyre thinks, for a long time, that maybe the rebels have Nesta. What else could compel Cassian to even care? these people keep trying to kill him. they want to kill Rhys. the brothers suffered in the frozen mud at the hands of these monsters, what is Cassian doing?

And then the massacre happens.

And Feyre sick to her stomach, cries when she hears. Rhysand thinks about a little hazel eyed boy who'd never had a bed, a present, who'd been nothing until Rhysand plucked him up- a little boy who'd grown into a dangerous man, who'd just killed every person who ever contributed to his pain. Rhys thinks, knowing he'll have to punish Cassian for this, that it's over.

The camp lords are dead, it has to be over.

(Azriel hears and understands- because he knows damn well Cassian was something before Rhysand, and after despite him. That beneath those repeatedly broken ribs is a heart that was once so big so save him, grown strong enough now to save everyone who was like them: forgotten, abandoned, used.)

It's not over. The mountains are burning. Banners fly on northern wind in a language long dead. They're singing, the spies say, they call him dawn. Loyal-heart-as-dawn.

It's Cassians name. Not that Rhys, who never knew more than a few vile insults in the language of his mother's ancient, proud people, understood it then.

Rhysand, the long-suffering hero of his own story, has been betrayed.

He can risk no more- it's time to end this madness. It's Feyre's idea to use Elain- it's Feyre who is left crying, a betrayal Rhysand will never forget- when Elain, who they've given everything, Elain, perhaps just as broken and wretched as her eldest sister, refuses to help keep Feyre safe.

(Elain refuses to participate in what she sees as genocide, but as we've established, what consequences exist? the ones Rhys feels right in front of his face)

Azriel, Elain, and Lucien run.

Of course, if both Feyre's sisters are capable of betraying her, of course, both of Rhysand's brothers would as well. They are one in the same, aren't they? Marked by destiny, by fate for this hard and terrible work- of course it hurts. Of course- but Rhysand will stop it from hurting Feyre any more.

There's one force in the world that can stand in truth against Illyria. The Darkbringers- their ancestral, ancient conquers.

(Yes, I do think Rhys knows the shitty, shitty history of his court! He just doesn't care! He didn't do it. He's different. He's in Velaris with the common people. He has wings. He's not his father.)

(He is, in fact, far worse)

When he thinks of it, it seems perfect. Illyria will be destroyed- a loss, but a safe one. Keir, will, almost certainly, also be destroyed or at least critically weakened.

Rhysand will stand alone, the man who was willing to do anything for peace. He will rule over an emptied playing field, secure in a world where Feyre is safe.

The Hewn City empties, the armies march- Rhysand holds tight Feyre's hand, says nothing about the fact that nothing, nothing, will stop Keir from killing anyone in front of him when battle starts, and reaches once more for Cassian's mind.

His brother, his friend, his loyal right hand- he begs him to come back. To come home. That they can put down this rebellion and in his love for Cassian everything can go back to how it is meant to be, all of them together.

It does not occur to him to address the hundreds dead. The system he was complicit in and responsible for that ground a culture to dust and ash- what matters is brother against brother should never have turned, and Rhys, in his kindness, will offer Cassian this last chance for honor.

Rhys doesn't want Cassian to die- he wants Cassian by his side- but he will drown the world in blood before he'll lose his crown and hope and Feyre.

And when Cassian dies, falling to the earth in Rhysand's arms, Rhys thinks of penance.

A circle closed.

But of course- Cassian wakes. Death is not done with her right hand anymore than the contract between Lordship and land in immutable. Cassian brought the magic back, brought Illyria back.

Rhys is fighting for something personal- Cassian is fighting for a whole world and future, with everything in himself.

When the new border is drawn, Rhys doesn't despair- sure he's shaking, he's covered in Cassian's blood, his twelve thousand year old walls are smoking and the whole world smells like fucking Nesta Archeron- he's been the victim of curses before.

He won't let it keep him down. He'll be fine. He has Feyre, they're safe. Illyria is going to implode- and maybe, maybe, he'll save some of those that remain when the violence is too much, when they need a real High Lord.

They'll come home. Just like Feyre's sisters will. Rhysand's brothers. They fought for peace and Velaris has it- it is their home.

It's what they fought for, the happy ending, and it's all worth it.

It has to be worth it.

#Rhys is deadset a huge narcissist #and in the middle of a breakdown the entirety of daylight #he's SO HURT #But's turning all that hurt into anger #and an even stricter paranoia #its all catching up to him #everything from imperialism #to the shitty way he treated his friends #to the Winter Massacre that yes was absolutely him #this is more of a Shoreless Concept but all of feysand can be summed up #by Feyre making teary BUT WE'RE FAMILY demands and Rhys immediately committing a literal warcrime #and like #I do think Rhys hates himself too #but for wildly the wrong reasons #and never more or in a real way that overcomes how much he thinks everything he does is right #Cassian's death was a cost to them #as Nesta tells Feyre: what's done cannot be undone. Rhys chose wrong #the truly bonkers Rhys thing in canon #will always be that he's both represented as Most Powerful Ever #and the wrongly ignored underdog #when in fact he throws around power constantly for petty shitty reasons

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luna-the-moth · 4 years ago

Text

Tainted Elysium(SFW)

Hello dear! Ohoho, I love this prompt, you have no idea! I’m so sorry if you wanted this in hc/scenario form, but the story potential for this was just Screaming at me- Also, this follows my hc that the Celestial Realm is corrupt (Pointedly looks at the angel event)

As the request says, there will be a character death.

Word count: 1.7k

Reblogs, likes, and comments are lovely to see!

Satan with a Reincarnated Angel! Reader. SFW! With a GN! reader.

Requests are open, but please read my rules and guidelines before reading!

~~~~~~~~~~~

How could this happen?

Falling onto his knees, Satan watched, helpless as your limp body sat lifelessly in the pentagram. Your eyes were wide, shock still ever-present on your features, a last reminder of your death.

He brought himself onto his feet, kneeling beside you, tears dripping onto your cold, lifeless skin. Your body was still warm, although your face had been drained of any remaining sign of life, similar to a mannequin.

This isn’t how he planned things to go, no- You were supposed to become immortal through the ritual, not die. Solomon had said this was one of the safest routes to immortality.

Mind spiraling, Satan gripped his head between his hands, trying to grasp any last shreds of his control. He couldn’t lose is composure. No, he had worked too hard to repress himself, he can’t lose it now.

“Perfect, the ritual has been completed and seems to be successful. Now we just need to wait.” Solomon mused smugly, pleased with his work.

Snapping his head to the sorcerer, Satan’s eyes held a sea of emotions. Disbelief, shock, betrayal, and wrath. Pure, unpolished wrath, in it’s rawest, most carnal form.

“Successful? Successful? They just died, and you say the ritual has been successful? You had sworn that they would become immortal, Solomon.”

His facade was crumbling down as he spoke flames of green and black peeking between his form, the demonic form he despised was coming loose. With a roar, his body expanded, clothes being torn to shreds as an equestrian form stood proudly where a demon once stood.

Charging at the sorcerer, Satan’s jaw opened, a maelstrom of green flames bursting from his mouth, swirling in a cyclone of hellish fire. After that, Satan’s mind blacked out, completely losing control over his grief.

All that he could remember, was the body of his lover fading into white butterflies behind the sorcerer, a white glow taking over your body.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Satan doesn’t remember how long it’s been since you’ve died.

Don’t get him wrong, he isn’t going to be completely hung up in mourning for your death as long as he lives, but there are times he’ll see pieces of you. Those are the moments the grief will come rushing back.

In certain lines of poetry, ones you had always asked him to read at night.

The cat cafe in the human world, where you would always end up taking dozens of pictures of him, letting him unabashedly show his adoration for the creatures.

But the memory that hurt most of all, was your wit, charm, and intelligence. Smiling, he fondly remembered the way your eyes would gleam when discussing flower symbolism, or demonic history you had learned of in the human world.

You would ramble on for hours, passionate and lively, something Satan greatly admired. You were unapologetically yourself around him, no mask, and no tricks to convince him of otherwise.

Now, he would stop by your gradually crumbling tombstone every year, placing a bouquet of flowers on your grave, along with a bundle of cherry blossoms. They were one of your favorites, and he smiled as he reminisced about your love of the aromatic flora.

However, today was different. Your grave wasn’t there, instead, an angel. Near your gravestone, was an angel, bathed in a heavenly glow, halo shining brightly. Beside the angel, was a young child, a mortal soul, recently deceased.

As the little boy grabbed your hand, Satan’s eyes widened, seeing your face. Nearly dropping the bouquet, he softly placed a hand over his mouth, disbelief and shock clouding his mind.

So this is what Solomon had meant by immortal. You really were immortal, but not in the way he had thought.

Seeing you in silver armor, white cape flowing down your back, it was almost surreal. Your eyes had taken on a white ring, glowing around your irises, brighter than the stars themselves.

Satan hadn’t spent much time in the Celestial Realm, besides the time he had been a part of Lucifer’s subconscious. There had been scriptures in the human world of beautiful, ethereal angels, along with their interpretations of their true forms.

Yet in Satan’s eyes, angels were repulsive creatures. Arrogant, with a twisted sense of justice. Blindingly bright, they were merely demons, masquerading themselves as helpers, and merciful beings. Pathetic excuses for angels.

Seeing his lover become an angel? It made his blood boil. They had taken you, and tainted you. Bleaching you with their morals, molding you into another animatronic being, just another slave to their sick minds

Stepping forward, Satan took a leap of faith to see if you recognized him, and whether or not you would attack him. If there was a shred of you left, even a flicker of memory, there was a chance he could help you see the truth.

However, when within a few steps of approaching, you whirled around, eyes blazing. With a flash of light, you drew out a spear, immediately lunging toward him, blade tilting his chin up.

“Hello Y/n, it’s a pleasure to see you again, my dear.”

Leering, you asked,

“What business do you have with me, Angel of Mercy, wretched demon? Have you come to taint this child? To take him, turning his soul into a meal? Or perhaps, a lessor demon?”

At hearing this statement, the child took on an expression of pure fear, immediately flashing away, the ghostly apparition of his soul disappearing. Perhaps another angel would find him again, or a hungry demon.

With nothing but pure disgust and scorn in your eyes, Satan couldn’t help but bark out a bitter laugh. So this is what they’ve done to you? Modeled you after the archangel Raphael, ever so eloquent and haughty. It’s almost as if the heavens were laughing at him as they had altered you.

Fate really is a cruel mistress, isn’t she? Hasn’t he suffered enough, a demon of Wrath? Cast out even among his own brethren, the only true demon amongst fallen angels.

As you glowered down at him, spear nearly piercing his throat, Satan chuckled. How ironic, that his lover would be reformed into a being that Satan loathed, and one who despised him in return.

Of course not, the heavens would always scorn him, and take whatever they could from him. Twisting them into their vision of perfection, mindless slaves with no free will.

Being reincarnated to an angel of mercy as well, added insult to the injury. Your gaze was hardened in a burning hatred. To you, he was nothing but a mere demon, a being of sin, who deserves to be cast out as scum.

Shock evident across your face, your eyes flashed in suspicion as Satan didn’t show signs of hostility, nor wanting to retaliate. But demons were known to be charming and deceptive, especially the Avatars.

Looking at you with mournful, tired eyes, Satan had nearly given up on bringing you back. And now, you were here in front of him. Yet you didn’t even remember his name. A sad smile making it’s way across his features, he couldn’t help but think.

After all he’s done for himself, and to distance himself from his sin; Fate still frowned on him. Born from wrath, forever seen as an uncontrollable beast, no matter how he painted himself, he would always be struck down, time and time again.

You couldn’t help but feel an odd familiarity within those forest green eyes, and carefully lowered your spear, suspicion morphing into curiosity. Why had that name sounded so familiar?

How could a demon be anything other than the vile creatures told about in the Celestial Realm, filthy and deceptive?

However, you had assumed it was him influencing your mind, when in reality, it was quite different. With a burst of light, the spear disappeared from sight, although you were still in a cautious stance, ready to summon it again.

Deciding to make a leap of faith, Satan carefully presented you the bouquet of flowers he had brought with him. Presenting them to you in a non-threatening manner, lest you point your spear at him again.

This year’s bouquet was different; a new arrangement, one that conveyed his yearning, love, and heartbreak. You had loved Victorian flower symbolism, so he saw these as apt choices for flowers. These flowers consisted of:

Pink camellias (Longing for you), red carnations (Alas for my poor heart, my heart aches), pink carnations (I’ll never forget you), red chrysanthemums (I love you), columbines (Foolishness, folly), gladiolus (Remembrance), and hydrangeas (Gratitude for being understood; frigidity and heartlessness). Accepting these wouldn’t mean you would automatically fall in love again. Hell, you didn’t even have to be friends at the end of the day. Did he expect you to take it and eventually change your mind? No.

But perhaps if you saw the darker side of things, you would have a different perspective on demons and angels. What Satan wanted, was for you to see the truth. The truth about who you were before, and what’s happened to you.

Taking a step back, you stiffen. Unconsciously clenching your hands, swarms of doubt cloud your mind. Was this some sort of trick? Perhaps a plan to sweep you away, an attempt to seduce you?

However, looking at his eyes, you couldn’t deny the genuine tenderness those emerald orbs shone. Your instincts and thoughts clashed against one another, and time seemed to freeze, the two of you stuck in an eternal will-they-won’t-they.

Throughout your exchange with the Avatar, you had been wondering why a demon of his rank would care so much for a human, and felt an odd curiosity about him.

It didn’t make sense, as the dead human’s soul would be in the Devildom or Celestial Realm by now. Why would he bother visiting a soulless grave, with no benefits to reap?

In a decision made of curiosity and unknown futures, you let out a shaky breath. Extending a trembling hand, you gently wrapped your fingers around the bouquet; Quickly bringing it to your chest as your finger brushed Satan’s.

No fireworks appeared, nor did you kiss under the light of day. You didn’t fully believe Satan, and the demon in question was still in shock, finding out about your existence. Your prejudices weren’t magically wiped away; Neither was Satan’s grief.

But it was a start.

#my writing #obey me #obey me angst #obey me fluff #obey me satan #obey me satan x reader #obey me scenario #obey me headcanon #obey me satan x reader angst #obey me fic #obey me x reader

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galaxythreads · 3 years ago

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Should I continue fic???

I wrote up these five pages to a possible Porcelain/Append merge (kinda) and was wondering if anyone would be interested/read it if I continued on with it?

What do I mean by merge? I mean, it would be like a re-written version of Append with Hela’s background in Porcelain put in, and the entire story overall would be much darker. Just. To clarify that. XD

*Also note of warning, all my italics were removed, and I am too exhausted to and put them back in. Just...imagine it.

Five Pages:

“No!” The sound is a hoarse screech, tearing itself out of her throat and refusing to be ignored.

Hela scrambles to get her feet beneath herself, dragging her heels into the snow, leaving a long blood trail smeared in the white, crystalized snow behind her. It’s not enough. He’s taking her. She’s not going to be able to stop him.

Oh, Allfathers.

A desperate, panicked sob begins to build in her chest, applying pressure until it feels like her ribs will burst from the effort of keeping it contained. She can’t breathe. Every inhale draws the sharp, painful air of Jotunheim into her lungs, searing them as it settles into her chest. It’s so cold that it feels like her tongue is beginning to go stiff in her mouth.

She struggles in the grasp, trying to get some sort of leverage so she can fight her way out of the grip and draw a weapon, but there’s nothing she can do. With her hair wrapped firmly in the fist as well as her arm, her neck is pinned into place and leaves little room to wiggle.

Desperate, she scrambles to find some sort of way to deal with the situation. She stops trying to claw off the fingers with her left hand and starts to flex out her fingers, feeling the familiar discomforting wedge as the dwarf metal implants in her arms start to form the weapon. She’s not entirely sure what she’s planning, anything sharp and easily maneuverable, but it doesn’t matter as Odin releases her abruptly, shoving her into the hard snow.

Hela smacks against it, feeling the sensation rattle up her face, but no pain. Never any pain. She hasn’t been worthy of it since early adolescence.

“By the gods, you insufferable child!” Odin exclaims, turning around to face her. His expression is twisted into familiar incense. Well, what’s left of it. Hela’s eyes snap up toward the unfamiliar sight of hasty field bandages wrapped around Odin’s head, covering his left eye. There’s still blood on his face from where it smeared down his cheek after the attack.

It looks painful.

Good.

“How can you be so ungrateful?” Odin demands harshly. He takes a step toward her, and Hela feels herself draw back from him, fresh tears spilling down her face to trace down to her chin. Her eyes itch from how much she’s been crying, and she hates herself for showing this frailty in front of him. There are no weaknesses in front of Odin Allfather.

Hela sits up slowly, her dark hair falling over her shoulders to spill across her chest. There’s wet blood on her fingers from the earlier battle, and it leaves ugly, morbid stains on the white snow. Something’s wrong with her arm, she notes distantly, it’s barely supporting her weight. She must have broken something.

She swallows thickly, wishing her voice didn’t sound so clogged. “What do I have to be grateful for?”

Odin snarls. “I saved you.”

“Saved me?” She hasn’t found much reason to laugh since Asgard invaded Jotunheim, but this--this arouses something. Not happiness, but a bitter sort of disbelief. Anger, perhaps.

Hela laughs sharply until he strikes her. It doesn’t hurt, it never does, but a harsh feeling of shame washes over her. Her head turns with the force of the blow, and she looks toward the snow, hiding behind a curtain of long hair. She tastes blood in her mouth and feels absently for the cut on her tongue with her teeth.

“You insolent wretch. I could have damned you by leaving you.” Odin hisses, and he waits for a second, as if expectant. He’s waiting, Hela realizes, for her to come to her senses and thank him. He hasn’t changed since she saw him last. Not in the slightest.

She isn’t surprised by this, though she thinks she should be.

“I would rather that you did,” Hela murmurs, and then looks up toward her father between her hair. He stands over her, imposing as always, tressed up in armor that adds to bulk she knows he doesn’t have. He looks every inch a king at this moment. A powerful enemy. Her enemy.

She deserted. She committed treason. He has every reason to execute her at this point. She’d deserve it. She’s deserved nothing less since she was a child.

Odin’s nostrils flare and he reaches out, grabbing her arm again despite Hela’s desperate scramble to back away. His fingers are iron against her clothing, a noose to choke her with. He hauls her to her feet, yanking her forward. In the far distance, Hela can see the remains of where she knows Asgard’s camp was set up. It’s gone now, which is to be expected, the war is over.

Jotunheim lost.

Asgard won. And now she’s being returned home. She’s saved.

Norns.

Hela starts to fight him again. “I won’t go with you,” she protests, “I’d rather be damned.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” Odin says heatedly, and the words hurt somewhere deep and quiet inside of her. “But your death would serve me nothing.”

Ah. So that’s what this is. Of course. It’s not fatherly concern, or even a base parental instinct suddenly aroused to save her from a beheading. She has not served all her use to him yet, so he will keep her. Because she’s a tool. A weapon. She’s so far from a living creature it’s a wonder that she breathes at all now.

Maybe that’s what he’ll take next.

Oh, Norns, Hela curses wildly. She can’t go back. She can’t. She can’t. She won’t survive that. Her struggles begin to grow more frantic, and Odin doesn’t let her go, because she’s not allowed anything. Not what she wants. The decade she spent as a war captive was a reperivie that’s over. He’s taking her back, and the sedirmasters will have more to do, and he’ll have more for her to kill, more for her to turn into, and--

Of course. Why is she protesting this? She’s a weapon. She’s his weapon.

Weapons have no regrets. No remorse. No emotions. No desires, or wants, or needs.

Norns.

Hela’s stomach twists, and she staggers to her knees and vomits. It’s bloody and thin, but her tongue feels swollen and her neck feels tight. Her free hand’s fingers scramble to dig into her ribs, as if they can simply remove the vile substance by clawing it out of her chest.

I can’t do this again.

The thought is a distinct contrast of sudden, deep despair to her previous frantic scrambles. Her fight has lost, because there is no escape. Norns. She closes her eyes tightly, squishing tears out onto her face in the process, and breathes out sharply.

Odin’s fingers tighten on her arm, she’s sure, to the point of bruising. It might have been more effective at intimidation if she felt it. As it is, the pressure becomes almost unbearable, and she bites on her tongue sharply.

“How weak you have become,” Odin says. His voice is toneless. But the disappointment is obvious.

And it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. She knows that she has changed. But it does matter. A part of her, she thinks, will always belong to her father. If not in body, then in mind. She wants this. His approval. She craves it.

She slaughtered cities for it.

“Go to helheim.” She whispers, trying to be snide, but bordering on desperate.

Look at you, a voice purrs in the back of her mind, dark and laughing, the goddess of death, weeping at her father’s feet, trying to be intimidating. You have become a weak creature, haven't you?

Odin sneers at her statement, but draws her back to her feet with force. Hela steps over the bloody bile, and the two of them carry forward. She seems to have vomited out her fight, because, though she stumbles on uneven footing, she doesn’t fight her father. There’s nothing she can do. If she ran from here, where would she go?

She doesn’t know if Laufey is dead, but she saw the corpse of his wife.

They draw closer to the Asgardian camp, and every footfall sends a rattle of dread up her stomach. She’s still crying, and feels like a child for it. She hasn’t cried this much since she was a child, and even then, very little. Her father never believed in tears.

“What will you do with me?” Hela whispers. She should fight, but she’s not even sure she could support her own weight without her father forcing her to move forward. “Public execution?”

“No.” Odin says derisively, as if this should have been rather obvious.

“Then what?”

“What do you think?” Odin snaps, “Your place is beside me. You are my executioner.”

But not, Hela notes with a familiar ache, your daughter. He calls her his child when it suits him, but it’s a formality. They both know what she is to him. Their relationship has never been one of warmth. If they’ve ever had a relationship to begin with.

“You will return to Asgard with me, and resume your duties. I will see to it that your recent...actions do not become public knowledge.” Odin says without looking at her. “That is what will happen to you. I do not intend to kill you, daughter.”

Hela smiles at that, knowing otherwise. Not physically, no. Perhaps not.

But he’s killed her so many times already.

Her smile drops.

Oh, gods.

This can’t be happening again. She thought she was out. Laufey promised that it was over. Norns, he was helping her. He cared. She thinks he cared. But no one she knows has ever cared for her. Maybe it, like it has been with everyone else, has been some sort of facade to beat her into submission.

It felt real.

It wasn’t.

It felt safe.

It wasn’t.

Hela sees the blood smears across the snow, the hard ice bearing the scars of war beneath thick sheets. The camp is empty, the tents set and the fires put out. The only remains that Asgard was ever here in the first place is the blood and the miscellaneous scattered around. It’s the first time she’s seen it, and she would have spit on it if she had the strength.

Hela ducks her head, breathing in the familiar frigid air. It feels sharp against her throat and lungs, but she would breathe it in forever if it meant she could stay here. Asgard has nothing for her but pain. But maybe Jotunheim had nothing for her, either. She doesn’t know. She can’t keep the lies straight in her head anymore.

Odin comes to a sudden stop, and Hela nearly stumbles over herself. The scorch of burned snow leaves a wet trail of slippery ice, but it takes her less than a second to recognize the markings. The Bifrost. It’s here. Again. This is really happening. Hela closes her eyes and feels fresh tears warm her cheeks.

I’d rather die than go back, she thinks again.

Odin turns his head up toward the sky, and Hela feels her gut tightening in apprehension. If her father notices, he doesn’t care. But he’s never cared about her before, he wouldn’t start now. “Heimdall--open the Bifrost!”

#Hela #my fics #hela odinsdottir #hela is more than a villain #odin's a+ parenting #odin fam #hela redemption #my fanfiction #???#idk #i like it #i just idk

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cardsthings · 3 years ago

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The Kidnapping of Goro Akechi

The courtyard was bathed in a bright orange glow, so much so that the flicker of candlelight drowned out the stars. Goro stared up at the blank sky. In just under an hour, guests would start to arrive. He grimaced at the thought. A full night of mingling with nobles he didn't even know or care enough to recognize. It was a joke. The entire masquerade was nothing but an excuse for disgusting people to indulge in vices without causing a scandal.

"Is something the matter my Lord?" Goro turned to the masked woman in front of him. One of the many servants at the palace who was being forced to attend to the wretched event. He felt sorry for her, no doubt she would have a far worse night than he ever could. Dealing with entitled drunks who thought, no, knew they could get away with whatever they wanted... He suppressed the urge to tell her to run far away. No doubt, it would have ended poorly for both of them. "You seem... distracted."

"Oh no," He carefully smiled. There was no point in letting some random servant know his true thoughts. At best, having someone to listen would be a mild comfort, at worst, word might get back to his father. If he ever got the idea that Goro was ungrateful in any way, well, he didn't want to think about the consequences. "It's just a shame that you can't see the stars tonight."

The woman nodded with a clearly fake smile. Before she could continue the conversation with some meaningless platitudes, the sound of broken glass and his father's angry shouts drew her attention. She left in a hurry to placate the raging king. Goro turned to look, Shido's cheeks were flushed, whether with anger or alcohol he couldn't tell. At least four people were attending to him, trying to prevent an even larger outburst.

Goro quickly turned away when Shido set his eyes on him. He didn't need that sort of attention right now. He just needed to keep his head down and wait for the horrid night to be over.

*****

The hours passed by painfully slow. Even with the minor indulgence of wine, Goro's barely buzzed state hardly soothed how horrendously boring everything was. Maybe if he could let himself go safely... but as it was, every fake smile he had to give to some masked idiot just made him feel like he was dying inside a little more. At least the effect that the flowing booze had on others worked to his favor. The drunk crowd was more interested in gossiping among themselves and harassing the staff who hadn't yet managed to slip away instead of trying to get on the good side of the crowned prince.

Goro spent some of his down time scanning the crowd. He noticed Okumura however, his young daughter was conspicuously absent. Likely because even someone like him knew not to bring her to these sorts of events. Especially not when Goro had heard rumors of her engagement. Although, the other subject of said rumors was right at Okumura's side. Honestly, Goro pitied Haru despite having met her once. From what he could tell, she wasn't yet like the vile nobility that plagued the land. Of course, yet was the key term. No one decent ever rose to power.

As Goro continued to search through the crowd from afar, he caught sight of Shido. His father was predictably drunk. It's not like these parties served much other purpose than to allow him indulge in every vice he could think of under the cover of "high class mingling". When Shido suddenly turned to face him, Goro turned away, hoping that he hadn't been caught staring. It was unlikely he'd be punished for something so simple but still... When his father was drunk he could be particularly petty and unpredictable.

He sighed and gave up on looking at the crowd. Most of them were complete strangers to him anyways. Instead, he entertained himself with thoughts of Shido's downfall. The idea of slitting his father's throat and stealing his crown and throne while he looked on, choking on his own-

"Hellooo~" Goro took a deep breath. The person behind him absolutely reeked with alcohol. It was clear they'd been drinking all night. He pretended not to hear them, hoping that they would go away on their own. "Hey, hey!" The drunk grabbed his shoulder. If they stained the white shirt he was wearing with their filthy hands, he'd be pissed.

Goro turned around with a polite smile as he shrugged off their hand. "Good evening sir." He used a more pleasant voice to address them. What a night it would be if some random drunk ran off to his father to tattle that his son hadn't been the perfect little prince he was always supposed to be.

"You're a cutieee~" Goro tried his best not to glare at the man. He simply gave a polite chuckle.

"I think you're drunk sir." The man grabbed Goro's wrist as he tried to disengage. "Maybe you should have some water and sit down."

"Aww, that's no fun! Come on, why don't we go somewhere..." He leaned in. Goro wrinkled his nose as the smell of alcohol became even worse. "A little more private."

Goro leaned back. Did this man not know who he was? He certainly didn't know who the man was. "As... lovely as that sounds... I'll have to decline. Now, please let go before I-"

"Come oooon!" The man attempted to yank Goro forward but he resisted. Suddenly, the man's expression darkened beneath his mask. "What?! You think you're too good for me or something!"

Goro tried to push the man off him but his grip on his wrist tightened until it was painful. "I'd rather not cause a scene-"

The man yanked Goro in close again, this time succeeding. "Then fucking-"

"Excuse me." Goro craned his neck to see over the drunk man. A handsome young man stood behind him with a confident smirk. "I think you're bothering him."

The drunk whipped his head to see the newcomer, letting go of Goro's wrist as he did. Goro immediately put some distance between himself and the man. "Who the hell're you!?" Goro had similar thoughts. He didn't quite recognize him but he still seemed somehow familiar. Maybe it was the alcohol or the dimming lights that were causing such an effect.

The young man tilted his head with an amused expression. "I'm just a concerned bystander." He looked past the drunk directly at Goro. His eyes widened slightly beneath his black and white mask. "And I'd appreciate it if you left my friend alone."

"Go fuck yourself!" The drunk attempted a sloppy punch but it was easily dodged. The young man used the drunk's momentum against him to knock him to the ground. As the drunk struggled to get back up, the young man walked past him. He stopped in front of Goro and smiled.

"Are you okay?" The young man offered him a gloved hand for a handshake.

"I'm fine. And I had the situation under control." Goro turned away. "You have no idea what trouble you could have just caused for me."

"I'm sorry," Somehow Goro didn't think he was being genuine. "Let me make it up to you."

Goro turned to him with an unimpressed look. "How exactly?" He crossed his arms.

"I dunno, I guess you'll just have to find out." Ren reached out his hand again, a mischievous smirk crossed his face. "I'm Ren by the way, and you are..?"

Ren. Goro looked him over. The bright red gloves served as a pop of color in his otherwise black outfit. It seemed almost more suited to sneaking than to partying... Maybe it was the miniscule amount of alcohol or maybe it was genuine curiosity (Goro wanted to blame the alcohol), but he was tempted. It was something that would let him not focus on the horrendous party going on around them.

"...I'm Goro." He kept his expression even. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ren."

Ren smirked and gave a dramatic bow. "I wasn't aware I was mingling with the prince himself."

Goro huffed and turned away. A strange feeling made itself known in his chest. He really didn't know? Had he really helped without thinking that it could have gotten him a favor from the prince? Or was it that he was lying and simply waiting for an opportunity to use the whole event against him? "There's no need to make such a big deal out of it..."

"Of course not." Goro's eyes flicked back to Ren when he began to speak again. "Why don't we get out of here?"

"I can't exactly leave right now, if my father saw me..." What conclusions would he draw? Ren was about his age and he was undeniably handsome...

Ren smirked. "Not even for a second?" Goro looked him over once again. He looked harmless but looks could be deceiving. What did he want? What was his motive here? "I'm sure I could find a way to sneak you out if you really wanted me too, come on, I'm trying to make things up to you."

Goro sighed. "I suppose a few minutes couldn't hurt..." It was probably a stupid idea but he was curious. There was something strange about Ren and he wanted to know more.

Ren grabbed Goro by the hand. He quickly looked around the courtyard before he pulled Goro in a darker area. He kept Goro closer to the wall, using himself as cover to compensate for Goro's bright white outfit. It didn't take long for Ren to find a door that Goro hadn't even seen in the dimmed lights. He pulled it open and quickly entered right after Goro. After that, they made their way through the halls and out to the front of the palace.

Once outside, Goro took a deep breath of fresh air. He felt a smile creep onto his face as a nice breeze blew through the air. He took a moment to look up at the stars. The lights from the palace behind them still dimmed them but now they were at least visible.

"Much better." Goro turned to Ren. His mask was off and away. In the dim light of the moon, Goro suddenly realized why he had seemed so familiar. Before he could call for help or say anything, he felt a sudden horrible pain explode on the side of his head. He fell to the ground as black spots filled his vision. Vaguely, he could make out Ren walking towards him. Someone else grabbed him while Ren approached.

"Sorry your highness..." Were the last words Goro heard before the world drifted into darkness.

*****

A light breeze blew Goro's hair into his face. The smell of the sea surrounded him. In the distance, he could hear a few assorted voices. As he opened his eyes, he could see a blur of brown beneath his feet. His arms hurt but when he tried to move them into a more comfortable position, he met painful resistance from what must have been a rope around his wrists. His head was absolutely pounding.

"-ink he's awake." Goro looked up. A blurry figure stood above him, their bright yellow hair stood out. Slowly, they came into focus. A large grin was plastered on his face.

"Where-" Goro's question was cut off by a sudden sharp pain in his head. He winced as a shadow blocked out the sun. The sun... how long had he been out?

"Good morning, your highness." Goro's eyes shot up to the source of the familiar voice. Ren stood there with an annoyingly smug smirk. Immediately, Goro tried to lunge at Ren. He would have wrung his neck if he wasn't stopped by the stupid rope. "Nice to see you're doing well."

"Let me go you piece of shit!" He struggled against his restraints to little success. Either he was too weak, the rope was tied very well, or both.

Ren simply laughed at him. "I wasn't expecting the prince to be so vulgar." He leaned down so that he was eye level with Goro. "I think it suits you."

"Fuck off." Goro glared at him, if looks could kill he'd be dead a hundred times over. "Whatever the hell you think you're going to get from me-"

"Don't worry, I don't want anything from you." Ren smiled. "You should actually be back home pretty quick. We already sent word to the king that we have you, as soon as he pays the ransom, you'll be returned completely unharmed."

"You already attacked me last night."

"Mostly unharmed." Ren amended. "But don't worry, nobody wants to hurt you... again. As long as you don't try anything, you'll be fine." He flashed a smile and gave the same bow he had the night before. "You have my word, your highness."

Goro's eyes were drawn to the dagger that poked out slightly from Ren's belt. He struggled against his restraints one more time but found his hands thoroughly stuck in place. He sighed and hung his head in defeat.

"Glad you understand." Akira turned around and addressed his crew. Goro kept his eyes trained to the ground but strained his ears to hear what they were saying. Unfortunately, the sounds of the ocean drowned out their already quiet conversation. It was fine. Everything was fine. Goro could be patient. He could learn what he needed to know. It wouldn't be long before he escaped.

Crossposted on AO3, https://archiveofourown.org/works/32254492

#Pirate AU #Goro Akechi #Mentioned Masayoshi Shido #Akira Kurusu #Ren Amamiya #Persona 5 Protagonist #When you kidnap your future boyfriend #Not the best first impression #But it gets better #Persona 5 #P5 #Fanfiction #Mine

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angelqueen04 · 4 years ago

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Hamliza Month, Day 26

@megpeggs @historysalt

Farm Offend Summary: Eliza and Liza have a talk after a difficult visitor. Note: A good deal of this is inspired by Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie’s version of events in their novel, My Dear Hamilton. I added some of my own thoughts and twists to it, but their version lays at its heart. All credit to them.

Eliza stood at the parlor window, her back straight as a board, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. This set of windows had a good view of the road leading away from the Grange, which provided her with an excellent view of the comings and goings of travelers as they sped by, on their way to Albany or New York, depending on their direction. The view it gave her at this particular moment was even more agreeable, however, as it allowed her to watch the gig[1] carrying James Monroe drive away from the house.

Good riddance, she thought with a measure of grim satisfaction. The Virginian had come here hoping that time had softened her, had made her amenable to accepting some well-turned little speech that he’d obviously planned out in his mind beforehand.[2] Well, he’d now learned otherwise.

“Mama?”

Eliza slowly turned from the window. Standing just inside the parlor door was her dear Liza, with good Mr. Holly and Eliza’s fifteen-year-old nephew, Alexander Malcolm. All three were staring at her, their eyes wide and full of shock, which was more than enough to tell her that they had all heard most, if not all, of her interview with the former President.

Eliza met their gazes head on, refusing to be cowed or chagrined by her behavior. Her words and actions toward Mr. Monroe might not have been within the bounds of societal convention – all right, they most certainly weren’t – but they were only the minimum of what he deserved from her. “Yes, dearest?” she asked her daughter.

Liza didn’t say anything else, clearly startled by her mother’s nonchalant attitude. Mr. Holly also seemed to have been astonished into silence. Young Alexander, however, managed to find his tongue.

“My goodness, Aunt!” he exclaimed, shocked enthusiasm filling his voice, “I did not expect to see or hear anything like this when I came to visit! You dressing down a former President of the United States like he was an errant schoolboy!” He glanced at his cousin and asked, “Does this sort of thing happen often, Cousin Liza? Perhaps I should come ‘round more often!”

Eliza saw her daughter and son-in-law exchange a meaningful look and, for a moment, a wave of sadness splashed over her. She had once had someone to exchange such glances with, but not for a long, long time now. She shook her head and held her chin high. Now was not the time for grief.

Off the look from his wife, Mr. Holly dropped a hand on young Alexander’s shoulder and said, “Come, cousin, let me show you the new fishing rods I purchased. I think you’ll enjoy them.” Without waiting for a response, he guided the boy out of the parlor and out the front door, leaving Eliza alone with her daughter.

Eliza turned from Liza’s gaze, intending to settle herself in a chair near the fireplace. Spring had come, but it was still quite chilly, and a fire was still necessary to keep the house warm. With a sigh, she sank into the seat, and waited for Liza to speak. Her daughter was by nature outspoken, a trait she came by honestly. How could she not be, with two such parents? Liza would have her say, no matter what.

She did not speak immediately, however. Instead, Liza crossed the room and took a seat in the other chair just across from the one Eliza had seated herself in. That chair had been Alexander’s once, Eliza thought wistfully. They’d sometimes sit together here in the parlor, late into the evening after the children had gone to bed, and just enjoy the silence and warmth of one another’s company.

She and Alexander had hoped to have many years to do such things, but that wretch, Burr, had had other plans. And so Eliza, more often than not, was left to sit by the fire in the Grange alone. Only rarely did any of her family or other visitors dare to sit in that chair.

“Was that wise, Mama?” Liza asked her, her tone soft. Her dark eyes, mirrors to Eliza’s own, were steady and thoughtful. “Mr. Monroe might no longer be President, but he likely still has influence. Given the positions some of your sons hold, surely it was ill-advised to offend him like that?”

A snort escaped Eliza before she could stop it. “He’ll do nothing to your brothers, you may rest easy on that score,” Eliza told her. “These Virginians pride themselves on their honor, and your brothers have nothing to do with why that man came here today. And besides,” she added in a colder tone, “he offended me first. Perhaps it is childish, but there it is.”

Liza stared at her. “He came here seeking a rapprochement with you, Mama. Is that so very bad?”

Eliza could feel the fire, the rage, rising in her, but she kept it contained. Liza did not deserve her fury. She shook her head. “He could claim he sought peace all he wanted, but what he really wanted was forgiveness. He wanted me to forgive him for making a mockery of my private pain, for humiliating me before all the world in his efforts to wage war on your father.”

Liza blinked, and confusion was soon writ all over her expression. Eliza sighed. “I suppose I never did tell you everything,” she admitted. Only once had she ever spoken to her daughter of that cursed pamphlet and of Alexander’s infidelity. It had not been a conversation that Eliza had relished, and so had kept it short and to the point. She suspected that her sons had likely told their sister more, but she did not know for certain. Even if they did, they did not know all of it.

“When government officials came to investigate your father for improper speculation, your father revealed the truth of the matter to them – that he was paying off the husband of his mistress.” Liza winced at the harsh phrasing, but didn’t interrupt. Eliza, long used to the tale, kept speaking without pause. “He exhorted them to keep quiet about this, as his private failings had no bearing on his public integrity. To this, they agreed, for they all knew that there was no improper conduct in the course of your father’s duties as President Washington’s Treasury Secretary.” That there was more than enough to say about his improper conduct as a private man went unsaid. “Your father also entrusted the proof of all of this to them, but he requested copies.”

Liza shook her head, a pained expression on her face. “Mama, what does this have to do with President Monroe?”

Eliza gave her a chiding look for her impatience. “Everything, dear. Mr. Monroe was the leader of that little delegation of investigators. It was to him that your father gave the papers – Maria Reynolds’ letters, James Reynolds’ blackmail, the record of the payments, all of it. When your father requested copies, he assumed that Mr. Monroe would make the copies himself, in keeping with his promise to keep the knowledge of it as contained as possible.” She could not help the sneer crossing her face. “But Mr. Monroe decided that this was not worth a hand cramp, and so entrusted the task to a clerk within the House of Representatives. Mr. Monroe later claimed that this clerk made copies for himself as well.” She shook her head. “In any case, Mr. Monroe decided that he would ‘entrust’ the papers to a ‘trusted friend in Virginia’, who would theoretically keep them under lock and key, particularly when Mr. Monroe was out of the country.”

Her daughter was not a fool. She stiffened, catching on very quickly. “President Jefferson.”

Eliza nodded, her fingers gripping the armrest in a vicelike grip. “’Tis like trusting a fox to behave himself in a henhouse. Later, when it proved most advantageous to them, the papers were given to a vile newspaperman, who did not hesitate to print them and use them against your father. Of course, the focus of that odious man’s accusations was, again, in leveling the charge of speculation. Your father’s response was to call upon the three men who had cleared him of that charge, asking them to reiterate that they had been satisfied in their investigation. Two of them agreed without hesitation, but the third…” she trailed off. The memory still hurt, even now.

“Mr. Monroe would not,” Liza finished for her, her voice soft.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Eliza confirmed, the bitterness settling in the back of her throat like bile, burning. “He declared that him getting involved would only cause more chaos than there already was.” She sniffed. “He was already involved, as he was the one who handed the papers off to the very man who saw to their release into the public consciousness. But the fact that he himself had not done so was enough for Mr. Monroe to split hairs and to claim and declare that he was not in any way responsible, and that your father should just leave it be.” Of course, Alexander could not leave anything be. That was not his way. He had to meet every accusation, every attack, head on.

“So Papa wrote that pamphlet.”

“Yes.” One terrible word, one terrible truth. “James Monroe knew your father very well, despite them being political opponents. He knew Alexander would react to preserve his political reputation, for the sake of the country’s existence. If the public believed that the founder of the country’s credit, its wealth and prestige, was corrupt, it would shake apart for good. He knew Alexander would fall on his sword, would admit his private sins for the sake of the public’s greater good – and that’s exactly what he and his friends wanted. Alexander Hamilton would preserve the nation from the crisis they had invoked, but at the cost of all his credibility. He would cease to be a threat to their ambitions.” And that was what had happened. Alexander’s reputation suffered for his confessions, and only once after that did he wield any real semblance of power – when he stood at the head of the army he had begun to build, and that had been ripped away when Mr. Adams made peace with France and declared that the United States needed no army. The fool.

“But in getting what he wanted, Mr. Monroe had sullied his honor,” Eliza continued resentfully. “He knew it. I knew it. And Virginians are very prickly about their honor. He had sworn to not reveal those documents to anyone, which Alexander asked him to do for my sake and that of our family. But he broke that promise, and opened the door for his own allies to attack me, someone he considered an innocent party.” Some of those infernal newspaper headlines still stung.

“That is what he wanted, Liza,” she said. “James Monroe wanted me to clear the mud off his honor. His health is in serious decline. His wife has passed, and he’s not long in following her, I think. He wants to die with his conscience clear, and that I will not give him. I will not forgive the man. Not because he humiliated me, mind you. But because he and his friends, most specifically that reptile now mouldering in his grave at Monticello, set out to destroy your father, a man they viewed as unworthy of anything he touched because he was not like them, not born here, not born to inherit some Godforsaken speck of land. Your father earned all he gained, and that they could not abide.”

Liza leaned back in the chair. “And I thought all men were created equal here,” she murmured.

Eliza snorted again. She seemed to be doing that quite often these days. Her mother would be appalled. “Oh no,” she said, “They talk prettily, but in the minds of many people, there is still a hierarchy, where people ought to ‘know their place.’” She paused, her eyes turning from Eliza to the fire. She stared into the flames, could feel its heat seeping under her dress to her feet. “Your papa was a good man, if a very flawed one. He believed in the promise that this country holds, and in those very words that Mr. Jefferson put to paper. Whatever his shortcomings, of which he would have been the first to admit that he had many, he did not deserve the slander they threw upon him.” She looked up again. “So no, I will most emphatically not pat James Monroe on the head and tell him all is well and forgiven. Not when he showed himself as having no remorse for his actions.

“Perhaps that makes me self-righteous,” Eliza admitted. “Perhaps the good Lord will frown upon my unkindness. But I am no saint, no angel. There are limits to what I can give, my dear, and we just found what those limits are. Justice shall be done to the memory of my dear Hamilton, and that justice will not come in coddling the men who sought to erase every trace of him.”[3]

Liza nodded, and they both fell into silence. They sat together for some time, until Mr. Holly and young Alexander finally returned.

#my fanfiction #hamliza month #hamliza #elizabeth schuyler hamilton #eliza hamilton holly

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starshiningsirius · 4 years ago

Note

Hello if your still taking request this one is for Yandere Malleus a senerio where His S/o has a secret crush on him,she is trying her best to do everything to make Mal happy, even going as far as to confess her love but a certain someone keeps getting in the way aka {Sebek} trying his best to keep her away how well Mal Mal reaction when he finds out about this...

Whatever I write for myself is probably gonna be in lucile font title wise but anywho somebody actually took the time to read my bio, like seriously? I never thought I had the motivation to write for Malleus since they're so many good ones. I could never reach up to that greatness, but hopefully I did good for my first requests and of course I'll answer both of them for my dear requester, thank you!

Overbearing (Yandere Malleus x reader)

Y/n couldn't be more disappointed.

"As if the great Malleus Draconia would ever fall for a human!" He laughed and mocked.

It caused so much sadness to course through her heart. All because of Sebek Zigvolt. Well not entirely he was just being truthful, he had stopped her on many occasions, but this one was the worse. For example one time she'd gotten Malleus's favorite ice cream for them to share but it didn't work out as Sebek had stopped her in her tracks and 'checked it for poison' found out there wasn't any then left without an apology claiming it was his duty. On those days she'd skip out on their usual walk under the stars. Sure they weren't dating but that isn't to say it didn't hurt any less to be shut down. It was probably a good thing she didn't go too, better to be shut down by someone else than the person themselves. That'd be several times worse.

It certainly didn't go unnoticed by the fae's eyes when his beloved never came out for their usual night walk after waiting for the longest time once again.

This had become a pattern and it was one Malleus couldn't ignore peacefully. While others avoided him she was the only one who talked to him normally. She wasn't scared of him and over time he came to adore her and her innocence. He was starting to question if she resented him. It just didn't make any sense why she'd avoid him.

More and more he fell for her with every conversation they had together and the same could be said for her as well. He had heard some of the words she murmured and a phrase in particular caught his interest.

"Sebek was right, he won't ever have time for a pathetic human."

Doubt indefinitely planted itself inside her head, and yet she believed every word Sebek said insteading of pursuing who she admired. Gaining the courage to actually attempt to confess to him took awhile and was all for naught in the end. Reality had to settle in her head unfortunately for both her and him.

Malleus took a a second to understand the situation in full with just those simple words a clear picture had been painted.

He had used magic to transport himself to the Diasomnia in that moment after he heard those words. He was livid to say the least as he ventured toward his knight's room. He had confirmed with his own ears that his darling actually loved him. Why else would Sebek intrude like that? He would make sure he brought his point across to him with as much pain to come as he did his dear lover.

He knocked on his door a bit too harsh it left a slight dint in the wooden door, but it's not like that mattered in the present moment. Soon enough the door opened to reveal an agitated Sebek as it was late at night, only to change his expression as soon as he saw his master.

"Malleus sama! To what do I owe the pleasure of being in your presence this late?"

"Tell me Sebek, have you had any interactions with that female magicless human?" His question was plain and simple.

"As of late yes! That wretched human kept trying to get closer to you! Offerings of ice cream and today she asked me to show her where you'd be to offer a confession! As if you'd be interested in some lowly human, right, Malleus sama? So I told her so before she could peruse you any further!"

Malleus clenched his fists, angered by the words that had come from his mouth. He had the idea that his darling little human did love him based off the state she was in, but this was beyond what he expected. And all of those attempts to display her affection to him were blocked by the oblivious knight before him. That's probably why she stopped appearing on certain days and came up with excuses to why she wasn't there. To say he was angry was an understatement, he truly did love her to the point of having looked forward to just hearing her speak was always pleasant on his ears, and her very presence alone was a blessing in disguise for him.

He thought for a moment deciding on the appropriate punishment for such a vile crime of keeping his darling away from him. That's when his next words hit home.

"Sebek. What you did earlier today was unacceptable! You've disparaged my name, and no longer shall you have my trust. You aren't my knight anymore a mistake such as this has to have a dire enough consequence."

His words struck a cord within the knight as it replayed in his mind for a moment. This had to be some of dream right? There's no way Malleus had just gotten rid of him right? Sadly the truth sunk in quickly and Malleus had left Sebek who was in tears, just as his darling was as well. His whole meaning to live was just obliterated by his master of all people.

He didn't feel an ounce of sympathy towards Sebek, he should have learned his place beneath him. Prying into his own affairs of love was far too annoying and ignorant of him. He left him there to wallow and weep in sorrow as he had other plans seeing as what just occurred opened his eyes to the danger his darling, Y/n was exposed to.

He had teleported back to Ramshackle dorm just as stealthily right inside his darling's room to see her still in tears. The green sparkles of mana indicated his precense to her alone and gained her attention toward him.

"M -Malleus," She had tears running down her cheeks and her eyes he could get lost in were puffy and red.

He went over to her and placed a finger on her lips, a small smirk on the fae's lips. This state she was in was all for him to see. All because of her affection being denied by someone else and not the person of whom she loved. He chuckled to himself.

"My dear you should have came to me, I would have put all your doubts in that head of yours to rest. No need to shed anymore tears, I've come to tell you your feelings are mutual." He said wiping the tear stains off her cheeks.

"Wha -what? Really?!" Her reaction was plain adorable to him and to ease her doubt he crashed their lips against one another.

As oblivious as she was during that moment Malleus had conjured his staff from his pen and grabbed the tip of her finger ever so gently and pricked it on the spindle's needle. Immediately she fell unconscious just as the princess in the tale of the witch of thorns had done. He had caught her, not wanting her beauty to be tarnished anymore than it had been already. He smiled happily at the sight before him.

With all that has occurred he felt as though he could have thanked Sebek for the trouble considering he would have never known his darling's feelings if not for his actions. But at the same time so many excursions that could have been as well as a heartfelt confession that he could have heard from his love herself was of course denied to him. It made him angry but of course it's in the past with his darling in his arms it didn't matter very much now. He gazed down at her beauty smiling to himself contently while stroking her hair.

"Don't worry my dear, no one will ever hurt you again. Not even my overbearing knights."

Masterlist

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere malleus draconia x reader #sebek zigvolt #yandere twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #malleus x reader

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jungcity · 5 years ago

Text

bane of the devil. | v

genre: vampire!jaehyun [angst | fluff | smut]

pairings: jaehyun x female reader

note: bane of the devil deals with themes of physical, mental, and sexual abuse as well as toxic relationships. which may be upsetting for some readers. you are advised not to continue if you feel uncomfortable to these types of plots.

words: 5.2k

“father,

he smelled like

blood,

wrath,

and battlefield

father,

he could rival

the sun

by how bright he burns

but

sunlight is poison

in his veins

sunlight is death in

his eyes

every crevice

every corner

was made to be feared.

then he smiled,

oh, father, he smiled

and whispered

“i am scared of myself, too.”

and that’s when i realized

monsters are lonely too.”

— bane of the devil // v

The blood from your body cascaded down the tiled floors to the shower drain as you harshly rubbed your skin. You did not want to cry. But as you recalled the encounter with the unknown vampire, you could not help but sob in the bathroom.

Dread fired up in your chest. You were so close to being bitten. So close. And even the comfort of Jaehyun’s rescue could not rub off the fear. More so, it had only amplified your agitation. You closed your eyes, skin wrinkling like folded papers by how tight you had shut them close. Tears once again fell down your cheeks, the warmness of it contrasting the cold waters you splashed on your face from the faucet.

Your mind drew the vision of Jaehyun holding the vampire’s heart with his bare hand. A sudden jolt sent your stomach recoiling, causing you to drop on your knees and hurl all your guts out in the toilet bowl. You regurgitated for minutes, saliva tasting like vomit after you were finished. With your knees slightly shaking, you stood up and rinsed your mouth over and over again.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. As expected, the reflection pitifully stared at you; eyes red rimmed, lips blanched, hair as messy as a bird’s nest with little amounts of blood on your neck. The echo of image triggered the fear, and before you knew it, you were crying again.

With shaky breaths, you sauntered up to the shower and discarded all your bloody clothes on the floor. You have no idea about what to do and what you need. A cold shower to wake you up, or a hot one to erase all the trace of vampire blood on your skin? You started to soap your body, the blood coating the white color of it red. With little sobs and hiccups, you tried to lather your hair with shampoo, the smell barely reaching your nostrils.

You only know one thing, you only feel one thing; fear. And the world feels like a blur. You never want to feel this fear again.

Yes, you have no idea how your parents spent their last minutes together. Did they cry? Did they beg? But one thing is for sure, no matter how terrifying vampires could be, no matter how much fear they could inflict to a human being, you will vow not to crumble like this— ever again.

Was this real? Was everything real? It feels like a nightmare. The one where you could truly feel every single thing; fear, paranoia, thrill.

Madame Juana’s voice rang in your mind. All her proposals, all her plans; they appeared to make sense right now.

Despite that, could you truly kill? You stared down at your hands. How could these parts of your body, so delicate looking, could hurt someone? But Jaehyun had done it himself. He pulled out the vampire’s heart with his bare hands only. However, you are not like him. You are a mortal. You are like Lucas.

And by that, you could not be a vampire. But you could be a vampire hunter.

You roughly wiped your tears and breathed deeply. You let the thoughts fade in your mind, until all was blank and you could think clearly again. That’s it. There is no more thinking about it, there is no more succumbing to fear. Tomorrow, you would exactly be how you wanted yourself to be the first time you saw your parents’ dead bodies; fearless.

—

Jaehyun zipped his pants closed, forcing his mind to wander off at some place except here. Except here in Alena’s bed, with her body sprawled naked in her red mattress.

“Leaving so soon?” she purred, crawling like a cat towards Jaehyun.

It had always made him uncomfortable; the naked body of Alena. She was too white, there was not a trace of veins in her body. She almost appeared like a blank white paper, without anything written on it. But unlike all vampires in the world, her skin does not feel chalky. Jaehyun supposed it’s because of his blood running in her system.

Her arms found their way around Jaehyun’s torso, her soft breasts pressing in on his back as she tightened her hold. “Let’s do it again,” she whispered in his ear.

Months ago, Jaehyun would have been salivating like a mad dog by that statement only. He would have been jumping on her bed, discarding all his clothes, to have sex with her over and over again. But times are different. He wasn’t that lucid and naïve vampire any more.

Jaehyun stood up, not caring whether Alena would fall from the bed. “I’m going,” was his impassive words.

“My love, please?” Alena pleaded.

A sudden thought came crashing back in his mind. Lucas’ words. She’s the most powerful vampire right now. Why would you do that? He said. But why is the most powerful vampire in this town begging for Jaehyun’s manhood like it is her lifeline? Why is she sprawled naked on her own bed, touching herself while pleading for Jaehyun to stay?

Sensual moans echoed from Alena’s mouth as she inserted her middle finger in her womanhood. Jaehyun stared at her, dead-panned. Then he walked, propped his knee on the bed, and leaned closer to Alena’s frame. When he was finally looking down straight at her eyes, she sucked her middle finger, tasting herself.

“Fuck yourself,” Jaehyun spat as if she wasn’t already doing that. But he wanted her to feel that he was— not even the slightest bit— interested in all her plays anymore.

In the blink of an eye, Alena was behind Jaehyun. When he turned around to face her, her fist had already collided against Jaehyun’s jaw.

“You were nothing, Jaehyun. I’ve created you,” she said through gritted teeth.

Jaehyun recollected himself from the blow, standing on his feet as proudly as he could muster. “Who gives a fuck, really? You are just a psychopathic bitch—” Then another blow. This time, she hit his stomach. Jaehyun doubled over and crashed against Alena’s vanity.

She sauntered up to him, all naked, and crouched in front of Jaehyun.

“What were you before? A piece-of-shit of a man, who makes a living by riding a motorbike. You are pathetic, Jaehyun. Utterly, hopelessly, pathetic.” Then she spat vampire venom on his face. “Your mother did not even weep when you died.” She almost sing-songed the sentence, tasting every drip of poison laced with it. Jaehyun tried to stand up, but Alena stood up first, pressing her soles against Jaehyun’s cheek. He felt as if his skull would burst open by how much force Alena had drawn out.

“Oh, what about your father? Who had literally thrown a party when he found out that his bastard died in an accident!” Alena laughed so joyously.

Jaehyun gritted his teeth, his anger would burn down this mansion. It would. But the consumption of his blood by Alena had rendered him weak. This is all happening because he foolishly let Alena consume his blood again.

“I am all that you have, Jaehyun.” She pressed her soles further down Jaehyun’s cheek, his head burrowing on her lush carpet.

Baby steps. He heard your voice.

“No.” Jaehyun had bitten his tongue as he tried to let the word fly from his mouth. It was hard to speak in his situation, but he did anyway.

“No?!” Alena snarled before withdrawing her soles from Jaehyun’s face and grabbing his back collar. “No?!” she screamed at his face again. Then she slackened her hold and started to caress Jaehyun’s cheeks. “My love, I am all that you have, right? You are all that I have, too. Remember our promise? My love!” Then she kissed Jaehyun. His mouth didn’t move, but the woman continued her penetration. She grabbed Jaehyun’s hands and used it to grope her own breasts. “Touch me, my love. Fuck me. I am yours.”

Her eyes are frantic as she led Jaehyun’s hands towards her womanhood. “Please!” Her pupils are dilating, fangs elongating.

“No,” Jaehyun uttered.

Alena’s face dropped instantly. Her eyes clear, mouth in a thin line before speaking again. “Get out of my mansion.”

Jaehyun, for the longest time in his life, felt relieved and ready to dash away from the wretched place Alena called home.

“Do whatever you like, Jaehyun. Mingle with all the girls in the world. But you know, we both know, it’s you and me even if the world crumbles to dust.”

Jaehyun did not answer. But he knows, in the deepest parts of his rotten soul, he’s doing everything he could to change that.

Your mother did not even weep when you died. A poisonous smile had spread on his lips as he remembered. Of course, everything Alena had spat out on his face was true. Who would have cried for Jaehyun? He was nothing. A bastard of a business-man. A son of a prostitute. No, he had never insulted his mother’s work. It was her life, it was her body. She could do anything with it. But what Jaehyun looked down at was her ability to love. She’d provided him a roof, food, a chance to study— but all of it was responsibility. It was not out of love.

Jaehyun remembered the times when she would literally sell her own son to her friends for money. Luckily, Jaehyun was old enough to understand everything. So he ran away from home, from everything related to her parents. And started out his own wicked life of chasing death.

His father? Oh, his father was a son-of-a-bitch. There’s no explanation for that character. Jaehyun believes his father’s soul is more vile than that of his. But who could really tell, right?

Jaehyun could sprint away from this mansion as far as he could. But he preferred to walk out of the vicinity. Inside the many rooms of this mansion, there lays his own bedroom, and Alena’s torture room. For him.

He could still feel everything as if it was yesterday. Vampires could not feel pain. Shoot them and they would feel the bullet penetrating their flesh, but the searing pain it brings would feel nothing against their power and immortality. However, Alena had her own ways to hurt Jaehyun. The memories were foggy, but he could make out two clear tube inserted on both his wrists. His blood flowing into a large bucket, with Alena grabbing a glass full of his blood, drinking it like it was the finest of wines.

After those agonizing moments of Alena squeezing him out of blood, he would sleep. For hours. Days. Only waking up to please Alena again. And then the same thing would happen. It went in circles. At first, Jaehyun welcomed it with open arms. In Alena’s embrace, he felt like a king. Sex with her made him feel powerful.

Or so he thought.

As time goes by, with the same scenario happening again and again, Jaehyun felt like a toy. He felt weak. He wanted more. He wanted to be the king. A real one. But that won’t happen if Alena’s alive and using him like a favorite doll.

All the wretchedness he had gone through Alena’s hands were nightmares that visits him whenever he closed his eyes. Then he does not want to be king anymore.

He only wanted to be free.

Alena did not allow that to happen. It was ignominious. But Jaehyun could still remember the way he begged for Alena not to cage him.

She kept him in a dungeon, refusing to give him blood. Jaehyun had reached the point where he had experienced the ‘bleeds’. An incident where a vampire bleeds from his ears and nose by blood abstinence.

After that, Jaehyun did everything to please Alena. He did not dare escape again. But he made himself powerful. He struggled to be strong. Strong enough for Alena to want him like her life depended on his blood. He’s strived and achieved his goal. Now, he was free.

Alena could not kill him— could not harm him. Jaehyun’s blood was powerful in its own eccentricities. He did not know what is it, he could not understand it himself. But ever since he became a vampire, he never felt more human. Vinegar, garlic, rosaries, prayers, silvers— they could not affect him at all. Sunlight could singed him, but not scorch him to death, just enough to enfeeble him. But he remains vulnerable to fire, a stake at the heart, decapitation, or to sangue debolezza which translates to ‘blood weakness’. It is a rare type of vampire disease with an unknown origin, but it is still a way to kill vampires nonetheless.

And consuming Jaehyun’s blood gives Alena the same power. She won’t dispose someone as precious as him. It won’t kill her if she ever did, but Alena has been a woman born with an intense penchant for power. Jaehyun provides her that ascendancy.

Jaehyun only needs to stay alive until someone, until you, kills Alena. With the thought of your fierceness and determination of finding the vampire who killed your parents, Jaehyun took a lingering glance at the moon, before sprinting towards home and towards you.

—

“Hey, Johnny.”

You sat on the bed, phone pressed against your ear. You heard the rummaging of Johnny’s things before he answered.

“Hi, Y/N!” He greeted.

The optimism in his voice made you uncertain for a moment. You have decided to tell— lie— to Johnny about your plans regarding Madame Juana’s offers. This is what you have been waiting for all your life. A chance to know what truly happened to your parents and avenge their deaths. Johnny need not bother himself about it. You do not have to tell him. To keep him safe. To keep him sane. He would never believe you, anyways.

After minutes of being unforthcoming, you finally told him about your plan.

“Is it really needed? Like… would you really fail if you don’t join that trip?”

You sighed, trying to muster indifference. “Yes, Johnny. You know how it’s done. I don’t even know why it’s a three-month long trip! Gosh!” Just right after the words slid out of your mouth, you bit your lower lip as hard as you can. They were right when they said lies slides easily and more smoothly than truths.

“Three-month trip?! Is that really necessary?”

You heard the apprehension coating Johnny’s question. This won’t be easy for him. Not when he took the mother and father figure ever since your parents had died. But you also know that he would let you go at the end of the discussion. You just need to convince him that you will be fine.

“According to my prof, yes.” You cleared your throat, preparing yourself to tell yet another lie. “Oh, and I’ve already asked Haechan’s mom to sign my parent’s consent.”

Johnny sighed from the other line, “Alright, then. I still don’t understand why it’s a three-month long trip, but keep me updated, m’kay? I want to know everything. The hotel, the details—”

“Copy that, John. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Okay…” Johnny wavered, “Do you need any money?”

A certain sadness enveloped you. You are absolutely aware of your tightness when it comes to financial matters, and you won’t squeeze Johnny’s pockets for this ‘trip’. You would have to rely on your and your parents’ fund for assistance.

“No, John. I’m okay. Just… keep the money for yourself.” You tried to sound positive as possible. “When are you coming back, though?”

“I still don’t know. And I won’t tell you the dates. It’s a surprise!”

You laughed. A big part of you has been missing your big brother’s goofy side. It’s been months since you last saw him. “Just keep safe, Johnny. That is all I want.”

“You too, little sis. Take care of yourself.”

For hours, you’ve talked. The fear that has been nagging on you seemed to vanish as Johnny threw banters from the other line. You miss having him around. You miss the normalcy of life before seeing a bloodied Jaehyun in your doorstep.

Johnny had bid you good night, reminding you to take care and inform him about the details of your educational trip.

Three months is a long time. Your professors, for sure, won’t give you that much of a consideration even if you make an excuse letter. Nevertheless, there was no harm in trying. So you sat on your bed, your laptop’s screen blinding you.

“Ma’am and Sir…”

You started to type in your excuse letter, squinting your eyes as you skimmed the words for any loopholes and grammatical errors. You’ve decided to tell your professors the same thing you told Johnny. A trip. Family trip. Reunion. Or… maybe you could just tell them that you are currently arranging your documents that you would need to migrate to a different country. Migrating is a hectic process, it’s more believable than a reunion. No family would reunite for three months.

As the printer did its job, you waited with a sweaty forehead. Am I really doing this? You bit your lip as you stared at the letter. This is insane. But life requires a little bit of insanity. After folding the letter inside an envelope, you decided to call your friends. Another lie for another person.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Mark asked as you told him about the three-month trip that you’d also used as an excuse to obtain Johnny’s approval. Of course, you didn’t tell him about the real reasons. But Mark is a kind and respectful man, he won’t barge in your business especially when you make it clear that you won’t entertain questions.

“It’s not. I just really need to unwind. You know. Find myself.” You forced a chuckle. Losing yourself would have been the better description for your trip. But, of course, you didn’t tell Mark about that.

“I think that’s… cool. Three months is a long time, and I’m gonna miss you. But, you should go for it. I do hope you find whatever you’re looking for in your trip, Y/N.”

“Mark, you’re the sweetest.”

Of course, after talking to the kindest person you’ve ever met, you need to talk to the brat-est person God allowed you to meet in your lifetime— Haechan.

“I don’t believe this is a trip to unwind,” he said. And you could literally see his dead-panned expression from the other line. “Tell me, you’re running away with that Jaehyun guy.”

“Haechan! You’re ridiculous!” You hissed, but forcing yourself not to laugh nonetheless. “I’m serious, though. It really is a trip to unwind and find myself.” No, it’s not.

“Whatever you say. Just… take care, you bimbo.”

“Do not call me bimbo!”

“Bimbo!” he shouted. You winced and pulled the phone away. Too late for that. Then his tone changed to that of a serious one. “Call me, call us, whenever you need someone to talk to. Take care. And please! Return! I know Jaehyun’s— oh wait— who would take care of Jaehyun, then?”

Haechan’s question caught you off guard. No, no, no. Think, Y/N. Think. Sweats literally formed in your forehead as you think about whatever reason to tell Haechan.

“He’s… well… his relatives had known about his current situation. And they… they called me! Told me they’d pick up Jaehyun, then they did! It’s heart-wrenching to see them reunite after all these years.” You fake a sob.

“Wow, that’s amazing. I’m glad he’s found a family that would take care of him.”

“Yeah…” you played with your pillow. Not being able to see two of your most precious friends sent a sudden jolt of sadness to wash through you. Haechan, Mark, and Johnny are your tether to the real life. Turning your back against them means completely enveloping the mysteries laid for you by a witch, a vampire hunter, and a vampire.

“Y/N, I’m gonna miss you,” Haechan declared.

“I’m gonna miss you, too.” You nodded and wiped the sides of your eyes. Then Haechan dropped the phone call after saying good bye.

You stood up, the full moon hanging and glaring at you from the heavens. So beautiful. So captivating. Yet so portentous. You pursed your lips and shook your head before departing your room to the kitchen.

The cold water jug bit on your palms. It’s one a.m. and Jaehyun was still nowhere to be found. Where has he gone to? Yet you aren’t sure if you are ready to see his face after all that has happened.

You checked your social medias and scrolled down your feed. To be a reminder that you are still you. Normal. Somehow. When a loud bang of the door startled you from your seat. Before you could stand up, Jaehyun’s frame greeted you in the kitchen.

You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. He wasn’t looking bedraggled. He looked alive, and well. Despite the blood that still adorns his skin and clothes.

“We need to go.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Pack your things and let’s go to Juana.” He started to pace, hands on his waists.

“I don’t understand. Where have you been?”

He drew in a halt and stared at you, “None of your business.”

You raised a brow. “Well? After you left me in the middle of the street, bloody and sca—” You shut your mouth close. No, you won’t admit that you were scared. Jaehyun raised his own brow, waiting for your next words. “Bloody and alone— I, at least, have the rights to know where were you.” Then you straightened your back and pretended to tower him.

“Trust me, you won’t like the answer.”

“Am I in danger?” You fisted your palms and waited for his answer. Jaehyun, for a second, didn’t know what to say. It was clear by the way he opened and closed his mouth.

“No. It’s me. He was coming for me.”

“Why?”

Jaehyun sighed deeply. “No more questions, Y/N. Let’s just go!” He hissed.

No more questions? How could he? As far as you could remember, he was the one who practically told Madame Juana to give you enough time to decide. And now he’s here, all jumpy, asking you to pack your things, giving you no chance to ask why.

“You will explain to me everything once I’ve finished packing.” You clenched your jaw, pointing your forefinger at his face. Jaehyun attempted to speak, but you have already made your way to your own room.

Two luggages were what you pulled from your bedroom to the living room. It contains your clothes and necessities. Jaehyun was sitting, freshly bathed, on the sofa. He eyes your luggages and then you.

“Seriously? That many?” He quipped.

You frowned and stared at your luggages. “Do you have the slightest idea how many womanly necessities I have to bring?”

“No, I don’t.” He shrugged.

You ignored his scrutinizing. He is a man, a vampire one at that. He won’t ever understand how it is to be a woman. “Then stop your scrutiny and focused on your— wait a minute. Why haven’t you packed your things yet?” You raised a brow while locking your luggages. After that, you roamed your eyes inside the house and sauntered up to the windows to check the locks.

“I don’t have any clothes other than what you’ve bought for me.”

Oh, yes. Jaehyun is a homeless guy without any relatives. The sudden thought made you inquisitive. Where is his parents? Are they still alive? But you shook your head, erasing your questions.

“Well, that’s a problem.” As you finished checking the locks of every possible way for a robber to enter your house, you have finally focused on Jaehyun.

He leaned on the sofa, eyeing you. “I don’t think so. Remember our deal?”

“Oh, please! You didn’t even want to join us—”

“But I did. I would.”

You bit your lips, calculating the cost if you ever decide to buy Jaehyun his own necessities. It would surely take up a big chunk off your money.

“We won’t be able to eat at the villa if I dare buy you everything you need.”

“That’s your problem, not mine. I don’t eat, Y/N.” He had the audacity to roll his eyes at you then.

Right. Vampires do not eat.

You straightened your back and leaned on the window frame, ignoring Jaehyun’s snarky comments. “Where have you been, Jaehyun?” Then you crossed your arms to tell him you would not back down unless he tells you what really happened.

“Alena,” he replied incisively.

You gulped. You weren’t expecting that name to roll off his mouth. “That’s unexpected.” Trying to sound as apathetic as possible, you focused your attention in checking the locks again. “I thought you’d burn the—” You took a deep breath, “— the vampire’s body.”

“I dumped him exactly where he came from.”

Your brows knotted instantly, reckoning his words. “Are you saying Alena sent him? For you?” This time, you had stopped pretending to check the window locks, and faced Jaehyun with inquisitiveness etched on your face.

“Partially. He sent him for me… and for you.”

You sat down yourself to the nearest sofa and tried to recollect your thoughts. Why would she do that? “For me? I don’t understand.”

“She knows I’m living here, Y/N. And she’s not happy about it.” Jaehyun pursed his lips. You were absolutely certain that he was hiding something from you.

“Oh, heavens. I— I don’t know what to say… I… Jaehyun, she’s your fiancée, right? Perhaps she got it all wrong. We’re not doing something disgraceful!” You waved your hands to the air to shake off your trepidation. Well, that’s not exactly true. On his first night in your house, he’d already kissed you.

The look Jaehyun gave you told you he was thinking about the kiss too. But he shrugged and brushed it off. “Yeah, we’re not doing something.”

“I think you should explain it to her…?”

Jaehyun snorted, “Y/N, didn’t you hear me earlier? I’m trying to severe our betrothal. I don’t give two fucks about what she thinks.”

“And why is that?”

He went silent for a moment, his eyes clear. As if remembering some horrible scene in his mind. “Do you really think I’d tell you everything? C’mon. We’re on our what? One-half step of being friends.”

“I just want to understand why would she send a vampire to harm us. Especially, me.” You pointed at yourself. “Well… perhaps she’s known about our plan.” Heavens. The thought was too terrifying for you to bear.

“No. She didn’t tell me anything about that.” Jaehyun stood up then, “So we better get moving before she sends her vampires again to kill us. Earlier was already a warning.”

When you attempted to speak, Jaehyun raised a finger to stop you. “Please, baby. No more questions.”

So you shut your mouth with a hope that you could do the same with your thudding heart.

On the way to Madame Juana’s mansion, you have separated the money for Jaehyun’s needs. In the end, you have decided to buy him his necessities. You supposed it won’t be that costly, considering his nature. Clothes are all he needs.

“You’ve decided the right thing, Y/N.”

Even in the stark of dawn, Madame Juana was ready to accept you in her home. She looked immaculate as always, her silk robes hugging her frame as she greeted you.

“I… hope so.” You smiled at her, heart beating loudly for what lays behind all your decisions. Jaehyun remained leaning on one of the pillar inside Madame Juana’s hall, observing you and the witch.

“To be honest, some part of me didn’t expect to see you at all. That’s why I’m so glad to see you, darling.” She caressed your cheek like how mothers do to their children. You fought the urge to lean on her hand, suddenly remembering your mother with a twinge of pain in your chest.

“Well, this is my only chance to know who killed my parents. I couldn’t simply let this slip.”

Jaehyun had convinced you not to tell Madame Juana about your encounter with the vampire earlier. He nagged and reminded you to be more careful especially to friendly faces. And now that you are walking through a path cloaked with darkness. Those were his exact words. You would’ve laughed by the way he delivered it, but he was so serious that you resulted in gulping down your chuckles instead.

Madame smiled. In that moment, you wanted to ask her if she could enchant Hubert already. It’s not like you would run away from her and bail on your deal. But an uncertainty made its way on you. You still have no idea about her true nature; her patience and her attitude. It would be careless to ask such favors. Especially to a witch.

“Excellent, darling.” Then she pulled her hand away, “I’ll get ready. Mr. Jones will—”

“I… still wanna talk to you about some things.” You took a quick glance at Jaehyun, who raised his brow at you, “Privately.” Then he frowned and walked away, fishing something in his pockets. You could only pray that he won’t pry with his sharp hearing.

“Go on, Y/N. What is it?”

You hesitated for a moment, before sighing deeply and focusing your eyes at Madame’s own. “Can you… I mean, I want to block Jaehyun from reading my mind.”

Madame’s brow shot up to her forehead, the side of her mouth twitching upwards. “Interesting favor, darling. But understandable. I know how insufferable it is for someone to infiltrate your mind without permission.” She held the sides of your forehead with both her hands, “This might hurt a little. Like a migraine.”

You shut your eyes closed and readied yourself for the pain. Enchantments rolled off her tongue. It sounded like Latin mixed with a language you haven’t heard before. A grumble of pain echoed from you as you felt the ache of the magic. It was exactly like what she told you; a migraine, but a sharp one.

“Done,” Madame stated.

You felt the absence of her fingers, resulting on you clutching a handful of your hair to prevent the pulsating pain. As you grip your hair with your hand, you lifted the other one to tell Madame that you still have one remaining thing to say.

“One more thing, Madame.”

“Now, now. What is it, darling? Are you going to ask me to block your heart from falling in love with the vampire?”

At her bold statement, your eyes widened, heart somersaulting inside your chest. “No!” You shouted, voice bouncing off the walls of her mansion.

A low chuckle resonated from the Madame’s throat. “Don’t be so upset and defensive, little dove. It’s written all over you—”

It’s dangerous to cut off a witch’s sentence, but you could not bear to hear the end of her statement. “I actually wanted to tell you that I want to become a vampire hunter.”

Madame’s grinning face changed to that of a surprised one. But she quickly regained herself, her grin spreading wider than the last time. “Then I guess my villa isn’t the right place for you. But the Academy.”

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#jung jaehyun au #jung jaehyun imagines #neowritingsnet #jung jaehyun smut #jaehyun au #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun smut #nct 127 au #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 smut #nct au #nct imagines #jaehyun nct au #jaehyun #jung yuno imagines

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fortune-fool02 · 4 years ago

Text

dio rejects humanity and becomes fish

"Dio, no!" Jonathan cried, reaching out in vain at his adoptive brother.

Dio cackled wickedly, as he clutched the Coral Mask in one hand, its spikes extending menacingly as it was exposed to a vial of ocean water that Dio had swiped from Jonathan's study room. At his feet, George, Jonathan's father, lay unconscious, having been wounded by Dio to gain the final ingredient-- a smear of human blood.

"I reject my humanity, JoJo!" he shrieked with a sinister grin. "I become MERMAID!"

At once, spiked tentacle-like tendrils emerged from the mask and clamped onto Dio's face. A bright, shining glow began to envelop him as a swirling mist formed a whirlwind of chaos within the mansion's lobby.

"Jonathan, get down!" Speedwagon cried, tackling Jonathan to the floor. Behind them, a frightful transformation began to take place, as Dio began to morph, his clothes all tearing off to reveal his bare, transfiguring body. Golden scales began forming onto his skin, his ears lengthened into pointed fins. His teeth sharpened like those of a shark's and four pairs of gills opened up on each side of his neck. Last to morph were his legs, fusing together into a long, scaly tail tipped with a fan-shaped fin, and now unable to stand, Dio fell to the floor with a thud as the light faded away.

Both Jonathan and Speedwagon gingerly looked up in horror at what Dio had become, as the mask dropped from his face and tumbled to the floor with a hollow clank.

Dio, lying prone on the floor, slowly stirred and pushed himself up to a sitting position. "At last...at LAST!" he laughed maniacally, testing out the flexibility of his new tail. "At last I can feel the POWER OF THE OCEAN coursing through me!"

"W-what have you done?!" Jonathan cried in disbelief.

"The power of the ocean has transcended my mortal limits!" Dio snarled, though Jonathan noticed he was beginning to wheeze and gasp. "I have...ascended...from a mere...human....to an unstoppable...force of...the sea!"

"But Dio," Jonathan reasoned, "you're....you're not in the sea."

Dio, now panting heavily, seemed to be suddenly struck with a realization, as his eyes widened with terrified regret.

"W-water..." he moaned, clutching his neck in a panic before collapsing onto the ground, his gills flapping vainly for the water that wasn't there.

"Dio? Dio, no!" Jonathan cried, running to his side.

"Leave him be, Jonathan!" snapped Speedwagon. "Let the bastard fish dry out and die, he deserved it!"

Jonathan glared back sternly at his companion. "He may have been cruel and wicked, and now a mythical sea creature, but he's still like a brother to me!" He grabbed the faintly struggling, gasping Dio by his tail, feeling the drying flakiness of his dehydrated scales, and began to drag him toward the back door.

"Speedwagon!" Jonathan groaned. "Take care of my dad for me and make sure he's okay! I have to get Dio into the water!"

Speedwagon nodded thoughtfully as he rushed to George's side. The old man was unconscious but alive, with the stab wound in his flank, inflicted by Dio, still bleeding profusely. "What are you all standing around for?" he yelled at the authorities who entered the room. "Get this man a carriage to the hospital right away!" he yelled, applying pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding.

Meanwhile Jonathan, dragging the now convulsively-gasping Dio by his tail, was slowly but surely making his way to the fountain in front of the Joestar mansion: the only source of water close enough for him to reach in time before Dio suffocated to death. With one final, heaving grunt, he lifted up the twitching merman and dropped him into the fountain with a splash.

For a few moments Jonathan watched the dark water with bated breath. Then suddenly, from under the murky water, a pair of glowing orange eyes suddenly glared up at him, before giving out a bubbling sigh of exhausted relief, before closing back down again.

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

"How's Dad doing?" Jonathan asked Speedwagon, as he arrived to the Joestar mansion in a carriage the following morning.

"He'll have to stay at the hospital for weeks, maybe months," sighed Speedwagon sadly, "but the good news is that he'll live. We're not sure when he'll wake up, but he's stable and in better health."

"That's good to hear," Jonathan replied, thankfully. "I'll try to visit him as soon as I can, but for now...I've got another problem to worry about for the moment."

Speedwagon's face wrinkled in disgust as he became aware of a fishy smell emanating from a bucket that Jonathan carried in one hand.

"Dear heavens, JoJo!" he complained. "What is that dreadful smell?"

"Just some left-over mackerel from our pantry's ice box," Jonathan replied. "I've got to keep him well-fed so he won't...try to EAT anybody."

"Who...?" Speedwagon relied, confused, as his eyes trailed up toward the fountain, where a familiar, blond figure lay in the shallow, running water.

"Here, Dio, I brought you breakfast," Jonathan crooned gently to the merman.

Dio glared hatefully up at him, with brilliant, tangerine eyes, pupils slitted like a cat's. "I am not a pet, JoJo! How dare you treat me like some lowly wretched beast?" he snarled.

"Oh, Dio," Jonathan sighed mournfully. "You did this to yourself. You were arrogant and foolish and it's just brought grief to us all. But no matter how much of a spiteful imbecile you have been...you are no less a brother in my eyes. And I know I'm a better person than to just leave you to die."

He fished out a mackerel from the bucket and uneasily held it out to Dio, who seized it suddenly and without warning, causing both Jonathan and Speedwagon to stumble back in fright.

Gripping his meal in his clawed, webbed hands, Dio messily devoured the fish, tearing into it savagely as his razor-sharp teeth shredded apart fins, bones, scales and all. Speedwagon felt sickened at the sight.

"Disgusting," he groaned. "He was vile before he became a mermaid but he's even worse now!"

"It's a shame, really," Jonathan added with a dry laugh. "Dad always used to praise him for his table manners."

As Dio finished off the last remnants of the fish, Jonathan and Speedwagon got their first good look at Dio's newfound piscine form in the yellow light of early morning. His entire body was covered in small, fine, golden scales, save for his face, throat, belly and chest, which retained the color and texture of Dio's original skin. A large, transluscent dorsal fin emerged from the middle of his back, the same see-through shade of yellow as the smaller fins that emerged from his ears, his elbows and what used to be his hips. His tail, tipped in a bright golden tail fin, was longer than Dio's legs used to be, coiling snakily around the circular fountain with the fluke dangling limply over the edge.

Still retaining his mop of messy blond hair and sharpm handsome facial features, Dio was both terrifying and yet strangely beautiful, Jonathan thought. Just like many of the sea creatures he studied in his marine researches: a gorgeous, elegant exterior concealing the heart and soul of a ruthless, predatory killer, one that was best admired with distance and precaution.

His golden scales glimmered beautifully in the sunlight, but Dio didn't seem to appreciate the glare one bit. He shrank away from the light, shading his eyes from the glare as he wriggled about in the water until he was safely in the fountain's shadow.

"He doesn't seem to like the light," Jonathan noted observantly. "His eyes must have become adapted for the dark depths of the sea, I shall have to get him some shade from the sun if he's to stay here."

"So, what are we going to do with him now?" Speedwagon asked Jonathan concernedly. "Are you going to take him to the ocean and leave him there? The sooner we're rid of him the better!"

"We may be rid of him if we do just that, but he'll be someone else's problem." Jonathan warned. "He's vicious and powerful and he's sure to use his newfound abilities to hurt others, and it would be our fault for turning him loose."

"You don't suppose we could...dry him up and sell him to the museum?" Speedwagon snarkily suggested.

Jonathan shot Speedwagon a horrified glare. "No, no, we're not going to kill him! He's perfectly harmless if we keep him confined in the fountain. This should keep him out of trouble and I can keep a close eye on him."

Meanwhile, Dio had been listening to the whole discussion: furious that they were contemplating on selling him like some common fish. Angrily, he planted his scaly hands onto the fountain's edge and raised his body up as high as he could. "I CAN HEAR YOU TWO SCHEMING!" he cried out at the two. "How DARE you treat me like this!"

Jonathan shook his head disappointedly and approached the merman, who crouched back into the fountain's shadow hissing like a threatened snake. "Dio, I don't want to do this any more than you. But it's my responsibility to keep others safe from you, and you safe from yourself. You turned yourself into this, Dio, and now I know no way to change you back."

"Damn you, JoJo..." Dio whimpered, his voice beginning to break. "So I'm going to have lo spend the rest of my life, however long that may be, kept prisoner in this stupid fountain like some kind of trained seal at a circus? As your own personal pet mermaid, huh, JoJo?" He splashed his tail in frustration and let out a loud, inhuman, mournful wail, and Jonathan felt a hint of pity, even for someone like him.

"This was your choice, Dio," Jonathan scolded, sternly but comfortingly. "There's nothing more you and I can do about the situation, but have to get used to it."

He offered Dio another mackerel. "Here you go, Dio. Eat up and stop being miserable, we'll try to find out a way to make this work out."

Dio recluctantly reached out to take the fish from Jonathan, before sinking back down into the water, bubbling indignantly about his plight.

Jonathan turned to Speedwagon as Dio ate sulkingly. "Speedwagon? This may be a bit of a favor to ask from you..." he asked awkwardly.

"Sure thing, anything that you request," Speedwagon replied.

"You see, I'm going to have to watch over my father at the hospital for a while. And I'm going to have to have someone to watch over Dio for a while to make sure he doesn't get into trouble. I know he can't breathe without water for long and can't leave the fountain for long, but that doesn't stop him from trying. Could you...merman-sit for me while I check on my Dad?"

Speedwagon nodded uneasily, and hesitantly glanced toward the fountain, where Dio, taking his time as he slowly ate his mackerel, made eye contact with Speedwagon and gave a hostile snarl.

"Dear me," sighed Speedwagon in exasperation. "Today is going to be a very, very long day."

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

***

This.... This was absolutely incredible to read! I love every second of it! Thank you so much for taking the time to write this, anon! It's absolutely amazing!

#merman dio #merman au #submission

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