#never suffering against all the goodness and hope in his heart that claws against the life he lived

[tamedstray]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

Riding off into the sunset, the hope of a happy ending, the bitter after taste that still in it's own way smells kinda great. Your love is all bitter hopefulness, all about a broken heart that refuses to quit, all about the unshakable knowledge that a burning fire has a great comforting warm and a soft glowing light, all about the way when the sun comes down there's a beautiful starry night.       It's stubbornness, it's the refusal to give up, the clutching of broken shards despite the searing pain and being adamant that dammit you can still make a beautiful stained glass window out of it.       Yours is a screaming heart, a pleading love, a bitter and almost belligerent hopefulness that things will still work out even if you have to roll up your sleeves and make them. And god, aren't you tired? Isn't your heart heavy? Is all your hard work worth it? Don't you just want to curl up and let it be? Let the fire turn to ashes and the sky turn dark and let love die down and watch people leave? But you don't, do you? You're the bravest out of all of us, so you pick up the pieces and you keep going, you keep believing and you keep your heart full of hope because some day. Some day you know you'll get it. You keep riding off into the sunset and you keep filling my heart with hope as you go because god, how do I wish you finally get it too.

Tagged by @tadbitfooled via dm. Thank you but also I'll never forgive you this quiz was brutal <3

Tagging all of you, this is a gem of a quiz, but especially @musezieren @oathfcrged @divnties @0fdevotion (Vela or Marcy? 👀) @notyetfixed (Nox maybe? 👉👈)

[the-scythes-pen]

Had this in my drafts for a while and I don't quite remember where I was going with this, but figured it was good enough to post anyway. Here's a reverse comfort Blade x Reader:

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

You never thought you'd ever see this man like this.

"Please."

His gravelly voice pleaded, his nose brushing against the side of your own as he nuzzles you affectionately; the cat-like gesture accompanied by the beating of your heart.

In turn, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him gently with a tinge of desperation, like you were afraid he'd slip from your grasp and vanish forever like he so desperately craved.

Ever-trembling hands, scarred and bandaged and so unimaginably tainted, ghosted over your flesh reverently; the owner barely able to hold back the need to worship every inch of you and your divinity to him.

Tears pricked your eyes as his lips brushed against yours, chapped yet so unimaginably warm and his, it didn't matter what he felt like- he could have thorns all over his lips and you'd still kiss him, because it was him.

And the way he kissed you was so hungry, so passionate, yet held no desire to do anything more.

It was simply a kiss, but it held all of the man's grief, fears, hopes and love. It held all of the emotions he suppressed, yet you forcefully dragged out of him and made him feel all over again.

Pulling away from your lips and gasping for air made his chest throb in a way that he always hated- it felt like he had died all over again; such a familiar feeling yet in an unfamiliar situation, and he was addicted. He crashed back against your mouth with no care for how his lungs burned and how his chest hurt, with how he trembled and how the lump in his throat grew thicker and thicker.

You could feel every thought in his head in his touch as his fingers brushed against your skin, feel every desire he ever held for you in the way his vermillion-sunset hued eyes gazed into yours. Your arms tightened around him, trying so desperately to relieve him of his suffering; of all the worries and doubts that clawed at his heart, of all the things that told him he couldn't. That he couldn't love you.

But he did. By god, he did. He loved you more then he loved the thought of his final ending; he loved you more then the thought of being able to change the past.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that despite the curse of abundance plaguing his soul, it was you who kept his heart beating; kept his mind alive and alert and his body thrashing to stay in this world with you.

A hushed whisper of his name nearly made him choke, not of the man he had become but of the man he was still; the bladesmith and the hero-turned-disgrace, the tragedy and shame of the Luofu.

"Yingxing."

His fingertips dug into your skin, into your hips, and he wanted to beg you to say that name again; to remind him of what could have been, to what should have been. His mara flared at the remembrance of his shame, threatening to bite at his feet and slowly crawl it's way further up- but he wouldn't let himself end that way. Not here, not now. Not with you finally in his arms. No matter how much his body screamed at him that he didn't deserve this, that he didn't deserve you, a part of him refused to let go of the sliver of paradise you offered him.

And as you held him; clung to him and silently begged him to let go, to let himself have this, you murmured words of love to him that made his throat tighten and his mouth dry. He didn't deserve you.

"I'm not leaving you. Not now, not ever."

Your fingers carded through his raven locks, and the man felt like crying tears that had long since run dry.

"Please. I love you, Yingxing. Don't-" and you choke on your own saliva, your own breath, and it makes his hold tighten even further. "-don't do this to yourself."

His breath is shaky as he exhales heavily; your sweet and gentle voice echoing through his head like some kind of siren call.

"…need you."

Is all he manages to say in return, and despite the non-sequitur you understand the pain that pulses within his veins. That he can barely think or comprehend or even speak right now.

"I'm here. I'm right here." Your hand rubs his back, and truly, you have no where to go- because your home is right here with him, pinned against his bed within his arms and beneath his trembling frame.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you."

Blade buries his face into your neck, taking in your warmth, your scent, the softness of your skin and your presence. He wants to lose himself in you forever. To forget about everything else and be consumed by you.

Damn his curse. Damn his revenge and the scripts and his past and his future- he wants to spend the eternity of his wretched life within your arms.

[scourgeblooms]

wanted to do a physical timeline for my commander and highlight how he’s changed through the years. this is mostly for my own entertainment BUT I do enjoy seeing the same thing from other folks so I’m posting it here in the hopes that other people share my sentiment. 

(I was ALSO totally inspired by @/manasurge’s hair timeline. it kicks ass. go look at it.) 

elaboration/rambling below the cut!

Personal Story, LW1-2: Popped out of the pod blunt, solicitous, and already maybe a little too paranoid for someone who was born yesterday, but all those traits made him uniquely qualified for a position in military leadership.  Healthy and floral, soft aspen-bark-like skin, delicate petals. black anthers produce pollen. undergoes more fashion changes than physical transformations during this time. gets a little banged up here and there (and maybe has some lasting respiratory effects from the toxic alliance era) but overall feelin a-okay. 

Heart of Thorns: it’s all gone to shit. took a spectacular headdive in both a physical and mental sense with breakneck speed. never “officially” answered mordremoth’s call, but anyone who spent time around him would notice a distinct lack of self control and logical thinking. took on a more sickly pallor, stress caused leaves to shrivel, rot, and decay. lost his lil flower top notch and ability to produce pollen. pupils narrowed to take on a more animalistic look, and enamel growth resulted in sharper, larger teeth. fingers also elongated into claws. never fully physically and mentally recovered from the hell jungle. 

LW3: chopped off most of his leaves to encourage fresh growth. lots of physical healing during this time, though it takes quite a while for his complexion to fully recover. takes on the role of aurene’s champion with gusto. relatively unaffected by bloodstone, but feels the effects of mordremoth’s loose/uncontrolled magic deeply. continues to hear mordremoth’s “voice” and is diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. 

Path of Fire: still healing from HoT. continues to grow out his leaves. glow returns, as well as some of his eye color. likes the crystal desert, but finds the harsh, dry climate to be particularly challenging; he’s definitely more of a ‘temperate’ sylvari. does not handle dying well. death only adds to his paranoia and psychosis. has an increasingly hard time picking apart what is real and what is…. not. 

LW4: let’s get ready to kill an undead lich!!!! absorbs even more magic after the death of joko and kralkatorrik, and it starts to show in a there-and-gone shimmery aura that takes on a similar appearance to ley lines. starts to suffer from migraine auras. flower top notch grows back, but stays closed and dormant. picks up a few nifty necromancy tricks from the elonians, and the tips of his fingers start to show signs of necrotic decay; all that death magic can’t be good for the complexion, can it? 

Icebrood Saga: having another dragon in his head does not help his mental health in the slightest. braided leaves (courtesy of braham <3) to protect against frostbite. his ley “aura” gets more intense, hard to miss, and is a near constant. flower topnotch remains closed due to the cold weather conditions. after being shot by bangar, his wound is covered/healed by aurene’s brand. migraines increase in frequency, makes it difficult for him to focus. a bone deep exhaustion starts to set in, and more often than not, he catches himself thinking that a nice long nap underneath a blanket of snow doesn’t sound so terrible….

End of Dragons: back in a more agreeable climate, his topnotch finally blooms, but does not grow anthers or produce pollen. easily physically corrupted by void magic, and he feels soo-won’s pain and struggle deeply. the void corruption eventually shows up in the form of darkening leaves, and seeping out of his eyes/tearducts (it’s fine. don’t worry about it.). starts to incorporate chaos magic into his own necromancy practices. has a fucking terrible time in gyala delve. has a fucking terrible time saying goodbye to aurene. 

Secrets of the Obscure: nothing feels entirely real to him anymore. still willing to help, to fight, but it’s done on autopilot at this point. this magical, floating palace in the sky looks and feels like a dream, with the kryptis acting as the encroaching, inevitable turn to a real, living nightmare. still uses a bit of leftover void in his magical practices, but most of the corruption has left his system. that respiratory illness he picked up back in kessex hills comes back to bite him in nayos. finally grows back his anthers, but instead of producing pollen, it's an outlet for void/magic energy.

[mieanme]

Merman x Siren au

Hualian - (part IV)

Previous part: PART III

First part: PART I

We finally reached the part I've been thinking about for ages 😭 I hope you like the siren, guys ^•^

ALSO, if you wanna know how Hua Cheng looks like, I drew him: here

***

"Well, well, well..." the deep, unfamiliar clicks echo down the trench, causing unpleasant chills to run up Xie Lian's spine. "What do we have here?"

With a racing heart, Xie Lian slowly turns his head upwards, finally facing the creature blocking the daylight.

The first thing that pulls Xie Lian's gaze is the longest tail he has ever seen in his life. If not for the sharp, bloody red scales, he would say it resembles an eel more than any other creature he's ever come across. Other merpeople said that sirens take after reptiles such as crocodiles the most, but those don't usually live in salt waters, so Xie Lian never had a chance to check if their words were true. Not like it matters now anyway - following up the tail, Xie Lian sees the huge back fin, a few smaller ones on the sides, pale yet tough looking body and, the most terrifying for him, arms geared with shining claws.

"I,I... I—," Xie Lian clicks a few times, trying to maybe bargain with the siren, but all that comes out is rather incoherent.

"Hmm?" the creature respondes, arcing its left eyebrow.

When Xie Lian steals a short glance at its face, not daring to stare, he only catches eye contact with the creature's left eye, the right one being covered with long, black hair. From that one look, Xie Lian figures out the siren is probably a male, with a sharp jawline and more or less masculine features.

"Are you inaudible, little merman?" the siren mocks, swimming closer to Xie Lian, as if he wanted to catch his prey this instant.

In seconds Xie Lian in his mind sees the image of the siren getting closer and holding him by his throat to cover his gills. The vision of himself dying slowly and painfully in the creature's hold finally untangles his own tongue.

"N-no, that's not the case!" he exclaims, trying to back out of this situation, but soon enough his shoulders bump into the wall of the trench behind him. Ruoye managed to move onto the merman's stomach, so luckily it didn't suffer the collision. "I-I can explain! I just need one thing, I promise!"

"Interesting," the siren speaks up again, still approaching Xie Lian in a painfully slow and very mocking manner.

The siren knows the merman cannot escape and so does Xie Lian. He's just toying with his meal at this point and Xie Lian doesn't like that thought one bit.

"So you not only ventured into my territory uninvited, but you were also planning to take something without my permission nor knowledge. It's called stealing, little merman. But please, explain away."

Xie Lian grins to himself, noticing that the siren does have every single right to execute the merman here and now. However, he doesn't want to give up just yet. He hopes that the siren will understand him and cooperate.

"I know how it sounds, but I have a good reason, I promise I had no malicious intent coming here," Xie Lian starts, not daring to look up at the siren. "Some of the members of our pod have suddenly fallen ill to a highly dangerous and infectious disease. They are innocent merpeople, gatherers and nursery guardians. They were unable to swim since then and whatever they eat, they vomit out a few minutes later. If they're not granted the medicine for this illness, they are going to die suffering. But there's only one cure to this illness, at least that's what our oldest medic said - it's an algae that grows in almost full darkness, practically only in the ocean trenches. And the only trench we know of is this one! I-it's also not that we all agreed to come here, our leader even forbade us from coming into your territory, so, please, don't hold it against our pod, I came on my own! But I really want to help them, so please, let me take the algae!"

Xie Lian rapidly spits out the last sentence, begging the siren to have some mercy. However, after he finishes his speech, only silence follows. If not for the shadow still remaining casted at him, Xie Lian would think the siren left, since he no longer could sense his presence nor water movement around. Just then, siren finally reacts to his words, but it's not a reaction Xie Lian was waiting for.

The siren bursts laughing, making Xie Lian lift his gaze at him. The creature is way closer to him than Xie Lian thought - now he's able to see every single scale on his body and even some strange marks resembling veins on his torso and neck, travelling down his left arm and even up his face. Only then Xie Lian realises the siren doesn't have the second eye; where it should be, there's an ugly scar covered in the same strange marks that the merman noticed on his body.

Xie Lian doesn't have any more time to think about it though, because when the laughter dies down, the siren keeps staring at him with a mocking smile, as if he never saw anything as stupid and amusing as this very merman in front of him.

"Why... why are you laughing?" Xie Lian finally says, almost clinging to the wall when the siren comes even closer to him. The siren's black hair brush over Xie Lian's shoulders and tangle with his own, painting a beautiful yet terrifying picture.

"Foolish, little merman," the siren sums up, reaching out one of his hands to Xie Lian's face. Ruoye jumps up to attack him, but Xie Lian manages to catch the octopus with both hands and hug it to his chest, not wanting to anger the siren even more. "You won't pick that algae, no matter how much you want to."

"Please, let me go there! I really need it, we will repay you for your kindness if you let me go look for it! I promise! Please!"

However Xie Lian shuts up the second the siren's cold, clawed fingers touch his face. The siren catches his chin in two fingers, the rest slowly brushing over the merman's skin. It's terrifying, but also... it feels quite pleasant. Xie Lian doesn't understand it, but his heart starts beating even faster, but not only out of fear. What's the other emotion - he cannot tell.

"I am not stopping you from diving down the trench. I'm simply stating the fact, little merman. You are unable to pick that algae."

Xie Lian is dumbfounded. He blinks a few times, this time looking straight into the siren's eye.

"What... What do you mean? You're not stopping me? So... Why wouldn't I be able to pick the algae?"

"It's very simple," the siren states. "It grows too deep for any mer to pick it. That's why that disease that has fallen over your pod is called the 'black desolation'. It brings only two things over merpeople - annihilation from the illness and darkness from the places they try to find the medicine and fail. Your elder didn't mention it, did they?"

Xie Lian is speechless once again. What the siren says is even more terrifying than his presence itself.

'It... It can't be,' he thinks to himself. 'So there's no cure at all?'

"I see, you actually didn't know," the siren continues. "That's a pity—"

"But!" Xie Lian cuts him short, suddenly feeling a rush of courage wash over him. "I won't give up until I try! I want to see for myself if I can pick it or not! Please, let me go, I can endure whatever the depth has there for me!"

The siren's eyebrow flies up yet again, visibly not believing in Xie Lian's success.

"So you still really want to start bleeding from all your flesh, lose all your senses and die a painful death, crushed by the conditions down there?"

Xie Lian hesitates, but then he nods. He knows he probably looks like the most pitiful creature in the siren's eye right now, but it doesn't matter.

"I will pick the algae, or I will die tryin—"

"No need," the siren chimes in, letting go of Xie Lian's face. "I will pick the algae for you."

The siren backs away, leaving Xie Lian so surprised that he even lets go of Ruoye. The octopus, still angry with the siren's attitude, charges right at him, but even when it wraps itself around it's arm and bites down, the siren doesn't look amused at all.

"Ruoye, no!" Xie Lian exclaims, but he knows it's already too late.

"Don't worry, it's venom can do nothing to me. It's not the first blue-ring octopus I pissed off," is the only thing the siren says before Xie Lian manages to reach him and gently takes Ruoye in his hands, trying his best in convincing the animal to let go. When the octopus finally admits defeat, it wraps itself around Xie Lian's back again, obviously glaring at the siren.

Only now Xie Lian realises that as soon as Ruoye disappeared from his hold, his hands chose to rest on something else - that happened to be the siren's forearm, right in the place a small bite mark is now visible. Xie Lian blinks, unsure of what to do. Then he feels his cheek being touched by the siren's cold fingers yet again, making him look up at his handsome face.

"I will be back shortly. Stay here," the siren assures, but is taken aback when Xie Lian grips his arm even tighter instead of letting go.

"But... aren't you going to get hurt? I don't want you to risk your own life just because I probably cannot reach the algae. I... I want to do it on my own without putting any more lives on the line."

Xie Lian doesn't expect the siren to chuckle, but it actually happens. The siren only shakes its head, smiling leniently at the merman.

"My body is very different from the one of a mer. I can dive way deeper and endure extreme conditions. I am what your kin calls a 'monster', after all. Only a pitiful monster wouldn't be able to do such things. I'd rather live up to my titles."

With those words, siren suddenly dives down, not letting Xie Lian even think of a response. Within seconds he's totally gone in the pitch darkness, leaving the merman and the octopus alone.

***

Hello~! I feel like this part is a little longer than the previous ones, I hope you enjoyed it!! Lemme know what do you think in the comments ^•^ See you soon!!

PART V

[scuttlingcrab]

The Great Hunt

An Absolute Waste of Time

Summary: Raphael is MAD. So full of rage and malice he is about to burn down the entire Sword Coast before the Mind Flayers even arrive. What could possibly get the Devil's knickers in such a twist? Tav, oh that cheeky little mouse, sold the Orphic Hammer. And for what? Gold, of all things.

In this second instalment, Raphael tears through Baldur's Gate, from the Circus of the Last days to the Blushing Mermaid, trying to locate it.

He has never stooped so low…

Check out PART 01: In Search of a Hammer here!

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via red-dead-sakharine)

The Devil stood in an alleyway across from the Beehive General Goods, feasting his eyes on the flames as they devoured that worthless shop whole. The building was destroyed faster than thought, leaving nothing left but a lump of charred scraps. That didn’t stop a throng of mortals from gathering; just like maggots infesting a corpse, they quickly exchanged gossip in a hushed buzz, chewing over theories as to what could’ve possibly caused such a tragedy. 

Muffled squeaks came from below Raphael, the noise grating against his ears. He gazed towards the sound, sending a stabbing look at the creature responsible for creating such an annoying racket. A large rat was confined in a jar, frantically clawing its glass prison in an attempt to escape. Raphael’s smile held a touch of mockery as he picked it up, rocking it only just to cause the rat to fall over. 

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, my dear Oliver.” Raphael whispered, bringing the glass closer to his mouth. He hissed at the rat, briefly showcasing his Devilish fangs before concealing them again. “The next time someone calls upon you, asking for a particular item, it would be in your best interest to show them the utmost respect. That is, if you’ll ever be fortunate enough to walk this earth on two legs again.”

The rat’s beady eyes widened as it recoiled, finding no means of escaping Raphael’s scathing glare. Instead the creature screeched in terror and began running around in circles. Pathetic. Raphael halfheartedly discarded the jar, throwing it over his shoulder as he walked deeper into the alley, further removing himself from the growing chaos in the streets. 

As cathartic as it was admiring his work, and torturing that insufferable shop owner, it would get him nowhere. Time waits for no man, or Devil, and Raphael had to act quickly if he was ever going to succeed in his plights to unite the Hells. 

Raphael nearly shattered Oliver Tefoco’s soul into a million pieces, threatening to simmer his corpse in a cauldron and make jam of his remains. He would sooner have fed that to a stray dog than let his tongue touch such filth, but Oliver was none the wiser. All this effort just to extract what was needed from that worthless creature. The whereabouts of the Orphic Hammer. He got his answer, eventually. These maddening mortals would be the death of him, they had no ounce of intellect, no common sense, throwing around an item as valuable as the Hammer like it was yesterday’s trash.  

The Devil stopped abruptly, resting his hand against his hip. His chest tightened, his breathing growing more erratic as his heart began to convulse. No. His fingers burned, the tips pulsing red, on the verge of erupting into Hellfire at any moment.

Raphael needed to restrain his temper. After all, he was saving it for one person in particular, the very mortal who deserved all his wrath, and all the pain and suffering that would soon come raining down upon them. Tav. The sole fool responsible for these recent inconveniences and his current rampage through Baldur’s Gate. If they hadn’t so gleefully sold the Orphic Hammer for gold, Raphael would be sitting comfortably in his best silks, sampling his most decadent wines, and waiting for the final battle to begin. It’s that same little shit who had somehow lodged themselves straight into his head, becoming his very own parasite. Any other unfortunate mortals who just so happened to get caught in his fiery rage were merely collateral. They could all burn, turn to ash, for all he cared. He wouldn’t stop until he had the Hammer and his Crown.

Snap!

A fiery gateway appeared before him and he stomped through towards his next destination: The Circus of the Last Days. 

--

Popper the Kobold was having the very best day of his entire life. Well, maybe that wasn’t true, he’s had plenty of good days, he could count them all on one hand. Wait, no both hands. He was sure he had more good days than this. To be honest, he couldn’t remember much of what happened yesterday. He was too focused on the juicy prize in front of him as he dragged a fresh corpse through the Circus of the Last Days, leaving a trail of blood behind him. 

He just couldn’t believe his luck, like earlier, buying that hammer for practically nothing! His very first hammer too! What a deal. It was the biggest, prettiest hammer he had ever seen, the top reminded him of blood, tasty blood, that’s why he liked it so much. And it sparkled like a diamond. He was really looking forward to smashing things with it, lots of different things, but then he found that corpse. Oh, yes. Nothing was better than a fresh body stuffed with loot. He practically skipped all the way back to the Circus as he hauled it, so chuffed with his little ol’ self for making such a swap. Probably his bestest swap ever! 

Popper swatted away all the nasty looks from the humans as he pushed through the crowd at the Circus’ entrance. They all stared at him like they knew the dead person he was holding. He even made a few of those smaller, weaker humans cry and run away, but he paid them no mind. Maybe they’ve never seen such a delicious snack before. Maybe they were jealous… that’s right, jealous! He better get straight to business then, the sooner he could pull that body apart, the faster he’d be left alone. It would be no good, absolutely no good, if Lucretious noticed he brought another corpse to the Circus. They’d steal it, just like the others! And experiment on it with their dirty magic. This was his corpse! His! He’d show them!

The Kobold finally reached his tent and threw the corpse in the centre of his living space, quickly scurrying to a large crate stuffed in the back, near the privies. He dug through the crate, packed with all his very favourite toys, pulling out random scissors, broken knives, and even a few odd bits of monster parts, things he definitely forgot were in there… until he finally found it: a large rusted cleaver. It was covered in a thick layer of grime. It had seen lots and lots of bodies, yes it had!

“This is most perfect!” Popper explained, to nobody but himself.

Whack, whack, thump, whack. 

He immediately began slicing at the corpse, hacking off limbs in no particular order or with any care, licking his lips as he pulled apart an arm and ripped up a leg. Before long, he got himself into a rhythm, chopping faster as his stomach growled with excitement. Oh, the treatos he would have!

Popper was nearly finished too, until he stopped, unexpectedly distracted. He scrunched his snout, tilting his head up high as he smelled the air around him. He stuck his tongue out, licking the air like it was an icy treat. Something smelled like burning and tasted rotten, like the Hells. 

Screaming came from the crowd near the stage as Popper watched a thick coat of smoke rise into the air like a huge balloon.

“Maybe they’s be adding some new magics? Or… they’s really be loving Dribbles’ new replacement?” Popper whispered, nodding to himself. He was ready to start again, but he noticed something else, something weird coming towards him.

A tall man, dressed real fancy like, definitely not in normal people's clothes, pushed through the other humans; not even saying ‘scuse me as he did so. The ground at his feet turned black as he came towards him. Oh, this man was mad. His face was all scrunched up, his mouth curling in all sorts of directions. Maybe he ate something that didn’t agree with him? But the oddest thing of all, this man was staring directly at Popper! Giving him a creepy look, meaner than anything he’d ever seen, even from Lucretius. 

“You!” The man shouted, his voice shot through the air like an arrow, making Popper drop his cleaver. 

“Y-you come for me? You must be wanting my treatos!” 

The man was very tall, casting a long shadow over Popper. The Kobold nearly fell over looking up at him. 

“Oooh! You is casting some real fancy magics.” Popper pointed at the ground as flames appeared at the man’s feet, like he was standing in the middle of a campfire. “You is the most perfects human for the stage, sirs, has you—“

“Treato…?” The man began, his face getting more twisted, just like the roots of a tree. Actually, the more Popper stared at the man, the more he realised his eyes were the scariest, most terrifying things he had ever seen. There was definitely fire in those black eyes.

“Uh… yes? Duh! Treatos. I have lots. Is that not why you’s are here? Popper only has the bestest treatos, yes sirs. And magics. If you has any—“

“If I cracked open your skull…” the man continued, “what would I find inside? Hmm? Oh, I know. There would be no brain, that’s for certain. If there was anything, I would imagine it to be the size of a grain of rice. Undetectable to even the most skilled physicians.”

“Yous what? Take your fancy smelly clothes and eat shit, you human bastard! I has the biggest brain and I is…”

Popper had a poor temper. He always got in a lot of trouble for snapping at customers if they said certain things to him. Once or twice, well maybe more than that, he bit someone’s hand clean off. And another time, he nibbled at an elf's toes. All because they said his treatos were mouldy! Nobody makes fun of Popper. Their toes didn’t taste any better. He hasn’t done that for a while though. Lucretious would fire him right out. And he needed this job. But boy, did Popper want to bite this man. Real good. 

The man pointed his long fingers at Popper and he noticed the man’s skin was red, just like his, and he had long black fingernails. All of a sudden, Popper wasn’t very hungry anymore. 

“You will cease this stupidity at once.” The man’s voice was low, as if a growl. “I have wasted enough time already. So we will cut to the chase. Heed carefully what I say, you flaming imbecile. And you will answer me plainly. Else I will take you far away from here and slowly pick your worthless body apart, scale by scale, until nothing remains.”

Popper gulped, his tail curling between his legs. The only thing he could do was nod back at this man, who really wasn’t much of a man, the more Popper thought about it. 

“Good.” The man said, placing his hands on his hips. “Where is my hammer? I know you have it. I spent the last hour torturing a man only for him to cry out your name repeatedly.” There was a long pause as Popper stared up at the man, unsure what to say, confused as to why this man would be torturing anyone, let alone looking for a hammer. “Do I need to spell it out? Perhaps I need to use a simpler language for the likes of you.” 

The man leaned down, within inches of Popper’s face.

“Oh… Oh!” Popper raised his finger in the air as he just realised something. “I in fact, once had a hammer. But not for very long, you sees, it just so happens…” 

Popper continued to tell the man how he came to find the hammer, the one matching his exact description, which Popper found very funny. What were the odds! But he stopped laughing when the man glared at him again, showing some sharp teeth when he grinned. Which wasn’t very gentlemanly. 

At that moment, the Kobold wished he still had that hammer. So this man could go away and he could go back to doing other stuff. Like thinking about what he was going to eat for supper. Actually, the more Popper thought about it… that corpse probably wasn’t worth it. This was turning out to be too much trouble. Maybe it wasn’t his lucky day after all. He even found himself wanting to apologise for all the times he ever wished terrible things on Lucretius. 

They weren’t so bad. Or scary.

Not at all. 

--

Raphael despised the Circus of the Last Days. It was a vile place. Absolutely vile, the lot of it. He couldn’t fathom these mortal buffoons parading around and calling themselves enterainters. And the worst part of all? The clowns. They were a mockery of the stage and its true purpose. There was no art in what they claimed to achieve. He hoped a few of them might perish in the day’s ahead. And by no means a quick death either. Something excruciatingly slow and agonising. Like roasting their bodies over a spit of Hellfire, a thousand times over.

These raging thoughts grew bloodier, more gruesome as he moved on, going from one location to the next. He was certain his heart could sink no further, but he was quickly mistaken as his search for the Orphic Hammer proved to be never-ending. Somehow, the damned thing kept evading him, always missing it by mere moments as it was handed on to the next moron who decided to gamble with their fate. Raphael’s anxiety grew worse, wrapping around him like the tendrils of a Mind Flayer; squeezing his limbs, crawling up his neck as he progressively found it harder to breathe, to concentrate. 

Of course Raphael had no issues getting what he wanted from Popper. But that itself came at a cost. Raphael had received too much information, practically hearing that creature’s entire life story. No detail was spared. It would forever be ingrained in Raphael’s memory, the monotony, the stupidity, of it all. 

In the end, Popper had met a band of mercenaries and traded the Hammer for a corpse. A putrid corpse. Raphael eventually tracked them down, the group lurking about some caves near the Lower City like a bunch of thieves. But did they have the Hammer? Of. Course. Not. It couldn’t have been that easy. They had lost it. Naturally. In the sewers, of all places, abandoning it after they came across some wizard. Or so they said. He was very much looking forward to meeting this ‘supposed’ wizard. Before Raphael left the mercenaries to their business, he viciously snapped his fingers, causing all their precious loot to melt away at their fingertips. The ones who had it on hand screamed in agony as the gold, the necklaces, even some of their armour and swords, merged with their flesh. Served them right.

“Bah!” Raphael screamed, his voice echoing off the slimy sewer walls. When the sound faded, the only thing he could hear was the continuous dripping of water as it leaked from the decaying ceilings above him. 

Raphael was lost, wandering the sewer system beneath Baldur’s Gate for what felt like days, years even. His boots were soiled, completely ruined. He was covered in filth up to his knees as he trudged through the cesspool. He would certainly be burning this entire outfit when he was through. No spell or potion would be able to cause these rancid smells to disappear. A shame, really. This was one of his favourite doublets. 

As he manoeuvred his way through the snaking, narrow pipes, he made a mental note to revise Tav’s current contract; adding in an additional clause, or perhaps two, for every minute he spent searching for the Hammer, and for the ruination of his wardrobe. 

The stench of the sewers progressively worsened as Raphal entered a large chamber, the excrement somehow smelling more bitter. He took a step forward and nearly slipped, holding onto the crate next to him to avoid falling face first in the muck. He looked down, only to discover he was stepping in grease. 

“I will wring their sorry, little, pathetic neck!” Raphael cursed, steadying himself as he began to take careful, calculated steps through the rest of the chamber.

“What’s this cousin?” A squeaky voice spoke as a Drow appeared from behind a corner, revealing themselves rather flamboyantly. He was dripping in the same greasy substance that covered the floor, and surrounded by what seemed like an army of grease elementals and mephits. 

The Drow pointed at Raphael, “Ah! It is but another Absolutist, come to see what we–” 

Raphael took one look at the Drow and rolled his eyes. 

Snap!

The entire room instantly turned into an inferno, every creature within the vicinity of the grease was consumed by flames. Their screams lost against the raging fire. Raphael didn’t even know who that Drow was, nor did he care. There was no more time for talking. 

He continued through the extensive network of sewage pipes, navigating every underground hallway, tearing apart every room as he dug through boxes and discarded chests, but he found no Hammer.

He eventually stumbled upon a man standing alone in a hallway. The mortal was dressed in plain armour, his face riddled with all sorts of interesting scars. Perhaps at another time he would've loved to pry open that mortal and find out how he got those marks. There was no one else around him, and he simply stared at Raphael, with absolutely no care in the world. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen an Orphic Hammer floating around this cesspit? Hmm?” Raphael said as he approached the man, standing in front of him. 

The man held Raphael’s gaze, but he did not respond.

Raphael gritted his teeth, his fists trembling as he raised one hand in the air, preparing his thumb and middle finger for this man’s immediate extermination. The Devil was emotionally exhausted; the weight of it all, his infernal obligations, his hopes, his doomed destiny… it threatened his strength, his resolve. If he sat down, slumping against the grimy walls of the sewer, he would fall into a deep sleep from which he might never awaken. Hammer or not, this charade needed to end, this unfortunate act was going on for far too long. Raphael almost wanted to applaud the entire situation, for whoever was behind the scenes orchestrating his madness. His despair. How many more mortals would he need to obliterate before he found the Hammer? If he found it at all? Flames appeared at his fingertips as he held the pose, his anger building. The mysterious man didn’t even blink.

“Raphael?” Spoke a familiar, low voice. “I never thought I’d see you here.”

He twirled around at the mention of his name, only to find Mol staring at him from the opposite end of the hallway. Her eyes were wide, eyebrows raised as she gaped at him in confusion, holding a small dagger in her hands. 

“A most welcoming sight indeed.” Raphael dropped the flames, clapping his hands together with relief as his temper cooled. 

Mol grinned, sheathing her dagger. 

“That one doesn’t talk, by the way. Which is really annoying, if you ask me.” There was a brief pause as Mol eyed Raphael up and down, “Say, what are you even doing down here? I heard a HUGE explosion and came running out of the Guild. Thought it might’ve been, you know… the end of the world.” Mol spoke the last few words in a hushed whisper. 

A tiny sliver of hope fluttered in Raphael’s heart as he looked down at Mol, she could be the one who got Raphael out of this mess. The Tiefling could have the answers, a lead, something! She was resourceful, had her eyes and ears all over the city. There was a reason he had secured a deal with her in the first place. Mol's soul was one thing, but she had potential, promise, he never doubted her for a second.  

“As much as I’d love to catch-up with my budding protégé, I must act swiftly. I have no time for pleasantries, I’m afraid. I do have but a small favour to ask of you, however.”

Mol’s eyes lit up like fireflies. 

“Anything!” 

Raphael leaned towards Mol, his face growing serious.

“My Orphic Hammer is missing. You know the one. I’ve seen you snooping about my archives, flipping audaciously through some restricted documents.” 

Mol’s cheeks turned red and her eyebrows raised, only for a moment, but she did not look away from Raphael. She was guilty, yes, but not ashamed. A valiant trait.

“Nothing escapes me, but if it was anyone else and I’d have incinerated them on the spot. Now, please, do you know where it could be? Have you heard anything that might be useful? Time, my dear Mol, as you know, is of the essence.” 

“Hmm…” Mol bit her lip, her forehead wrinkling as she thought long and hard.  

“No, I’m sorry Raphael.” 

Raphael deflated into himself, burying his face in his hands. The disappointment was crippling. His skin caught fire without warning as he began to change into his cambion form. His doubts, those treacherous thoughts of failure, crashed down on him from every direction. He massaged his temples, attempting to keep himself calm, collected, especially in front of Mol.

“But… and you might find this interesting, actually…” Mol continued and Raphael stopped short, mid transformation. Devilish horns peeked out of his mortal head, a tail sprouting from his back, but the rest of his human proportions were otherwise the same. “I’ve heard there’s rumblings of a big trade happening at the Blushing Mermaid, and I mean BIG. You might want to stop by. That’s the only thing I could think of. I wish–”

Raphael quickly cleared his throat, rectifying his appearance as he slid back into his mortal disguise. He straightened his posture, smoothing his doublet and trying not to grimace at the filth that still clung to it.

He placed his hand on Mol’s shoulder, giving it an appreciative squeeze in good measure.

“There is a reason I decided to be your mentor, Mol. I knew you’d never disappoint.”

Raphael giddily clapped his hands and a gateway appeared behind him, leading directly to the Blushing Mermaid’s interior. 

“Mol, might I suggest you find a suitable safe house for the time being. These rumblings are only going to get worse. You were right in your thinking earlier, the end is near. It would indeed dampen my spirits to find your soul waiting for me upon my return, or to perhaps learn that you’ve been turned into an Illithid. Prepare yourself, and I will meet you when this business is concluded.”

“Yes, boss!” 

Mol gave Raphael an enthusiastic salute, befitting of an experienced general. That gesture alone made him beam with pride. 

This mentorship would prove to be a wise investment indeed. 

--

“Could you believe Fenris…?” Lissa muttered, resting her head on the table. It was sticky, everything was bloody sticky at the Blushing Mermaid. This place was a dump, but it was more affordable than the Elfsong. Especially on her wages. 

The gnome didn’t care though, all she wanted was for the world to stop spinning. She felt like she would retch up yesterday’s, today’s, and tomorrow’s breakfast at any second. She had too much to drink. Again. She should really stop taking up the bottle, she could only handle one drink with her figure, and she had drunk at least four so far today. It was all Vola's fault, that damned half-elf, she was a bad influence. 

“Dragging that… t-thing…” Lissa carried on, suppressing a burp, “What w-waas it again?” 

“Huh?” Vola groaned awake, her head lolling side-to-side as she tried to focus on Lissa. “Oh… you mean… t-that… hammer? It was a hammer, right? F-fucking huuuuuuge for a hammer, ha!”

“The hammer!” Lissa screamed, “y-yessss, the hammer.” 

Lissa and Vola stared at each other, then burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, slamming their fists on the table like a pair of monkeys.

“Gods, Fenris dragged that hideous thing through the dirt, c-couldn’t even l-lift it. Fell r-right on his f-fat faace.” Lissa struggled to lift her head, hitting it against the back of the booth they shared. She blinked slowly, barely able to keep her eyelids from falling shut. “Ne-never sseeen such a t-tthing in my life.”

Lissa reached too fast for the half-empty glass in front of her and caused it to topple over, the ale cascading in all directions. 

“Oooooops.” Lissa said, still laughing. 

“W-whaat a waste!” Vola proclaimed.  

Lissa turned towards the bar, raising her hand high in the air. She was about to call for the bartender when she noticed a very tall, and extremely handsome man standing at their booth. Oh he was a charming son of a bitch, with a smooth smile, and dark, pretty eyes. His clothes were a bit dirty though, but Lissa had seen worse. 

“Good afternoon, my esteemed drunkards.” The man said, his voice was rich, deep, and dreamy. 

“Would you allow me the pleasure of purchasing a drink for you both?”

“Free b-booze?” Lissa asked.

She looked to Vola for confirmation, but the half-elf was fast asleep, her mouth hanging open. Lissa kicked Vola under the table and she shot awake, her arms flailing in all sorts of directions. 

“Free b-boooooze.” Lissa whispered, tilting her head toward the man at the head of the booth.

“On me.” The man said with a wink. He smiled broadly, showcasing such white, beautiful teeth. 

The man did some sort of magic trick, conjuring sparks by snapping his fingers, or clapping his hands… Whichever it was, he caused two massive glasses of ale to appear on the table.

“W-wooooow.” Lissa and Vola muttered in unison. 

The man slid into the booth, edging closer to Lissa. She sniffed the air, smelling all sorts of lovely, new things. Cherries, and a yummy flowery smell. She ignored the sudden stench of the sewers though, convinced it was from the Blushing Mermaid.

Oh she didn’t want this man to ever leave. 

“I’m very curious about this hammer you’ve been discussing.” The man said, his eyes locking with Lissa’s. “Please, tell me all about it…”

--

The Devil watched over a mortal man as he slept soundlessly in a small bed, his protruding belly slowly rising with each staggered breath. His snores rattled the very walls of Flaygo’s Flophouse, but Raphael paid no attention to the irksome noise around him. His eyes were focused on the Orphic Hammer the man clung to in his slumber, holding it tightly like he was but a babe in a crib.

The sun had already begun its descent, a purple glow leaking in from the open window. He could see the entranceway of Sharess’ Caress from his vantage point in the cramped room; the brothel was as busy as ever, despite him setting the Devil’s Den ablaze mere hours ago. Raphael let out a long, exasperated sigh at that thought alone. An entire day gone to waste, when the Hammer was under his nose this entire time. Fate was cruel, the weaves unpredictable, no matter how hard he tried to control them. 

Raphael couldn’t pull his eyes away from the Hammer, he dared not to. It could be an illusion for all he knew, vanish the moment he reached for it. 

The man turned over in the bed, taking the Orphic Hammer with him as he shifted, groaning in his sleep. 

“Oh, I do hope you’re having a pleasant dream.” Raphael whispered, taking a step closer. 

Raphael was within inches of the man now, so close he could smell the booze reeking from his breath. As he extended his hand towards the Hammer he paused, beginning to chuckle. It started slowly, but grew more ferocious as every second passed, until he was nearly on his knees, roaring with laughter. Fire spurted from Raphael’s mouth like a forge as he wheezed, unable to control his breath, to contain himself any longer. Tears formed out of the corner of his eyes, flooding down his cheeks. They evaporated as soon as they met his scorching skin. Despite Raphael’s raucousness, the man remained undisturbed. 

The Devil had seen it all, tortured just about every miserable soul from the Outer Plane to the Elemental, but he never thought he’d see, let alone experience, anything like this. A lowly creature, clutching on to the future of mortal-kind. A tale worthy of the bards. 

Suddenly, the earth shuddered violently, as if waking up from its own slumber. Paintings flew off the walls, bookshelves toppled over, and the room vibrated continuously as the quake worsened. Mortals screamed from the streets below as some of the buildings in Wyrm's Crossing began to topple from the earth’s constant movements.

Raphael swiftly collected himself, shaking away any remaining bouts of laughter. He clapped his hands to rid his outfit of any evidence from the day's plights. When he was satisfied with his appearance, and found no speck of dirt or grime left, he snapped his fingers, and the Hammer flew into his hands. He squeezed its hilt until his knuckles turned white, feeling the weight of the Hammer in his hands. 

Showtime. 

A reckoning was coming and not the one Tav might’ve expected.

To be continued…

[therabbitthatpostthings]

(Masterpost)

The demon grinned in his pride. Long bony arms wrapped around Urokodaki. The old man begged, “Kill me and spare my boy.”

“Your boy is dead, this one is mine.” He chuckled, raising Giyuu’s unconscious body. With what little strength he had, Urokodaki thrashed against the demon's hold, clawing at its arm to let him go.

“I’ll free you!” He yelled. “Please! Spare my boy!”

The demon stopped and brought him closer to the old hunter. “Very well. But the mountain needs a new master. I suppose your scrawny boy will do.”

Before Urokodaki could argue with him the demon had already tossed him aside. When awoke he was at the edge of the forest leading up the path to the mountain. He ran up the path hoping to find Giyuu but what he saw was a tall deer-like creature hunched over the porch of the mansion. A monster of his own creation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“From that day forward I chased after the demon but I couldn’t kill him.” Urokodaki concluded. With nowhere else to go, you all gathered in Urokodaki’s home. He was already waiting on the porch, carving away while the rest of town spoke in hushed whispers of the smoke plume on the mountain. “Another Hunter did. A young man with a scar on his head. He had hanafuda earrings too.”

Sanemi felt like his blood vessels were going to burst. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Uzui erupted in laughter, “That's my tsugoku! Kamado!”

“You still call him that?” Obanai rolled his eyes.

Not only was the demon Sanemi had been hunting escaped 8 years ago but it was killed by that shitty brat Kamado and his sister! The last thing he needed to hear was everyone praising the little nuisance for such a good job. Not like he could do anything about it now.

“Kamado Tanjiro, that was his name wasn’t it.” Urokodaki chuckled to himself. “Good to see the Hunters are still in good shape. I should thank you three, in a roundabout way you did save my boy.”

“It was (L/N)’s flashy display of love that saved your son Urokodaki-sama!” Uzui smiled.

“Oh~ a display of love was it?” Makomo teased. “I didn’t expect that from you (Y/N). Considering your ‘travel partner’ and all.”

Your face turned red and Giyuu’s reaction didn’t make it any better. “Is that what you called me?” He asked.

“W-Well I couldn’t outright say you were the Beast of the mountain.” You blushed. All three of them shared a laugh at your embarrassment.

The laughter momentarily died down at the sound of crows overhead. Uzui stood first, “I suppose that’s our cue. Tomioka, sorry for trying to kill you and accusing you of killing others! And burning your house down!”

“It’s fine, that wasn’t really a house, just a cage. I have no fondness towards it, except when (Y/N) was there.” Giyuu replied completely oblivious to what his words did to your heart. The other two hunters repeated the same sentiment. You thanked them for attempting to avenge you for your parents’ sake, even if it was in vain. With that, the three hunters left.

“What a strange group of people, and you used to be one of them, Urokodaki-San.” You smiled.

“Yes, though in my old age it became harder for me to fight. That’s why the demon on the mountain became what it was that day.” He sighed. He stayed quiet for a moment. His fist clenched in his lap. Finally he turned to face you and Giyuu. The two stared at each other for what felt like forever. Urokodaki reached up to untie his mask. You almost wanted to shield your eyes out of courtesy. Giyuu however did not break his gaze, even when the tears started to well up in his eyes.

Urokodaki bowed deeply, his forehead pressed to the floor. “I will never be able to make up for the years you suffered. If I had been stronger I could have prevented this tragedy and, Sabito would still be here. I cannot undo the past, so let me make a better future. I am so sorry Giyuu.”

Giyuu was taken aback, trying to quickly scramble to Urokodaki’s side with his limited mobility. Learning to walk on human feet again was proving to be difficult. In a mess of his and your own movements, Giyuu was able to kneel in front of Urokodaki.

“Please, I’m the one who should apologize! Sabito died protecting- I shouldn’t have wandered off- I just wanted you to know how sorry I wa-”

Urokodaki pulled Giyuu into his embrace. Neither of them could hold back the tears anymore. Shoulders relaxed and hearts softened as they hugged each other tighter. “Welcome home, my son.”

“I'm home.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in cool hues. It was strange seeing the night so devoid of snow and darkness. Lanterns illuminated the paths. Carts and commerce could be heard from the town. The hungry eyes of the forest felt like a distant memory. Giyuu took it all in. The cool late winter air sent goosebumps up his arms. He forgot what it felt like to feel cold, to shudder in the wind. He pulled the warm blanket over him, an old sensation of warmth that felt new to him as well.

The sliding door opened and you stepped out slowly, as not to disturb him. “Giyuu, are you alright… It's a little cold out here.”

“You can come and warm me up then.” He guided you to sit well with him, pulling the cover over to you too. The remaining bits of sunlight danced across his face as he settled next to you. His nose blushed pink in the chilly air. A serene smile on his face as the wind slowly drifted across. Declawed hand on your shoulder and the other feeling the wooden texture of the porch. “You’re staring.”

“You’re breathtaking,” You answered without missing a beat.

That broke his calm expression into a flustered mess. He turned not to face you but didn’t remove his arm from around you.

“What?” You teased. “Were you not expecting that?”

“N-No.” His blush reddened.

“Why? I told you, I love you.”

Something about his literal cold exterior being gone made Giyuu all the more exposed to his new emotions and sensations. You were taking full advantage of that, intentionally or not.

“I’ve never seen you this red before” You smiled.

Not wanting to be outdone, Giyuu held firmly on your lower back and pulled you closer to him. You were almost sitting in his lap with your legs crossed over his.

“Where did that confidence go? We’ve been this close before?” He asked, still red in the face and clearly more flustered than you.

You averted your gaze. “It’s different now!”

“Because I’m human?”

“Because I know you love me!”

Without a second thought, Giyuu leaned forward to kiss you. One arm stayed wrapped around you and the other held your hand. Your free hand gently caressed his face, thumb smoothing over where his demon marks used to be.

A soft hum left his lips as you parted. You stayed close, basking in the calm silence. Giyuu felt like he was stuck in an endless night. He never left the mountain, he rarely left the mansion. The rooms full of foreign books mocked him with places he’ll never see. The lantern light seemed like distant memories of the village he’ll never return to. His reflection, the proof of his mistakes. The irrefutable truth that his life was over and he was the very monster he ran from. Tsutako died protecting him from these beasts. Sabito fought until the bitter end. What a cruel twist of fate.

Then you showed up. The only human brave or dumb enough to return to the cursed mountain. You brightened up the dreary home. There was no room unexplored, no night not at each other’s side. Your kindness, your patience and your perseverance pushed him to do more. To be more, if only for your sake. He wanted you to feel the light he felt. Even now, tenderly holding you close, he wanted to spread that light you gave him.

And sitting there as the sun fully set and the town’s lanterns illuminated the sky he made a silent promise. To always and forever love you and give the life you have given him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Thank you to everyone who stayed through this whole thing. I don’t have confidence as a writer, I’m simply just a lil silly guy. Maybe on day I can revisit this and give it a proper storyline but for now I’m glad to have gotten through it.

Thank you all for letting me vent my hyperfixation on ONE SCENE from a movie I watched ONCE (so far…)

[jackiequick]

In fifty years, will all this be declassified? | Agents Of SHIELD Fanfic

Pairing: Amelia M. Parker & Grant Ward (WardParker)

Summary: In other words, suffering is worse than falling down low..

Characters feature/mentioned: Kara Palamas, Melissa Wallace, Marlene Kassdy, The Young Avengers

Timeline: Set a year after Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014), Agents Of Shield Season 2 (2014-2015)

Warning: Mentions of torture, blood, needles, heartbreak and fighting

Fic Type: Angst

——

A/N: Goodness, someone help them all. Also sorry if it's a long fic! I hope you enjoy it ;) And yes I reference a Taylor Swift song as the title hehe

Inspired by: Agents Of Shield 2x21/22

—

Dry pastel lit color faded between the clouds, as the soft yet grime shades filled the room. 

The air thick with dust and the distant sound of wind howling against the cracked windows. A mild, yet faint screeching pierced the silence, mingling with the rhythmic dripping of water somewhere in the shadows.

The autumn chill that sinked though the cracks of the door made its way towards her body, responding her eyes to slowly flutter open. She squinted her eyes turning her around to see the area she was set in.

Confusion wrapped around her like a mask; the last thing she remembered was sifting through the scattered remnants of an old agent’s life in a deserted apartment, searching for files that could’ve been used for other purposes.

It was darkly and dimly lit when she made herself present in that apartment reaching for the last lines of the forgotten report, hearing a soft thud, a shadow looming behind her—then nothing.

Amelia blinked, forcing her mind to piece together the fragments, but all she grasp was the nagging dull pain against her neck. Her fingers twitching waking themselves up only to hit a wooden board. She glanced down to noticed her wrists were against a table, yet her ankles were tied backwards to the chair.

She tugged against the restraints, but they held firm, the rough fibers biting into her skin. Panic clawed at her throat as she took in her surroundings: the rusted beams overhead, the scattered debris underfoot, and the faint light filtering through the grime-coated windows.

With every strained breath, the cold air seeped deeper into her bones, heightening her senses. The screeching outside grew louder, mingling with the pounding of her heart.

Just then, a door creaked open somewhere in the warehouse, and her breath caught in her throat. Amelia huffed and winced catching sight of who it was.

Grant Ward.

Following behind him was Agent 33, Kara Palamas, an a former SHIELD agent. Her was brain given some deep suffering, due to memory loss from Daniel Whitehall and of course she was helped afterward, tested by Fitzsimmons, then she left again. More or less…

Grant smiled sitting across the table from her. One of fingers lightly pushes a strand of hair away from Amelia’s face to see her clearly. Grant will never admit it but he didn’t like having her kidnapped, but he needed SHIELD to reveal any information that had on the Projects and Daniel Whitehall.

Amelia was one of SHIELD most well known and possibly active agents they had. According to the rumor mill she was loved and appreciated, having help put The Young Avengers together, being his co-captain in the very beginning of Coulson’s team back in 2013 and the list went on.

But he knew that Amelia Parker only scratched the surface, of the people she was surrounded by. He knew that none of the recruits and so-called friends truly cared for her, watched her six. If they did care, they would’ve found her by now. Hell, Agent Hill was the one who pushed her senseless into being the agent she was today. 

The poor workaholic agent who was pushed to the brink of it all, making the choices to see the good in others and step in to put herself in danger for the sake of the people around her. 

For the sake of the mission. 

Pushing down all the hurt and blame for her own sake. Taking the hits, making the kills and watching the ones she cared for suffer. 

All Grant wanted to do was keep her safe, have her join him in the mist of SHIELD’s fall back in 2014 and live on the run. But she refused to stay with him.

Because her loyalty was too high and her trust in others were on the balancing act of being destroy right before her eyes.

And yet, here she sat in front of him, her own green eyes staring right into his brown ones.  

“Hi baby.” He said in a calm low tone. 

She held a tight calm smile as she responded, “Hi.

“I’mma cut to the chase. You do know why you’re here, right?”

“Cause you miss me, hon?”

Kara, who was standing a few steps behind Grant, crossed her arms and held back a scoff at her remark. She knew the two had history, which annoyed her completely.

“Miss you? That’s a bold assumption,” Kara shot back, forcing the humor even as her pulse raced slightly.

Grant leaned forward, the smile fading as he studied her. “You’re in a warehouse, tied to a chair. I don’t want to play games, Ames.”

Kara shifted, her posture rigid as she eyed Amelia. “You don’t have to protect her anymore, Grant. She’s not one of us…”

“Not one of us?” Amelia echoed, the bite in her voice sharper than she intended. “You think that just because you’re playing for a different side now, it makes you less of a traitor?”

Kara bristled, but Grant raised a hand, silencing the tension in the room.  “This isn’t about sides,” he said, his tone even but strained. “It’s about information. SHIELD’s been sitting on something big, and I need you to help me find it.”

Amelia’s mind raced at the thought. The thought of betraying her former team sent a chill through her. “And what if I refuse? What makes you think I will help you?”

He leaned closer, intensity radiating from him. “Then you’ll stay here. And trust me, we both know I always find another way to get what I need. But it won’t be pretty for you.”

“Is that a threat, baby?”

“Call it a promise. I said don’t ever want to hurt you, Ames, not again, but if it comes to it, I will.”

Amelia’s eyes fell of Kara and exhaled, “And her?”

Grant noticed her gaze and leaned backwards. His expression turned serious as he said, “Kara, is none of your concern.”

“Liar. What is it that I did that so wrong to her?”

Kara shifted and met her gaze, leaning forward with a slight glare. “You know what you did, you're responsible for my kidnapping, you and Wallace had my location rigid and led me to Whitehall. When I did escape, Marlene and the others were late to get me back to base. I was tortured and enslaved for what felt like ages!”

Amelia’s eyes darted as she shifted, trying to stand up from her chair. She snarled, “The location was rigid to begin with! It wasn’t mine or Melissa’s fault. It was none of our faults!”

“Then apologize!”

“For a miscommunication? I did weeks ago!”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“..why have it be just me? Not strap Melissa or anyone else to a chair?”

That’s when Kara allowed a small smirk to appear on her face.

“Because. Melissa will just give me a snarky remark and scream, she’s not trained for the physical and mental discomfort across the body. But you are.” Kara explained to Amelia.

Amelia’s eyes darted back to Ward with a warning tone. “Grant.” She muttered. 

Grant stood from his seat and grabbed a device from the wall as he contained the explanation to a minimum, “We’re using you as an advantage here, Ames. If we want SHIELD to give us what they want as well and see a piece of them crumble, why not have one of their finest agents be the representation of it all?”

“Which means?” Amelia asked.

“We will keep you here.” Kara said, “In result, disorient the other agents such as Melissa, Marlene and your precious boyfriend, who I bet has no idea that your gone, into running around in rampage looking for you. The more pain you inflect, will give the others no choice but to give us the information needed.”

Amelia’s heart raced with a mix of fear and defiance as the words hung in the air. 

She scoffed as a small smile broke across her face. A shake chuckle escaped her hips for whatever reason. “You’re both just petty and delusional.” Amelia remarked. “Even if it I am not found by them, and I’m tortured. You realize that The Young Avengers will get concerned and try to find me, right?”

Grant crossed his arms and shook her head, as he strapped a wires and tightened the chair a bit more. Beforehand, he used anesthetic to remove any sensation of pain from Morse-Parker, however the sensation of the shockwaves and needles will be an unbearable pain, hitting her body all at once. 

Kara claimed to many beforehand, that was the pain she felt when she was harmed by Whitehall and when she regained control of her mind once again. 

When no one answered her remarked about The Young Avengers—Liane, Rick, Rochelle, Cole and the others—would grow panicked and try to find her, it was a clear as day response. They were too busy and selfish to care for others’s turmoil to save them. Kara and Grant convey that answer by just exchanging a glance at Amelia.

 Amelia's heart raced, a mixture of defiance and dread coursing through her veins. “You really think that will work? You’re underestimating them.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, masking the worry gnawing at her.

Grant tightened the straps, his brow furrowed with frustration. “It’s not about underestimating them. It’s about making them desperate.”

Kara’s smirk faded as she stepped closer. “You think they care enough to risk everything for you? They’ve got their own battles to fight. You’re just a pawn in this game, Amelia.”

The weight of her words hit harder than any blow. Memories of laughter and camaraderie flashed through Amelia’s mind, but the shadows of doubt loomed larger. She shook her head, unwilling to let them see her falter. “You’re wrong. They won’t stop searching for me.”

Grant leaned back, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “And if they do find you, what then? You think they’ll storm in here and rescue you? They don’t even know where you are.”

Kara stepped closer, her voice low and chilling. “They’ll waste time chasing ghosts, and by the time they figure it out, it’ll be too late.”

-----

A silence fell, heavy with unspoken truths. Amelia felt the chill in the air deepen, a reminder of her vulnerability as the hours went by. She felt herself growing hungry and weak by the second, as her eyes tried their hardest to not give into the weight and close themselves.

Deep into the night, the weight of Grant and Kara’s words hit pierced harder than any words. Every moment spent in the room, tied to the chair, her wrists trying to wiggle out of the restrains and the needles digging into her fingers send an engulfing pain across her body. The wires sending shockwaves through her body, were just as bad, she could practically taste the metal in the air, under her skin. 

Amelia was on the brink of giving into the pain and torment, that she was lost caused. She wasn’t going to be saved. That Kara and Grant were right. She was fool to think SHIELD and The Young Avengers—her friends—would care to save her. To release any evidence in hopes of having her come back to them.

That loyalty and trust that tied her to her team was slipping between her fingers.

She could’ve sworn she heard typing of a laptop and invoices being messaged between the two in another room, whenever Kara or Grant weren’t inside with her. She could hear Grant’s low murmur, the occasional sharp retort from Kara. The sound of certain agents from the messages, such as Marlene, her voice was faintly heard, so was Melissa. A flicker of Jeremy’s tone of voice and a few others that she didn’t quite recognize.

She wondered if Jeremy was negotiating a deal to the data on Whitehall or some kind of information in general. She wondered if Melissa trying to relocate the trace of the phone's pattern to her location, or maybe Marlene had just threaten to murder Ward.

Gods know what the others on the line must've been discussing.

However nothing from The Young Avengers.

As for their mouths moving? Conversation between the three echo though the warehouse, a mixture of screams, snarky remarks, and words that were sharper than a knife. Grant was one of the few people, who knew her better than anyone, he had a hand in training her and sense her downfall from a mile away. 

He knew that she knows that there was no one coming from her. And if they did. They would be too late, suffering the lost of someone who they assumed, they care for deeply. It was a twisted symphony of betrayal and desperation that echoed around her, each note driving the point home: she was alone.

Speaking of echos being said, at one point, when Amelia refused to once again to apologize to Kara, the closure to heal according to Grant, the brunette slapped Amelia across the face before she walked around the chair with a wicked smirk.

“If you want a nice view of my ass, sweetheart, that will be...” Amelia said in a slight witty tone, however her voice trailed off, hearing the sound of fabric and a wince of a blade, “..what is she doing?”

Grant didn’t let her swift her neck around to see the damage about to inflect upon her, instead snatching her chin under his fingers, forcing her to face him. For a fleeting moment, his gaze softened, a hint of regret flickering in his brown eyes.

“You don’t have to do this, Ames. We can work this out—” He said in a soft tone. 

“No.“ Amelia cut him off, her tone resolute, almost shaking in a hush tone, “Not like this..”

Before she can even repeat her words, a sharp passing of a knife slide across the back of her knees, her inner knees, as she let out a deep whine. She squeezed her eyes and gasped breathing heavily, her chest rising and fall, due to the action taking place. Her eyes water as she gulped, catching Grant’s gaze as she tried to wipe her face towards Kara.

Amelia’s breath came in ragged gasps, the pain radiating through her legs, refusing to show weakness, however it was clear. Grant’s grip on her chin tightened, his gaze searching hers for a flicker of compliance.

Kara stepped closer, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “You really think you’re in control here? You’re tied up, and your friends are miles away. This is your reality now.”

Amelia felt the weight of her words sink in, but she wouldn’t give in just yet. “And if I break? If I give they what you want? What happens then?”

She shrugged, a cruel smile curling her lips. “Maybe we’ll let you go. Maybe I won’t. It all depends on how entertaining you are.”

Before Amelia could respond, Grant’s expression shifted, a flicker of anger crossing his face. “Enough, Kara. This isn’t a game.”

Kara rolled her eyes, dismissing his concern. “Oh please, Grant. You’re not her keeper. She made her choices.”

Amelia’s eyes flickered between the pair. Despite Grant’s protectiveness over her, he was true as day that he cared for Kara just the same. He may claim to still love her, but his heart had made space for Kara. She scoffed, honestly, with how delusional they both were, they desires each other. 

“Choices?” Amelia scoffed, her voice steady despite the pain. “Um, I didn’t choose to be here, and you know it.”

Grant’s jaw tightened, a mix of frustration and a hint of guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t want this for you, Amelia. I wanted to protect you.”

“By letting Kara and yourself torture me?” she shot back, her gaze unwavering. “You’re not protecting me, Grant. You lied to me once, you’ll do it again.”

He always said that one thing, she will understand everything he ever done, but she won’t. One look from Kara and Grant, and she realized she was more than a pawn, in this sick game. She’s the queen. The moment she decide to cooperate or her teammates come and find her, give them any information about Whitehall, the game changes. 

If she might even survive this.

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

The hours went by, no help, no hope of salvation—none. 

It was hopeless.

She whimpered and winced, gasping for air as her fingers were being pierced by needles and her body was attached to the wires from earlier. She has been yelled at, bleeding and bruised.

She was purely shaking at this point. At least she was able to convince Ward to release her ankles for some breathing room. However, she was cold. From her feet to her toes, despite the clothing she was wearing, she was feeling the air bouncing against her skin.

As she wiggled her wrists against the restraints, searching for any weakness, the faint sound of footsteps approached. She held her breath, heart pounding, readying herself for whatever was to come.

The door creaked open, and Grant stepped inside. He paused, meeting her gaze with a mixture of concern and resolve. 

“You okay?” he asked, a hint of sincerity breaking through his hardened facade.

Her voice was slightly shaky under her breath, “Is that even a question?”

“Ames.”

“Not even close, and you know it.” 

“It’s gonna be a long night, I knew you’ll be tough. Coulson’s got an eye for talent.”

“So did you..”

He sighed, his harden facade slowly returned, as a tone that was undoubtedly unreadable appeared. He sat down across from her. Her breathing was deep and hitched, her glares softened ever so slightly, before slowly hardening once again.

“You and I are a lot alike, Ames.” He began, his voice simple yet smooth. “Emotions buried deep inside where nowhere will ever find it.”

She shook her head lightly, “Why’s that? Because you know me very well?” “Because the reason why you kill and fight and recruit others..it’s not because you feel it’s a duty.”

“It is..you caught onto that lesson very early on. Being pushed to the prime level, because it hides whatever uncertainty you have..”

“That’s what you think? Are you referring to me or yourself?”

Amelia paused remembering a conversation she had with Skye involving the context of Ward. He kills because of his emotional attachment and his desire to help, not just for his own desire but for a gain. 

But there was something more to that.

After a moment Amelia said under her breath as she admitted, “..it’s not because of nothing, or that it’s a duty to serve..it’s because you feel too much..i feel too much..”

Grant watched her eyes gearing up, the shift in her eyes, at the realization. The pain, the despair, the suffering, the repeated questions and conversation. It was like memories flashed—every laugh, every time she was snapped at, every snarl or glare, every moment of believing in trust and faith—it all came crashing down upon her.

The right push and she can be forced to see the truth, even if she denied it. Hell, the words that Amelia said hit Grant as hard a brick. It wasn’t false, he did care, sometimes way too much. But like he said, he buried it deep, to save himself the heartbreak and torment.

However he did say if Amelia didn’t corporate, or if SHIELD didn’t release information on Whitehall, he will do a certain job. One that she has seen done before..

“Baby, listen to me.” Grant said, bringing her back to the moment holding up needle in-between his fingers. “Kara needs closure. Your teammates are already suffering with no idea where you are, thanks to Kara. But you, just admit you betrayed her and we can end this.”

She scoffed, “You’re such a hypocrite, you know that? Betray her? Honey, may I remind you that you betrayed your whole entire team! You betrayed me.”

“For the—! For the hundredth time, I was loyal to Garrett, not HYDRA!”

“For the hundredth time, I don’t care!”

“Amelia!”

“What?! You always have that excuse or decide to blame Garrett for your choices!”

“We both know, if it was the other way another and you were in my shoes, you would understand! We talked about this!”

“I know! And for the that, I say, screw you!”

That’s when Grant leaned forward against the table, his body dangling among the chair he sat in. Their face were mere inches apart, they can feel the other’s hot breath against one another’s face. Every scare, bump and bruise, laced across their face.

The tension was heating off their bodies, their breathing was thick and hitched. 

“You don’t know me as well, as you think you do.” He growled under his breath, his back arched and his palms pressed against the table.

“Sure I do, baby.” She responded, growling in the same exact intensity.

However she held a light smirk, ripping off her restraints that she spent the last hours  loosing up, grunted as she both hands grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face into the table.

She held out a breath, snatching the needle from his grasp and stabbing him with it. Grant broke free from her grasp just as quickly, as Amelia stumbled backwards. He launched at her as she jumped over the table and kicked him the chest. 

Before they two knew it, they were dancing around, blocking and trying to punch one another into corners. Spinning, turning and trying to slam the other into a wall. Grunts, pounding from footsteps against the ground, shouts and screaming were heard from within the warehouse, as they broke though the walls and into the hallways.

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

At one point, Amelia raised her height was going to cause her a real disadvantage, Grant was taller than her by a lot. So just as he was about to launch at her once again, she reached up to a poll, grasping a tight grip before swinging her legs forwards launching Grant to break though the window of the door. 

“I taught you well..” He muttered, a hint of pride in his voice, before grabbing her and swinging the brunette around as they head butted one another hitting against the tight narrow hallway.

Amelia head was slammed backwards, pounding firm near a wall, before her body slid downwards onto the floor as she grunted and let out a groaned. Grant towered over her just as Kara hurried in, holding her gun towards Amelia.

She was ready to shoot her, but didn’t, yet. She wanted to hear the apology, understand her pain. She exchanged a look with Ward.

“Anything you want to say to Kara?” Grant asked, letting out a deep breath.

Amelia’s eyes darted between the door of them, her vision was blurry as she said, “..yeah.”

“She’s waiting.”

“I’m not sorry anymore..” Amelia muttered under her breath. 

Kara exhaled, lowering the gun, “This isn’t right..I’m not feeling, she’s not sorry..”

Grant took the gun from her stuffing it into his back pocket and placed a hand on her shoulder, “It’s alright, baby, I know what to do..”

Her gaze flickered between the pair, one look from Grant and Amelia knew what was coming for her, he going to pull the trigger. The hours were running up. 

He’ll do the one thing she seen him do, only once, years ago. 

It will not just make her suffer but the ones who claimed to love her...

~~~~~~

~~~~~~~

AHH! It was a lot I know but let me know what you think! Thoughts, comments and what you love about it all. Pls like, comment and share for more.

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @missstrawbs2001 @djs8891 @starkleila @aidanxsophxoxo @mandylove1000 @yetanotherwells @rickb-chaos @topgun-imagines s @hardballoonlove @buckysteveloki-me @sherloquestea @ximehs @savemewattpad @theonlyblackcanary y @terry-perry @triptuckers @daughter-of-melpomene @superspookyjanelle @infinetlyforgotten and etc

[kairiscorner]

˗ˏˋ ✮ kairi's AUtober !

day 4: villain miguel o'hara

content warnings! mentions of strangulation and mild violence. please scroll away if you are uncomfortable with reading these themes ^^

"i don't... want to do this." you murmur as you're gripping his throat in your hand, loosening it up ever so slightly to give him room to breathe, but not enough to get him out of your grasp. he was a terrifying foe to go up against, one you never expected to go head to head with like this—not ever in the three decades that you've known him, because... you can't find a single speck of his soul in those eyes of his. his eyes, his bright, burgundy eyes reflect his thirst; his thirst that he's quelled for ages ever since that lab accident that gave him his powers happened. you wish you noticed the signs, the signs that he was trying to call for help, to call for company, to call for... somebody, anybody to help him.

but nobody came.

it's because nobody came, nobody even tried to understand what he was undergoing... he became a known threat to the entire city of nueva york.

he became your... enemy.

he sighed as he slowly grabbed at your wrist, nearly snapping it cleanly off your arm as he stared deeply into your eyes with his own crimson ones—his unsympathetic, cold glare shattered your heart as you whimpered slightly in pain as his grip on your wrist tightened, and your grip around his neck loosened and came off entirely, giving him the upper hand again. "and that's where you're weak, where you're... painfully wrong." he mutters as he gets off of you and strangles you this time around. tears are pricking your eyes as he chokes you, with you grasping at his hand that's tightening around your neck, wheezing out a begging cry of, 'this isn't you' to him in hopes he'd snap out of it, that he'd be the nerdy, stuck-up dork you befriended all those years back; the boy who always took responsibility for you, who always corrected your every mistake, the boy who tried his hardest to defend you even though he was a scrawny little twig, and...

the boy you fell in love with, and never stopped loving.

the tears streamed down your cheeks as you took in shaky breaths and exhaled out, "i'm... sorry...".

"i'm sorry i never... noticed... you were suffering... i'm sorry... if i could change the... narrative, if i could... change everything that... ever made you hurt this much... you know... i'd do it, all of it, i-in a... heartbeat..." you choked out, feeling his grip around your neck tightening ever so slightly. his eyebrows knitted together and his nose crinkled, his nostrils flared, and the corners of his lips were downturned. he grunted and, for some reason, let go of your neck entirely; allowing you to breathe in and cough, recuperating your airways.

you kept mumbling apologies as the tears kept flowing down your cheeks, and your lips quivered, making you stutter out your hastily put together apologies for too many reasons that kept filling your mind with every second that passed. miguel turned his back to you and heaved, his back rising and falling as he took every breathe in and every breathe out—and when he heard you mumble out another apology... he lost it. "shut up!" he exclaimed as he bared his fangs and unsheathed his claws and turned his head around over his shoulder to face you. he snarled under his breath and fought the urge to come closer to you, because though his intentions were not evil, he couldn't tell if they were any good; he had feared who he became, he loathed the beast he had become after that accident.

to say that you, one of the most kind-hearted, loving, self-sacrificing people in his life with a truly pure and good heart would really take his place and become a monster... it made him hate himself even more for putting that thought in your head with his mere appearance, his mere existence. he grunted and turned away from you, preparing to leave into the night yet again and to, hopefully, never cross paths with you again so he wouldn't have to fear hurting you this way again. "...don't ask to take my place, you don't deserve it." "then what... do i deserve, if not your... pain? the pain you never deserved nor asked for..." "you... deserve a better life." he answered simply, looking away from you all the while. "a life without a monster being your the bane of your existence, the one thing anchoring you to the past you should be moving on from." he added, a slight crack in his voice was heard by you, causing you to jolt up and for your eyes to widen. "are you... really saying that i..." "should forget me? pretty much." he whispered as he took off into the night, riding away with the wind as he swung off and just... disappeared.

he hopes that even if the multiverse couldn't grant him a peaceful future nor life with you, it could at least guarantee him that you'd live a peaceful future without him, a terrifying, horrible monster that haunts every innocent citizen of nueva york and slinks in the shadows where he can only live in now and only remember the tidbits of his old life when he was truly happy, truly with you... as long as he's no longer in your life—that's... all he wants.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

[kendertrove]

“The Soulforged” by Blind Guardian is another song about Raistlin (i’m sensing a theme here, he is everyone’s favorite after all). Reading the lyrics, the word that really comes to my mind is “raw.” It’s a burst of pure, unfiltered emotion – Raist’s suffering, his rage at the world, his goal to ascend in power – blasted out into the world on a powerful melody. To me, the tune conveys more the feel of the Dragonlance Saga than Raistlin’s pain. Honestly, i have feelings i don’t even know how to put into words.

I hadn’t listened to this band before starting the Dragonlance music project, but i quite like their style, bombastic and epic. The album is called A Night At The Opera, and it does feel operatic, but in a good way. I’m typically the first to rail against opera, calling it an outdated art form that has ceased to evolve, and totally unnecessary now that we have metal on one hand and musical theater on the other, but Blind Guardian has captured the scale and intensity of opera with none of the stagnancy or distance. I will for sure be listening to more by this band.

Lyrics under the cut:

I'm not insane That's how it seems though Spiteful, cruel but wise beyond his age

My body fails My soul will (rise) The end of life's immortalized Disease and agony And I see death through golden eyes (Beyond the door) There's something more It seems there's just one way

On through the heat I've felt the touch of evil I still feel The icy claw in me

For a decent price I've banned kindness from my heart The spirit of all truth and beauty pawned for my desire

And from the flames As chance would have it The Soulforged will come into light And from the flames As chance would have it The Soulforged, the stainless will rise

I will never change my mind I will leave it all behind

And through the hourglass Everything's grey, everyone's pale Nor colour nor beauty will enlighten my heart The seat of life's empty and cold

Cadaverous you all seem to me Stillborn but you're still alive You're still alive

Truth lies in loneliness When hope is long gone by I'll wipe out the bliss of the new age And welcome you precious night

And from the flames As chance would have it The Soulforged will come into light And from the flames As chance would have it The Soulforged, the stainless will rise

From a distant time voices echo in the hall "Come and join us, enter life and everything is gone now"

And through the looking glass I still fear mortality and Its loss in the end (Unlimited) power in my hands ("Mourn for his lost soul He's cursed and condemned") The claw of the dragon ascends

Each step I take may it hurt may it ache Leads me further away from the past But as long as I breathe (and) each smile on my bleak face I'm on my way to find back to the Peace of mind

And from the flames As chance would have it The Soulforged will come into light And from the flames As chance would have it The Soulforged, the stainless will rise

I will never change my mind I will leave it all behind

[hells-sirenqueen]

As Lilith continued to rebuild her kingdom brick by brick, flashes of memory came back to her from her final day before she ended up here. Her heart ached at the memory. She had the scar to prove it - as did her beloved Lucifer.

Lilith made sure of it. Such a bittersweet ending they had. It was only a matter of time before she had to fight him, back then. The tension between Heaven and Hell was so thick one could literally cut it with a knife.

Fallen angels were dubbed commanding officers to lead hordes of demons - all following the lead of their cursed demon queen. Any who refused to fight in her name were either burned or decapitated on sight. She refused to allow any to speak a word against her to live. You either supported the queen or you suffered for your ignorance.

Father had warned her that pressing for war was a bad idea. It would only bring heartbreak and destruction. Even after being summoned into in realm for a serious 1v1, she dismissed his warnings and twisted his words into things she wanted to hear.

Destruction? Wonderful! If she falls, she's taking his precious Heaven with her. Their hypocritical double standards made her skin crawl. Their preaching fell upon deaf ears. She refused to believe that anything that Heaven preached was true.

Heartbreak? Well that was easy as ever to narrow down. There have been a few encounters between her and Lucifer before her march to Heaven. His "monitoring Hell on Heaven's behalf" felt more like an excuse to see her. There was one time she was so close to distracting him from his duty. A time where he caught a glimpse of her executing a Duke for thinking about assassinating her with one of his own men by seducing her.

She wouldn't stand for it. After sending his body to the cannibals, she had her guards take his head to the gates and placed on a pike. Following the action of giving her orders, she caught a glimpse of Lucifer standing in the shadows, silently watching. The corners of her lips curved as she made her way to his location. She questioned him, as it wasn't safe for him to be alone in Hell. He uttered a reply, saying he could handle her on his own if needed to. Classic of Lilith to utter an innuendo, hoping that he certainly could handle her - preferably without all of his noisy armor.

He became flustered, turned away from her but she never heard a note of rejecting the idea. She teased him with a brief kiss and managed to lure him to her chambers for an hour but she sadly couldn't convince him to stay. He was still honor bound to serve Heaven. He refused to remain in her arms, giving an excuse that he had to report back topside and warned that she should stay more than an arm's length away from him if she knew what was good for her.

Though his words hurt, she could tell in his eyes that he struggled to believe in his own words. He wanted to stay, he wanted to remain in her arms..but he couldn't. Duty came before personal wants. God's favorite solider had a weakness and she planned on exploiting it for all it was worth until he was in her claws.

It wasn't long before his visits became less frequent, the work of those above rank. All the more reason to tear Heaven apart!

When her people were ready, she made her orders. They were greeted by quite the welcoming party. The finest that Heaven had to offer greeted them at the Golden Gates. The angel heading the welcome party? Who better than Lucifer himself.

He warned her to step down, to turn turn around and return to Hell so there would be no bloodshed; all while pointing a blade at her.

He stood his ground but she could see those dark circles around his eyes. The fatigue, the pain in his soul for being separated for so long. She had a feeling that if they weren't being watched that he would drop his blade and come running.

Oh, the poor tortured thing. They were doing her job for her! The absolute nerve!

But he wouldn't move, not even as she pointed out Heaven's flaws and pointed out how he looked ragged. As much as she detested having to fight him, she gave him a curved grin and took him up on his challenge. Taking out her own blade made of obsidian, their blades clashed. War broke out at the gates as the many legions of Heaven battled against Hell.

All the while, Lilith and Lucifer fought in the sky. She played dirty, using shadows to sneak attacks here and there. At one point, he managed to pin her against a wall, berating Lilith for being so selfish for having this war to begin with.

She only laughed. The reason for her war was to dismantle the powers that be, those that were in charge of Heaven and change how their laws were. Every lesson she had been preached to screamed hypocritical. If they were supposed to have unity, their laws were double standards.

She spoke with Sera and others before, to come to a compromise but Heaven refused to budge. It was Hell that had to change, not them. She didn't quite like the idea that change had to be one way. So she repeated to Lucifer what she told God; if one is making the effort to change, unity he wishes for won't happen. Change must go both ways. If not, then there is no more room to talk. Only action. Action to validate one's opinion.

She was going to head for Sera's head and take great joy in holding her head in her claws.

That obviously didn't go well with Lucifer.

So their battle continued and he managed to score several hits against her, but she was still standing tall, taunting him. Her taunt was the final straw.

He uttered a prayer before throwing his holy blade in her direction. Lilith's eyes gave a dark sinister glow as she used shadows to teleport him against her chest. If she was going down, she would take him down with her.

His blade ran through them both as she pulled him into a bittersweet loving kiss. Their last moments alive spent with each other's blood in their mouths.

Lilith smiled against his lips, feeling him kiss back as his arms hesitantly wrapped around her as the angelic steel slowly killed them.

As darkness slowly wrapped around her mind, the last sight she recalled was the glowing golden gaze of regret from her Lucifer.

When she awoke once more, the bodies of her fallen soldiers were no where to be seen. Not even Lucifer was to be seen anywhere. Her skin was paler and she noticed how broken the gates of Heaven were. Before she could explore, she was pulled by shadows and thrown into a small pocket plane; imprisoned for centuries.

Now, she had a second chance to pull him into her arms once more. She was tired of others keeping him away from her. The only time she felt alive was when she felt his presence at her side.

Taking a deep breath, she continued to rebuild her Hell. It may have few subjects, but she would make due with what she had. A number of vampires and lesser demons thrived here in this little space bubble. Soon it would be thriving with more subjects, but at least they had a decent start.

ll @themosthatedbeingg ll

[whumpitisthen]

A Lesson in Selfishness

Previous I Masterlist I Next

Rest of cws in tags as usual, but this one deals heavily with dissociation, depersonalisation/derealisation (depending on how you interpret it) and self-hatred, so i thought id put at least that much up here too <3 Mori is not having a good time

By the time Auden finds the door left ajar from his failed escape, he is openly sobbing into his hands in distress. Awful, ear-splitting screams echo down the hall, bouncing off of every ornament, every pillar, disrupting even the humble flickering of flames lighting his way along the walls. Each decibel added grows the mountain of guilt splitting his soul in twain.

He couldn't do anything to help. He was even worse than a failure. He was useless. Powerless to do anything but watch on as they were tortured. Even if they were a creature of Hell, it has become entirely clear that the deer demon was only doing what it was told, and never planned on hurting him at all. They are in a similar situation to him, and all Auden managed to do was bring their tormentor right to them, and cause unnecessary trouble. Cause ruthless, avoidable punishment. His realisation came far too late, and it cost them so much.

Lord, they begged him not to yell.

He hurries past the ornate wooden doors, swiftly pulling them closed behind him with trembling fingers. His body has become awfully pale, blue veins visible through the thin skin of his wrists. It must be yet another side effect or symptom of being mortal, yet another need he does not know how to identify nor meet. It's cold, the dirty nails at the tip of his fingers are turning blue. It only became chillier since the Reaper arrived, sucking the warmth out of everything living with his presence. Auden swears he can still feel Death's touch clear as day — his hold on him is so great that he can feel those black tendrils of rot solidify and take root inside his throat. Those icy fingers left blue marks on his face, little red dots where his claws dug into him, colder still where his silver jewellery touched him.

Perturbation takes him when he thinks of his saviour, his voice murmuring inside Auden’s head. The mocking, the cooing, the promise of pain. That terrifying laughter corrupts his every thought.

Why would he have thought the Grim Reaper to be merciful? Death wasn't fair, Death wasn't kind or protective or caring; Death was ruthless, and efficient, and anywhere from a sudden stopping of the heart to the most painful, agonising, twistedly slow carnage. And even then, even if he was all of those things — why would he act anything like this towards a filthy Fallen? He took Auden to be a gift for someone else, nothing more. He only protects him as long as he is in the deity's care, and who knows what will happen to him once he is given away. He is property, now, and the Reaper will not hesitate to remind him of that. He was lucky enough to be allowed to leave unscathed.

Exhaustion strikes his body at once, leaving him gasping on his knees leaned up against the sturdy door. His soul breaks apart for what could only be the hundredth time since he found himself curled up on that wretched burnt pasture. At every turn, he cannot help fooling himself with even the illusion of choice, the possibility of mercy or the hope of finding anyone who could keep him safe, if not happy. He only experiences burning shame at having been betrayed by Death himself — though it was barely betrayal at all. He should have known all along he was not really saved. He should have known that he does not deserve to even be gazed upon by beings like him.

He found Death's presence to be a necessary evil. Who else could keep someone so helpless like him safe in Hell? His Lord has all but abandoned him, as painful as it is to admit. So, among all these dangerous monsters, who only bring suffering, how fitting is it that the only one who could keep him alive is Death? However menacing, cruel, scary, demanding and even unholy — no one would hurt Auden again as long as he decides to stick around and defend him.

So how stupid must Auden be to police the actions of not only a deity, but the only person on this forsaken planet who can protect him?

‘Downright sacrilegious, isn't it? How devoted you are to your new Lord. To call him a deity, when it is proposed your only God is the one ruling the Heavens. You have truly become a mortal, riddled with sin.’

“Shut up!” — Auden explodes finally at the endless mocking voice plaguing his every waking moment relentlessly. — “Shut up, shut up, shut up! Stop talking to me!”

‘Best you quiet down, mortal. You saw how quick your new God was summoned to your side to punish an innocent creature for you.’

He must be going insane, he is sure. He has begun talking to a voice in his own head. Yelling out in frustration and arguing with it, like some form of cursed soul wandering the scorched Earth endlessly, groaning and moaning to itself constantly. He thought it was his own voice for a while, so used to shame and self-deprecation that he didn't even think it anything else, but now he is certain it's not him. Or is he? He does not know which option seems crazier; that he is arguing with his own thoughts or that he now has another voice inside his already miserable head.

“I don't care, just shut up! Please!” — he sobs, pulling his knees up to his face to hide behind them. He can feel his headache growing the longer he concentrates on the voice. — “I'm not a sinner, I'm not betraying my Lord, I'm not being sacrilegious, I’m, I'm, I-I'm just trying to survive! Pl-Please forgive me, I'm so sorry, I'm s-so sorry, my Lord…”

He devolves into heaving sobs, no longer having enough water to spare for many tears in his body. He continues mumbling to himself, but the voice does not respond. It left him after a job well done, sending him down a spiral and finally acknowledging it. He sits on the floor like this for a while, trying his best to rid himself of all these anxieties, miseries and emotions. Angels really aren't meant to be here for long, and Auden, though not nearly aware of it enough, is quite strong to bear it like this. It's a shame no one will care to remind him.

Three knocks on the door behind him send all his muscles back to attention, tensing them like rubber bands until they burn from exertion like they are about to snap. He had quieted down, nearly falling asleep sitting on the floor as he is, but now he is clambering to stand and move out of the way. It must be the Reaper again, here to remind him how dependent on him he is and how easily this fickle shield he managed to gain can be shattered at the slightest misbehaviour. Or maybe it's his new owner, whoever it is, here to take him and do something like Miss Thu'lin wanted to — maybe it's Miss Thu'lin herself, come to take him back and execute him properly.

He waits, but the handle isn't pushed down, the door doesn't open. A minute passes before four more knocks are heard, a little quieter, more timid. This doesn't seem like anyone he has met so far. The Reaper would just barge in, or even just appear in the room if he wanted. Miss Thu'lin isn't coming back. Could it really be his owner?

He clears his throat, rasping out a similarly timid ‘Hello?’, hoping whoever is on the other side will leave him be, but being too scared of repercussions in case he manages to disrespect someone again to not react anything at all.

To his relief, a familiar, almost forgotten voice answers. — “Hey, uh, hello. I'm here t-, I was sent t-to, uh… I have food. For you.”

Mori. It's just Mori! The deer person, the one who seemed like him!

The one who he left to suffer on their own. Who must have got every bone in their hand broken. The one who screamed themself hoarse from the sounds of it. Who they got in terrible, cruel, agonising trouble. And after it all, they are the one bringing him food.

Through immense, heart wrenching guilt, he dares to feel relief that it's only them. He wishes he could take back all the misfortune he managed to cause to this one, even if they are a Hell being. If only he understood the situation sooner, or even if he just let Death do as he wanted instead of trying to plead for their safety, — seeing as their screams only worsened when Auden was finally made to leave, more frequent, more desperate — he could have so easily helped them. Heavy shame eats at him for letting any of this happen. He feels like a fraud as a Guardian for being the main cause of this.

Though a dizzying cavalcade of negative emotions have latched onto him like a tumour, Auden forbids himself to ever hesitate helping Mori, and banishes the thought of ever, ever resisting what they say is best. The sight of their broken hand under relentless force, their pained face, the kneeling and the whimpering and the begging and the torture must never leave his brain for the rest of his life; a reminder of the consequences of his selfishness.

“O-Oh, oh, I see, I'm sorry.” — The door still does not open, and he struggles to find the right words to say, — “Uhm… Sorry, uh… You can come in. I'm, I'm the only one here.”

Of course he's the only one, who else would be here? Nevertheless, the door finally opens, letting in the abused form of the deer demon awkwardly holding a silver tray of food items, water, cutlery and even a small vase with a single flower in it, and a black candle. They balance it with one unharmed hand, the wrist of the other arm where their hand has been ruined beyond use and their own torso, unsteady on their hooves. What catches Auden's eye before any of that is Mori's antlers — antler.

One of their antlers was snapped off of their head, leaving an open, oozing stump that covers half their face in dark red blood. Their face is harrowed, pale as a sheet, only contrasted by their own ghastly wounds. A sheen of sweat covers them, making them look sickly and frail. Their breathing is just as unsteady as their stance.

Did Death do this? Did Mori lose their antler because of Auden’s idiocy? Auden caused all this?

All previous worries and troubles of his own have been forgotten when Auden laid his eyes on them. Overshadowing his self-pity is a divine need to protect, to fix, to cheer up and hold them forever, to never let them be hurt again. To Guard, like he was always meant to. As Auden stares on in stunned silence, Mori only becomes more nervous. They avert their eyes and eventually ask, — “would, would you, uh… like to eat in bed or shall I set it on, on the table?”

Dear Lord in Heaven have mercy — their voice sounds even worse without the doors to muffle it. Every syllable quivers, some words barely audible as their tone disappears and turns to whispers. All energy, liveliness and personality has been removed, a pile of shattered glass existing where their certainty was before. All that remains of them is a terrified husk, trembling before him like he could just as well tear off their other antler if he wanted.

Auden says the only thing he knows to say, — “I'm so, so, so sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I didn't mean for any of this, I just, I just —”

“Please, may, m-may I put this on the table or would you like to eat in bed?” — Mori cuts him off with a huff of air, talking a bit faster. Their limbs are shaking. They avert their eyes towards the floor, swallowing. The glass vase is clinking against a glass of water intermittently. The light of the candle flickers dangerously close to the rose.

For a second, Auden assumes they are mad at him, so mad they don't even want to hear his excuses. He opens his lips to beg a little more for their forgiveness, but then his eyes linger on the awkward position they are in, and all the wounds, and the dark red circles under their eyes — he almost trips over his own feet trying to take the heavy tray filled with all of his food from them. — “Give, give me that. Sorry. Oh, I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry, I-I swear I'm not usually this dense.”

They gasp out a shaky sigh, relieved to have been freed from their stress position. — “Th-Thank you, sir. I am so grateful.”

Auden doesn't think he has ever been referred to like that before. His sense of smell does not let him chew on that for long, overtaken in such an unbelievable way by the sweet, delicious aroma wafting up to his nose he can barely keep his eyes on Mori. He does not recognise anything on the tray apart from the water. He can only assume that the vase and candle are not meant to be eaten, but he does not know that for sure. It is equally enticing and scary to be so clueless about something so important, because who's to say any of it is edible? What if it's demon food, not human food? Does it matter at all? What if it's poisoned?

His mouth waters excessively the longer he stares at it all, and that worries him as much as his churning guts. A wince snaps him back to attention finally, and Auden forces himself to tear his eyes away from the food to catch the deer flinch from something.

“Uh, I'll, I'll just put this down for now. Thank you.” — The angel hurries over to the table, setting the tray down carefully with the same quivering in his flesh that Mori has. He wants nothing more than to bite down on everything on that tray, to consume it all as fast as possible; a feeling so alien he feels sick and disgusted at himself for needing something in such a wild, animalistic way. He likens his hunger to hellish temptation, but he has never felt temptation as forceful and overwhelming as this. His eyes land on Mori once more, surveying them over and over. How could he ever expect them to forgive him? He has nothing to give, he is nothing at all. All that pain, just because of him. — “I, I-I’m truly sorry. I wish I could change what I did, I really, really do. I was just, I woke up and there was this big room with no one else around and I thought, I, I don't know what I thought but I didn't know that you weren't a threat, I always expect, I always expect to be, to be… hurt, here. And I, I should've listened to you, and obeyed and protected you and, and —”

“Pl-Please, it's… it's fine. It wasn't really your fault, sir. Please do not worry about it,” — they whisper in that broken voice, and there is that title again. This is not Mori, this is not how they were talking to him just an hour or so ago. This feels impersonal, lifeless, a tone reserved for authorities and power; not a lowly little Fallen like him. They are speaking to him like he deserves any respect at all.

They're talking to him like they were talking to their master.

“B-But, but I, I yelled for the Reaper, I called for his attention, I got you hurt —”

“Master Grim does not need a reason to hurt me.” — Mori states, following a line between two floorboards with their eyes with a melancholic expression. Their still working fingers dig into the grey fabric of their rugged potato sack of a tunic. They sound like how Auden sounds as he prays — almost in a trance, with a light tone and monotonous syllables, like they are recounting the same line they have repeated over and over again countless times before, — “I am his. I belong to him, and he is free to do as he pleases with my body and with my soul. If… If he wants to hurt me, and to, to t-torment me like this, he can, and he will, and he needs no further reasoning than that. I deserve it anyway.”

A horrid chill runs down Auden's spine as he listens to the most harmless looking creature he has ever seen parrot the words they must have been taught by their cruel master. Their very wording is so twistedly familiar to Auden, yet so alien — Auden feels devoted to his Lord, and willingly gives his everything to Him, while Mori was only forced to serve another, and bullied into the ground until they knelt and learned how to please him best. In the end, pure worship and devotion looks quite similar to fear of punishment, dependency and this forcefully taught ‘right’ behaviour. And the way to please Death is apparently to offer your body to be tormented for sadistic pleasure.

‘I don't see much of a difference. Devotion and control, punishment and mercy. Dependence, fear, worship. You and your Lord are much the same, however you twist it.’

Auden does not even entertain the voice. A huff of air leaves him, a wave of what could only be what his people call temptation. Sacrilegious thoughts cross his brain, but he never even thinks to come back with an argument. Not while in the vicinity of someone who needs his help. However, he also does not at all know how to respond to Mori's statement. Anything his mind comes up with sounds just so utterly hypocritical and hopeless. Subservience is the life of angels; what advice could he give to this poor creature who is forced to forget themself entirely in favour of pleasing a merciless overlord of the dead.

In the end, the blue silence is broken by Mori. — “I-I’m sorry for disturbing you, sir, please forgive me. Please help yourself to dinner. I hope it is to your, your liking. You must be famished.”

“I-I, wait —!” — Auden stutters, watching Mori walk past him and kneel next to the long dinner table with little grace, closing their eyes and tilting their head down in submission. They must be waiting for Auden to finish his food so they can take the tray and leave. While the situation is ever more unnerving, the angel simply doesn't know how to make it better. He lets out a long sigh, and walks over to one of the armchairs positioned at the end of the table, settling in it. His shoulders remain tense, but he is slowly unwinding, feeling safer every second the Reaper is away, and Mori is unharmed. He tries to ignore the awful, unbefitting position of having someone kneel next to him while he lounges around on a plush cushion with warm food, but he fails so quickly he almost slides right off the silky material to kneel next to Mori, if only the table wasn't so high to not allow him to reach it kneeling. Instead, before he takes a single bite, he clears his throat.

“Uh, um… you, you don't have to keep kneeling. There's more than enough chairs, you can, you can sit with me!” — Mori looks up at him, almost confused, before they turn their gaze right back down. Auden can see their shoulders have tensed up.

“Yes, sir,” — they say quietly, getting their hooves under them to limp their way over to the closest chair, sitting down next to Auden. They somehow look even less comfortable. They look so small in that tall backed plush chair, only making themself smaller as they hunch over, keeping their eyes trained on their legs bouncing under the wooden surface.

Mori took his question as an order, not as a simple offer.

Auden finds it harder and harder to focus on anything but the delicacies taunting him under his nose. His fingers twitch to reach, his mouth is drowning him. It hurts to deprive himself like this, it hurts so much more than he thought it was possible. It scares him, how swiftly he would turn into a wild thing, hitting and screaming and biting at anyone just for a single bite. He already has trouble just keeping himself in check, his hunger outweighing his guilt and exhaustion by a tonne, even with Mori in the same room. Falling has made him endlessly pathetic, leaving a hole inside him that only grows with each day, swallowing his worried little heart and any remaining grace he possessed as an angel.

The only thing stopping him from lifting the whole tray and slamming his face into it as fast as possible is a lack of knowledge — he must ask, however embarrassing it is that he has to; — “This, um… Is this edible?”

“Of course, sir.”

“C-, can I uh… can I eat this? All of it?”

“Yes, sir. It is yours.”

Tilting his head this way and that, he makes the decision to reach out towards one of the bowls. It has small green balls in it. A fruit? Looks plant-like, smells of nature and sweetness. They are connected by a dark branch. He takes hold of one, tearing it from the branch. It's just a little bouncy, soft orb. It smells divine.

Finally, he pops it in his mouth, his teeth demolishing it before he could observe it any further in instinct. It splits into wet chunks of cool, sweet, satisfying grape flesh. Such immense flavour, such incredible satisfaction! He tears up as he reaches for more, tearing more and more off and consuming them faster and faster, forgetting about decency and worries entirely. He shoves too much in his mouth at once and whimpers in delight and pain, not even caring as he chokes on the succulent juices flowing down the wrong pipe.

He could kill for this. He will kill for this, he's certain. This is the best feeling he has ever felt. Animalistic instincts be damned, he is ecstatic.

Mori’s attention is suddenly revived, a look of concern crossing their face as they see the angel suffocating himself in fruit. They hesitate, but make an executive decision in the end, standing and taking hold of Auden's wrists gently, but firmly. — “Sir, s-sir! Sir, please slow down! You shouldn't — I, I mean there is no need to hurry!”

Auden is crying tears of joy, hunched over, concentrating on swallowing the large mouthful he stuffed into himself. Sniffles and whines escape him as he slowly recognises Mori and the irritation of his poor throat. He gives a worried sound, signalling to Mori for help, so confused and scared on what to do now that he realised what he has done. Mori looks at him with purpose, a look that knows, a gentle hand holding Auden still on his shoulder.

“Just, just concentrate on chewing, yeah? It's okay, it'll pass, just chew and swallow when you can.” — Relaxing motions on his back from the palm warming him, going in slow circles. He finds unpopped grapes on his tongue, and slowly but surely works on munching them up into a smaller ball, swallowing bit by bit. His lungs lurch from the liquid trapped there, but soon enough, he finds the rhythm of his breaths again. — “That's, that's good. Well done.”

“Thank, th-thank you… so much. Thank you for helping me.” — His expression shows immense shame. Even after everything, Mori would still help him. He needs help just to eat… There is no one in the world who is any more pitiful than him, be reckons. He feels like less than nothing, like the most useless, disposable fool.

To Auden's surprise, a small, sad smile crosses Mori's face. — “Well, I, I guess I… have had similar experiences. I know how it feels to, to be allowed to eat after starvation. I'm, uh, I just had to help.”

Once Auden is feeling better, Mori helps him choose something else from the pallette. With their guidance, Auden discovers so many wondrous flavours he never knew before, finally satisfying his always churning stomach in a way he never knew was going to be possible. Different small bowls with different things he doesn't recognise, all filled with goodness. Some of them Mori names as they lift for him, like the cheese bowl. He isn't sure what a cheese is, but it tastes savoury and sometimes light, and it's easy and creamy and flows and melts and he is so glad Mori stops him before he could become too excited again and let the melted cheese stick to the inside of his throat.

After a few bowls of snacks, Mori suggests the main dish. Auden cannot even begin to guess what it is, or how to go about eating it. Something red-brown, warm, smells the strongest. It's soaked in something that resembles the thickness of blood, but when he asks about it, Mori is quick to reassure him it is only a sweet ‘sauce’.

With an optimistic thought, he lifts both hands and digs into the sticky sauce coating the ribs, lifting the whole thing to his mouth, managing to take a bite out of it. While the taste is immaculate, as he lets it rest against the plate while he chews, he notices Mori's puzzled eyes staring at him as if he grew another head.

His chewing slows, then stops and he swallows. He must have done something wrong, but isn't certain what. Mori does not really make it easier to understand.

He has sauce all over his… everything.

“Uh, I um… I did bring utensils.”

When Auden remained silent, looking back to the massive piece of meat and then to Mori, they grow nervous, clarifying immediately, — “b-b-but, it is not my place to tell you how to eat, sir. Please, pro-proceed as you wish. I was just… offering.”

When Auden still doesn't say anything, they revert completely to their submissive servant mode, hunching over and averting their gaze, only whispering a bare, fearful apology.

Now it's Auden's turn to worry, dropping the whole thing back on the plate to raise his hands in surrender, accidentally causing the poor deer to flinch. — “No, n-no, I'm, I'm not angry! I swear. I just, I'm… wh-what is a, a u-ten-sils?”

The red magma of embarrassment in his face is worth it when Mori dares to return his look of general worry and lack of understanding. — “What? Wha-What do you mean, sir?”

“I-I…” — he shakes his head, finally gathering the courage to admit, — “I-I don't… don't really know what, what that means… I've… This is the first time I've ever, uh… ever eaten anything. I know, it sounds stupid but, b-but… sorry, this is so dumb. I sound like an idiot.”

Mori only becomes more worried, downright concerned at that. — “You — What? This is the first time you've been allowed to eat? In your whole life?”

“W-Well, I mean, yes, but —”

“How are you still alive? Were you cursed?” — Mori questions, entirely forgetting their taught manners again. They sound fascinated, amazed, yet terribly confused and apologetic at the same time.

Cursed is more accurate than he will ever admit to himself the longer he spends indulging in earthly delicacies after so long of a lack of need for them. However, — “no, not cursed. I'm… I'm, I'm a Fallen. I didn't need to until now, that's all.”

“Oh… I see.”

An awkward silence arises again, and this time Auden is aware enough to break it himself.

“Your name is um… You're Mori, right? That's what, what your master called you? — he questions. Mori nods. — “My name is Auden. You don't need to keep calling me sir.”

Mori flinches again, remembering their manners. — “Yes, Master Auden. I apologise.”

Well, that's even worse.

“No, just Auden is fine!” — he says much too quickly, loudly, making sure he speaks as clearly as possible. His name sounds awful in that context. — “Please, you, you don't have to refer to me by any title. I'm a nobody, always have been, and I am one especially now. You, you don't have to… I'm not a Master of anything. Certainly not you.”

A second passes. Then another. Mori doesn't say anything. — “Isn’t, isn't that what you said to me too? That we're the same? I'm, I'm nothing like… like th-the Reaper. Please don't think I am anything like him. I'm so, so sorry if I made you think I was going to hurt you again. I'm not. Not ever. I am truly, terribly sorry.”

“… You didn't do anything wrong.” — Mori answers vaguely. Their ears never move from their flat state, looking limp and sad hanging from their head. Their arms snake around themself, twitching every once in a while, a distant look in their eyes. They must be reliving their recent tormenting, Auden thinks. The angel can only curse himself for being this inconsiderate, — of course they don't want to talk about it. It's still so fresh in their mind, it must not have been that long at all; a couple hours at most since he left. The blood has not even stopped flowing from their stump. — “And, uh, utensils are the silver stuff in front of you. Those three weird, slim shapes. You use them instead of your hands, so you don't, don't get dirty. You do not need to use them, of course. I'm sorry for not explaining sooner, si — Auden.”

The angel sighs, glancing back to his tray. Now that he isn't starving, he almost wants to leave the rest as a form of self punishment for being the way he is. He does not deserve it, not at all. If anyone, Mori does. They are so incredibly patient with him; another thing he does not deserve. They help him, and calm him, and ground him, and protect him — while he failed to do anything at all. Auden finds the utensils, grabbing onto the alien looking things. A round one, a pointy one, and a small blade. Just as confusing as everything else seems to be. He has seen these before, and recognises them as something humans always held in their hands when they ate. The small quadruple pointed trident was to stick into things and put in his mouth, he thinks. The blade must be for cutting, that much is clear. What the hell do you do with the round paddle?

“Um… Mori, I, uh, I don't really…”

Mori is already up from their chair. They quickly figure out his issue, moving to help. — “Oh, sorry… O-Of course, I'm sorry, I can help.”

As Mori explains, and finally gives back the ‘fork and spoon’, Auden already knows he will not eat a single bite more. He manages, after about twenty seconds, to pull a strip of meat off of the bones forcefully, sticking it on the end of the fork. He holds it like a child, gripping it tight in his fist. Mori tells him he did well, but he doesn't believe them.

“That's pretty much it. You did well. I'm glad I could help.” — They turn to skulk back to their seat without another word, only stopped by Auden grabbing onto them to stop them. Their eyes widen, tense and frightened already despite how non-threatening Auden has been the entire time.

“Would you like to have some of it?” — he asks, holding the fork proudly. They don't even hesitate to think before they decline, — “No, I can't, it is not mine. Th-Thank you.”

They try to pull against Auden's hand, but it doesn't budge. Auden doesn't notice their breathing quicken. — “Come on, for me? I, I can't just sit here and not share. Especially now… I saw how you were looking at the food. You're hungry too, aren't you?”

Their flickering eyes were too noticeable. Auden picked up on it, and now he offers food, and Mori will have to decline and risk disappointing Auden, or accept and be caught by Master Grim later for another round of punishment. They can't choose, they can't choose! How are they meant to do as they are told when their orders clash? It's not theirs, but they are starving, and it smells better than delicious, and Master Auden is offering so it must be fine — but it's meat, they don't like meat. Is it punishment? Master Auden wants to punish them, and then Master Grim will definitely punish them for taking it at all and, and —

“I, I, I-I am not hungry, sir. Thank you.” — Auden doesn't let up, not until it's too late, not until Mori is gasping and shivering and crying all over again, legs buckling under them, — “Please —”

Before Auden could understand, Mori has torn themself away from him with great force, almost falling over one of the chairs, letting it fall to the ground with a loud bang. That seems to only send them deeper into panic, clutching at their chest and hair. They back away from the angel until their back hits the wall, covering their eyes and trying their best to remember how to breathe.

“Mori! Oh heavens, Mori, I didn't mean to! Oh no, oh please —”

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” — is all that comes as an answer, Mori repeating that one phrase as if that's the one phrase they have ever known. They are crying, curling into themself. At the smallest movements from Auden they jerk like they heard a gunshot.

Through the gasping panic, their meltdown seems to suddenly thin, unnaturally quickly. As fast as they descended into complete horror, they now seem to stop breathing all together. Auden watches as Mori twitches up to the side, as if grabbed onto, hands falling away from their eyes to stare upwards at the ceiling, locking onto an invisible pair of eyes. A violent chill runs down Auden's spine, his heart filling with the familiar pressure of magic bringing mortal fear. A tendril of smoke grips Mori's neck, and a whisper inaudible to the angel coos at his helpless deer friend, forcing them to relax.

It's all gone before Auden could even comprehend what had happened, dropping Mori to their knees and disappearing entirely. Silently, they lift a hand to their throat to feel the leftover marks of icy claws that held them.

Auden is already on them, terrified, not daring to touch them at all in case it happens again. — “Mori, Mori, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay, please, please, you have to be — I messed up again. I'm so sorry, I messed up again —”

Blinking slowly, swallowing thickly, Mori returns to Auden. It takes only a few seconds for their eyes to find him, utterly devastated and near tears again, expecting the worst, and then even worse. He cautiously hopes they are okay when he sees them come aware again.

“Mori? Mori, it's me. I'm so sorry. Please, are you alright?“

They nod. They look… haunted. Their eyes are wider than ever, but their face is almost slack. Never before have they resembled a lost child like this. They look like they would shatter if the rain touched them. They nod, finally, answering one of Auden’s torrent of questions.

“Oh thank the Lord, I was so worried. What happened, do you know? I just touched you and then I scared you and then I thought the Reaper was here again, but he wasn't, or he's already gone, and you looked so scared and I was so scared and, and, I'm so so sorry, I'm so stupid —”

“What happened?” — Mori whispers, falling right back into the fragile voice of a ghost.

“Yes, yes, I'm not sure, do you know?”— Auden confesses, wanting to help so badly, but not until he knows he won't make things worse. He cares so much, and yet he keeps messing up, and he needs to learn he can't ever just run into whatever problem and expect a straightforward fix. He is in an illogical world, one he doesn't understand, and one that always has something worse in store for its denizens.

Mori stands abruptly, as if nothing had happened. Auden stands too, questioning Mori again. Mori turns to him, pauses, and only then answers. — “Nothing happened. Master Grim came to tell me I am allowed to eat with you, Master Auden. Thank you for granting me some of your food. I will be forever grateful for this mercy.”

Death visited them, just now. Not a stutter, not a pause — just like a robot. Are they brainwashed? Possessed? No, this is simply how they are. Still the same Mori, but under the constant threat of horrible, unimaginable consequences. This is normal for everyone here except Auden. This is fine. They are all tested and punished and stressed and stretched until they break and find the path of least resistance, the path of the least pain.

And for Mori, according to the Reaper, that path is complete, mindless submission. That is how they defend themself. That's how they survive.

Mori turns and sits at the table without another word, quivering all over. They do not touch anything until Auden follows, and once they are both sitting, Mori stares at Auden like he doesn't exist, and waits to be fed. It's eerie, how calm they have gotten. They shiver and fear as always, but they are like putty moulding into whatever shape Death wants them to be in the moment.

With great hesitance, Auden offers the fork to Mori again. Mori leans down and takes the bite instead of taking the fork in their hand, chewing and swallowing efficiently. They straighten once they swallow, continuing to stare in silence. Their breaths shiver, their flesh twitches, their limbs are wound as tight around their body as possible. They are far from relaxed, yet they never even give a whine of displeasure. Perfect obedience without a word. How they truly feel is irrelevant — all that matters is pleasing their Master.

The angel swears over and over again, both to himself and Mori, that he will protect them. That he won't hurt them again. That they don't need to be scared around him. And every time he has dared to even try helping, it has ended in catastrophe. It's like the Devil himself is punishing him for his decency and kindness. It's like all he touches becomes rotten and dead.

He simply continues feeding Mori in silence, his hunger having completely left him. He says nothing more, knowing Mori is barely even themself right now — they are the most bare bones version of themself that only knows how to please their Master. And they consider Auden one of their Masters.

They might calm down enough to dare being their true self after a certain amount of time has passed, once they find a safe place to exist in for just a minute — but for now, all Auden can do is make sure they eat as much as they want. He will have to make sure to ask when they are full, in case they just keep eating and eating for as long as Auden offers. They think they are nothing but property, right now. A thing. Something to use, abuse, and then throw away. Barely alive.

Auden will be here to remind them they are more than that, once they can truly hear him again. He will remain with them, and he will show the same endless patience they have shown him, and he will do his absolute best to comfort them once they are allowed to feel like a person again. Once they return to him, and regain that shine in their tired eyes that glows with purpose and life. He will be here for them.

Even if his saviour tries to interfere.

~

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

🫧 anon here ! Thank you for taking the time to warn me, I didn’t realise the anon button went flying through the window x) I’m sending the message again o/

So, I wrote this little thingy in the hopes of cheering you and anyone who needs it up (and myself too, let’s admit it haha) ; I’m really glad you liked it ! I hope it fulfilled its job ~

Here is the thingy, so everything is in the same message \o/

During the day, the city of Liyue is always bustling, voices and footsteps merging and echoing loudly between the walls of the buildings, the tentalizing perfume of baked and cooked goods dancing in the wind along with the oh so characteristic scent of marine products freshly pulled out from the sea to be sold on the harbor, and the never ending tales of the many storytellers illustrating every second of the day. Yet it never fails to amaze you how quiet everything can be when the moon rises, the streets emptying and the noises fading, leaving only the glazed lilies blooming and swaying gently with the salted breeze and the familiar silhouette of your favorite Abyss creature exploring every crook and cranny he can find, whether it be newly discovered or already known by heart.

Ever since he took this inhuman form, it has been more than difficult for Childe to find an occasion to step outside of your shared house. It is why he is always insanely grateful for every moment you takes to accompany him during his long escapades under the the starry sky, for each second spent with you, already golden in his eyes, gets even more precious than any kind of riches Teyvat can hold when you freely walk along with him down the empty streets. He never fails to thank you again and again, gently rubbing his masked cheeks against yours and purring and chirping so loudly you sometimes worry the peculiar (yet oh so comforting) sounds will wake the inhabitants sleeping in the nearby houses. But you make sure to shower him back in your own love, even when your thoughts get plagued by fatigue (and sometimes somber ideas) born from a hard day of work.

For it is only when these melodies form the luminous echo that makes the foundations of his very being tremble with delight that you can feel the warm embrace of Peace offer a halt to the somber wandering of the heart of the Sufferer.

Thank you so much both for reading and for sharing your beautiful imagination with us ! Your little fics and drabbles really help when I feel down 💚 May you have a nice day !

- 🫧 anon, who checked four times if the Anonymous Button TM had correctly been activated

no problemo my dear 🫧 anon!! the Anonymous Button is sneaky and likes to play tricks on us!!!

nightly walks also offer you a moment of contemplation, the normally boisterous city turning quiet and peaceful- but you both treasure and despise quiet moments. while sometimes they allow you to fall asleep quickly, wrapped in a blanket of silence, mostly they just act as an excuse for your worried, fretful thoughts to grow louder and louder until they're practically shouting in your head. Foul Legacy knows when you're lost in a maze of nerves and exhaustion, when you're staring up at the stars with a distant gaze, not really seeing them at all

that's when he knows to approach you and nuzzle his cheek against your hands, purring against your touch to bring you back to reality. the tired smile you give him is enough to make Legacy scoop you into his arms, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck to make you laugh. he can feel your exhaustion with how tense your muscles are, so he sits down, in the center of a few fragrant Glaze Lilies, to cradle you close. he places his claws over your heart with a soft croon- it's beating quickly, but not from happiness; it's fluttering in a way that makes you unable to breathe. he pulls your back to his chest, talons gently squeezing your arms and chin resting on the top of your head, purring and cooing and massaging little circles in your skin. only when you turn and return his embrace does Foul Legacy chitter happily, wrapping his arms around you and flittering his wings in delight that you're feeling even a bit better

and he'll do it again and again and again, any time your heart feels heavy, he'll hold it for you and piece it back together, because there's no one he treasure more

[noemitenshi]

Love, endless

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

So much has changed between us, now. Ever since that fateful day. Ever since my love has been in that accident, leaving him crippled and broken. Oh, how I wish I could’ve spared him that. How I wish I could go back in time and do things differently. But I can’t, I can’t and it's a constant reminder of how that. How I’ve failed him – the way things have changed between us.

Everything is on me, now.

Where we are going, where we are staying. Food and hygiene. All of it. I have to take care of all of it. I have to take care of him. He can’t, anymore. There's so much he can’t anymore. Won’t anymore... no matter how I plead with him, no matter what I do. He lost his voice, too and neither one of us knows sign language.

But we make do. I learned his cues, his signs. I can read him like no other. I know him, like no other. It’s brought us closer together than before – being that responsible for another will do that.

Being that responsible for another is difficult. I’m all he has left. All there is for him. If I go… but I won’t. Of course not. I’ll never leave him, as long as I live. I love him. I love him in this, too. Even if he’s more like a child than a partner now. Not fully there anymore. He gets confused, easily, distracted, easily and so, so forgetful.

I have to guide him, even, or he’d just wander off, get lost. But he doesn’t take well to skin on skin contact, not since the accident. And he used to love it so much! All the little touches, brief assurances of love and support – they are gone now. He hardly ever touches me like that anymore. Doesn’t like me doing it, either. And so I can’t just take him by his hand, or his arm and lead him (god, I just want to thread our fingers together, walk with him side by side...). It won’t be, it can’t be anymore. So I had to find another way to make sure he’d follow my lead.

We’re bound together, now, so he won’t get lost. The world is a dangerous place, after all and I have to protect him.

I will.

With my life.

I keep him well fed, too. He gets cranky otherwise and I don’t like seeing him like this. But, it’s hard. The world is barren, now. And sometimes we go weeks without food. I try my best, I always do, for him, all for him. But even my best isn’t good enough some days. It hurts me, to see him suffer. See him cry out for something I can’t give him. He doesn’t understand and nothing calms him then. Keeping him from going off on his own is most difficult then. He’s still so strong.

But so am I.

I bathe him, I change him. He doesn’t like that. No sick person likes that, in my experience. Makes them feel weak. But he can’t, on his own. We tried. So I do it for him, as I do everything else – even as he gets angry at me. Fights me. A common occurrence now in his confusion. It breaks my heart every time he does. He’d never have done that... before. Would never have hurt me like this. Made me hurt him back. But before is gone and this is what we’re left with. Cuts and bruises and chains.

How cruel life is.

I cry at night.

We found out the hard way that we can’t sleep cuddled together. He gets these violent fits since the accident. The first night after, he almost killed me in my sleep. I still feel his hands around my neck, clawing. The horror of waking up to my love hovering above me, his beautiful face twisted into an angry grimace as he tried to kill me. I managed to fight him off, just so, and now we sleep apart. I have to keep him away. Even while I miss his arms around me, while I miss the warmth of his body against mine.

We still have sex. But this changed, too. It’s seldom now, and so different from before. It’s always me initiating, always me coaxing him, taking him. He’s so passive. He didn’t use to be. Oh god, he used to be so sensuous, so delightful... I want that back. I hope for it, every time. And I get disappointed, again and again. It’s almost loveless now, a pale, pale, shadow of how it used to be between us. I try not to let him see. I try to be thankful for every little bit he gives me. Even as he doesn’t even look at me.

Sometimes, I can’t help but resent it. Sometimes, I can’t help but get angry.

He knows I don’t mean it.

He knows I’m happy I didn’t lose all of him.

Even as he is now, barely a shadow of his former self, I love him dearly. With my life. It’s why I’ll never leave his side, no matter how difficult it gets. No matter how many tears I cry. He’s worth it. I’d do anything for him, to keep him.

This is how much I love him, oh god, how much I love him.

Sometimes I want to rip my own heart out. It’s too much, too much. I know I can take more than other people, was made for it (for him). But sometimes I think even I

will break

But then you won’t have anyone, love, will you? You won’t survive without me, can you? Oh I know, I know, you didn’t mean it. I know you’re sorry, of course you are, love.

Oh, love, let me kiss you. Mhm, you like that, don’t you? You always have – my touch on you. Ah, yours, on me – like that, like that, don’t stop. Don’t stop now, love, kiss me, oh yes, please kiss m—

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

He’d forgotten, just for a moment, that his love was a zombie, now.

A moment was all it took.

|The End

[the comic was a commission done by the lovely, very talented and so so patient @pinkpiggy93​ (thank you again, I can’t keep saying it enough haha) honestly, her art is amazing and you should check it out!]

[mikeys-bike-slut]

Untitled Part 35

the last chapter before the finale! You guys are ready?

Previous Part

WARNING: angst, might need ya tissues

***

It took us all a few days to recover from the fight against Tenjiku both mentally and physically. Luckily Emma recovered and was released early, Mitsuya been taking care of her since then. I made up with everyone in Toman, especially Mikey, we spent the entire night after the fight talking about our issues and what has happened. The only people I have not spoken to were the Haitanis, they tried to reach me but I just ignored every call and text I received from them. I have been through enough the past few days I just needed a break before another heart break. As much I wanted to pretend Kisaki only said those things to annoy me, unfortunately it made sense.

"Hey, you good?" Mikey voice yanked me back to reality as he threw a popcorn at me. 

"I am, sorry. But hey!" I chuckled then grabbed the popcorn he threw at me and threw it back at him. 

"If you two won't stop throwing food you won't get anymore" Mitsuya warned us and both Mikey and I pouted but quieted down though we silently kept sticking out our tongues at each other.

It was nice to have afternoons like this again. Things felt like the good old days, like everything was fine. The perfect time to pretend that life is fine, that we did not suffer the tragedies that we did, that we did not go through the heart breaks we did. It was a time we all cherished but I couldn't help but feel like something changed, things will never be the same as they were. Where will life lead us? Where will I go? I officially quit Toman. I wanted a break from gangs and violence maybe I'll give it up forever. Who knows, all I know that right now the only thing I wanted is a stable home and someone to come home to and that person is someone who I haven't spoken to in a while and it is long overdue.

"Sorry guys but I have to go, I just realized I have some things to sort out"  I excused my self as I stood up form the sofa. 

"You okay, Angie?" Emma asked with a hint of worry in her tone but I just shook my head with a smile to dismiss her worries before I replied.

"I'm okay, don't worry. Thank you for the invite, I hope we can do this again" I smiled at the rest of the gang. 

"We hold you to that" Smiley grinned at me and I let out a small chuckle.

Everyone was smiling and laughing except Mikey, he had worry reflecting in his onyx orbs and I could tell... he was feeling the change just like I was. He stood up and walked me out to the door where we both stopped.

"Don't go... please" he almost begged as he gently grabbed my arm. 

"You feel it too... don't you?" I asked as I looked at him and he just nodded. 

"I don't know what it is but I feel like this is the last time we will be sitting here together as friends. Something is coming" he said as he looked into my eyes. "I just wanna hold on as long as I can..." 

"Things never be the same as they were before, Mikey. I wanna leave the sinking ship before it's too late... Do the same Mikey, save yourself, save what you can but don't cling on because you'll drown" I said as I caressed his cheek. 

"Just give me one last kiss... That's all I ask of you" 

"You don't even have to ask" I whispered before I leaned closer to him and kissed him softly. We let the kiss linger, we wanted to saviour our lastkiss. I cupped his face as he wrapped his arms around me and held me tight against him as he deepened the kiss and I let him. I wanted to be lost in the moment, deep down wishing for it to last forever. "Take care of yourself, Mikey" I whispered into his lips. "I will always love you" 

"Always" he whispered as he rested his forehead against mine before pulling away. "Go" 

I nodded then opened the door and walked out. The heavy feeling was still storming around me and it became heavier the second I walked out that door. I felt the crying at the back of my throat which was desperately clawing at me. The choking feeling of breaking down any second. What is going on...? I wondered as it started to turn into frustration but I had to ignore it when I got my Honda and rode off home while trying to clear my head in the cold winter air which thankfully I was able to do so. 

As I pulled up to my house I noticed the car parking in front but I didn't think much about it, probably guests of my neighbours or something. I parked my bike in the garage then finally walked inside. Normally the empty house makes me uncomfortable but right now it's all I needed.

"Finally, you're home" the voice came from behind me and I recognized it immediately.

"Ran..." I whispered then quickly grabbed my baseball bat and turned around but as I did I was already facing Ran's steel baton. 

"Tsk, tsk, tsk is this any way to treat an old friend?" he shook his head then gave me his signature smirk.

"What do you want?" I growled as I clenched the bat tighter. 

"First of all drop it..." he smiled as he motioned at the bat in my hand. 

"Like hell I will" I growled but suddenly I felt a body behind me and blade against my throat. 

"C'mon sweetheart" Rindou purred as he nudged the bat with his leg. I let out an annoyed growl then dropped the bat. "Good girl" 

"She can be a good girl when she wants..." Ran smirked as he ran his baton slowly down my body. "How long I've been yearning to finally fuck you"

"Fuck both of you assholes..." I gritted my teeth. "I can't believe how fucking stupid I was to believe you actually care about me, and I can't believe that shithead Tetta was right"

Ran's expression suddenly changed like he realized something. "Let her go Rindou" his tone suddenly changed as he shook his head.

"Yes, Izana did task us to wrap you around our fingers, which we thought would be easy. Just an average woman, right?" Rindou started.

"But we didn't calculate one thing into our master plan" Ran continued.

"What?" I hissed at them. 

"That we'll be wrapped around her fingers instead" Rindou sighed as he pulled the knife away from my throat and stepped back. "We thought you just used us and now that you back in Toman you just threw us away" 

"What?" I looked at them confused. "I am not even back in Toman..." 

"What?" they asked with the same confusion in their tone as I had in mine. "How come?" Rindou asked confused. 

"It's over" I shook my head. "I just want a break from the criminal life" 

"Oh" they both said and I could hear the pure disappointment and in their tone. "I guess this is goodbye, then?" 

"I'm afraid so" I sighed then I turned around to face Rindou. "I will miss you, both of you" I said as I caressed his cheek. 

"As we will miss you, you were the only thing that brought light into the darkness. You truly made every day better" Ran confessed then sighed as he walked up to us and wrapped his arms around me from behind while Rindou embraced me from the front. 

"We won't bother you ever again but I truly wish you a good life" the younger Haitani said quietly giving me one last squeeze and a kiss on the forehead before letting me go along with his brother.

"You two behave, okay?" I forced a smile onto my lips while tears started to form in my eyes as I looked at my favourite duo. 

"You two, sweetheart" Ran gave me his signature grin before walking out my front out with his brother behind him, walking out of my life for ever. 

[viaetor]

❛ well? how do i look? ❜ (from shenhe!)

ㅤㅤㅤ @maquiscursedㅤㅤ/ㅤㅤDIALOGUE PROMPTSㅤㅤ/ㅤㅤclosed!

ㅤㅤhis hands are not used to softness. they were made to hold swords, move mountains, and tame monsters too horrid for imagination. to say this was new would be an understatement—one that seemed to devour his heart, sluggishly, steadily, savourly. suffering in slow burn seemed to be his lot to carry. so, aether takes a deep breath, as if that could stop his on-growing hunger for something more mellow to savour when his gaze fell on her. / does she know? does she know that in his true shape and form, he’s what some others would scream monster? that he has sharp fangs he hides inside his mouth, claws that are kept at bay under covers, a tongue that splits in forever searching for sweetness? you’re no monster, shenhe. for he’d recognise his own kin if you were. / through his gloves, he can feel how delicate snow-bathed skin is, how beautifully sculpted her jaw, her cheekbones, and her lips. even to a star-borne entity, she feels a bit too ethereal to touch. he keeps holding her chin in a hooked fist, yet she doesn’t seem to mind. with his thumb, he caresses the side of her lips in half-moons. he hopes she won’t mind him still. as if that could quench his hunger.

ㅤㅤwith his left, he had decorated her eyes in a pink-red powder, not so different from her usual choice, save for more elongated lines on the side. but it was her mouth, carefully painted in an elegant and rich red ink, that captivated him. he had never noticed—or perhaps he had always looked the other way whenever thoughts drifted for too long, afraid of getting caught in his trance—how wonderfully shaped her lips were. dark, thick, long, heart-shaped. it makes his chest throb, his mind to go blank and to only see syrupy crimson on her. his hands are not used to softness. to hold a gentle face and a flimsy makeup brush and pencil was not in his cosmic design. but he was glad he did. his only regret was that he wished he was better at it… oh, for how stunning that makeup would look if he was more of an artist instead of a warrior. yet she trusted him and his foolish opinions more than she’d a mirror. how sweet. what would it be like, to kiss her and get rid of her newly-applied lipstick?

ㅤㅤhe brushes his thumb against her cheek again. he keeps on hoping, praying, that she won’t mind him. what if he came a bit closer? what if he made a mess out of his fresh artistry? what if he bit her bottom lip, just for a second, to feel fruitful taste? would she mind? he gulps, leaning forward as if fantasy could quench his hunger. as if he could belong there, inhumanely, monstrously, wondrously, on her lips.

ㅤㅤ'well? how do i look?' she asks him, she waits for him, she looks at him.

ㅤㅤhe wants to reply: like you could be my undoing.

ㅤㅤinstead, however, he tames himself, caressing her face one last time before his hands are put to the side. he smiles, not showing his fangs, as the good old traveller, caeling-made-almost-human that he is.

ㅤㅤ“pretty as always, shenhe. this lipstick really suits you.”

ㅤㅤsome secrets are meant to be kept well-hidden, after all.

[dawndiggidydagger]

The Hunter & The Moment

please enjoy this unedited flash fic I wrote for my current DND campaign

TW: mild depicitions of violence, deep anguish

The night was dark. The black seemed endless, like the anguish in Aranrus’ soul. He was on his knees, his kneecaps pressing hard into the bare, stone floor as he tried to ground himself. His heart was beating so hard he thought it might break his rib cage. He pressed his palms against the cool ground, his claws scraping against the stone. Every breath felt like he was drinking in blood, and not air. 

Before him sat the sword. Shiny, black metal that had beautifully forged into a versatile blade, an ornately decorated hilt and pommel. And in the pommel, the blood-red gemstone, which seemed to stare at him like an unblinking eye. It was being held delicately by stone hands, on its pedestal.

Somewhere in the castle there was laughter. His beautiful daughter, Inphi. She was likely chasing the castle cat again. Tears forced their way up against the back of his eyes, and he took in another shuddering breath. Through the stone floor he could feel the rumblings of the great party below him. He knew the room would be filled with merriment in the form of candlelight, and royals talking, and good food, and music. He should have been down there, laughing with his best friend. He should be there watching Prince Aelfhere and his chosen advisor, Tenkori. He should have been sitting beside the great throne, watching his beautiful wife hold their new son, his infant face nestled against her. 

Instead he was on his knees, feeling as if his blood had been replaced with burning flames. They licked against his bones and made his skin itch. Every breath was painful. Instead of becoming better friends with the little girl, Alice, Inphi was chasing a cat. His oldest son was sick in bed, the clerics’ skilled hands and desperate prayers the only thing keeping him on the mortal plane. He didn’t know where Sarlith and his son were, but he hoped it wasn’t at the party.

He had no choice, he tried to remind himself. He’d heard it all. He’s dreamed of what he’d heard for nights. Even now, the tendrils of darkness and hatred that he had sensed coming from Aleksandr’s mind were creeping in.

Aleksandr was going to take everything from him. He was going to massacre the tieflings. Aranrus was the only one who could stop it. But did he have the strength to? Aleksandr was like a brother. They’d done so much together. They’d fought in the war together. They’d expelled the deepspawn from their land. They’d bathed in blood, hand-in-hand to protect everything they’d loved. 

And Aranrus thought that the blood had finally dried. When Valrut had been born, a healthy baby boy with the light of stars in his eyes, Aranrus thought that perhaps he’d finally been forgiven. But perhaps the blood would never truly be dry. Perhaps his hands would always be stained. 

Was this the price he had to pay? Had the gods doomed him to forever bathe in blood, so that those he loved would never have to suffer the same stains on their souls? When he was born had some divine creature decided this was his fate, to be the Hunter? Were the Nine Hells not full enough? Were some souls birthed just to fill the space? After all he’d done, there was no way he’d go anywhere else. Aranrus worshiped Lathander, but he was not convinced the Morninglord would welcome him once he died. But was it what he deserved?

The thoughts of Aleksandr were drifting into his brain. They seemed to rise through the floor and into his head. They were dark, horrible thoughts. Sarlith was down in the throne room, and Aleksandr was hoping she’d drop their son so he could watch the infant break against the marble floor. He was glad that Aranrus was absent. He thought about the ravaging he might do after the party had quieted down. About the blood that he might spill in the guttering candlelight once the music had quieted.

Aleksandr’s mind had not always been like this. But how much blood could a king and a tiefling spill before it started to warp their very souls? How much breath could they steal and how many souls could they cut loose before it began to come back to them? Aranrus saw the faces in his dreams. He woke up screaming from nightmares. Aleksandr had to suffer in similar ways.

The idea of Aleksandr suffering sent waves through him, one warm and beckoning, the other cold shock. He didn’t want to hurt his friend, his brother, his King. But he deserved to suffer, just for the thoughts he dared think about Aranrus’ family.

Aranrus pushed himself off the ground, wiping the tears from his cheeks and dragging in a steely breath. He reached out and grabbed the hilt of the sword, cool and heavy in his palm. The weight grounded him, and he filled his burning lungs with air. The thoughts were louder now. Tomorrow… tomorrow… tomorrow… 

This had to be done now. If Aleksandr lived until the sun rose again, every tiefling would be killed. His sons would be beheaded in their beds. His infant son, lying in a pool of his own blood. The thought pushed itself into Aranrus’ brain and dragged a sharp sob from deep within his chest. If Aleksandr lived then Inphi and Sarlith… they might live as well, but he’d wish death for them. 

Aranrus clutched the sword in his shaking fist and dragged his heavy body to the stairs. Every step echoed and rang through the staircase, like cannons in his head. Cannons. He remembered the cannonballs ripping into the side of the pirate’s ship. The whoops and cheers from Aleksandr and the small village, finally rid of the tormentors. 

Everything passed in a blur: the bottom of the stairs, the long halls, milling with servants and royals. Then he was standing outside the open doors of the dining hall. It was as merry a time as it could be. Aleksandr turned as he stepped into the room, a false grin splitting across his face. “Aranrus, good of you to join us! Are you feeling well?” 

Tomorrow. Die. Tomorrow. Die.

Prince Aelfhere and Tenkori were sitting at the table. Sarlith was beside them, cradling his child. The little Alice was nowhere in sight. All eyes were on him now, but he couldn’t hear any more words. The blood rushed in his head, like swelling oceans. Tomorrow. Die. Your sons and daughter. Your wife. Die.

“Aleksandr…” The voice was hardly his own. It was the growl of a cornered beast. A mother bear protecting her cubs. A god protecting his faithful children. A thunderstorm. 

“You brought a weapon to a party, oh Aranrus, when will you learn that you’re finally safe?” Aleksandr said, standing. He was laughing at him, mocking him. But he wore a sword too. His hand was reaching for the hilt. His eyes flickered between Aranrus’ wife and himself. Sarlith stared at Aranrus, clutching the child to her chest. 

Aranrus could not wait to see what his brother in arms would do. He could not risk his family, his wife. With a cry from Aranrus, a string of lightning burst from his fingertips and wrapped itself around Aleksandr, pulling him abruptly forward. Aleksandr fell to his knees in front of Aranrus with a gasp that was echoed by everyone in the hall.

Aleksandr looked up at him, his face full of anguish and surprise. But Arnarus was already lifting the sword. He held it tightly in his hands over his head, staring down into the face of his dearest friend. But as Aleksandr’s eyes pleaded, his thoughts flashed in Aranrus’ mind. The terrible things he was going to do once he was on his feet.

Aranrus brought down the sword, and the blood sprayed across his torso and face. It dripped down his cheeks, mingling with tears, as the body fell sideways onto the ground. He staggered a few steps backwards, nearly losing his grip on the sword. 

Mourning would come later.

He took a shaky breath and gripped the sword tightly. Aranrus lifted the blade and pointed to the crowd that had been shocked into silence. “Bow before your king, Aranrus the Hunter.”