#i hope that man is burning in the seventh hell (assuming that is the worst hell)

[alicentflorent]

I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Alicent had two more pregnancies inflicted upon her and gave birth to another two sons (aka potential threats in the line of succession) after she already feared for the lives of her existing children and viserys had already got fed up playing dad to his children with Alicent. No wonder her fear and paranoia continued to grow the more children she had the more she had to lose.

[antihero-writings]

His Butler, and the Problem with Magic (Ch2)

Fandom: Black Butler | Kuroshitsuji x Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets Crossover

Fic Synopsis: Life at Hogwarts isn’t all bad…usually. But when Valentine’s Day rolls around, and Lockhart throws an extravagant ball, the number of couples at school the next day skyrockets, and Sebastian finds himself a new object of devotion…Can Ciel save his butler from the spell on his own?

Character Focus:  Ciel (Edward Midford, Grell, Lizzie, Snape)

Notes: I bet you all thought I forgot about this fic didnt you? SIKE! I forget nothing.

(By the way, I'll definitely repost chapter 1 of this as well, in case you guys forgot about it XD)

I was informed that Valentines day with this coming Sunday and I couldn't believe it. I had been wanting to work on multiple valentines fics and I thought I had weeks left to write them XD So in light of that, I knew I had been slowly chipping away at a chapter 2 of this over time, so I decided to check it out and see how much work I had to do to make it postable in time for valentines day. To my surprise, the chapter was pretty much ready to go! So at long last, here it is!!

I really hope you enjoy it!! If you do, I implore you to consider commenting and/or reblogging!! I assure you its much much more likely this fic will get a chapter 3 if I know that people are interested in reading more <3

@elegantkittycat Tagging you in case you’re still interested in reading more!!

Chapter 2:

Ciel jerked his hand away as the cauldron sizzled, muttering curses under his breath—(the normal kind, not the magic kind). Usually Sebastian managed their clandestine dealings and he didn’t have to worry about burning his fingers off.

His conversation with Tom Riddle had left him with a list of ingredients, and a method of combining them into a potion that would allegedly cure Sebastian and others of this ailment.

He was fully aware trusting strange voices in diaries wasn’t the best decision he could make on the career path of life, but considering he had found no other options, and a whole lot of annoyance, he didn’t have much to lose. Besides, Sebastian was a demon, so even if it was supposed to make your eyes pop out or something, he’d probably be okay.

Ciel looked down the instructions and grimaced, reaching over for the next ingredient, trying not to look directly at it.

Despite the potions classroom being the main place to get potions, and potion making materials, he was not in the potions classroom. This late in the evening, Snape probably would have killed him. He was in a room on the seventh floor which Sebastian had found last May. It seemed to hold within it whatever the person walking by it required.

He dropped the last ingredient in, raised his wand, muttered a very complicated spell and sighed.

The only thing left to do was wait. It had to brew for twenty-four hours, which meant it wouldn’t be ready until six o’clock the next evening. Twenty-four hours was too much time with a love infested school to deal with.

Ciel packed up his stuff and headed out into the hall—making sure to check for Filch first. He was almost back to his common room when—

“CIEL PHANTOMHIVE!”

He nearly tripped and toppled to the ground taking all his supplies and homework with him.

As he righted himself, he jerked his head up to observe the source of the disturbance: a tall, blonde boy, a few years older than Ciel, sporting his Gryffindor robes as if he was the reincarnation of Godric goddamn Gryffindor himself.

Ciel had the displeasure of knowing this boy.

“Edward?!” he growled, recovering his dignity and dusting himself off. “Are you trying to kill me?!”

“That depends,” he said in a low murmur that seemed to hide waves of anger.

He marched up to his future-brother-in-law, stopped far too close, and stared into Ciel’s eyes like he could bore into his brain with his gaze.

“What. Did you do. To my sister?”

“What did I— ?” Ciel blinked, rivalling anger disappearing in the face of concern. “What?”

Edward was the son of the proud, and not to mention handy-with-swords Marquess Midford, and all this noble, virtue-loving, God-fearing, paladin energy was often channeled into being protective of his younger sister Lizzie…who also happened to be Ciel’s fiancé.

“Lizzie. What did you do to her?!”

“Yes, I’m familiar with to whom you’re referring!” He pushed him back, “What’s wrong with her?!”

It was Edward’s turn to blink. “You don’t know?”

“You may or may not have noticed I am otherwise occupied! I’ve been running around trying to save my butler from this hell, thank you very much!”

“Oh,” his eyes flickered.

Ciel looked up at him, then blinked. “You think I caused this?!”

“Well you don’t exactly foster an atmosphere of peace and calm, now do you?”

“I’d thank you to have more confidence in me in the future! For your information, Undertaker caused this!”

“Undertaker?! Oh that slimy bloke hasn’t seen the last of me!” He turned, putting his fist into his palm, beginning to march out of the room.

Ciel lazily grabbed the sleeve of his robe, pulling him back. “Hunting him down isn’t going to get you any answers—and will likely make you more frustrated. Believe me, I’ve already tried. Now, if you’d be so kind, I’d like to know what’s wrong with my fiancé.”

Edward rubbed the back of his head. “Well…”

“Tell me, Edward.” It was Ciel’s turn to stare him down. Apparently it was effective, because Edward couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I went to go say hi, and I found her sitting in the common room, staring out the window. She barely took any notice of me. And when she did she started spitting prattling nonsense about this man she met,” he said the last words like men were the most revolting things in the planet. “Naturally I assumed this was a newfound appreciation for you, or she simply was admiring Lockhart like she usually does.”—Ciel made a face at this—“But apparently…not.”

Ciel blanched. He was about to speak, but Edward continued:

“When I learned it wasn’t you, I told her to have some decency, but it was as if she couldn’t even hear me!” His air of forced calm broke. “Apparently she’s madly in love with some—some—some idiot!”

“She’s… what?” The words were soft.

“I said—”

“I heard what you said!” He grabbed his robes.

Some third years walked by at that exact moment and stared at them. Ciel released him, and he and Edward paused and waved awkwardly. After they passed, Ciel continued in a shout-whisper.

“How the hell did this happen?! I specifically made sure she stayed away from the punch at that party!”

“The punch? What punch?”

“The punch Undertaker spiked!”

“Undertaker spiked—?! Oh…Maybe she drank some when you weren’t looking? You can’t have been keeping her under constant surveillance, can you?”

“I was watching her very closely, she couldn’t have!” He said, realizing his usually-more-than-adept butler was quite possibly compromised at the time. “When did these symptoms start? The morning after Valentines Day?”

“Um,” Edward put a hand to his chin, thinking, “I…I’m not sure.”

“Oh you’re just useless aren’t you?”

“More useful than you! If you knew it was spiked at the party, why didn’t you tell everyone?! Or try to stop him?!”

“It seemed like a harmless prank!”

“What are we up to?” Snape’s greasy form appeared, cutting the scene.

“Nothing, Professor Snape,” Edward said quickly. “We were just—”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” He folded his arms and stared down his hooked nose at Ciel. “Your detention is to take place tomorrow evening at six o’clock. Meet me in my office. Try not to earn yourself another one before then.”

“Yes, Sir.” Ciel said softly.

Snape’s black robes swished passed them.

“So Lizzie—? Wait, did he just say six o’clock?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Damn it!” Ciel groaned, leaning against the bannister.

“What’s wrong?”

He waved him off. “It’s none of your concern.”

Edward folded his arms and glared at him.

“I’m working on a potion to try to neutralize this whole…love mess.”

“I’d say that’s very much of my concern! You have the antidote?!”

“I said I’m working on it. It’ll be ready at six o’clock tomorrow evening—six o’clockexactly.”

“I guess you’ll have to get it after you get back.” Edward shrugged.

“It’s a very delicate potion I have to—Ugh Nevermind.”

After a pause Edward asked, “…And you’re sure this antidote will work?”

“I’m not sure of much of anything. The only thing I am sure about is if the potion doesn’t kill me, if I’m late to his detention, Snape just might.”

*****

As Ciel sat down to breakfast he made the silent resolve to quickly finish the potion at six o’clock, then speed to the dungeon as fast as possible, taking the bottle with him to his detention, and hurry to Sebastian right afterwards. Snape wouldn’t be happy, but, despite what he said to Edward earlier, the worst he’d do was give him another detention, or take a large sum of house points. And he wasn’t so strict he’d make students empty their pockets, so he shouldn’t notice while he sat sitting for a few hours cleaning viper guts off potion bottles. There was no telling what this potion would do if he left it for however long detention was, so it took priority. And even if his detention went into the night, that would be the perfect time to test it—the demon wouldn’t be asleep anyways.

Ciel was currently trying to make his seat in the great hall a little corner of peace and calm, and block out the chaos in the rest of the hall, setting down his knife properly, trying to ignore the food flying across the hall, when—

“Oh, Brat~!”

Ciel sighed resignedly as his least favorite redhead came swinging into his vision.

“What are you doing back here so soon?” Ciel grumbled, holding his scowling face in one hand, sticking his fork aimlessly into his eggs with the other.

“And when I came all this way to see you, too?!” He turned up his nose in disgust. “I couldn’t possibly get my beauty sleep after I saw my Sebas-chan in such dire straits.” He pulled a scroll out of his jacket pocket, “So I was up all night thinking of ways to get him back to his sexy self!” He unrolled its impressive length, the end landing in Ciel’s eggs.

Ciel couldn’t help but skim through some his ideas, if nothing else for a good laugh.

They ranged from the more simple and reasonable Find the spell, and make a counter curse, and Bash his head in, to the not-so-reasonable Maybe true loves kiss will work~?

“What’s this?” Ciel squinted at a particular line. “‘Put that brat he calls “master” in mortal danger’?”

It was starred and underlined several times.

“Oh you noticed that one did you?” He said in fake innocence. “That’s one of my personal favorites!”

Ciel’s eyes lidded.

“And how exactly would putting me in mortal danger solve the problem of my butler being in love with you?”

“For some reason—can’t see why—Sebas-chan is very attached to you—”

“Sure, it has nothing to do with the contract we made.”

“Yes, yes.” He waved him off. “Well he’s very against you being in any sort of danger. See the idea,”—He put a nail on the table— “is that if we put you in mortal danger his primal demonic—”—he said the word in a way Ciel was not fond of—“inclinations will override the spell and snap him out of it.”

Ciel blinked, staring down at the line of text.

The worst thing was…that actually made some smidgen of sense. You know, in a sadistic kind of way.

“And how would you propose we do that? You know, without actually killing me?”

“Oh all part of the fun. I have a number of ideas as to how we could push you riiight up to the edge! It’ll be delightfully diabolical. Of course, if it doeskill you, well…” he turned away and muttered, “All’s well that ends well, as they say.”

“Not that that doesn’t sound fun…” Ciel stood, pushing the list away. “I’ve found my own way of breaking the spell thank you very much.”

“Oh?” Grell blinked, intrigued. “Have you now?”

“Not that its any of your business, yes.” He brushed himself off, gathering his stuff, “If you’ll excuse me, I have my own business to attend to.”

“Well when that fails don’t hesitate to come crawling back to your favorite reaper Grellypoo ~!” He rolled up the scroll.

“You’re not even my fifth favorite reaper!” He threw over his shoulder.

“But at least I’m on the list!”

*****

Due to the fact that little real learning was happening on either side—unless you count learning too much about various students and teacher’s romantic habits—they had decided to cancel classes for the time being. This gave the teachers more time to devote to finding the cure as well.

Ciel decided to take this time to ascertain the validity of Edward’s statement the night previous and visit Lizzie.

She was a Gryffindor like her brother. Visiting the Gryffindor common room wouldn’t be first, or even last, in a list of things he wanted to do…but he’d half to bear it.

As he walked up the stairs he bumped into someone. At first they apologized and continued walking but soon the other person called back:

“Hey, I ran into yesterday didn’t I?”

Ciel turned to see none other than Harry Potter.

“Yes?”

“Did you happen to see a diary? Like when you were helping me pick up my stuff?”

“The great Harry Potter keeps a diary?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not my diary. Just a diary.”

“A diary that just so happened to find its way into your bag?”

“Well…yeah.”

“Sorry to say, I haven’t seen it.”

“Hmm…Alright. Thanks anyways.” He waved as he continued down the stairs.

As another Gryffindor left, he slipped into the common room.

Lizzie was sitting in a chair against the window, just like Edward said she would be. She rested her hand on her chin, her elbow on the table, and watched the rain fall.

“Lizzie!” he ran up to her.

“Oh…Ciel…it’s you,” she said in a dreamy, nonplussed tone.

“Yes it’s me. What happened? Have you completely lost your senses?!”

“No I’d say my senses are in tact thank you. And I’d thank you not to ask a lady such an impolite question.”

“Sorry but…what happened? Why are you—?”

“I don’t know. I just, of a sudden, found him to very attractive one morning, and I’m having trouble thinking of much else.”

“Who?” He sat in the chair across from her.

“That’s not really of your concern, is it?”

“It is when I’m your fiancé!” He said a little too loudly, making Gryffindors turn towards him.

“Mm…” She muttered like it wasn’t an issue.

“Lizzie, I tried to make sure you didn’t drink that punch at the party! How did this happen?!”

“Party?” She paused, and for a moment he wasn’t sure she was even going to continue the conversation. “…Oh I don’t know. I seem to faintly recall the most beautiful man I’d ever met saying I simply must try it.”

His eyes widened. “Someone gave it to you directly?! Who?! Why?!”

“I’ve already tried that, I don’t think you’ll get much luck. She won’t tell me either.” Edward arrived at his side, then leaned over and whispered, “I think she knows we’ll come after him.”

“I was going to opt for slow psychological torture,” he muttered back, “but I’d like to hear more about your method.”

Edward tried to suppress a smile.

“And you really love this man?” Ciel asked Lizzie.

“Oh, with all my heart!” She seemed to gain a rush of energy.

He sighed, realizing more questions would be futile, and getting up.

“Alright well…” He ran his hand gently over Lizzie’s fingers. “I-I’ll see you soon.”

“You’ll give me the potion as soon as you can, right?” Edward demanded.

“I’m going to use Sebastian as a test subject, but, if it works, then this will be my next stop.”

“The password is ‘chocolate frog.’ Feel free to wake me up. I can’t stand another minute knowing Lizzie is in love with some-some lunatic!”

“We’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

*****

Ciel carefully held the porcupine quills, and gingko leaves over the cauldron, dripping them in one at a time, stirring counterclockwise with his other hand, glancing continually back to the instructions.

Finishing off the potion was proving no easier than making the rest of it, but at last, it gave a final sigh, and turned a foggy white.

Ciel gave his own sigh of relief, before using tongs to dip and fill the bottle beside him, making sure to clean off the sides of it—(it was a good thing he used a towel to do so, because the stray drops burned through the fabric).

He held up the bottle, staring at the potion. At long last. Finally, after three days of slow torture, he’d finally be rid of this curse, and the world could return to its normal state—demon butlers included.

He slipped one into his robe pocket and the moment he stepped out of the room, he sped off towards Snape’s dungeon for his detention without a moment to clean up the rest.

He hadn’t intended to burst through the door, but he found himself doing that a lot over these past few days.

Snape’s black eyes narrowed upon his panting form as if he were a worm to bottle. Then they flicked to the clock.

“You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, Professor, I—”

Snape held up a hand to stop him. “The last three days have been longer than the past few months, and am not interested in feeble excuses, Mr. Phantomhive.” He glided around his desk, but instead of setting him up at a desk, he marched past him, swung open, and exited the classroom.

Ciel paused a moment, leaning over to the side, watching him exit, a quizzical look on his face, before deciding he wanted him to follow him.

“Where are we going, Professor?” He asked as he caught up—(not altogether happy that he’d have to do more walking after the run he just made).

“Your detention is to take place in the Forbidden Forest tonight.”

Ciel’s eyes widened.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Is our dear Mister Phantomhive afraid of the dark?”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m just a little surprised, that’s all…due to it being forbidden and all.”

Snape smirked. “Most of the time, yes. But on some extra special detentions we may take students inside.”

He was right: The Forbidden Forest wasn’t exactly a common detention spot, though it wasn’t unheard of either. What was more surprising was that Snape taking him there. Usually Snape’s detentions consisted of pickling rat brains, or cleaning octopi suckers off desks. Not that he’d been to very many of his detentions—he’d always been pretty good at potions. It was this godforsaken spell that had reduced him to a less-than-model student.

“Professor, may I ask what exactly will we be doing?” He asked as they traversed the grounds, the trees growing ever closer.

“You will be coming with me to gather a rare flower that lives in these woods.”

Ciel gave a curt nod. It was a moment or two before he asked, “May I ask what it’s for?”

“I am a potions master, Mister Phantomhive. I encourage you to use your brain.”

“I understand that. But what potion is it for, Sir?”

“I am attempting to remedy the spell that has plagued the school.”

Ciel fell silent at that, resisting the urge to tell him he already had the solution in his pocket.

They arrived at the edge of the forest, the trees reaching towards them with gnarled claws, the darkness like curtains for a stage set.

“Lumos.” Snape spoke, and Ciel drew his wand and did the same as they ventured into the shadows.

The trees seemed to taunt them, to whisper about them, to dare them to come any closer, any phantom sound at home here.

After more than a few minutes walk in silence—quite possibly half an hour—Snape stopped and spoke: “They should be around here, nor should they be difficult to spot. Look for a glowing blue flower.”

Ciel made a move to venture off in search of them, but Snape grabbed his arm, warning:

“Don’t wander off where you can’t see me.”

Ciel nodded before venturing into the trees, scanning the ground for anything glowing, or blue, continually glancing back to make sure he could still make out the figure of his teacher.

It wasn’t long before he saw something glowing, and ran up to it. …It turned out just to be a mushroom.

As he sighed disappointedly, and stood back up, he saw two beady eyes staring at him from the darkness.

His heart began to pound as he stared, unsure if he should back up, stand his ground, play dead, or attack, the ghost of a certain name forming on his tongue.

He never had to fear beady eyes, bandits, or bullets with Sebastian around. This was the first time he felt real fear in a long while.

A black spectral horse reared out of the bushes, its eyes aglow with more than just a reflection of the dark.

It stepped towards him in slow, calculated hoofbeats, flaring its nostrils a little too frequently for his liking.

He’d read about these before.

He continued backing up, as the thestral didn’t seem like it planned on stopping its pursuit anytime soon.

“Mister Phantomhive,”—Snape’s voice was low, warning—“I am aware you likely don’t see anything but—”

“I can see it.” He continued his reverse walk.

Snape gave him a short glance like he had a newfound respect for him.

These creatures only appeared to people who had seen death, and he was sure the look in his parents’ eyes that night sufficed. But they didn’t commonly act like this.

Snape lifted his wand, casting a nonverbal spell, and the thestral fell to the ground with a bloodcurdling whinny too much like a scream, ropes binding its legs.

Ciel let out a relieved exhale as Snape joined him.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine…Thestrals…they aren’t commonly…aggressive, are they?”

“No.” Snape muttered softly, gazing for a moment at the now-helpless creature, then turned sharply to Ciel, pointing his wand at him. “Empty your pockets.”

Ciel jerked his head to the professor, saying a little too loudly, “What?!”

The thestral fought against the binds, and Ciel took a step back.

“I said, ‘empty your pockets.’”

“Why?!”

Snape flicked his wand, and his pockets’ contents excavated themselves of their own volition.

Snape grabbed the potion from the air, and let the rest of spare quills and things fall helplessly to the forest floor. He held it up and stared at it, observing the contents, his emotion as imperceptible as always. Then he lifted the cork, sniffing it. His eyes widened and he jerked to look at Ciel, his eyes almost more terrifying than those of the thestral, and definitely not holding a look his eyes had ever contained for him before.

“Where did you get this?” He whispered.

“Excuse me?”

He lifted the potion up, and violently smashed it on the ground, the contents breaking out with a puff of smoke, spilling helplessly onto the forest floor.

“NO!”

Snape grabbed his arm as Ciel made to reach for it, as if to save the unsalvageable.

“I said—” he grabbed both his arms, forcing him to look at him. “Where. Did you get that?”

“Sir…. I don’t understand…”

Snape’s face was far too close to him for comfort.

“Listen to me and listen to me very carefully. That potion is more than dangerous—it’s banned in every major country. It’s not something I could easily mistake. If you were to use it, you wouldn’t just die an excruciating death, it would rot you from the inside, and leave you open to the possession of any vile spirit in the vicinity. A fourteen-year-old boy such as yourself shouldn’t be carrying it around in his pocket,” he spat. “And I’d like to think that you didn’t know what it was when you gained possession of it. Now.” His grip tightened on one of his arms, his nails digging in, as he put his wand to his throat with the other enunciating each word, “WHERE. DID. YOU. GET. IT?!”

[ffxiv-ariavitali]

4: Clinch

Summary: What Stryder would do to support his younger sister (Character-centric, probably doesn't make sense and isn't interesting but I wanted to convey how Stryder [Aria's older brother] feels even if it's just a little bit.)

On the topic of family: Stryder Vitali and Aria Vitali

Time period: post-Dragonsong War

941 words

AO3 ver.

❅ ❅ ❅

“How must it feel having such a talented younger sister and you are so...worthless.”

It wasn’t the first time that Stryder had heard such a statement thrown his way. Although he was the eldest of the Vitali siblings, he was always perceived as living in his sister’s shadow. With her talents spread across the seventeen soul crystals she bears—both Disciple of War and Magic alike—anyone would fall into the easy trap of comparing the siblings together.

Stryder wouldn’t deny the envy he felt towards Aria as they were growing up. It was true that their mother had paid more attention to his sister because of her early blooming in arcane magicks, but he understood the rationale behind it. After all, there is power that could easily go out of control if the talents aren’t honed, aren’t properly cultivated and left wild and rampant.

However, now that he’s had many years of life on his belt and has taken responsibility as head of their family’s name, he’s matured. He’s learned the reason why his younger sibling is so desperate to learn the martial arts across the entire star, for the role she had assumed with nary a choice was one that she shouldn’t have had to embrace in the first place. After all that they’ve experienced, there was even a time where he questioned what they had done to deserve such responsibilities, such pressure, such pain.

Such a sentiment was only exacerbated when he was witness to the way his sister had changed after Haurchefant had passed; the first Ishgardian that he had ever learned to trust.

Stryder remembered the change in his sister, the way her hope was snuffed out only to be replaced by a burning desire for vengeance that would have all consumed her. In fact, it almost did when she allowed herself to be baptized in the dark abyss of the Dark Knights and pulled nearly too much for her to come back from.

The elder Vitali knew, in the moment he realized what was going on, that he was at a crossroads. He had to make a decision; to be one of two versions of the elder brother that Aria needed—Aria, not the Warrior of Light.

It was a simple answer, really. One that he didn’t need too long to think.

He remembered the night he approached their grandfather, Naivont de Lukos, with his sister. How they both discussed the matter prior and came to a similar conclusion and how their grandsires turned them down. Harshly.

“An inept whelp such as you? Take the family name? Are you of the right mind?”

Stryder knew this mentality was to be expected, but he didn’t prepare for hell to be let loose from his sister’s mouth. It had been some time since he had heard the roguish accent from her; their late mother had beat it into them to speak with more clarity in their intonation. She was fire in all her grace and had given him something that he felt he had lost along the way: hope.

“How dare ya speak to Stryder like that!” Aria had shouted without reservation. “If ya swids think ya could stabble on my brother like that, ya better off stubblin’ and skulkin’ back into the dark! Seventh hell take all of ya!”

Aria then had grabbed him by the hand and dragged him all the way back to Fortemps manor to petition their surrogate father. Stryder remembered the passion she showed, the tears that escaped her eyes as she felt so deeply for her failure of a brother and how angry she was when he had said such a thing to her.

“You are not a failure!” she exclaimed. “You are Stryder Vitali. You are still a trueborn son of the Lukos family. You gave me faith when I could not bear to go on and you pushed me to be a better person. How many times must I tell you this before you realize that I would not be here if you were not by my side?”

The man’s eyes widened and he was taken back to the early days of their childhood. How his sister would rush to him when she was being bullied by the Lominsan children, when she would ask for advice in training, when she had accomplished a new feat and wanted to share it with him. In each moment, he heard her call his name with such love, with such respect and he began wondering why he had even contrived to doubt himself.

So, he turned to their father with determined eyes and a straight back.

“Father, allow me to become the heir to the Lukos name,” he insisted to Edmont. “Allow me the opportunity to support my sister in the ways only I could.”

Stryder remembered the way Edmont smiled so warmly at him, the same way that their birth father had smiled at him all those years ago.

“I have been waiting, my son,” Edmont answered.

From then on, he clinched the title and did exactly as he said he would. He supported his sister the best he could from his place. Whenever she would return to Ishgard for respite, he would always visit her at the Fortemps manor.

(He dared not urge her to move in with him at the Lukos estate. Ever since she had lashed out at their grandsire, the relations between the two had been awkward at best and volatile at worst.)

Whenever he did, she would welcome him in the same way she always had: with the brightest smile and the biggest heart.

He has never regretted his decision. 

[kaitlynskpop]

“where all is holy”

??? x reader [prologue]

2.5k words

                              seven deadly sins! au

    There was no light streaming in through the stained glass picture of Mary, and that’s how you knew you were in trouble.

    The church floorboards creak, and you sit on your haunches from your spot kneeling before the altar. A sudden chill fills the air, and you pull your jacket tighter around your form before bravely turning around to catch the culprit of the noise in the air.

    “Father Bang?” you whisper, your eyes scanning the pews. However, the burly man was nowhere to be found. You were alone in the room. Swallowing, you turn back to the altar, when a chorus of beautiful laughter fills the room. You watch as the candles you had lit blew in a sudden wind that swept through the room, so harsh that your jacket rises away from your body and flies off of you. You try to reach out at the catch the fabric, only for it to violently slam against a desk in the corner of the room, causing a piece of paper, which caught the breeze shaking the room, to fly through the air.

    The paper floats down in front of you, landing on the table which you had set up the candles on. You gasp as the piece of paper begins to burn at the corner, quickly rising to grasp the paper and blow on it to stop the firing from spreading. The paper, burnt in the corner, appeared old. It was yellow, and the writing on it was light gray instead of the dark black that was associated with newly written pieces. Gnawing on your lip, you skim over the paper.

    Unfortunately, you didn’t recognize the prayer.

    O Lord Jesus Christ, pattern of humility, who emptied yourself of your glory, and took upon the form of a servant: root out of us all pride and conceit of heart, that, owing ourselves miserable and guilty sinners, we may willingly bear contempt and reproaches for your sake, and glorying in nothing but you, may esteem ourselves lowly in your sight. Not unto us, O Lord, but to your name be the praise, for your loving mercy and for your truth’s sake.

Amen.

    “Do you think she’ll get the hint now?” comes a new voice, quiet while swimming through your ears. It was deep, but seemed far away -- almost like people were talking while you were dozing.

    You look up and yet again find no one.

    Your hands tremble as they clutch the paper. Something was so wrong and you didn’t know what was going on. You swear you could hear voices as if they were in the room.

    “Should we make ourselves visible to her?” It came from your far right, near the back of the sanctuary. The voice was deep and made you shiver. It held anything but good intentions, sensual in its delivering.

    “I’m sure the poor thing would be frightened,” came a third voice, kind and upbeat. However, you knew better than to trust someone just because they seemed nice. This voice is perhaps the closest to you, so close you swear you hear breath against your ear.

    “Maybe I should help her relax,” comes a purr from the second voice again.

    “Maybe you should shut up,” comes a fourth voice, teasingly.

    “And my handsome face is too much for this kid right now,” comes a fifth voice.

    “I think she’s having trouble seeing us because she doesn’t want to believe this is happening, not because we’re necessarily blocking ourselves.” This is the sixth voice, seeming to come from the second pew down. Your head snaps in the direction. There was a certain intellectualism about the voice, like someone who knew what they were talking about.

    “Aw, look at how she reaction to Greed’s voice,” coos a seventh voice. “Not fair! I want to have fun with her too!” You picture a young man pouting as he utters these words.

    “Well, he is the leader,” comes a dry response from the first voice, the one that seemed like you were listening from underwater. Perhaps it was the lazy, biting drawl of it that made it vibrate within your ears.

    “But Pride’s been doing this the longest out of all of us, and she didn’t react nearly as much as she did to Greed!” argues the seventh voice, a high-pitched whine.

    “That’s because Pride only talks about his handsome face,” comes the same dry response.

    “What else is there to talk about?” This interruption between the first and seventh voice comes from, who you assume is Pride. “My face is the reason girls like her fall for me.”

    “Yeah, I’m sure they do,” comes the sarcastic response from the first voice.

    “Geez,” barks the third voice with laughter rumbling throughout the church. “Sloth’s on a roll today.” This was the voice that had come from right next to you, and you could feel the warmth of a body next to you.

    You gather your wits just enough to stammer out, “H-hello?”

    Silence fills the sanctuary and you knew in that moment you were going crazy.

    “Let’s show her us,” begs the second voice. There was a begging tone within his words. “God, I can’t wait to be inside of her. She’s so pure.”

    “You’re fucking gross,” comes the fourth voice. “God, you’re stinking up this hellhole with your fucking horniness, Lust.”

    “You’re the one that’s gross, Wrath,” retorts Lust. “We all know you’re just as eager to be inside that tight little body.”

    There was a grunt of disgust as a reply. You can picture someone curling their lip in response to Lust’s words.

    “Fine,” comes Greed, the one who seemed to have all the answers. “Let’s show her us.”

    You feel your breath catch in your throat, and you close your eyes, shaking your head. “You’re all not real,” you cry out, placing your hands over your ears. “Oh my god, I need to get home.” Too bad you didn’t recognize your mistake.

    “Who did you just say, little girl?” This was the originally happy seventh voice. This time, his voice was laced with darkness and a metallic taste that could only be associated with blood fills your mouth. “Did you really just say his name in front of us? You should know better, just from listening to us. We’re going to have to punish you, now.”

    Murmurs and shouts and grunts of agreement rise from the faceless group. You fall to the ground, holding your head and rocking back and forth. You remember a time when you were punished by God through visions of what could only be a past life, and you feared the worst: that you were once again going to be punished with visions and voices. That’s the only logical reasoning behind the voices you hear within the church.

    “Please, please, please pleasepleaseplease,” you beg. “God, don’t do this to me again. I’m begging you, Lord. I-I don’t know what I did wrong! I’ll pray every day for hours again!” At this point you’re rambling. “Not again, just please, not again, I’ve tried so so hard to please you so that they don’t pop up again-”

    “Oi, this is really pissing me off,” comes the first voice. Sloth? “She keeps mentioning Him.”

    Several footsteps ring in your eyes, and there was the creaking of the sanctuary’s wooden floor. You tremble, knowing that divine punishment was about to be delivered to you.

    “Open your eyes, girl,” purrs Lust.

    And when you do, you jump at seeing seven young men in front of you. What was more surprising was how beautiful each of them were.

    Each of them had their own unique characteristics which made it very clear that although they could raise hell together, they were more than capable of doing so by themselves.

    “I am Lust,” purrs a handsome man, oozing strength and sensuality. You noticed the slightest of all scars on his cheek. If anything, it contributed to his beauty.

    “I’m Gluttony,” comes the distinct seventh voice, the one which rings like a bell. His soft cheeks made it appear as if he was constantly smiling -- which he was doing right now.

    “Greed,” says another man. You once again shudder at his deep voice and peer at who it was. He was the tallest of the men around you, with silver hair.

    “Wrath.” A man joins the introductions. His gorgeous blonde hair was taken back by a tie, his bangs sweeping the corners of his face. He had soft, round lips.

    “Pride.” This man was perhaps the most otherworldly beautiful of them all, tall and thin as idealized by the world. He had pitch black hair, and appeared the oldest out of everyone. You remember vaguely, as you were enraptured by his beauty, that pride was the original sin, and the most serious. Another shudder runs through your body at the information your mind supplied.

    “I’m Envy.” Following the voice, you encountered an ethereal man with blonde hair. He had the most round face out of all the members, his cheeks soft and almost -- if you were not being serious -- squishy. It reminded you of a child, and you would have guessed that he was the youngest if you had not first met Lust.

    The quiet voice, the one which echoes as if underwater, finally speaks up. “Sloth,” he says, eyes flickering to you and away from you just as quick, as if he couldn’t bare to give anyone the time out of his day. There was a lazy quality about him, from his apathetic face to his crimped hair that made it appear as if he had just gotten out of bed.

    You have slowly been piecing together all of the introduction. Oh, God. You felt like you were going to be sick. You hoped desperately that this was all a joke by God above. There was no way the Seven Sins themselves could appear before you.

    “Yes, we are the Seven Sins,” Greed says, as if reading your mind. You startle, slowly crawling backwards until your back hit the altar. They edge closer to you, their red eyes sharp and all-seeing. You swear you hear Sloth snarl in annoyance, as if saying, This puny human made me move.

    You still immediately, but you could feel your body shaking against the cold church ground. You were sure you were hallucinating, or that the visions were back again.

    “You’re ours now,” says Lust, a smirk edging at the corner of his perfect lips. You’re an entranced as you are terrified by the motion.

    “W-what do you mean?”

    “(F/n) (L/n), you have been born to absolve the Seven Deadly Sins, the most serious of all sins, of their wrongdoings,” says Wrath unusually solemnly.

    “You’re wrong!” you cry out, bringing your trembling hands to your face.

    “Oh?” The temperature drops as much as Wrath’s voice. You are no longer quivering out of fear. No, it was if any hint of warmth had been completely ripped out of you in a single moment. You could feel your body beginning to freeze over, and you gasp. The air was so still, any dust in the air freezing in its place. The church is still, all at Wrath’s power. Your eyes frantically check the man’s face, and yet he seems calm. That had to be the most terrifying expression you had ever seen, not just because of his actions, but because of how little he cares about it. “Should we light this entire town on fire then? Would you like that? Maybe we can start with this little church you’ve been attending since before you were born.”

    Fear, icy and cold, runs through your veins. You can physically feel the sweat collecting at the top of your head, under your bangs. You don’t think you’d ever been this terrified in your entire life.

    “I’m sorry.” The words coming out of your mouth. “You-you just have to understand, this is hard to believe. That it’s happening.”

    “We don’t have to understand shit,” sneers Envy, his unusually friendly face tight with disgust. His pouty lips were pursed in disgust. His hooded eyes are wide, red irises boring down into your very soul. You gasp as you see a vision: Envy ripping your heart from your body, holding the bloody organ in his hand as a cackle rings through your head. You shudder in fear, your bottom lip trembling and tears prickling into your eyes.

    “Oh my --”

    “Don’t you dare finish that!” snaps Gluttony, brow furrowing. “You really don’t want to piss me off, little girl.”

    A murmur of agreement arises from the men. No, not men. Demons. Beings of higher power. Sins.

    “So, what will be your choice?” This time it is Greed, perhaps the most collected and calculating of the bunch. “Will you help us or shall we kill you now?”

    “I vote we kill her now,” muses Wrath. “She holds no use for me. Like this measly human could help me.”

    Gluttony hums to acknowledge Wrath’s words, before turning back to give you a once-over. “I don’t know. She’s pretty cute when she’s petrified.” A wicked grin crosses his affable face.

    “Oh, believe me, I know she’s cute,” says Lust. His honeyed tongue causes goosebumps to arise on your arms. “I’ve been enraptured with her beauty since we arrive. I wonder how humans feel when they’re under you.” The terrifying part was you couldn’t tell if he was talking about fucking you or slaughtering you, or doing both.

    “Can we please get this over with?” snaps Sloth. “I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to be.”

    “I agree,” says Pride. He turns his ethereal face towards you, his plump lips frowning. “So? What about it, human?”

    You chew your lip, before blurting out, “What are my options? Help you and live, or refuse and die?”

    “Look who’s finally catching on,” Sloth responds drily.

    “Those aren’t options!”

    “Yes, they are,” argues Envy. “So cast your vote!”

    You grab on to the wall behind you and stand slowly, like an antelope arising in front of a lion. “I…”

    “Any day now,” Sloth sighs.

    “...will help.”

    “Great!” cheers Gluttony, clasping his hands together to make a singular clap. “I knew you were smart!”

    “I’m glad you agreed,” interrupts Greed. “Now tell me, which one would you like to absolve first?”

    Knowing there was no way out of this, and that this was too long to be a hallucination or vision, you bite down on your lip before opening your mouth. You didn’t know the enormous impact your words would have on your life. Oh, if only you could stay this oblivious forever. “I think I’ll begin with --”