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lilmeowzsworld · 13 days ago

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Wings of Eternity - Chapter One

Pairing: fallen angel!Seokjin x human!OC

Summary: Seokjin is an angel exiled from the Celestial Realm for defying the decree of the Archangels. His crime? Falling in love with a mortal woman, Elara, and attempting to shield her from her destined death. Stripped of his rank and bound to the mortal realm, Seokjin must watch his beloved be reborn and live a life with no memories of him. Until one day, he feels the magic of his former home and now, he must protect her once more.

Warnings: mentions of death

Word count: Almost 8K

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A/N: For my best friend, my platonic soulmate @lovelyjinxx because her bias is Seokjin. I promised I would write a fic about him and I will try my best to finish it (and hopefully this is the first of many more). I hope whoever reads this fic, and other fics I may post in the future, enjoys. I didn't proof read it, so I'm not sure if there are any grammar mistakes.

The storm raged, a perfect mirror to the chaos within him. Seokjin stood unmoving, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword with a force that turned his knuckles white. The leather-wrapped handle, polished smooth by restless nights of futile practice felt familiar yet alien. How many times had he drawn the blade in search of clarity? How often had he sheathed it again, his dispair unrelieved? Each motion had been a plea for release, a silent scream to a heaven that no longer listened.

The phantom ache of his wings gnawed at him, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. They had once been his glowy, resplendent with celestial light, their every feather a hymn to his devotion. Now, they hung in tatters, their once-pristine form marred by streaks of silver that slashed through them like cruel verdicts. They weren't just wounds – they were scars, etched deep into his soul, a damning testament to his defiance. He had loved, and in doing so, had become a traitor.

The wind tore thorugh the trees, shrieking like a lamentation, yet Seokjin barely noticed. The storm's fury was a distant hum against the clarity of her laughter in his mind. It wasn't loud or exuberant but soft, a quiet melody that lingered in the spaces between chaos. It wrapped around him like a memory he couldn't let go of, as if her voice itself was holding him together in this moment. He closed his eyes, drawing on the sound, feeling it pulse through the cracks of his fractured soul.

He had clung to that laughter when his wings were torn from him, the searing agony of their loss a wound that never truly healed. He had clung to it when his grace had been stripped, leaving him hollow and unmoored, a being no longer celestial but not fully mortal. And when he had been cast out, plummeting into the mortal realm like a fallen star, her laughter had been the faint light in the abyss, guiding him through the darkness.

He had loved her with a faith that outlasted his own belief in the heavens. Her presence had been more than solace – it had been purpose, the tether that anchored him to life when everything else had been taken. He'd know the cost of that love before it began, delt the weight of every law he would break, every punishment he would endure. But the warnings of the Archangels had meant nothing against the truth of her existence.

The memory of her smile flickered in his mind, her eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that made her seem untouched by the cruelty of the world. She hadn't known what he was protecting her from, how the heavens had cursed her for the crime of being loved by him. It didn't matter. He would have faced a thousand exiles, borne the weight of eternity's scorn, if it meant keeping her alive. Even if she hated him for it, even if she never understood.

But she was gone. The words echoed in his mind, a truth he couldn't outrun. She lived, but not as the woman who had held his heart, who had laughed softly at his terrible jokes, or who had traced the lines of his face as if memorizing him. She lived, but without him. Her soul, reborn and untainted by their past, was free of the love they had shared and the pain it had brought. She was free from him, and he bore the weight of their story alone.

Seokjin's chest tightened as he thought of her, walking through this new life without the memories of their time together. It should have been a comfort to know she was unburdened, untouched by the celestial punishment that had been his to endure. But instead, it felt like a second exile, one even cruler than the first. She had escaped, but in doing so, she had left him behind.

„I'm sorry,“ he whispered, his voice raw, barely audible above the storm that had whipped around him. The words were for her, though she couldn't hear them, for himself, though they did nothing to ease his torment, and perhaps for the heavens, though he doubted they were listening.

The wind tore the words from his lips, scattering them into the darkness like they were as weightless as his faith had once been. He wondered if she would feel them somehow, even if she didn't understand their source. A faint shiver in her soul, a passing shadow of sorrow. Would she ever sense the void he still carried for her? Or had she truly escaped him, leaving him as nothing more than a phantom haunting her past life?

The memories surged, vivid and unforgiving, as if his mind sought to punish him for daring to forget, even for a moment. He saw her bathed in the soft golden light of dawn, her silhouette framed by the tender glow. Her hair caught the sunlight like threads of warmth, and her eyes, wide and shimmering, held the kind of wonder that made him believe, for a fleeting instant, that the would could be beautiful again.

She had turned to him with a smile that felt like a benediction, her fingers brushing his – an unspoken question, a silent plea for reassurance. That touch, so hesitant yet so charged, had unraveled him. He could still feel it, the faint tremor of her hand, the way her voice had trembled with a fragile mix of fear and faith as she had spoken his name. The sound had anchored him then, a reminder of why he had broken every law of heaven to be with her.

But the memory soured, as it always did. He had failed her. Not in saving her life – he had done that, and he would do it a thousand times over if he had to – but in preserving the life she deserved. He had dragged her into his world, a world she never asked to see, a world filled with divine wrath and eternal consequences.

Her laughter, once unburdened and pure, had grown cautious. Her eyes, once wide with wonder, had learned to narrow in suspicion, to search the shadows for threats she never should have known existed. And her trust, so absolute and unguarded, had become a fragile thing, fraying under the weight of the secrets he could never fully share.

The realization cut deeper than any blade. He had been her sanctuary, the one she had looked to with unwavering belief, and yet, he had brought the storm to her doorstep. The consequences of their love had been devastating, reshaping her world and ultimately stealing her from it altogether. Now, she lived a life untainted by him, but it came at a cost he bore alone – a love that had no place, memories that could never be shared.

A tear slipped down his cheek, unnoticed against the icy sting of the storm. It wasn't the warmth he missed – he couldn't feel it anymore – but the meaning it once held. That single tear fell into the mud, lost in the relentless rain, just as he had been lost to the heavens. There had been a time when his sorrow would have stirred the skies, when his pain would have been met with divine compassion. But now, the heavens were as silent as the void within him.

The memories surged, merciless in their clarity, each one cutting deeper than the last. Seokjin opened his eyes, forcing himself to face the storm. His gaze locked onto the churning sea, it's chaos reflecting the turmoil he could not escape. He searched the horizon, not even knowing what he sought. Absolution? A sign that the heavens still saw him, still cared? But there was nothing. Only the unyielding fury of the storm, indifferend to his existence.

The wind lashed at him, pulling at his clothes, but it was the emptiness that hollowed him out. She was safe – that was all that mattered. Safe and far from this torment. He told himseld this as he had a thousand times before, trying to find comfort in the thought. But it was hollow. What solace was there in a love that could never be known, in a sacrifice that had left him standing alone in a world that no longer had a place for him?

His fingers, stiff and aching from the cold, eased their grip on the sword. The blade hung heavy in his hand, a weapon with no enemy left to fight, no battle that could undo the past. This was his penance: to remember her in every detail, to carry the weight of their love, and to keep her safe. Even if it meant enduring this eternal loneliness, even if it meant she would never look at him with recognition again.

Seokjin's breath shuddered as he exhaled, the sound lost to the storm. The tear was gone, as fleeting as the life they had shared, and the earth swallowed it without a trace. He bowed his head, not in prayed – he had no one to pray to – but in resignation. The storm raged on, but the heavens would remain silent. They always did.

Flashback start

The memory of the Celestial Realm was sharp, more vivid that anything Seokjin had felt in years. It felt as if it had happened moments ago, yet the ache in his chest told him it had been a lifetime. The golden spires, shining like the first light of dawn, stood tall against a sky that held no blemish. The celestial choirs had resonated in perfect harmony, a sound that had once filled him with peace and purpose. It had been home, yes, but it had been more than that. It had been everything. His place, his duty, his identity. And now, it lingered in his mind, distant and unreachable, like a dream he could never return to.

Standing before the Archangels had been nothing short of reckless, but Seokjin had never questioned it in the moment. His love for Elara had been a fire that consumed everything, brighter that the fear that should have paralyzed him. He had never been immune to the weight of the Archangles' power, nor the reverence they inspired in every angel who stood before them. But none of that had mattered then. Her memory had been the armor around his heart, the thing that made him bold when everything within him trembled.

Their condemning voices had cut through the silence, but he hadn't flinched. He hadn't even looked away.

„You dare to interfere with the natural order?“

The accusation had struck like thunder, its force shaking the very foundation of the heavens, yet Seokjin hadn't flinched. He had faced it head-on, the weight of it heavy against his chest, but he had held his ground. How could he explain to them – the Archangels, beings of absolute detachment – the depth of his devotion? How could he make them understand the warmth of her hand in his, the fragility of her life, so delicate in its impermanence? He had seen her weep in his arms, felt the tremble of her sorrow against him, and had been helpless to stop it. How could then, who had never known such vulnerability, comprehend what it meant to love her so completely?

His mind had flashed to that moment: the way she had looked at him, her eyes wide with unspoken fear as the weight of her fate loomed over them both. He had seen it – the truth written in the stars, her life already dictated, a cold certainty hanging above her. He had watched as the future unfolded before his eyes, and in that moment, he had known that no matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he would sacrificed, there was nothing he could do to change what was coming for her. That knowledge had consumed him, made his chest ache with pain so raw, so personal, it felt like an intrusion on everything he had ever known.

And now, standing before the Archangels, he had to fight to keep his voice steady. He could still hear her tears in his mind, still feel the weight of the decision that had led him to this point. They would never understand, not in the way he did, the way her mortality had broken through the divine walls that had once held him in place. To them, her death was an event, a moment in time – written, inevitable, and devoid of any personal meaning. But to him, she was everything. And the thought of her being lost so soon was unbearable.

„She was innocent,“ Seokjin had said, his voice steady but trembling with the anguish he could not hide. His words were an accusation of their own, a plea that fell on deaf ears. He hadn't expected them to understand, but he had hoped, in some small corner of his heart, that they might see the truth in his eyes. The truth that her life, her light, had been worth more than the cold edicts of the heavens. „Her death was not meant to come so soon.“

The words had felt inadequate, a feeble attempt to convey what he felt deep within. No combination of syllables could ever truly capture the enormity of his emotions. Her life – her brief, fragile life – had meant more to him that anything the heavens had ever asked of him. She had been more than a fleeting mortal existence; she had been his everything. A light that cut through the centuries of his existence, piercing the endless eons he had spent in the service of the Celestial Realm. She had shown him a love that had been beyonf his comprehension, a love so profound it had changed the very core of his being. In her, he had found purpose in a world where purpose had once been defined only by duty and order.

But now, standing before the Archangels, he could feel how little his words mattered. He had tried to explain it, to make them understand, but the couldn't – wouldn't – see it. She had become the center of his world, and they had seen only a mortal, insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

„She is mortal,“ came the reply, devoid of emotion, as sharp and unyielding as the words of fate itself. „Her fate is sealed. And now, so is yours.“

The sentence was delivered with a finality that made Seokjin's chest tighten. It wasn't a threat – it wasn't even a judgement – it was simply a statement of fact, the cold detachment of divine authority that left no room for debate. To the Archangels, it was nothing more than the turning of a celestial page, a momentary shift in the eternal balance. But to Seokjin, it was a crushing blow. The finality of it, the recognition that his love for her, and all he had risked for it, meant nothing in the eyes of those who had never understoof the depth of what he had lost.

He had not pleaded for mercy. It would have been pointless. There was no mercy for one who defied the sacred order, no leniency for one who dared to love where love was forbidden. His fate had already been sealed the moment he had chosen her over the Celestial Realm. No, he had not begged for forgiveness or clemency. He had simply stood tall, shoulders straight, eyes fixed on the Archangels, even as he could feel the weight of his punishment pressing down on him.

The searing pain that followed his fall was unlike anything Seokjin had ever experienced. It wasn't just a physical torment – it was a violence against his very essence, a tearing apart of everything he had been. His wings, once radiant and whole, became marred, streaked with silver lines that burned as though branded by molten light. Each mark felt like a piece of his soul being ripped away, leaving him shattered. He had felt himself fall, the once-familiar golden expanse of the Celestial Realm slipping away, replaced by the cold, indifferent blue of the mortal sky. The world beneath him, once so distand and insignificant, now felt like a vast, uncaring void.

The pain in his body was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness that followed. As his wings fractured, the weight of his actions settled on him fully, but it was the loss of her that crushed him. He had fought so desperately to change her fate, to defy the will of the heavens, to keep her from the cold, inevitable death that had been written in the stars. He had shielded her with every ounce of his being, had given up everything – his place in the Celestial Realm, his identity – to protect her. But it hadn't mattered. She had slipped away from him, her life extinguished far too soon.

Her death had been swift, cruel in its suddenness. He could still see her, feel her in his arms for the last time, the warmth of her fading as her soul left her body. The memories of their love, everything they had shared, were ripped away with her departure. As her soul was cast back into the cycle of life, her essence wiped clean of everything they had been, Seokjin felt as if a part of him had been stole, a piece of his very being erased from existence.

He had called out to her, his voice breaking in the emptiness, but the sound had felt hollow, swallowed by the silence of the mortal world. There had been no answer. No sign that she had heard him. The realization hit him then – the full weight of his failure. He had damned them both, all in the name of love. He had given up everything to save her, and yet it had not been enough. His punishment had been inevitable, but the true cost had been the loss of her, the fact that she was gone and nothing he had done could bring her back. The guilt wrapped around him like chains, and he was left alone in the vast silence, trapped by his own actions.

Flashback end

The cold wind hit him with force, biting at his skin and drawing him out of the haze of his memories. Seokjin inhaked sharply, his breath visible in the freezing air, the chill seeping into his bones. But it was nothing compared to the ache that settled deep within him, a hollow, unrelenting pain that the storm could never match. The wind cut through him, but it was marely a physical sensation, a sharp contrast to the emotional storm that raged inside. He had learned to endure this feeling – this emptiness that never relented – but it was a pain that never dulled.

His gaze remained fixed on the ocean, the restless waves crashing against the shore with a violent rhythm. He could almost hear them echoing the turmoil inside him, as if the sea too was trapped in its own battle. There had been a time when he had been a part of it, when he had been free, like the water – fluid, unbound, connected to everything and everyone. That connection had been a part of his very nature, the flow of the universe running through him. But that was before the Archangels had torn him from it, bound him to a world of solid ground and rigid order. Now, standing at the edge of this wordl, Seokjin felt more distant from himself than ever before.

He had never felt more like an outsider. The moral world, the earth beneath his feet, felt alien to him now. It was a place he had never truly belonged to, a place that held none of the warmth and unity he had once known. His wings were gone, and with them, the connection to everything he had once been. He had been cast out, torn from the life that had defined him, and he had never felt the distance between the heavens and the earth more keenly than now. Even as he stood before the vastness of the ocean, he knew that he was no longer a part of it. he was disconnected – alone.

The sense of being an outsider burned inside him, raw and unyielding. His punishment had been this: to walk the earth for an eternity, cut off from the divine, from the purpose he had once served. And though he had tried to live with it, to find meaning in the loss, there were days when it felt impossible. The ache, the endless emptiness, never left him, not for a moment.

Her presence was always there, like a distant song just beyond his reach. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was constant, a soft pull that never faded, no matter how far apart they were, no matter how many lifetimes had passed. It was a reminder – sometimes gentle, sometimes sharp – that she was out there, and that their connection still existed, even if only infragments. It felt both a blessing and a curse. The love they had shared, once so pure and unyielding, now lingered as a cruel reminder of what he had lost. The hope it ignited burned brightly, but it was always accompanied by shadows, by the weight of his failure.

Seokjin could feel her, could sense her in ways that defied logic. But he could never approach her. He couldn't risk disturbing the fragile life she had now. Elara, now known as Isha, had been given a new beginning, a life without the burden of their past, free from the memories that would only cause her pain. He had watched her slip from his grasp once before, and though she had no memory of him, she deserved peace. He couldn't take that from her again.

The thought of reentering her life, of making his presence known, was unbearable. It would feel like an intrusion, like he was taking something from her again. She had already paid such a heavy price for their love, and he failed to protect her from it. to force himself back into her world, to remind her of the love she had once known and lost, would be a betrayal on a level he couldn't bear.

He couldn't pull away from her though. The idea of completely severing that last connection, of letting go of the thread that still tied them together, was impossible. It wasn't just longing – it was a deep, relentless hunger that gnawed at him, an ache that no span of time or distance could ever diminish. The pull of her, even when she couldn't remember him, was a force that refused to let him go.

Seokjin watched her from a distance, invisible to her, a silent observer in the life she had built without him. She moved through her days, unaware of his presence, but in his heart, she was never gone. The pain of knowing she no longer remembered the love they had shared was sharp, but it didn't erase the bond he still felt. It was as if it keeping her in sight, even from afar, allowed him to hold on to the part of her that remained in him – a part that still existed, even if she had forgotten it all.

He had learned to be a shadow in her life, a presence that was felt but never seen. He moved carefully, always keeping his distance, always making sure not to disrupt the fragile peace she had found. He knew that any wrong step could bring her pain, and that was the last thing he wanted. Her new beginning was hers to have, and he could never take that from her. But een in his restraint, the pain never lessened.

The longing didn't fade. Every day that passed only seemed to intensify the quiet torment that twisted inside him. The seperation, the distance, became a constant ache – like a wound that never healed. No matter how much time passed, he remained tethered to her, bound by a love that could never fully be realized again. The truth lingered, heavy and suffocating: he would never be able to fully live the love they had shared, not in the way he had once dreamed. And yet, he couldn’t stop holding on.

The weight of his sacrifice was suffocating, pressing harder against him with every passing moment. It wasn't just the loss of his wings or the shattering of his divine purpose; it was the endless ache of watching from the sidelines, powerless to do more than exist in the periphery of her world. Seokjin had accepted exile, but he hadn't anticipated this – a punishment far cruler than separation. The quiet torment of being so near yet eternally distant was a pain no divine punishment could have prepared him for.

His hand drifted to his chest, fingers splaying over the place where his heart beat with a rhythm that felt foreign now. Beneat the layers of deapair, there was a faint thrum, fragile but persistent. He couldn't name it, couldn't fully understand its source, but he knew it was tied to her. It was as though a part of her still lived within him, a faint echo of the love they had shared. That connection was all he had left, and he clung to it with the desperation of drowning man reaching for the surface.

Each time he thought of letting go, of severing himself entirely from the pain, the thought crumbled beneath the weight of that connection. She was still a part of him, woven into the fabric of his very being, and to let go of her would be to let go of himself. It hurt – God, it hurt – but the thought of loseing even this small fragment of her was unbearable. Letting go wasn't an option, not now, not ever.

In this life, she was a world away from the life they had once shared, tucked away safely into the serenity of a costal town. Her days were spent among the simple rhythms of the ocean and the quiet hum of a life untouched by celestial turmoil. Seokjin had watched from a distance, taking in glimpses of her smile, the soft cadence of her laughter as she spoke to others, and the peaceful way she moved through her new existence. It was a life devoid of the chaos that had consumed them before, and it was what he had fought so desperately to give her.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder. Was she happy? Truly happy? Or did she carry some shadow of the ache that haunted him, an unidentified void left by something she couldn't remember but somehow stilll felt it? the thought twisted in his chest, equal parts anguish and hope. If she felt that ache, it meant she still carried a piece of him, no matter how deeply it was buried. But it also meant she wasn't entirely at peace – and that was something he couldn't bear to consider.

He exhaled slowly, forcing the thought away. Her happiness was not his to question. It was his burden to trust that she had found peace, that this life was hers to live free from the weight of their shared past. He had given everything to ensure that freedom for her, even at the cost of his own. That sacrifice was a decision he would make again, over and over, no matter how much it tore at him.

And yet his heart – now a somewhat mortal heart, fragile and fallible – beat with an unrelenting rhythm of longing. It was a pull he couldn't sever, no matter how far apart they were or how many lifetimes seperated them. He felt her presence in the quiet moments, a sensation as natural and inescapable as breathing. She was out there, alive and safe, and for all that he had lost – his wings, his place among the divine, even their shared memories – that knowledge was enough to keep him standing. But it didn't stop the ache. It didn't silence the part of him that longed for just one moment where she would look at him and see the love that had once bound them, even if it was destined to remain forgotten.

The storm raged beyond the library walls, the rhythmic tapping of rain against the windows forming a persistent backdrop to Isha's thoughts. Inside the archive room, the golden light of a desk lamp cast flickering shadows across the worn spines of ancient books and crumbling scrolls. Isha ran her fingertips lightly over the cover of one, feeling the rough texture beneath her fingertips as she tried to focus. The stillness of the room enveloped her, a stark contrast to the chaos outside, but it did little to quiet the restlessness within her.

She exhaled softly, watching as her breath stirred a faint cloud of dust into the air. The room smelled of old paper and ink, scents she usually found grounding. But tonight, they only reminded her of how disconnected she felt, as though she were searching for answers in a language she couldn't understand. Her life had always been quiet, predictable even, with days blending into one another in a comforting rhythm. Yet recently, a strange unease had settled over her, breaking through that predictability like cracks in glass.

It wasn't the storm outside that unsettled her. This feeling was deeper, like the echo of a song she couldn't remember but couldn't forget. She paused, her fingers stilling on the edge of the book, and let the silence of the archive room press against her. It wasn't the first time she'd felt this way – the inexplicable yearning that knotted in her chest and made her heart ache for something she couldn't name.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to fleeting impressions: the sense of a presence, warm and reassuring, yet distant. She didn't know where the feeling came from or why it always left her on edge, as though she were standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for something to emerge from the mist below. It wasn't fear – not exactly. It was more like anticipation mingled with a strange, bittersweet sorrow she didn't understand.

Isha rubbed her temple, trying to dispel the tension building there. she had tried to explain this feeling once to a friend, only to be met with confusion and concerned suggestions that she might be overworked. Maybe they were right. But deep down, she knew it was more than that. the sensation wasn't fleeting or random – it had been with her for as long as she could remember, growing stronger in moments like this, when the world outside raged, and the stillness inside made her thoughts impossible to ignore. The sound of a book shifting startled her, the sudden noise breaking the quiet. She laughed softly to herself, shaking her head at how jumpy she'd become.

Her hands worked without thought, her fingers deftly gathering her hair into a loose bun. Strands escaped to frame her face, but she didn't bother tucking them back. The faint ache in her shoulders from hours hunched over the stacks barely registered, nor did the dust smudging the sleeves of her green sweater. Her mind was too preoccupied with the task at hand, with the sensation that something important waited just within reach.

Her breath hitched slightly as she slid an old leather-bound tome from the stack. It was heavier than it looked, its edges worn smooth by time. Her fingers traced the strange symbols etched into its surface, the shapes unfamiliar yet inexpilably stirring. There was something about them – a faint shimmer, almost imperceptible – that drew her in.

„What's this?“ she murmured, her voice barely audible in the quiet room.

The sound of her own voice grounded her for a moment, yet the book pulled her attention back almost immediately. It felt... alive. Not in the literal sense, but in a way that unsettled her. A faint, rhythmic thrum pulsed beneath her fingertips, so subtle she might have dismissed it as her imagination if not for the way it seemed to match the quickening beat of her heart.

Recognition stirred within her, unbidden and without context. It wasn't a memory – not exactly – but something deeper, as though the symbols on the cover spoke to a part of her she didn't know existed. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, not of fear but of something far stranger: familiarity.

Her fingers lingered on the cover, pressing lightly against the embossed markngs. The faint glow they emitted intensified under her touch, just enough to cast a soft light across her hands. She pulled back slightly, startled, but the light faded almost as quickly as it appeared.

Isha swallowed hard, her curiosity warring with a sense of unease. Why did the book feel like it was waiting for her? She shook her head, trying to dispel the ridiculous notion, but the thrum beneath her skin remained, a quiet insistence she couldn't ignore.

Her frown deepened as her fingers swept through the cobwebs, clearing a path to the book. There was a weight to it, not just in its physical form but in the air around it, as though the very space it occupied was charged with something unseen. Isha stared at the cover, her mind churning with the strange pull it seemed to have on her. The sensation was unsettling – a tug at the edges of her thoughts, like a name she couldn't quite recall or the fragment of a dream slipping away upon waking.

It shouldn't have felt familiar. She knew that. And yet, it did. The kind of familiarity that wasn't tied to logic but something deeper, something she couldn't put into words. Her fingers hovered above the embossed surface again, hesitant, but the magnetic pull was too strong. It wasn't rational – there was no reason for her to feel this connection. She didn't believe in omens, in destiny carved into ancient relics. She was practical, grounded. But this book...

It wasn't like anything she'd encountered before.

Slowly, Isha placed it on the desk, the faintest tremor running through her hands. Her fingers lingered on the worn leather, the texture rough but warm beneath her touch, as though the book itself was alive. The sensation sent a subtle shiver up her arm, leaving her hand tingling even after she finally pulled away. She flexed her fingers, trying to shake the feeling, but it clung to her like the whisper of something just out of reach.

The room felt smaller somehow, the air thicker with the weight of unanswered questions. Each flash of lightning lit the walls in stark relief, casting fleeting shadows that only deepened the sense of isolation. Isha's gaze drifted to the window, where rain streamed down the glass in relentless sheets, distorting the world beyond. The storm was relentless, a mirror to the restless energy stirring inside her.

She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking some semblance of comfort, but the ache in her chest remained. Her eyes returned to the book, unbidden, as though it had anchored her in this moment. The symbols on its cover seemed to glimmer faintly, catching the light in a way that felt deliberate, as if the tome itself were alive and beckoning her closer. She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening with an odd mixture of fear and fascination.

The thought of leaving it behind filled her with an inexplicable dread. It was absurd – it was just a book, an artifact left forgoten in the archives. But her instincts said otherwise. The pull she felt was tangible, a gravity that tethered her to the desk despite her better judgement. She could almost hear it calling to her, though no sound reached her ears.

Isha pressed her lips together, forcing herself to take a deep breath. The rational part of her mind, though faint, managed to cut through the fog of emotions. Not tonight, she told herself. She was tired, and the storm outside was worsening. Whatever mysteries the book held would still be here tomorrow.

Her resolve wavered as she turned away. The weight of her decision felt heavier than it should, as though she were leaving more than just a book behind. Her fingers hesitated on the edge of her coat, and she glanced over her shoulder one last time. The runes shimmered faintly again, the faint thrum in the air syncing with the rhythm of her heartbeat. Her breath hitched, but she tore her gaze away, forcing herself to focus on the task of getting home.

Each step from the desk felt like a betrayal, the distance between her and the book amplifying the unease clawing at her. She switched off the lights, plunging the room into darkness save for the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the rome for an instant. The storm's howl seemed to follow her, a low, mournful echo that resonated in her chest as she locked the door behind her.

As she stepped into the storm, rain pelting her face and soaking though her coat, the sensation of leaving something unfinished refused to leave her. The storm was fierce, the wind biting, but it felt almost inconsequential compared to the turmoil in her heart. Each rumble of thunder seemed to whisper a warning, the universe itself echoing the uncertainty that gnawed at her.

Far from the library, Seokjin stood motionless at the edge of a windswept cliff, his eyes fixed on the turbulent ocean below. The storm lashed around him, wind tearing at his coat and rain soking his hair, but he barely noticed. The temptest outside was nothing compared to the temptest within. He had been poised to turn away, to retreat into the shadowy solitude that had defined his existence since the fall, when it happened – a ripple, faint yet unmistakable, cutting through the mortal plane like a whisper from a forgotten world.

His breath caught, and his body tensed as the sensation washed over him. It wasn't just a shift in the air; it was a resonance that seemed to bypass his physical senses entirely, striking at something buried deep within his soul. His pulse quickened as he stood there, the storm fading into a distant hum against the intensity of what he had just felt.

Seokjin pressed a hand against his chest, as though trying to steady the chaos inside. The faint vibration lingered, echoing in a place he thought had long been silenced. His fingers trembled. Magic. Not just any magic, but the unmistakable trace of the Celestial Realm – the realm he had been banished from, the source of the power he once wielded so effortlessly. Its energy had been stripped from him, leaving him bound to the mortal world, severed from everything he had once known. Yet now, here it was, a pulse of something ancient and poweful actoss the divide.

His breath hitched, and a thousand thoughts crashed through him at once. Hope clawed at the edges of his dispair, fragile and dangerous. Was this real? Could it be? He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation, searching for answers in its elusive presence. It felt familiar, achingly so, like a melody he had once known by heart but hadn't dared to hum in eons. But it also felt... wrong, distorted, as though it didn't quite belong in this world.

„Impossible,“ he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. The word trembled with disbelied, yet it carried a thread of longing that he couldn't suppress. His mind raced, filled with questions that only deepened his unease. Who – or what – could wield such power? And why now, after all this time?

A flicher of fear shadowed his hope. The Celestial Realm didn't make mistakes. If this magic had crossed into the mortal plane, it wasn't by accident. Was it a warning? A trap? His exile had been absolute, his rebellion unforgivable. He had no allies left among the angels, no place in their designs. And yet, the resonance hadn't felt hostile. It had felt... familiar.

His fingers curled tightly around the hilt of his blade, the cold steel pressing into his palm grounding him against the maelstrom of emotions surging through him. It wasn't fear that drove the gesture – no immediate threat loomed in the darkness – but a desperate need to anchor himself in something tangible, something real. His breath was shallow, uneven, as his gaze swept over the storm-battered town below, scanning the rain-slicked streets and flickering lights for the source of the resonance.

Then, like a single star piercing a moonless night, he saw it. a faing glow radiated from a small library tucked amidst the storm-drenched streets. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, yet it pulsed with a rhythm that called to him as surely as the beating of his own heart. The moment he saw it, he felt something deep inside him crack open – a floodgate of recognition, longing, and a pain he thought he had buried.

„Elara.“

The name slipped from his lips unbidden, barely a whisper against the howl of the wind, but its weight was immense. It wasn't just a name; it was a lifetime, a love, a loss that still ached like an open wound. He hadn't spoken it in years, not since her soul had been reborn as Isha, cleansed of the memories they had shared. He had forced himself to think of her only as Isha, a mortal woman with no connections to him. But in this moment, as the glow pulsed against the storm, he couldn't see her as anything else.

The glow seemed to hum with life, faint but insistent, as though reaching for him across the distance. His chest tightened, his breath catching as the truth settled over him like a shroud. It was her. It had to be. The energy was unmistakable, resonating with the bond that had once tied their souls together. But how? The question swirled in his mind, tangled with disbelief and a hope so fragile it hurt to hold onto.

A rush of emotions hit him all at once, each feeling colliding in a chaotic swirl that left him breathless. The first to surface was joy – sharp and unexpected, blooming within him like sunlight breaking though dark clouds. The thought that some trace of her past life, some fragment of the love they had shared, might still remain inside her was enough to send a surge of warmth through his chest. after all this time, after everything he had lost, the idea that she might still carry something of their connection – something of them – felt like a lifeline.

But the joy was quickly smothered by a darker, more insidious emotion: fear. It gripped him like an iron vise, suffocating him as the weight of its reality settled over him. His chest tightened, his breath quickening. He knew too well the danger of what this could mean. The magic of the Celestial Realm was never spontaneous, never without purpose. If it had awakened, it was because someone had triggered it, and that someone would be noticed. The Celestial beings were not merciful. His imd flashed with images of the enforcers, the agents of order that would never allow an anomaly like this to exist without consequences. They would find her, and they would not hesitate. He could feel the cold tendrils of dread curling in his stomach. If they found out she was the source of this magic, they would destroy her without hesitation.

The wind whipped at him, a physical reminder of the storm outside, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging inside him. He stood there for a moment, frozen, before his instincts broke through. There was no time to stand and think; every second counted. He forced his legs into motion, urgency flooding through him. His coat snapped behind him, the fabric tugged by the wind, and the rain pelted against his face, as though nature itself was trying to push him back. But he didn't stop. His steps were sure, even as his mind raced, turning over every possibility, every outcome.

The thought of thr Archangels or their enforcers sensing the disturbance sent a shiver through Seokjin, sharp and cold. If they knew what was happening, she would be in danger. He knew their ruthlessness too well – they wouldn't hesitate. His mind flashed to the ancient laws, the unyielding rules of the Celestial Realm. If they found her, if they discovered that magic was stirring again, it would be the end.

He had sworn to stay away, to let her live without the shadow of his past hanging over her. But this was different. His penance, his suffering, none of it mattered now. What mattered was her safety. He had to find her before they did, before the storm of the Celestial Realm reached her. Every step he took brought him closer to the town, closer to her. And yet, with every stride, the weight of what he had lost, what he might lose again, pressed heavier on him.

His pace quickened, but his heart was already racing, a chaotic rhythm pounding in his chest. the storm raged around him, relentless, and wild, but his focus remained on the faint glow that flickered in the distance – the library. It wasn't just light. It was her. Something deep within him recognized the pull of it, a beacon he couldn't ignore.

But as the distance between him and the library closed, a cold knot of uncertainty tightened in his gut. What would he find when he reached her? He had no idea how she would react. She had no memory of their past – no recollection of who he had been to her. To her, he was a stranger, a phantom of the past, and the thought of facing that reality made his chest ache. But none of that mattered right now. The only thing that consumed him, the only thought that could occupy his mind, was reaching her before anyone else did.

The wind howled, a constant reminder of the fury of the storm around him. Yet, it was nothing compared to the storm inside him. Anticipation twisted through his veins, sharp and restless, while dread clung to him, pulling him down, threatening to drown him. Each step forward felt like a gamble, a risk, but he couldn't stop. Not when she was so close. Somewhere beneath all the pain, a quiet hope stirred. A foolish hope, perhaps, but one he couldn't deny. What if this was their second chance? What if fate had led him back to her for a reason? Could they rewrite the broken parts of their past? The thought was intoxicating, but it was dangerous. It could destroy them both.

Seokjin pressed on, the rain soaking his cloak, his resolve hardening with every moment. The storm was unrelenting, but he was used to the storms. He had weathered worse, and he would continue to fight, to face whatever lay ahead.

For her.

Always for her.

That was the only truth that mattered now.

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artwithoutblood · 1 year ago

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Feeling the urges to waltz with dorian or eri in an emty hallway while merry go round of life playing in background.

i’ll let you know that dorian will be much, much better at it.

If you’re waltzing with Dorian might I re-suggest a song the creator chose for him? Ständchen D957. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=I6Njg1LFxFk

I’m not too knowledgeable about classical music beyond a few favourites.

But while trying to find out whether this song is actually a waltz (likely it isn’t - I still don’t know) I realised that the composer Schubert is Austrian like Dorian, the translation for ‘Ständchen’ is ‘Serenade’. It’s a Lied, which is a genre of romantic songs. It’s full of yearning and waiting. The lyrics beg a beloved to come make the singer happy.

Translated:

My songs softly plead through the night to you

Down into the silent grove

darling come to me

Whispering slender treetops rustle

In the light of the moon

Listening hostilely to the traitor

Fear not, fair one

Do you hear the nightingales beat?

Oh! they beg you

With the tones of sweet lamentations

plead for me

You understand the yearnings of your bosom

Know love pain

Stirring with the silver tones

Every soft heart

Let your chest move too darling, hear me!

Trembling, I await you!

Come make me happy!

make me happy

Dorian absolutely sings this to himself when alone. Change my mind. He may have even tried to sing it to the living Fallen as a bird during his brief visits, but been constrained if the form was a raven.

Bonus bird symbolism in the actual lyrics. There is another serenade by Schubert called ‘Hark Hark The Lark’ with lyrics taken from Shakespeare’s Cymbeline (itself full of machinations and deception). In Romeo and Juliet Shakespeare uses the symbol of the nightingale to represent night and safety for illicit lovers, the lark to represent morning light and harsh reality. Very fitting.

Also …a Lied? We all know what Dorian loves to do.

Now I’m wondering if Dorian sings tenor https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=KN8FRXUBgJ0

Or falsetto https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=u6ATehWt92E

i was introduced to Ständchen D957 through signalis. probably the worst way to hear of a song so beautiful. so sad.

ive noticed the bird lyrics and symbolism. there's a freedom to being a bird, yet you are skittish, yet you are fleeting. dorian sings this and practices dancing with the person he loves.

thank you for the song recommendations

#dorian ask

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showrunnerihardlyknowher · 3 years ago

Text

Humans? Up MY Beanstalk? It's More Likely Than You Think!

AO3 Link

Danny's back on her bullshit and here to make everyone suffer with another WIP that's part of a fic trade with my beloved @hiddendreamer67 <3

Summary: I mean, Jack made it all sound so easy! Climb up the beanstalk a few times, steal enough riches to last himself ten life times, and live happily ever after as a heroic giant slayer with absolutely no repercussions.

Seriously, how hard can it be?

Aiden was no stranger to life events going from bad to worse at the drop of a hat, but more often than not he was able to go with the turbulent flow just enough to keep his head above water and out of any serious trouble. Such a feat was most evident in his adaptation to living within the labyrinth-like walls of the oversized castle he had foolishly sought refuge in weeks prior. Had it been weeks? Months, perhaps, or maybe only a handful of days. The passage of time was just as foreign to him as these massive surroundings, these massive people , and he didn’t have the gall to weasel his way towards an opening near the outside to gauge how high or low the sun was sitting in the strangely pink sky.

The irony was almost funny; where was that fool hearted bravery he had been swimming in when he first started his ascension up the winding stalk that sprouted who knows how many decades ago to reach its impressive height? He knew the stories of young boys trading cows for beans and getting far more than they bargained for. He knew it was down right suicidal to scale the plant in general given he hadn’t a lick of training when it came to climbing anything other than a ladder. The opportunity to live within a legend was too good to pass up, unfortunately. The flimsy promise of riches and adventure beyond his wildest dream outweighed the need to even consider how he was going to get back down from the towering growth when he was inevitably disappointed by the lack of golden eggs.

But he didn’t succumb to the thin air or fall to his death, and he wasn’t disappointed. If anything, he was given everything he envisioned. Almost everything. When he broke through the cloud line, he discovered the vine had tapered off in favor of clinging to a cliff side he was unaware even existed from below. Green tendrils served as almost a ladder to aid his climb up the mysterious rock formation until he was able to pull himself, huffing and panting and muscles tingling from overuse, over the edge to collapse on horizontal land. So the fabled kingdom of riches didn’t actually rest on the clouds, it seemed. A small let down, but hardly anything worth dampening the mood as Aiden took in his new world view.

He felt as if he had switched places with a weevil seeing how the small patch of grass he was in came up to his chest rather than swishing against his ankles. The euphoria of this great new discovery once again drowned out the more rational side of him, favoring exploration over potential survival. The logistics of returning home could be dealt with later, after he had slayed a giant and stolen only a penny of its wealth that would no doubt provide for him for the rest of his life. Naive. Gullible. Fool hearted.

Aiden had only trekked for a few hours before nearly getting swallowed up by a winged beast he likened to a bat, washing away over the edge of the cliff in a stream, and getting trampled by hulking soldiers doing their rounds. Each close call he survived by the skin of his teeth, luck and adrenaline driving him blindly to find a moment of safety. However, with each incident his bravery withered away into trepidation, especially the closer he came to the giants that roamed the lands. None of them had noticed him yet and part of him wondered if they would ever notice something as miniature as him scurrying around, but he wasn’t feeling bold enough to stay out in the open just for their reaction. No, once he had slipped into the fortress of metal and stone, out of sight from any predator's eyes, the will to venture back out had faded into near nothingness.

If he had it his way, he doubted he would ever again have the gung ho to leave the confines of his newfound sanctuary, not even for the bittersweet desire of returning home. He had made his bed in his haste to seek glory out of tall tales and now he must lie in it. Though his heart ached with anxiety and his hands ceased to tremble, his traitorous stomach refused to let him continue a life of solitude amongst the dusty beams. A weaker part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it would be worth it to live with the gnawing pain until it eventually overtook him. A fitting end, would it not, to starve to death like a rat in the walls? Alas, he was weak, but not weak enough to endure such aggressive cramping by the end of the second day, and so he mustered all the strength and courage he could just to snatch a few stale breadcrumbs long forgotten behind what he assumed was a cast iron stove.

Aiden truly was living up to his new rodent lifestyle, wasn’t he.

It was disgusting, but it was food, and though it made him ill the remainder of the night it had at least provided him with enough energy to go back out the next night in an effort to find something an inch more sustainable. By the end of the week, his newly discovered drive to live had him exploring every corner of the expansive kitchen during the wee hours of the night, when no giants hurried back and forth between the counters and the galley to serve platters of meals that could have fed his own village for months at a time. The rich smell of hot breads and meats made him dizzy, even more so now that he was getting accustomed to surviving off of dusty scraps he found on the floor. He needed to play it safe, he reminded himself as he watched one of the chef’s throw out an entire pan of fresh loaves because there’s too many chives in this! It’s too bitter for his tastes! , hardly resisting the urge to dive into the bins after the wasted food.

But...if they were so keen as to throw away an entire batch of fully prepared food over the fact that it was unsuitable for one person’s palette...surely there was no harm in taking what would be considered a nibble. Not when it was unwanted.

There it was again, that fool hearted bravery. If only Aiden had used it to find a way out of this unofficial prisoner rather than fuel his greed. He couldn’t be happy with the bare minimum he was given, could he? Always had to push the boundaries when he knew exactly where they lied, always run headfirst towards danger and then act surprised when it would bite him in the ass moments later. At least this time around he had the forethought to formulate some type of a plan, as flimsy as it was. Having become quite familiar with the inner structures of the fortress, he was able to determine the abode he was in was something along the lines of a castle. It was certainly sprawling enough, decorated with dark colors and glittering riches and constantly bustling with workers ranging from lowly servants to chittering socialites. Whether or not this was indeed a house for royalty he was unsure, having never been able to pinpoint which of the ambling lords or ladies might be the esteemed ruler of the lands. Assuming monarchies even existed this high, that is. Perhaps this was merely the norm of their society’s standards. It was unlikely, but it wasn’t as if he had many outside resources to compare this way of life to, not even in the way of his own village.

In theory, the heist should have been easy. In theory . All he had to do was wait until the dead of night for the bustling kitchen to fall silent as it normally did and he could slip out from the crevice closest to the scraps bin. Scaling in and out of the bin might prove trickier than he anticipated, but that remained a problem for future Aiden. The most important part of his newfound mission was being able to fill his stomach up with day-old bread and cold meats before they were discarded for good. If all went well, this could easily become a nightly routine of his, a way to feast like a king whilst living like a rat within the true royalty’s walls. He knew he was getting ahead of himself with that kind of fantasizing, perhaps that was even the beginning of his downfall, but he had so little to look forward to these days that he dared to get his hopes up for a semi-decent meal.

He hadn’t even made it halfway across the counter before he was spotted and subsequently captured.

But he had been so careful , he lamented to himself when the air was roughly knocked from his lungs after a massive hand slammed on top of him, pinning any squirms. True, he reflected as the stars cleared his vision, he never actually bothered to see if the kitchen remained vacant all night given that he was asleep...but he just assumed! Who in the world would be up during this hour!? Someone else sneaking a snack, maybe, just as he was. He could use that to his advantage, try and gain a few sympathy points by connecting with the giant on that level, convince them that all he needed was just a fraction of whatever they were probably getting for themselves and he would be on his way for good. A lie, of course, but the giant didn’t need to know that.

Once more, that short lived plan would never be put to use when Aiden felt himself being lifted in the air within a bone crushing grip, metal and leather digging into him in various places from the glove the giant wore. His eyes barely adjusted from the dizzying movements and dim kitchen before they were blown open at the sight, constricted breathing still entirely for a heartbeat. This was no ordinary giant, not like the ones he had grown accustomed to glancing at from the nooks and crannies. At first glance, however, it did fit the bill for the most part -- biped, guard’s armor, a human face -- but...did these giants typically have glowing purple eyes? He couldn’t recall for certain, yet the more he looked the more he found that appeared off. The outline of the guard’s figure seemed...fuzzy, like they were blurred rather than a solid defining line. His face, harsh and scrutinizing, was greyer than a corpse. He was otherworldly, and it was at that moment Aiden was painfully reminded he was in another world, one he didn’t belong in. One he knew he would be leaving quickly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the guard rumbled, his voice grating more like static than a growl.

“N-no…” Aiden agreed. Anything to get on his good side. “I’ll go, I’ll l-leave!”

Though he had found his voice, he had yet to find the strength to attempt any kind of struggle, not that he thought he’d be able to budge the massive fingers in the slightest. However, if he showed just how eager he was to depart from this situation, maybe the giant would believe him and grant him that small mercy. Instead, he was given another rough squeeze that made his spine pop, the fist clenching him raising higher so that he was more at eye level with his captor.

“How did you get in here, human? ” The guard spat. Good news was that humans were a known creature, at least. Bad news was that humans, apparently, were not known for any pleasant reason.

Aiden panted, trying to suck in a much needed breath after all of his were forced out. “I-I don’t know…” He squealed in discomfort when the fingers tightened again, refusing to let up until he gave a more satisfactory answer. “Th-the walls! I came through the walls! ”

The guard snorted and slackened his grip to allow an inch of breathing room, “Of course you did. Little pest that you and your kind are.”

“Wh...what are you…?” A bold question, but since he was sure it was to be one of his last, Aiden saw no reason not to ask.

He wasn’t given an answer, the giant instead lowering him slightly to exit the kitchen and pace down the halls. The scenery whizzed by so fast that it made his head spin, catching a few looks at other giants that were loitering about. Just like the guard, they were similar to the ones he would see in the daytime but...different. The two guards they passed looked to be of the same race of whatever the one holding him was, a noblewoman in a shimmering capelet eyed him suspiciously and he could have sworn her ‘capelet’ flittered before settling back down her shoulders. How had he never seen any of these attributes in the day? Then again, he often viewed the giants in the fortress at a distance and never for very long, they could have all been magically endowed for all he knew. Or, another theory, the ones he was coming across now were merely nocturnal and their more...normal housemates were sound asleep as he typically was while these creatures did their rounds and had their fun.

The wonderment was short lived when the giant shoved his way through a heavy wooden door at the very end of a lesser used corridor. With each step down the spiraling stone staircase, Aiden felt his heart sink just a little lower. The long shadows casting against the walls from the torches mounted to them gave the dank atmosphere an even more sinister vibe, leaving too many unknown things able to hide in the darkness. Even the guard, who did not appear to be an overly friendly fellow to begin with, looked twice as menacing with how the shadows concealed the few human features he did have. Aiden swallowed thickly, unsure of where they were heading but already knowing it wasn’t good.

His hunch was confirmed when the guard entered another hall, one lined with cramped cells that were partially occupied. He tried not to look at them and their fates, not wanting to see what might be awaiting him as well. Likely not, though. He was far too small to shackle and imprison. A different punishment would have to be in store for him. Further down the hall, the dungeon changed its holding cells from ones with iron bars to ones with solid steel doors instead, obscuring whatever poor bastard was locked within. Was that considered a crueler punishment? Perhaps that was where the torturing took place, if such types of creatures indulged in those acts. He saw no reason why they wouldn’t and as a result could very easily imagine himself being thrown in there next.

Fortunately, or not, the guard instead opened another wooden door that was adjacent to several of the isolated cells, coming to stand before another giant sitting at a table. Aiden couldn’t tell what was on the desk or what this new giant was using these unknown things for, but from the jist of it he must have been busy.

“Sir,” the guard holding him said while raising him higher for the presumably important one to see better. “A human has been found within the perimeter.”

The guard, a captain if Aiden were to guess, frowned. “Any others?”

“None that I could sense in the immediate area.”

He sighed and waved his hand. “We’ll do a sweep before daybreak. Who knows the amount of damage it’s done...what it’s taken, what it’s told.” He fixed Aiden with an icy glare that made the poor human try to shrink in on himself.

He wished he could have found a way to defend himself, plead his case, but his voice was nowhere to be found now. All cowardliness and no self preservation.

“And how shall I dispose of this one, sir?” The guard asked and Aiden paled. Dispose!?

The one in charge shrugged a shoulder and resumed what he was doing previously, fiddling with tools and books and papers for one reason or another. “Put it on lunch duty. Give the lizard another rat to keep him busy.”

Aiden didn’t quite follow the logic of the order. Lunch duty didn’t sound half as bad as being disposed of. The ‘lizard’ was news to him, but regardless the guard nodded at his order and left the office back down the corridor of steel doors. He wasn’t sure if he should speak up and ask for clarification while he mulled over his rather lenient sentencing, doubtful the giant would even regard him. From the looks of disgust and distrust he had been given numerous times in the short span of time he had been discovered, he could gather that his presence was an unwelcome one, though why he was still unsure. Evidently, he was going to be put to work and he could most certainly live with that. Earn his keep, he reasoned. Give rats to lizards or something. Would these rats and lizards be the same kind as the ones back on his homeworld down below or would they be to scale with the giants? Another question he should probably speak aloud before he got in over his head.

Or, at least, he would have asked, had a wad of cloth not been jammed into mouth hard enough to make his jaw click uncomfortably. He gagged, trying to shove the offending material out with his tongue, but it was packed into his cheeks too tightly to budge. A different material, a thin rope, was quickly wound around his chest to pin his arms to his sides before wrapping further down to bind his ankles. It had happened in the flash, the guard giving him no warning or reasoning for the sudden confinement, but it wasn’t as if Aiden could offer up much protest now that it was all said and done. He was completely immobile, spun up like a fly in a spider’s web. The guard had done it with such efficiency that it must be something similar to a routine for him by now which did not bode well. In a last ditch effort to save his hide from whatever...this was, he looked up at his captor with wide, pleading eyes, begging for just a shred of sympathy or at the very least an explanation of what was about to happen.

All he was met with was the same cold, violet eyes as all the other giants he had come to pass. Equally cruel and indifferent. And it was then he understood, as he was being roughly shoved through a hand slot at the base of one of the sturdy metal cell doors, that he was not the one who was meant to be delivering the meals during “lunch duty”. He was the meal. He was the rat, which meant the lizard was…

Aiden wriggled as best he could manage in his position until he was able to roll onto his back and get a good look around the cell. It was massive to him, but compared to the size of the giants he could tell it was rather cramped. Dark and depressing, much like one would expect a lonely prison cell to be, with the scattering of tiny bones and grime along the stone walls. His breathing quickened as he tried to tell just what type of origin the gnawed remains had been, however it was too difficult to tell at this distance in such gloom lighting. Perhaps that was for the best, giving his brain a little boost of reassurance that maybe they weren’t all human bones, that this wasn’t a common fate most of his kind befell when they made the same foolish mistake of invading where they clearly did not belong.

Trying to avoid the glare of bones only worsened his situation tenfold when he turned his head and was met with what was, obviously, the lizard as previously mentioned. Well, partially a lizard? More human-looking than lizard just going off a quick glance which led Aiden to believe the nickname was meant to be a derogatory term for whatever species it was. It...he? Yeah, he was kneeling on the floor, not by choice, but rather due to the shackles that bound him at the wrist and was tethered to the floor with a pitifully short chain. The clothes he wore reminded him of something he might have caught a few nobles wear given the level of craftsmanship and hand woven designs. It was a shame they were soiled now in what he could only assume was sweat and dirt, how he hoped that was dirt. The prisoner picked his head up when he heard the food slot screech open and shut, waiting for any other sound before sighing at the responding silence.

The chain jingled as he shifted to reposition himself into something a little more comfortable, Aiden now catching sight of the black nails that blended into scales littering the back of his hand when he flexed his fingers. A tail briefly flicked into view before concealing itself behind him once again. As the human let his gaze trail further up his face, fully prepared to see another hateful glare burning a hole through his weak soul, he couldn’t help but notice another spattering of black scales along his cheekbones and down his neck, presumably up to his eyes as well, but...well, he couldn’t tell. Not when there was a tattered, red cloth tied around his head, effectively blinding the sense. He wondered if this was an ailment the giant already had or if this was another part of his punishment, curious if he even had any eyes still in their sockets beneath the shoddy wrappings. Whatever the case was, the “lizard” obviously couldn’t see him and Aiden was unable to alert him to his presence with the gag shoved down his throat, leaving them at an awkward stalemate.

A stalemate that lasted all of two seconds before the giant wrinkled his nose and frowned. “The hell kind of rodent is this…? ” he muttered to himself.

So much for not knowing he was there. With great effort, Aiden twisted his body until he was able to turn on his side, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. He froze when the giant started to move as well, pointed ears twitching in response to the light scuffling he was making against the floor to pinpoint his location. Despite one of his senses being dulled, it was evident his remaining ones were still working in perfect order, maybe even heightened to compensate for the lack of vision.

“Another live one,” he sighed, fingers flexing again, “Sorry about this little buddy. I don’t like live prey any more than you like being it, I’m sure, but, well…”

That was the only warning Aiden had before the giant lunged, teeth snapping an inch in front of his frozen body. From this close, he could see the needle-thin fangs previously hidden behind a grimace and instantly wanted to be far, far away from them. His only saving grace was the short lead the other had on his cuffs, preventing him from pushing off any closer and cutting him off just shy of his prize for the time being. He growled in annoyance at having missed the offered prey, pulling back to realign himself for a better pounce.

“Come on, just make this easy for the both of us,” the giant huffed.

Oh, absolutely not. No, no, no. No, this was not how Aiden wanted his adventure in the skies to end. Fuck the adventure, he wanted to go home and he wanted to do so alive and in one piece. Being ripped to shreds was not a fate he ever envisioned for himself. He wasn’t going to die like some...some rat!

The giant was inching closer, moving along the side as much as the chain would allow to get a better angle. It didn’t matter whether he ensnared the tiny between his claws or teeth or even batted its little corpse within reaching distance with his tail, so long as he was able to get a hold on its fresh flesh one way or another. Desperately, Aiden began to rock back and forth to shimmy his body across the floor, painstakingly putting centimeters of distance between them that the giant was able to make up in a single shuffle. When the chain pulled taunt again, the human rolled to the side and narrowly missed the clamp of teeth once more, hot breath blowing against his back and covering his body in goosebumps. Undeterred, however, the giant followed his scent that was so tantalizingly close and moved his body in unison with Aiden’s. With another bite, he was able to find purchase on the ropes that burned against his arms and sunk his fangs in what he supposed was meant to be an animal's tender flesh.

Aiden had tried to avoid the attack but simply could not scramble away quick enough, his only luck being that he was just far enough that the gnashing teeth only managed to puncture through the fibers of rope rather than his actual skin. He was lifted into the air when the giant pulled back, kicking and thrashing to the best of his ability against the hold. The humid air blowing on the back of his head made him nauseous now, only able to envision how the feeling would quickly be enveloping him entirely when he was thrown back and swallowed down the creature’s gullet. With one, final twist, Aiden prayed his limited strength would be enough to somehow dislodge himself from the giant’s maw and give him another chance at playing this unbalanced game of chase.

And then the rope snapped.

Having already been sawed and frayed in several places from the giant’s fangs, Aiden’s pull was all it needed to rip apart entirely, sending the human sprawling onto the cold ground. His vision clouded when his head smacked against the stone, ironically thankful for the wad of cloth in his mouth or he most certainly would have lost a few teeth. Without a doubt, he was going to have a nasty bruise coloring the majority of his right side in the near future, the ache still pulsing with every wheezing breath he tried to gain back. While the stars faded from his eyes, he watched distantly as the giant curiously grinded the material in his mouth before dropping it. He pursed his lips in confusion, expecting raw meat and the rush of blood rather than some scratchy coils of what almost tasted like hide.

“Gods, what even is this,” he cringed.

Me , Aiden wanted to cry out, it’s me, it’s a human!

The giant’s hang up with his unusual meal faded into resignation much sooner than Aiden would have liked. He was hardly to blame, though, if he had been given nothing but live pests to blindly hunt down without the use of his full mobility for an undetermined amount of time. They were in a similar boat, really. Creatures trapped in a home they had no business being in, trying to survive on what little scraps were thrown their way. The human sorely wished he hadn’t been relegated into the scraps category, but there was little he could do about that now. Knowing his prey had a pretty straight forward drop, he moved again with an open mouth to seal the foreign creature’s fate.

The sight of teeth rushing to greet him was exactly the adrenaline rush Aiden’s body needed to get moving again, much more successfully this time now that he had arms to push up with and legs to carry him a greater distance. As much as he would have loved to have sprinted to the other side of the cell, even find another crack to slip through if fate would feel the desire to be so kind to him today, he only managed to stumble a few feet out of the immediate danger zone before tripping over himself. His right leg screamed in agony from the second fall, a sign of something being sprained somewhere he was sure. He wanted to scream out loud as well had it not been for the gag. The gag he realized he could take out now. Unsure of how useful his last words would even be, the human ripped the wad of cloth out of his mouth in a frenzy while the giant prepped himself for another attack. If anything, at least Aiden could find catharsis in leaving some sort of statement about himself behind for someone to hear, even if it was just confirmation of his fool heartedness.

“Stop!” Aiden yelled, voice raw and itching his throat like it hadn’t been used in ages rather than half an hour. “Please, stop! G-get away! ”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting the giant to do as a result, but one thing was clear and it was that he most certainly wasn’t expecting his meal to say anything. He reeled back like he had been physically struck by those words, if his eyes were visible he was sure they would be as wide as serving platters. It was almost comical how he stumbled back, the menacing creature suddenly so fearful of a tiny vermin it was trying to consume moments prior, mouth agape as he tried to process what was going on without being able to actually see it.

“You...did you just, oh my gods,” he gasped. While he was glad he was being spared for the time being, the giant’s nervousness did little to quell the anxiety that had been brewing in Aiden’s heart since the moment he came upon this accursed land.

“Ple-please…” Aiden whimpered, suddenly drained physically and emotionally from the whole ordeal and settling to just drag himself any extra distance he could away from his unofficial death penalty. It was a pathetic display, but on the bright side, one he wouldn’t be mocked for. “Don’t h-hurt me…”

The giant shifted again, hesitant, closer , and Aiden braced himself for the final bite to end it all.

“You can talk!? ”

#g/t #fearplay #g/t writing #giant/tiny #macro/micro #gianttiny #my writing #hiddendreamer67 #MANDY MY BELOVED #also these are officially her OCs so don't ask me for ANYTHING about them #these are HER KIDS NOW i sign over my parental rights #well #i guess they're mine until I get chapter two out

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ironwhumper359 · 4 years ago

Note

How about a continuation to this? Because I'd be delighted to see one :3

Waking up to this ask like >:3 You read my mind friend, don't mind if I do:

Part 1

Content Warnings: drowning, captivity, restraints, hero x villain, supervillain whumper, whumper turned caretaker

---

The sight of Hero chained in the tank was enough to make Villain sick.

The fact that they had been the one to fasten the cuffs around Hero's ankles and seal the door only made it worse.

Supervillain, thankfully, didn't notice their discomfort, too busy preening over the victory that was within his grasp. Everything about this moment had been meticulously planned out, from the dimensions of the tank to the pressure of the pumps installed at its base to the angle of the lights and cameras. When Supervillain was finally done gloating, Hero's death would be broadcast on every television station in the city, and Villain had helped make it happen.

"So, my dearest Hero," Supervillain crooned. "It's come down to this."

Villain stood at their place by the control panel, their hands clasped behind their back to keep them from shaking.

"Your beloved city, that you've sacrificed so much to protect, has abandoned you," Supervillain continued, circling the tank slowly. You've given them everything, and they won't even lift a finger for you in return."

Anger burned in Villain's stomach, and their hands clenched into fists. It wasn't fair. Hero had never done anything wrong, had never been anything but good, but it was them who would suffer for the city's crimes.

"You see now, how little they truly care for you," Supervillain leered, and Villain saw the corners of Hero's mouth tighten. "They would rather leave you to my mercy than swallow their pride and submit to me. They have sealed your fate...unless you relinquish your will to me now."

Villain held their breath. This was Hero’s last chance; if they surrendered to Supervillain now then their life would be spared.

But they’d become everything they always strove not to be, whispered a voice in the back of Villain’s mind. Is that not the same thing as losing them?

“Well, Hero?” Supervillain demanded. “Will you finally join me? Or will you throw your life away for the sake of those maggots?”

“Go to hell,” Hero spat with a glare, and Supervillain threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh, I will miss having you around,” he said. “Part of me is almost tempted to keep you...but the show must go on.”

He nodded to Villain, and Villain wordlessly flipped a switch on the control panel. The cameras around the room buzzed to life, and Supervillain turned to face the master shot.

“Citizens!” he bellowed, sweeping his arms out. “Your leaders, despite many attempts to persuade them, have refused to submit to my demands. Thus, it is time to face the consequences!”

He stepped aside to reveal Hero, and Villain could imagine the gasp of horror anyone watching would let out at the sight of Hero’s small, thin frame, chained and littered with cuts and bruises.

“This tank will be completely filled with water in thirty minutes!” Supervillain declared. “If I have not heard a response from the mayor at the end of that time, you can watch your precious Hero die slowly, and know that your leaders had the power to prevent it!”

Supervillain pulled a remote from beneath his cape and pressed a button, water began pouring into the tank, pooling around Hero’s ankles. They shivered as the icy liquid lapped at their legs, but kept their head held up high.

“They won’t give in to you!“ Hero said defiantly. “No matter what you do, the city will never be yours!”

“Brave words, little hero,” Supervillain said. “But words won’t save you now.”

Villain glanced at the bright red phone on the control panel as the water rose up past heroes knees.

Come on, they thought. Just give him what he wants. For God’s sake, he’s going to kill them, just give him what he wants!

But the phone remained silent, and as the water rose up to Hero’s waist, Villain knew that what Supervillain said was true: the city had abandoned them.

“Fifteen minutes left!” Supervillain taunted. “My, how the time flies! That water’s looking awfully high there, Hero; let’s check in and see if we’ve heard anything from the mayor’s office!”

He looked over to Villain, and Villain shook their head, their stomach twisting when Supervillain grinned.

“My, what a shame,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “It seems we haven’t heard a peep. Maybe they’ll dedicate a statue to you when you’re gone.”

Villain almost laughed at that. The bastards probably would; they’d erect it in front of City Hall or the fire department or somewhere equally noble, and speeches would be made every year on this day, commemorating them for their sacrifice while ignoring the fact that they could have stopped it.

You could have stopped this too, that voice hissed again. You are just as guilty of inaction as the mayor.

Villain squeezed their eyes shut. The voice was wrong, of course. They weren’t just guilty of inaction, they’d helped Supervillain. The mayor may have had the power to stay Supervillain’s hand, but Villain had been the one to flip the switch. Any court of law would find them guilty for this, and while Villain usually thought the law was bullshit, they couldn’t help agree on that point.

A gasp pulled their attention away from their own self-pity, and they opened their eyes just in time to see the water rise above Hero’s head, submerging them completely. Their eyes were blown wide with panic and they strained against their chains; whatever composure they’d been holding onto for the sake of the cameras was gone.

“Such a tragedy,” Supervillain lamented, his face twisted in a cruel smile. “And one so preventable, too.”

For one fleeting moment, Hero locked eyes with Villain, their expression open and pleading.

Then a rush of bubbles burst out of their mouth, obscuring their face. Their body jerked as water filled their lungs instead of air, and panic suddenly gripped Villain’s chest.

No...no, please, they can’t just die!

Somehow, some distant part of Villain assumed that Hero would escape in some way, that the mayor would make a last minute call or that another hero would come bursting in to save the day, but there was no one, no one was coming and Hero was thrashing weakly as their brain was deprived of oxygen and Supervillain was laughing, like this was funny, like it was to be celebrated-

“NO!”

The word tore itself from Villain’s throat, and the resulting sonic soundwave instantly shattered every pane of glass in the room. Camera lenses burst, monitors sparked and died, and most importantly, the tank in the center of the room exploded, water pouring out into the room. Supervillain barely had time to cry out in surprise before the resulting wave knocked him to the ground, but Villain barely gave him a second glance.

They rushed forward, their boots crunching on broken glass until they dropped to their knees beside Hero’s body.

“Hero,” they gasped, drawing Hero’s limp form into their arms. “Hero, wake up!”

“Villain! You traitor, what do you think you’re-”

“STAY BACK!” Villain shouted, and the force of their sonic wave sent Supervillain sprawling backward. His head connected with the wall with a sickening *crunch* before his body slumped over, unmoving.

“Please,” they whispered, cupping Hero’s cheek. Their skin was cold beneath their fingertips, and Villain felt tears well up unbidden in their eyes. “Please don’t leave me.”

For a single, heart-stopping moment, Hero didn’t move, and Villain feared they were too late. Then they coughed, spluttering as water was expelled from their lungs, and Villain slumped in relief.

“Okay, okay, you’re okay,” they muttered, the words just as much a reassurance for themself as they were for Hero. “I’m gonna get you out of here.”

They quickly moved to unlock the shackles on Hero’s ankles, wincing at the raw, swollen skin left in their wake.

“Villain?” Hero asked, blinking up at them, and Villain nodded.

“It’s alright,” they soothed, wiping away the hair that was plastered to Hero’s face. “It’s alright now, you’re safe.”

“You...saved me.”

“I...yeah,” Villain said, smiling weakly. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Knew it,” Hero mumbled, and Villain let out a choked laugh.

“Okay,” they said, gathering Hero close and getting to their feet. “Time to go.”

“Where’re we going?” Hero slurred as Villain carefully stepped over the pool of broken glass around them.

“I...I don’t know,” Villain admitted. They pulled Hero closer, and dropped a kiss onto the top of their head. “Somewhere far away from here.”

Hero x Villain Masterlist

#hero x villain #hero/villain #whump #drowning #reluctant whumper #supervillain whumper #superhero whump #superhero whumpee #cinnamon roll whumpee #whump drabble #whump fic #whump ficlet #lima syndrome #my writing #whumper turned caretaker

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deadrlngers · 3 years ago

Note

senseless + violante?

25. senselesscharacters: violante waesphine, camylla words: 1.174 (couldn't stop, rip to the 3-10 sentences) warnings: physical violence and a very toxic violante, probably one of her worst moments

“Say it again” Violante’s hands were imperceptibly trembling, eyes small crevices “I dare you, say it again.”

Camylla winced at the threat concealed behind the calmest tone her lover could force herself to use after hearing her words. She tried to gather the courage to repeat herself, to say anything at all, but only a broken sob escaped her tight throat, tears couldn’t be held back any longer and started pouring out once again.

Anger mounted inside Violante’s chest and she found herself considering how pathetic the scene seemed. She glanced at the most beautiful pair of green eyes she ever had the pleasure to see: the sclera was bloodshot, the skin around them swollen and reddened from the continuous strain sustained as she proceeded once again to push her hand against it and dry out the tears. Still mesmerizing as the first day, she thought, even now. She forced herself to look away once her heart started aching; this is just a fake staged act to stimulate pity, she needs to be reminded. She will not be fooled twice.

“Iante…” the mercenary whispered between a laboured breath and a desperate lament. As if asking for forgiveness, she let her body fall on her knees: staring at the much taller woman from that position only made her look exaggeratedly larger now. She towered over her kneeled figure that now appeared insignificant when compared to her.

“Don’t use that name.” Violante snapped back at her immediately, the unfinished plea shattered against the roar of her voice. “You think your tears, your pathetic attempt at forgiveness, will move me? Do you think you can take my love and profit from it?” she didn’t notice the tears which threatened to flow until her vision blurred slightly. Her shame would have been unbearable if she had let herself be glimpsed in this state so she decided to turn her back on the traitor, perhaps that would help her think, reflect, forgive. "You seek my forgiveness because you fear for your life, you think I’m capable of killing you."

Camylla was astonished by the words and shook her head strongly even though her beloved could not see her. A hoarse 'no' escaped her lips but couldn't be heard, she repeated herself over and over, her words a cascade of raucous denials as, getting to her feet, she tried to get closer to Violante, feel the warmth of her hands again and seek comfort. "You would never do that, I know it" she reached for the woman's forearm, trying to take a glimpse at her eyes, but upon touch she roughly got pushed away. Camylla let out a defeat sound before renewing her reasoning "I can't do this anymore. I just can't stay here with you any longer. I beg you, somewhere in your heart you know my love for you is sincere but I– "

“Can’t you hear yourself? Can’t you hear how senseless your words sound?” unable to hear more of her lies, Violante only desired to extinguish every single attempt to conversate. It’s common knowledge, she’s always in the right, she didn’t need to hear anything else. “You are no different from the others. You professed your love to me, said ‘Iante, I could only love you in the world’ and look at yourself now. You knew from the start who I am, what I am.” She closed the distance between them, her face only inches away from the woman she once knew as her companion. The proximity felt almost comforting – it once was – she could experience the memory of kissing her, not as just an old scene playing in her mind, but an experience tasted in that exact moment. Something physical, tangible. If only memories could stay as pristine, unspoiled, as the moment they are created, yet nothing escapes the clutches of rot and hatred. “You had a taste of this dark heart and then declared you had enough. Are you full? Are you satisfied now? Do you want to go away? Do you think you can just walk away?” A malevolent grin distorted her features.

Camylla examined what now was the face of a beast devoured by loathing, far from her lover beautiful features, and yet she still found splendour, love. And indescribable pain.

“And can’t you see why I need to leave?” she searched her eyes for a small hint of understanding “probably not. I thought I could…change you. For the better. Only now I see my mistake.” She took a few steps back; the discussion had no way to untie neither of them from the despair of separation.

“You just used me.” Venom poured from every word like an unstoppable tide, Violante only desired to hurt her the way she just did to her, a ridiculous attempt to match the suffering the green-eyed woman inflicted on her.

“No. I loved you.” The mercenary finally spat back, fury igniting her words “And I regret it wholeheartedly, every second of it. Oh, if I could take everything back. Everything!” her hands found the way through her own vinaceous hair. Fingers began tugging harshly at the strands, eyes tightly shut and a cry stuck in her throat. “I hate you!” She screamed before shoving the half-elf, a frantic attempt to escape, to flee.

Castigation came quickly: Violante’s left hand found home around Camylla’s throat and she started squeezing and pressing, forcing air to be shut out of her lungs. A choked sound mixed to shock was the only noise audible from the woman slowly falling back down on her knees, disbelief written all over her face.

“You hate me?” the warlock repeated, almost possessed, before barking out a rough laugh, short and bitter “I’m the one who hates you.” Teeth clenched so tight it hurt, voice reminiscent of a snake hissing and finally a single tear streaking her face as she watched the love of her life slowly succumb to her. “If you think these hands would kill you then let me confirm your thoughts.”

Agony darkened her vision as her other hand reached for the neck, that same neck that she once kissed, and she squeezed more and more tightly. Camylla grasped the wrists of her attacker, nails digging into the skin and scraping as hard as she could, leaving bright red marks on the way; tears filled once again her eyes, perhaps for the last time. The sight made Violante’s head spin: there she was, her lover, on her knees imploring, praying like she was some godly entity to make amends to.

Once again, the power of choice upon life and death was offered to her on the most alluring and soul-consuming silver plate as Camylla’s forces started abandoning her. Images of a dagger and blood covered hands, her hands, flashed in front of her eyes, a voice whispering and a lifeless body of someone loved at her feet. Oh, tormented and cursed memory, can’t you let the past go?

Her wrists felt the pain lessen and the visions disturbing her vanished: as her gaze turned to focus on the tragedy dramatically unfolding in front of her, her stomach started twisting and turning, nausea finally possessing it as she saw her innocent victim lips move and trying to form what felt like her last words. I love you.

#ask games #ask #camelliagwerm #oc: violante #oc: camylla #literally wrote this by switching to italian then to english then to italian and so on and probably was a bad choice but i said i would #fight my own limits and i will do it #also thank you so much harper for sending one!! this prompt was literally CHEF KISS i could finally write down this idea i had for so long

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shadechu · 3 years ago

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*Sigh* wow, people…

I fully understand that a fanbase can hate/dislike a character, ship or scenario…

But recently, I have come to the conclusion that Taka and Sumi (and partially Zamfir) from Netflix's Castlevania suffered from the writers the "Ichika Nakano's Treatment" multiplied X 1000

(if anyone here knows the manga "Quintessential Quintuplets", they will know what I'm talking about----)

It's one thing to criticize Taka and Sumi (and Zamfir) for what happened canonically with them or what was shown to us over them. It is even justified or understandable how the fanbase criticized them… compared to my beloved Greta Danesti who has NO logical reason to be hated nor criticized; nor compelling reasons, other reasons which were different to things PREVIOUSLY SEEN from other characters like Sypha, Alucard or Trevor. Sypha or Alucard insulted Trevor in a teasing (or not exactly teasing) way? "They're wonderful, sassy and funny characters uwu"; Trevor or Alucard tried to kill or insulted each other? "OMG, THEY'RE SOULMATES, SO HOT AND BADASS AND SASSY DYNAMIC *0*"… Ohhhh, but then Greta said "bad things" over Adrian's home or she said a sassy/teasing comment to him and EVERYONE HATED HER WTF?! "HOW DARE SHE TO BE RUDE TO HIM LIKE THAAAAT?! GRRRRRRRR!!!!!!" -____-

But returning to the Twins (I DON'T CARE WHAT THE SHOW-RUNNERS SAID ABOUT THEM, they're twins for me e.e) I have noticed how the fanbase has too much, TOO MUCH hatred for the murdered Japanese… while they adore characters like Dracula, Carmilla, Lenore, etc… they adore them although they ALSO did bad stuff or horrible things. As much as Dracula was a tragic character, he was never a saint--- even he is "another" traitor like Taka and Sumi, if we remember what he did in Lament of innocence as Mathias: He handed the WIFE (Sara) of HIS BEST FRIEND (Leon Belmont) over to the villain on duty (Walter); then Mathiad betrayed that same villain on duty to become a vampire himself, AND THEN he tried to kill HIS BEST FRIEND as well. Although Leon and his (eventually dead) wife Sara always trusted Mathias, and they probably gave their generosity towards Mathias after the death of his beloved Elizabetha. Oh, but since he had a beautiful romance with the reincarnation of his wife, and the opportunity to redeem himself after MANY SINS (bad actions) to our controversial vampire, nobody criticizes him…

Ahhhh, but Zamfir? The """"crazy bitch""""" who deserved to die, even when Sypha EVENTUALLY understood Zamfir probably ended that "crazy" because of possible traumas??? Nah, she was crazy and crazy people deserve to die because they're crazy… Ohhh, but Taka and Sumi? They are the disgusting traitors who deserved what happened to them (being impaled by the one who only showed generosity and trusted them) but without having the slightest opportunity to redeem themselves or have a different ending… and some people still think badly about them wondering "who else have they had to betray in the past?!" before meeting Adrian.

I cannot ignore THE GIGANTIC DIFFERENCE between the punishment of the Japanese twins compared to Lenore's, who did almost exactly the same things as them (if not WORSE) and she didn't have an ending nor a punishment as traumatic as theirs… Lenore's death was even tragic and her "apparent romance" with Hector is applauded, accepted, romanticized!

And a lot of people HATE to see someone shipping or talking about Adrian with Taka&Sumi, but then a lot of people is shipping Leon Belmont and Mathias, without anyone saying nothing bad about it-----

Heck, I even see that until when someone makes a Request to a fanfiction writer open to Request; the person who made the request wants to leave the Japanese guys as the absolute bad guys who destroyed any chance of happiness for Adrian Tepes; they want to expose them solely and exclusively as monsters that don't deserve the least compassion, nor sympathy, nor redemption, nor divergence from canon in AUs --- (I don't blame the writers, though; they only do their job or do what they ask of them)

Ah, but Mathias-aka-Dracula? The fanbase adore him and mourn for what he suffered, and the fanbase applauded his ending at s4 with his beloved Lisa--- and just to clarify, I love Draculisa and I was happy that they were able to be together again (alive or in hell)

Do you think I'm over-analyzing things…?

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bardapologist · 3 years ago

Text

hey friends! if you liked sidelined, take a minute to read this post! the garages, my beloved band, is raising money to press the album UNSTABLE on vinyl featuring tracks like sidelined, INCINERATE,a new version of traitor’s lament, firewalker with me, and all the other bangers you love!

its the first day of the crowdfunding campaign and we’re already halfway to our goal, but we need your help getting there! for $25 bucks, you can pre-order the album right now!

its also bandcamp friday today, so 100% of the money we raise on the first day of campaign will go to paying artists and funding the vinyl!

#blaseball #the garages #unstable #sidelined

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theotheroccassionalfanficwriter · 3 years ago

Text

To Our Beloved Tartaglia

Summary: A story on how two people say i love you without saying it.

A/N: Fluff for today’s birthday boy! I’m buying him a cake and celebrating his birthday! Implied sex at the end.

The freezing temperature of Dragonspine was one you’ve grown to find as a minor inconvenience. Though you do enjoy playing in its place and exploring it for treasures, you’ve never grown to like it. It was just a tourist destination in your humble opinion. Not that anyone who knew you agreed, even Paimon had wondered if you were quite alright in your brain.

Of course, correlation breeds attachment and from the moment you heard Tartaglia offhandedly mention how Dragonspine was like Snezhnaya in its freezing temperature, you’ve dedicated a time in the day to spend time in it to ensure that your body would not be shocked when it finally lands in Snezhnaya. If anyone noticed how you’ve silently grown fond of the place, you’d deny to your dying breath that it had to do with Tartaglia.

Not even Kaeya’s impressive boob window would be able to make you admit your growing intentions to tie down the volatile Harbinger to your side through marriage. There were some things you wanted to keep close to your chest, and this was one of them.

It stood to reason then that you would have kept your sudden desire to perfect the art of cocktail mixing or to be more honest, perfecting Blue Lagoon. Your sudden daily appearance in Cat’s Tail had been the talk of Mondstadt, it grew large enough that even the Traveler and Paimon had dropped by.

“Paimon wonders why you would work here just to practice your bartending skills?” Paimon had asked after being served a non-alcoholic drink.

“I wanted to make a drink for Childe with the fire water he gifted me on my birthday” You revealed as you finished the Long Island and gave it to the Traveler, “On the house.”

You winked at them.

“Huh? Why would you even want to do that?”

You smiled and didn’t answer Paimon, opting to give her food to distract her. On the side, the Traveler gave you a knowing look but you merely signaled them to keep it a secret.

“I really hate the taste of fire water but it does its job in the cold. I don’t know why you’d want something like this, comrade...but if it makes you happy-”

“Since you hate the taste of it, give me enough time to make a drink suitable for you.”

“Hahaha! There’s no need to go that far, I’ve drank this when I was just a year in the Fatui!”

“Then I’ll give you a drink just for you as Tartaglia.”

When you saw his letter today, you couldn’t help but feel the bubbling emotion in your heart. Excitement rushed through your veins as you ignored the rest of the letters addressed to you to read his letter. You sat in front of your house’s door step, smile on your face as you read his letter.

You couldn’t help but imagine the whine in his tone, you lamented that the two of you couldn’t have bumped into him at Dragonspine but your travels took you far and wide through Teyvat. The chances of meeting him by chance were low, so you resigned on buying information of his whereabouts.

Nothing substantial, just sightings of him if only to fake a chance meeting but it didn't happen so far. The two of you were always on the opposite ends of Teyvat that you had half a mind that Celestia itself was sabotaging your love life. Your heart felt elated at knowing he was fondly remembering the time you had spent with each other, as well as the sparring sessions that always seemed like on the verge of something more.

When your eyes read the final words on his letter, you couldn’t help but feel your heartbeat quicken.

“A special day?” You muttered to yourself, your mind quickly churning as you hastily went inside your rented home in Mondstadt and quickly rushed towards your room to grab your room to change your clothes. You had thought he was in Snezhnaya so you had already sent his gift earlier, timing it so that it would arrive today but if his letter was to be understood, it meant that he was in Liyue today.

‘If I use the waypoints, I can get there quickly and spend the day with him!’ You thought as you began to meticulously fix yourself. You wanted to show him the best sides of you today.

Your clothes were meticulously picked, the outfit would pose no hazards during a battle while at the same time accentuating your figure and increasing your charm. You wanted to be prepared on the off chance Tartaglia wanted to have a spar, but if he wanted to go on a date,

“Then I’ll be prepared as well!” You giggled as you finished checking yourself out and began to apply light waterproof make-up. Your lips were glossed and purposely drawn to capture his attention on how kissable it was.

You sprayed a soft floral perfume before winking at the mirror and making your way to the nearest warp point and teleporting yourself in Liyue.

You landed softly in front of the teleport waypoint in Feiyun Slope. The effort you spent on yourself was noticeable, the mid-morning populace of Liyue took a couple of glances at you. Anyone could tell that you were about to go on a date, eyes followed you as you happily walked towards the Northland Bank.

“Good morning, Vlad!”

“O-oh! Good morning! Are you here for Lord Tartaglia?” Vlad asked you, blushing after being caught mid-yawn.

“Yeah, I was hoping he was around here” You replied, suddenly feeling embarrassed at your haste.

Vlad grinned, it was no secret to the employees of the Northland Bank that you and Lord Tartaglia frequently went out together. As far as they were concerned, marriage was a foregone conclusion between the two of you.

“Of course! Just head straight to the second floor! Lord Tartaglia is still in his office around this time!”

“Thanks! I heard Nadia’s into crab tofu this days~” You happily helped Vlad to further his relationship with Nadia.

Each step that you took made your smile brighter, your head was full of thoughts about him. Wondering if he had gotten stronger, was he eating well, did he get new scars, had he visited his family recently, was he taking good care of himself. All of this went through your head as you headed to his office but most of all you thought,

‘Did you think of me as much as I thought of you?’

Your heart was bursting at the seams and you couldn’t wait to be reunited with him. Your footsteps slowed as you reached the door to his office, you could hear the soft muffled sounds of scribbling behind the door. You stood in front of it, debating, thinking, on the words you wanted to say to him.

You hesitated, wondering if the words on his letter were just politeness and not a reflection of his true feelings towards you. You lingered in front of the door, listening to the sounds inside the room, and wondered if you could cross the line today. You thought of the package that had surely already arrived in Snezhnaya, before your thoughts could even spiral further down the road, the door opened and in front of you stood Tartaglia.

Somehow, against your will, you couldn’t help but smile at him. Your traitorous body revealing your heart right in front of him without any regard for your reservations.

“Tartaglia!”

And when he smiled back, eyes soft as if the mere mention of his name had not revealed your fondness of him, you felt yourself fall in love with him again.

Your name felt safe in his mouth, treasured, and when he pulled you close and held you in a tight embrace, you prayed that he wouldn’t hear the quick and rapid pump of your heart nor would he realize how easily you melted in his embrace.

“You came! I didn’t really expect you to come so quickly!” His tone was bashful, pleased, and a little bit shy and it made you even softer for him.

“Neither did I! I was hoping you were here since I’ve never been to your home in Morepesok before…” You trailed off, feeling shy.

He laughed softly, “If you keep that up, I might just really think you’ve missed me so much!”

“I did miss you” You admitted with soft eyes as you watched his face slowly turn red.

“Comrade…” Tartaglia averted his eyes, the back of his covering half of his face, “I’m no match for you today.”

You chuckled softly, “Mhm. Before that let me greet you first.”

He looked at you and you wondered what sort of face you were making right now. You sincerely hoped it wasn’t weird or ugly.

“I’m listening.”

“Tartaglia, Happy birthday” You stepped closer to his personal space, hands on his chest as you tiptoed and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve actually sent your gift to Morepesok but since you’re here...today I’ll give myself to you.”

Tartaglia blushed as he grasped your hands and with unconcealed anticipation replied, “How bold! I can’t believe you’re saying that in broad daylight!”

“What’s bold about it?” You asked him “I’m willing to do anything you want today as your present since your real one is in Snezhnaya.”

“Oh.”

You frowned at his reaction, “I-I can change it to something else! Do you want new weapons?” You worried that you had disappointed him with your stand-in gift.

“No!”

He coughed upon realizing his reaction and hastened to explain himself, “I mean, I’m glad to have you today! You can’t change it to something else!”

You felt relieved at his words. Tartaglia continued speaking, “I want to go on a date with you today, eat your cooking for lunch, and then spar in the afternoon, and we finish this at my room.”

“As you wish!”

In the morning, after Tartaglia had finished signing and writing the documents for the Fatui, the two of you ate breakfast at Wanmin Restaurant. His skills in using chopsticks were marginally better but it still took him many attempts before he could eat a couple of bites.

It was cute. It was endearing. And you were so so in love that you didn’t mind picking up the crystal shrimp and feeding it to him.

“C’mon now, don’t be shy” You told him when his mouth remained close and you could see the hesitation in his eyes “You’ll need all the energy for our fight later.”

You locked eyes with him as he ate from your chopsticks, seeing up close how long his lashes were, the slight curl on its end and the fascinating blue of his eyes. You wondered if Tartaglia could see how much you loved him, if your eyes betrayed the depth of your affection for him. But as soon as he removed his mouth from the chopsticks, crystal shrimp gone, the moment had ended and you ate from your bowl of Universal Peace.

When you saw him swallow, you immediately reached for the Squirrel Fish and took a piece of it, offered it to him and Tartaglia ate. Had it anyone else you wouldn’t have bothered but as always, Tartaglia managed to be the exception and you didn’t mind.

After eating, the two of you walked along Liyue Harbor, browsing shops and buying him small trinkets to bring back home. You visited the blacksmith to commission him a new bow, one designed to further improve his skills at the bow. You would pick it up later in the day, and Tartaglia dragged you to watch opera. The two of you sat close, closer than usual and the butterflies in your stomach never settled down. His hand never left yours and you wondered what sort of picture the two of you painted in the eyes of Liyue’s populace.

You couldn’t help but wish that you could keep on celebrating his birthdays with him from now on.

By the time the play ended it was past lunch time, so the two you went to the market stalls and bought ingredients for a late lunch before heading back to his apartment. Tartaglia helped as you made his longevity noodles, telling him the story behind it from a time before Rex Lapis’.

“I guess, you must really like me that much if you’re giving me this to eat!”

“Well, since we met in the middle of my life, I wanted to make sure that we’d have a lot of time to spend together to make up for it” You teased him even if it was the truth.

You didn’t know what the future held for both of you but you wanted to be part of his life longer than the time you weren’t in it. In his kitchen, you served him the noodles, every part of it made with love and well-wishes for his life and you hoped that there would be more years to come that you could spend it this way.

‘I wonder if you could tell how much I love you with each bite you take?’

When all was said and done, when the two of you had gone through all of his wishes, you both sat at the pavilion in the Dwelling in the Clouds, stargazing and observing Celestia. Between the two of you were two glasses filled with Blue Lagoon.

“You know, I never thought that you’d really make a drink with Fire Water that I’d like” Tartaglia said, his gaze far away “Say, do you do this for others too?”

“I don’t” You confessed, your face felt like it was on fire, you had never been comfortable speaking out your love unless it was hidden behind a joke or said in a playful careless manner.

A moment later, Tartaglia’s movement had you looking at him, drinking in the rare sight of his gentle smile, a genuine one that carried only what you dared to hope was fondness for you.

“If you keep this up, looking at me like that, I might really get my hopes up” His voice was soft and gentle as his face came closer to yours.

“Say comrade, if I kissed you right now what would you do?”

Before you could even think of a reply his lips were on yours and you were pushed down the bench, glasses strewn aside as Tartaglia’s tongue entered your open mouth and kissed you deeply. Your arms embraced his neck as the two of you kissed passionately, drowning in each other in gentle passionate bliss above the clouds. His hand lingered on your thigh, squeezing and caressing it as he applied pressure on your crotch and creating a friction that had you arching your body close.

When the two of you came up for air, you looked so debauched that Tartaglia almost couldn’t help but devour you right then. The flush on your cheeks, the dazed look in your eyes and your glistening red lips that had been a temptation to him all day created a picture that would always linger in his mind.

“If I asked you to give yourself to me…” Tartaglia’s hand traveled down your inner thigh, getting closer to the sides of your crotch “would you?”

“...yes” You covered your eyes, if only to hide your embarrassment.

His soft laughter had you peeking back at him.

“Thank you”

His lips were back on yours and made no move to stop him as his hands went under your clothes, playing with your body as if he had spent time thinking on how to elicit moans from your mouth. He was gentle but purposeful in his acts as your clothes were removed piece by piece and discarded into a pile on the floor.

You bit your hand as he took you apart again and again, plunging you into a passionate love affair that had you crying for his name and tasting the sweetness of his love with each kiss. It felt sacrilegious to have done such an act in a place owned by the Adepti but each bite, each kiss, had your heart pounding in excitement.

You loved him as ardently as the fires of Natlan, as deep as the waters of Liyue’s seas, you loved him with all of your heart and every fiber of your being. What bliss it was to experience this love that made you feel human, that the mere mention of his name could bring a smile on your face.

How wonderful it was to be in his arms right now, enjoying the bliss of being loved and loved in return. With your hands clasped together with his, your heart filled to the seams, you spoke,

“I’m glad to have met you.”

When Tartaglia had left that letter on your doorstep, he had stood in front of it for a long while. Wondering what you would say if he was the first thing you saw in the morning. Would you greet him with a happy birthday? Or would you scream in fright? His thoughts went on and on as he merely stood there thinking upon dozens of scenarios if only for you to be the first one to wish him a happy birthday.

He wanted to tell you that his days were no longer the same without you by his side, that the mundane everyday life no longer felt exciting when you weren’t there to experience it with him. He wanted to tell you how he always wanted you to just show up whenever your informants inquired about him.

He had entertained the thought that you would one day show up in his workplace, food in hand and his name on your lips but he knew that you were the type to stick to your duties, and really he couldn't fault you for that when he was the same. But sometimes, the selfish and childish part of him wanted you to throw away everything for him.

Just for a while, just for a moment, if only to have something to look back upon when all was said and done.

So when he had seen you standing before him, eyes bright and looking at him like he was your most cherished person, he couldn’t help the happiness that was bursting at the seams. And now that you were in his arms, on his lap with your head on his chest, he couldn’t help but kiss you again and again. Making up for lost time, for all of those moments when he could have breached the line and made a move but didn’t.

“Stay with me” He offered, asked even when he knew that it was impossible right now. Not when either of your allegiance could go against each other any time, you with the Adventurer’s guild and him with the Fatui.

“One day” you promised.

And that was enough for him. It gave him hope that both of you would make it out alive. It gave him something to look forward to when his time with the Harbingers had come to an end.

#tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact tartaglia x reader #genshin impact childe x reader #childe x reader #happy birthday tartaglia

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rochiomaru · 4 years ago

Text

TIES THAT BIND

The two brothers faced off, one not trusting the other long enough to look away for even a fraction of a second. Doflamingo had never felt so conflicted, and though his exterior was as calm and cold as ever; internally his mind was screaming in agony with his beloved brother’s betrayal. Whenever he looked at Rosinante, all he could see was the little boy he fought so hard to protect when they were young. Who had twisted his lovely brother’s mind so much to cause him to bare his fangs like this? The answer came a few moments later.

“Marine Code 01746. Commander Rosinante of the Navy Headquarters. Donquixote Family captain Doflamingo, I have been undercover to prevent a future tragedy of your doing.” Rosinante couldn’t help but to smile as he finally revealed the truth he had held so close for so long. It had been such a burden to remain undercover and pretend to be a monster like his brother. Now he was finally free to be himself. His only regret was that Law could hear him, and he knew how much the young man hated the navy. He had hoped to show the child that his world view was inaccurate, but now the blond knew it was too late; he knew the pirate in front of him would now end his life.

Rosinante grit his teeth and began to bang his head against the treasure chest he was leaning on to get Law’s attention. He knew that it was his last opportunity to say anything to him before his so-called brother attacked. Everything he had ever heard or seen about the man indicated that a violent response is all he could expect. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I didn't want you to hate me."

Doflamingo watched his brother, and it felt as though the wind had been knocked out of his chest. Other than when his mother died, he couldn’t remember a time that his heart truly hurt so much. He didn’t even realize that there was anything left in him to be hurt like this. Ever since meeting Trebol, he had placed so much importance on growing powerful and being above human emotions. Quick to act, Doflamingo is the first to admit how cruel he could be. He loved his family, but he still ruled with an iron fist. How had he allowed himself to become so weak?

His brother’s apology caught him off guard, but something inside him screamed it was a lie. Perhaps it was the way Rosinante didn't meet his eyes. Gladius shouted that it was too late for apologies while attempting to attack the injured man, but Doflamingo stopped him. It was his brother, and he would deal with this himself. His face darkened and he practically snarled as he fought to keep the rising bile from coming up his throat. As his world shattered, maintaining control was crucial. “Stop telling those insipid jokes…” he managed to spit at the man before him.

He then asked about Law and the Ope Ope no Mi, causing Rosinante to become almost smug in his answer “The boy has eaten the fruit and is now in the custody of the Marines.”

The very same bastards that had stolen his brother, now have the boy Doflamingo practically considers his own son! He could hear the blood begin to pound in his ears and his chest tightened to an unbearable degree. He ground his teeth back and forth, and instinctively readied his strings for an attack. At that moment, his other children called out to him to confirm a boy was taken into custody.

Doflamingo took a breath and went into action. He gathered more information from his children, and then called out orders to the other family members. Law is his main focus right now and he will get him back no matter what.

From the moment the young one sought him out, Doflamingo saw himself in the boy. They had not lived quite the same lives, but the same pain dwelled within them. He saw so much of himself in the thirteen year old, and had spent the last three years considering the boy as his own son. To lose him now would be unthinkable. ‘Perhaps Rosinante knew this and intended this to be the twist of the knife in my back?’ he thought to himself. He closed his eyes against the hot needles that pricked against his eyes. He hadn’t cried since his mother died, and be damned if he’d give this traitor the satisfaction of seeing him break now!

Instead, Doflamingo reacted in the way Trebol had taught him. He clenched his teeth as the scowled deepened on his face and reached inside of his coat for the gun he’d carried for the last 15 years; the gun Trebol gave him to take back his power from those who betray him.

Rosinante watched as his brother appeared conflicted for a few moments, but in all honesty, it was hard to read him with his eyes covered behind those ridiculous glasses. ‘Perhaps the pirate is just considering how to kill me?’ he wondered to himself. However, once the older blond pulled his gun, the marine knew it was time for the final confrontation. He took one last drag of a dying cigarette before tossing it to the side, and then stood slowly to his feet. He kept his own pistol aimed at his brother’s head, his finger firmly on the trigger, but inside he knew he was not a killer. He was not a criminal like Doflamingo.

The snow continued to fall around them, each brother lost in his own thoughts. Doflamingo was first to break the silence. “I know you can’t shoot me. You’re too much like your father.”

He then ordered his crew to begin gathering up the treasure and head back to the ship. It was time to go find Law. Doflamingo turned away from the traitor when he heard the hammer click as the other blond prepared to fire.

“He won’t obey you, Doffy. He’s not the same Law that came to you that day, who lost track of himself and came to visit a crazy pirate!” the marine hissed. Rosinante knew he had to do whatever he could to stop Doflamingo from tracking Law down. He had to allow the boy a chance to be free from this nightmare. Perhaps he could just end it now? If he could just gather the strength to pull the trigger, though he knew his brother’s crew would kill him in an instant, at least Doflamingo would be dead and Law would be free.

It wasn’t the sound of the gun preparing to fire that stopped Doflamingo from leaving. It was the acidic words that poured from his brother’s lips. At last the truth was evident. This was beyond betrayal. ‘A crazy pirate? That’s all I am?’ Somehow those words seemed to lodge themselves deeper into his mind more than the thought that the navy had used his biological family against him. 'Perhaps family is just the ones you find in this life,' he concludes with an inward sigh.

Now, more than ever, Doflamingo was determined to find Law. The boy was his son in all but blood, and Rosinante had proven that blood was worthless. He had thought that somehow life had given him a second opportunity to build a life with a member of his precious biological family when his brother had returned to him after years of being separated. Doflamingo wondered when it was that he had lost his brother’s love. ‘Was it when I killed that man, or did he ever love me?’ he thought to himself while he turned to look at the marine.

“Why do I have to kill another member of my biological family?” Doflamingo lamented aloud while he prepared to fire his own weapon. He had planned to walk away from the confrontation, but it seemed as if the Commander was not simply going to allow him to go. His mind began to race, as if to match the racing of his heart in his chest. Despite the freezing temperature, Doflamingo was burning hot and felt as though he couldn’t breathe. It took everything within him to keep a cool facade as he aimed the weapon at his brother’s chest.

He knew he was at a crossroads in his life. It was a defining moment of life or death, heaven or hell, balance or insanity. Whatever he chose would rule his existence from this point onward. As flashes of his life crossed through his mind, that hated burning behind his eyes threatened to overwhelm the pirate again. However, he would not yield and would not cry, no matter what the cost.

As he watched Rosinante’s face, Doflamingo remembered the times from their shared past. The first time he saw his baby brother in his mother’s arms while sitting on his father’s shoulders. The time they walked down the streets of Mariejois, eating candy and laughing at funny birds hopping along the windowsills of the buildings they passed. Covering his brother’s body with his own as the villagers beat them for stealing some bread, and trying to protect him from the majority of their blows because Rosi was so small and he was the big brother so that’s just what you do…

It was then that Machvise grabbed the chest from behind Rosinante and caught both of their attention from each other. Rosinante seemed to panic slightly, causing Doflamingo to tilt his head in a considering manner as he looked at the chest. ‘What is so special about this one?’

Rosinante swallowed back the impulse to snatch the chest with Law inside. As much as he wanted to take the boy and run, he knew he could never get away from these animals. Law had a much higher chance of survival on his own. ‘All I have to do is keep Doflamingo distracted, and give Law that opportunity to escape,’ he thought while attempting to keep his expression blank.

Yet it was the blank expression where hatred had been before that Doflamingo found the most intriguing. Something about this wasn’t right and he was going to find out. This traitor was plotting something else, and he refused to allow it to come to fruition! “Machvise! Stop for a moment. I want to see what you have there. It may be a trap.” He gave his brother a cold glare as he called his subordinate over.

Rosinante broke into a cold sweat and it felt as though icy fingers clutched his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He watched with apprehension as the rotund figure approached the madman of a pirate, and Law came closer to being discovered. Previously, it had seemed as though everything was going to work out in the end, almost as though some deity was going to ensure Law’s safety, but now Rosinante knew he must move quickly to rescue the boy before it’s too late! He closed his eyes and began to fire.

Doflamingo narrowed his eyes and leapt to the side while using his strings to deftly dodge Rosinante’s attack. However, as he turned back towards the other man, he saw that he was no longer the one being targeted. The gun was aimed straight at Machvise’s head.

Rosinante then pulled the trigger again. The only thought in the marine’s mind was getting Law away from them before he could be discovered, no matter what the cost.

After a quick assessment of the situation, Doflamingo made two moves simultaneously. He threw his strings in a web out to grab Machvise out of the path of Rosinante’s bullet, and he fired his own shots, three in rapid succession. Two of the bullets hit his brother in the back of his thigh, the third in the small of his back. Rosinante screamed and fell to the ground, where the snow began to bloom scarlet beneath him as he desperately attempted to stand. Chocolate-colored eyes widened in shock and terror as he realized one leg felt like it had been set on fire, while the other leg had no feeling at all.

Everything moved as if in slow motion from that point on. The marine watched as his brother pulled his crewmate out of the way, but the larger man dropped the treasure chest. As it fell, it became low enough in the moment the bullet passed that a hole appeared in the chest. Time seemed to stop and he was sure he might even lose his mind. He watched as the chest fell to the ground and the top fell open. Gold, jewels, and finally Law rolled out into the snow. No one moved for the briefest of moments, until Law landed a few feet from the chest. Blood poured from a wound in his right shoulder and he was unconscious.

Both brothers dropped their weapons and screamed for the boy. If they could have taken their eyes from him and looked at one another, perhaps they would have seen the mirrored expressions of fear and concern. However, the moment passed and Doflamingo ran towards the fragile, pale child to gather him in his arms. Pica, Vergo, and Gladius heard the pitch of his cries and immediately dropped what they were carrying to race back to their captain. It was not a tone Doflamingo was known for having.

When they arrived, they found him on his knees, holding Law tightly to his chest while murmuring softly in the child’s ear. He had one hand held over the boy’s shoulder, but blood was soaked through the cuff of his shirt and jacket, making the dark colors jet black. Gladius growled with rage at seeing the young master so distraught and went straight for the traitor, kicking him in the face. “What the fuck did you do now?!” he demanded, kicking him a second and third time in succession without really giving him time to answer.

Doflamingo looked up at the sounds and called out, “Leave him. We must get Law back to the ship immediately.” He slowly began to rise while still cradling the boy gently in his arms. Was he always this light? Law had always been so full of anger and strong. It seems strange to the ito-wielder for him to be so fragile now.

“But, young master! He betrayed you! Look at Law! Look at what he's done!” Gladius screamed in anguish, giving Rosinante another kick. Doflamingo bit his lip as he watched his brother curl inward to protect himself from the blows, but as he looked down to the boy in his arms his resolve solidified. He pulled his coat from his shoulders and gently wrapped it around the pale, trembling boy to help ease his chills. He then used his strings to grab up the revolver he had previously dropped. Gladius was right. Commander Rosinante was marine scum and a traitor. He had done enough damage to their family.

The blond closed the distance between himself and the other man lying prone on the ground. Rosinante looked up at his coming death, and attempted with every ounce of his remaining strength to get up to grab Law from the pirate, but whatever was wrong with his legs wasn’t allowing him to stand. Instead, he was only able to manage to roll to his back and prop himself into a sitting position so he at least would not be on his belly like a worm when death came to him.

As Doflamingo approached, with Vergo and Pica flanking either side of him, Gladius stepped back from Rosinante. He was glad that the young master had listened to reason and was going to take action against this bastard.

Doflamingo stepped up to his brother and pointed the barrel of the gun towards the other’s chest. The sound of the hammer locking into place was almost deafening in the silence, but then he felt a tug on the lapels of his jacket. Doflamingo looked down into a pair of bleary, golden eyes that were filled with tears.

“Please don’t do it,” Law whispered in a small and broken voice. The boy appeared to be struggling to keep his eyes open and his hand was shaking as he kept hold of Doflamingo’s clothing.

The older male licked his dry lips while looking into Law’s eyes. For the first time since he had met the boy, there was emotion reflected within their depths that was not rage, nor was it hatred. In fact, the pirate had a difficult time comprehending the softness of the gaze until the younger broke eye contact to turn his head in an attempt to see where Rosinante was. Once he spotted the man sitting on the ground, the faintest of smiles edged the corners of his lips for a fraction of a second before he closed his eyes and turned back towards Doflamingo again.

Tears began to roll down the sides of his face into his black hair, leaving streaks in the dirt and blood on his face. When Law opened his eyes again, he looked directly at Doflamingo and pleaded, “Please let him live. He means a lot to me.”

The ache in Doflamingo’s heart grew at the boy’s words and he dropped his weapon for the second time. Bringing his fingers up to Law’s face to brush back his hair, he ran his thumb along a swollen bruise over his right eye. The frown deepened on Doflamingo’s face as he made note to have a private conversation with Vergo once they were all safely back on the Numancia later about his treatment of this child. After a few more moments passed, he looked over to where his brother was panting on the ground, still clutching his injuries.

“Let’s go. Gather the treasure and get back to the ship. The marines will be here soon.” he ordered his men as he turned away from the traitor for the last time. It hurt too much to look at him any longer, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep from killing him if he didn’t walk away. As much as he hated what had been done to himself, he knew he could do this favor for his son.

“But, young master!” Gladius began to protest while looking at Rosinante with disgust.

“I said, let’s go! I should not need to repeat myself!” he shouted in return while grabbing the man by his coat and tossing him unceremoniously towards the bay. Gladius stumbled a few steps before catching his balance and then he shoved his hands in his pockets while stomping through the snow. He would obey his captain, but he didn't have to like it.

Doflamingo pulled his coat a little tighter around Law's body to help keep him warm, but the child struggled weakly against him. The feathers blocked his view of Cora and he needed to tell him something. Once the teen was sure he had the other's attention, he gathered what was left of his strength and called out in a loud voice, "Thank you, Cora-san! I won't forget you!" Law then collapsed against Doflamingo's chest, gasping slightly as he fought to stay conscious.

Rosinante felt his heart skip a beat at the boy's words, and in the back of his mind he wondered if perhaps Doflamingo hadn't killed him after all and now he was in hell. When he had started this journey, it had been to keep a child from becoming another monster like his brother. Along the way, he had come to know the child and had learned how truly lost and broken that boy was, and how much he really just needed someone to love him.

As the realization set in that he had failed that child, Rosinante couldn't stop the burning ache that filled his chest. The dark hopelessness consumed his very soul and he felt like he was drowning in the despair of it all. "I'm so sorry, Law! Please forgive me!!" he cried out as he fell forward into the bloodied snow. There, Rosinante continued to wail as his heart broke, and he grieved for the child he knew he had just lost to a pirate that was more demon than man.

It took everything in Doflamingo not to turn back as he heard the cries behind him. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists while holding tightly onto Law. All he could think of was how much his brother sounded as he did after the death of their father. It was the final proof that he was nothing to his brother and family consists of the ones who choose to be there, not those that happen to share the same blood.

As he stepped onto the deck of his ship, Doflamingo swore vengeance on those responsible for this. He would be sure to recompense double for what the Marines have done to his family, and the Heavenly Demon always pays his debts.

In the distance behind him, his revolver lays forgotten in the snow.

#donquixote doflamingo #corazon #drabbles #trafalgar law #one piece #doffy #ties that bind #donquixote rosinante #love that flamingo #alternate timeline #Rosinante lives

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avengershumanresources · 4 years ago

Text

blood 10 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 9 - part 11

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

10 - a trick

Peter had Sam and Clint notify the guard. Natalia and James secured the Queen and Princess Morgan, and before anyone had time to breathe, Peter stormed Obadiah’s bedchamber.

The king woke with a start, opening his mouth to protest the interruption and stopping immediately when the tip of a sword went to his throat.

“Is this supposed to be a coup?” he mocked while Peter marched him out of the bedroom toward the throne room. “You’re in over your head, boy.”

Peter didn’t reply, keeping his sword up until they were securely in the throne room where Wong, Steve, and Thor waited with crossed arms.

“King Rumlow will not stand for this,” Obadiah’s confident tone faded once Peter shoved him forward. “Whatever you’re planning, you’re outnumbered.”

“Per the law, if the council feels the king is unfit, he may be removed in favor of the next in line,” Wong recited.

“He’s not of age!” Obadiah spat but Steve looked between the men.

“A few months?” he asked the group. “I saw the records say his birth was yesterday, 22 years to the day.”

“It’ll be noted,” Wong hummed, the quartet watching the king for his next move.

“Traitors-,” Obadiah threw a finger between the men accusingly. “Where’s Strange? Not man enough to face me himself?”

“Uncle, if you step down peacefully, you can live out your days unbothered at the border,” Peter offered tersely, watching the manic man for any sudden movements. “Please.”

“Ha!” Obadiah threw his head back, taking a few steps away from the group. “Do you honestly think I believe that? You’ll send that bitch assassin or the cripple missing an arm after me.”

Peter saw Steve tense at the insults, but maintained a firm tone with the disgraced king.

“Please uncle,” he tried to reason. “There are many who wish to see you punished for your transgressions-.”

“Transgressions?” Obadiah spun on to him. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve tried to bring peace to the kingdom. I’ve broken no law.”

“You ordered the death of my father,” Peter stated, unflinchingly. He stated the older, larger man down. “The punishment for treason is death and I am giving you the option of survival.”

Shouting was beginning to rise from the courtyard outside the throne room. Flickers of torches and the whinnying of horses soon meshed into the sounds.

“The men who wish to see you dead far outnumber anyone loyal to you,” Steve warned, eyeing the lights through the stained glass. “You have nothing to offer Rumlow, there’s no guarantee he’ll be willing to waste the men on a lost cause.”

There was a there was a crash from the hall outside the locked throne room door. Swords clanged against once another and the shouting grew louder.

Turning to the men, Obadiah smirked when someone began slamming against the door.

“Are you certain of that, Peter?” he asked, his grin growing wider. “Don’t think I was blind to your schemes. I know all that goes on in this castle.”

He rounded on Peter, a finger prodding the prince’s chest.

“I heard all about the tavern meetings with the Asgardians and this pathetic attempt on my throne,” he glowered down at him. “I knew exactly why the Asgardians were here, a betrothal, don’t be stupid! I knew about that little slut too. Now she’s with her weak father... probably lamenting how I outsmarted them. You’re a fool, Peter, and you’ll hang for this.”

There was a stunned silence, all eyes falling on Peter, who’d backed away with Obadiah towering over him. Shouts and banging could still be heard from the halls, a group now trying to break down the door.

All at once, Peter let out a furious yell. He grabbed the front of Obadiah’s sleeping gown with one hand, the other going for a dagger at his side.

“Do you see this knife?” he snarled, pricking the tip against Obadiah’s neck to draw a single droplet of blood. “My sister used it to defend against that beast you’ve brought into my home. Do you know who gave it to her? One of the most dangerous criminals in the next two kingdoms, pray tell me, uncle- what do you think they will do to do if I don’t kill you now? The assassin who so trusted my beloved sister, he gave her a weapon to defend from you?”

“You’re going to lose.”

“What will they do, Obadiah-,” Peter dug the blade a little deeper into the kings skin, making the man squirm. “When the truth of her death comes out? When the truth of my fathers death? The longest reign of peace and economic prosperity in generations. What will the farmers, whose crops Rumlow burned under your orders, do to you?”

“Peter!” the door burst open and Wong grabbed Peter, teleporting him, Thor, and Steve away before Amora could blast the group.

She rushed toward the king, hands glowing, while she skimmed him over for injury.

“The queen and princess are gone,” she reported. “My king rallied his troops the moment he caught wise of what the prince was planning. Sir, he still commits his men to you, per your agreement.”

“No marriage?” Obadiah practically stammered out.

“My grace, the specifics can be dealt with, should we survive this treacherous siege, now hold on,” she grabbed his wrist and teleported with a cloud of green smoke.

(—)

“The princess was moved to the crypt,” Loki reported once he met Stephen in the courtyard, his troops readying to support the guard within the castle. “One of the priests heard wind of the siege and gave her a quick blessing before fleeing.”

That wasn’t part of the plan.

Stephen had done his best to ensure you would have been removed from the stone coffin before you could risk suffocating. With an active battle, there was no guarantee when he could rescue you.

“I have to move her now,” he realized at Loki’s urgent implication.

“Better now than when the castle is burning,” the prince replied snarkily. His attention was caught by a large flame in one of the guard towers. Obadiah had resisted.

It was time.

“Go, before I go myself to avoid this barbaric carnage,” Loki pulled on his battle helmet and began to rally his men.

Stephen didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly drew up a portal to the Stark family crypt below the castle. He raced to the newest section of the tomb, where your grandfather and your father’s empty coffin sat under a carving of your great-grandfather.

He ignited the torches with a wave of his hand, immediately spotting the recently disturbed stone tomb. Raising his palm, he blasted the lid of the entrapment, pushing the stone aside and summoning a light to better see inside.

To his relief, you were there, arms folded over your chest, body tucked in a hastily wrapped funeral shroud. He ripped the cloth back, pulling your unconscious body out of the stone chamber and draping you over his lap on the ground.

A quick check of his spell, and it was still holding. Your seidr was still concealed and you were still alive, just in a deep, charmed, sleep.

He scooped you up, throwing open a portal to the chambers he’d prepared at his home, and quickly draped you onto the bed.

Sensing his magic, Wanda stepped through her own portal, glancing up at her friend in concern.

“It’s early,” she noted with a tilt of her head.

“Obadiah didn’t surrender or attempt to negotiate. Brock joined the attack,” he explained. “The king needs to rally the troops here and notify our allies.”

Wanda gave a curt nod, disappearing as quickly as she’d appeared.

He returned his attention to you, lightly touching the seidr seal on your wrist and ensuring the spell would hold while he was out of sight.

“I will return my love,” he vowed, tucking a strand of hair out of your face and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He double checked the wards around the bedroom a final time before opening a portal to Tony’s encampment within his estate grounds.

(—)

“Peter, what’s happening?” Pepper demanded when the trio sudden appeared in her chambers. James and Natalia were both in their feet, awaiting further instructions.

“Where’s Morgan?” he demanded, moving through the room until he located his baby sister in the old nursery attached to the suite. “We have to get the two of you to safety.”

“She wanted to sleep, James and Natalia told us to stay ready, but-,” Pepper hurried after him. “Peter, what is going on?”

“I’m removing Obadiah from the throne,” he stated matter of factly, scooping up Morgan and grabbing a cook off a nearby hook. “Brock is trying to help him, but our men far outnumber theirs. You and Morgan are being moved to Kamar-Taj for the night, then into the Asgardian keep.”

“And the lords and ladies?” she stammered out, overwhelmed by his calm demeanor despite the screams and fires outside. She absently took her daughter when Peter passed her off, watching James and Natalia assemble a few more essentials into a small silk bag before passing it off to Peter.

“Long evacuated, the men who wished to fight still remain,” Steve supplied. “Wong and myself will be accompanying you to Asgard. Queen Frigga will provide passage to Asgard once Brock’s troops are recalled from the border and Amora’s mystic boundary is broken.”

“Kamar-Taj has a prepared trunk for you,” Natalia explained softly. “I put it together with Peter a few weeks ago. It should have what you need until you reach Asgard.”

“What about the rest of you?” Pepper’s gaze feel on Peter. “What will you do?”

“I’m going to kill Brock and Obadiah,” he promised confidently. “Overcome and conquer.”

Pepper paused, reaching for his face and cradling his jaw with her palm.

“Your father would be so proud,” she whispered, the brief spell broken when an explosion sounded in the courtyard.

“Magic,” Wong confirmed. “Amora probably summoned her apprentices. We need to move to ensure we are not followed.”

“Be safe, my sweet son,” Pepper kissed his cheek and followed after Wong and Steve, Morgan tucked tightly in her arms. “I love you.”

“Goodbye mother,” he replied, watching the spot in the room until the portal snapped shut and he was left with Thor and the assassins.

“What now?” James asked, peeking through the queens window nervously.

“There’s a passage down the hall that should lead you to the armory. Through there, you should be able to reach Loki and our combined men. Mordo and Stephen have called for reinforcements from Kamar-Taj, and they should be able to fend off magic users while we handle the rest.”

“Asgardian forces will be here by dawn,” Thor promised. “With another wave due before nightfall.”

“Obadiah won’t be missing for long,” Peter continued. “He’s a pig, but not a coward. He will want to oversee things in person, likely with Brock. That’s when we hit them and end this.”

“And Amora?” Natalia quirked a brow.

“Leave that to Loki,” Thor muttered grimly. “He has a score to settle with the Enchantress.”

(—)

You jolted up with a gasp.

The room was dark, but something unfamiliar about it sent the seidr in your veins prickling through the goosebumps on your skin.

Reaching around, you swallowed anxiously. The bed was all wrong. The fabrics not the silks and cotton you’d grown up with. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, you realized you weren’t in your bed chambers at all.

A yell and response outside the window had you scrambling to your feet, spying a number of fires burning in the dark sea of land outside whenever you now found yourself.

Your groggy brain ran through its last memories. The assault. The conversation with Stephen.

The sleeping draught.

How powerful had it been?

You looked down at your hands, a faint glow of violet emitting from your hands and up your arms. You’d barely had time to examine it when the door to the room burst open.

“You’re not supposed to be awake-,” Wanda stated, swooping on you and catching sight of the seidr. Eyes wide, she tried subduing the small bit of magic, but the moment the crimson tendrils tried touching the violet, the seidr grew brighter and spread more thoroughly over your body.

“What is going on-?” You reached for your skirts and realized your dressing gown had been changed to a deep crimson formal gown. “Where is Stephen? Where is my home?”

“Princess,” Wanda reached for your hand, but the seidr snapped back at her and she pulled away. “I don’t know what’s happened. Stephen is... I can better explain...”

She looked overwhelmed, her eyes constantly dropping to watch the raw power radiating off of you.

“You’ve been asleep for two days, almost three nights,” she stated briskly, and you shook your head, frowning.

“That’s impossible,” you whispered.

“The sleeping potion Stephen gave you... it was to mimic the effects of death,” she continued softly. “We’re at the main keep for his family. Princess, the kingdom is at war.”

“Wanda, you were supposed to seal it, what’s taking so-,” Loki stopped in the doorway of the room. “Princess.”

He looked as bewildered as Wanda to see you standing and alert. And twice as concerned with the seidr energy coming from you.

“That’s not good,” he stated bluntly. “Amora is going to see you like a beacon in the night.”

“Brock’s men have secured the castle already, if he knows she’s alive-,” Wanda agreed, speaking quickly and tersely with the prince.

“Alive? Of course I’m-,” you paused. Mimic the effects of death. Eyes growing wide with realization as to what Stephen had done, you huffed a sigh. “Brock is still aligned with Obadiah?”

“It’s tentative,” Wanda replied. “But if his Stark bride is alive and well...”

“He’s already calling troops through the Kree empire, and the sea artillery is moving toward Asgardian waters,” Loki frowned, reaching forward and trying to calm your magic with his own. When it spat back at him like Wanda’s, his lips formed a thin line of concern. “Strange’s seal was so powerful I couldn’t sense it, so he isn’t holding right now because of the princess. There’s something else keeping him by Obadiah’s side. This will just soldifiy whatever deal they’ve struck. We need to figure out how to seal the seidr.”

“Could she just learn to control it?” Wanda offered. “I don’t think external means are going to suppress it much longer.”

“Wanda, how long did it take for you to learn to hide your own essence from enemies?” Loki pressed. “We need to locate Stephen.”

Eyes glowing, Wanda nodded and disappeared, presumably to retrieve the sorcerer in question.

“Loki, is my family-?” you started and he nodded.

“Your mother and sister are in Asgard,” he replied. “Peter is...”

“He’s on the battlefield,” you finished with a knowing sigh. “Do we stand a chance?”

“The Wakandans have mobilized and will be sending reinforcements soon,” he explained, gesturing for you to hold out the hand with the seal on your wrist. “Incredible. Your power... destroyed the rune. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“The Wakandans have no loyalty to Peter,” you voiced, furrowing your brows. Are they aligned with Asgard?”

“Well, no-,” he started. “They stand behind House Stark but, there is an important thing you should know now that you’re awake.”

He drew a portal, knowing her couldn’t teleport with your present state, and led you to what looked like a massive dining hall within the same building.

Hundreds of men were resting, some singing ballads and others sharing large bowls of stew and bread.

You looked to Loki for explanation.

Was Stephen hurt? Had your brother perished?

He stood stoically, his gaze falling on the back of a man tending to an infantryman’s dressings. When he turned his head, you gasped and rushed over.

“Father..?” you hesitated, his face was covered in mud, and he’d grown a large beard, but as soon as you saw his eyes, you knew.

“Look who had risen from the grave,” he teased. “Welcome to the afterlife. It’s not quite what the priests suggested-.”

You cut him off, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

“You’re alive,” you stammered in awe. “I... how? They say a pike went through your chest.”

“Oh, about that...” he touched the from of his chest. “Loki is a very skilled healer, and Wanda foresaw that particular complication... it’s a long story, best served for better conditions.”

“The seidr broke the potion’s effects,” Loki stated, looking down at the soldier and waving a hand over his bloodied wound. The wound was immediately cleaned and the soldier’s eyes drifted shut, his chest soon rising and falling in a peaceful sleep. “We’re trying to locate Stephen. Wanda and myself couldn’t interact with her.”

“I see,” Tony looked to you, eyes following the new elements of magic dancing lazily over your upper body. “Certainly the wards around the keep should continue to mask it?”

“For now,” Loki reported. “If Amora approaches too close, it could mean exposure.”

“You knew about all of this as well?” you looked to your father, still struggling to keep up with everything being said and plotted. She turned to Loki. “And you knew he was alive”

“And Wanda,” Loki added. “Natalia, and more recently, Stephen.”

“What?” you blinked in surprise. That wasn’t right. Stephen certainly would have told you.

“We couldn’t risk Amora catching on,” your father quickly sensed your shift in emotion. “She was watching you because of your seidr, trying to tamper with your thoughts. You had to be left in the dark until we knew you were a safe distance from her.”

“Amora is a very powerful magic user who betrayed the trust of my mother and yours,” Loki informed you, his hand tensing at his side. “We couldn’t risk her getting ahead of our plans.”

“That’s going to go to waste if we can’t continue the charade you’re dead,” Tony clarified. “Brock is only barely allied with Obadiah. We have the numbers right now, but if he becomes serious about taking our kingdom, he and the Northern Kree far exceed our men, the Asgardians, the Wakandans, and the Southern Kree.”

“Your grace,” a blonde woman in knights armor approached and bowed her head. You noticed that the blood from the cuts on her cheeks was teal- a Kree. “King Odin is riding for us. He will be here within the hour, ready to provide more men.”

“Thank you Lady Carol,” Tony nodded while the female knight bowed and exited the room. Your eyes trailed after her in a dazed stupor. You’d never seen a female knight before. You’d read that the Kree society was more favorable to the female gender, but you never would have imagined the Kree would let a woman directly report to a king.

“We need Frigga,” Tony sighed.

“We would have to ride to Asgard ourselves. The mystic boundary Amora out on the borders of too powerful, no one has been able to teleport or portal through it,” Loki grumbled.

Tony cursed under his breath and stood, a hand on your back, guiding you through the mess of cots and soldiers. Some were injured, most were just worn from battle and resting until they were called upon again.

Leading you and Loki out of the hall, Tony stopped once he was certain you were alone.

“Only the sorcerers and myself are aware of your situation,” he murmured. “Peter and the queen are none the wiser. We need to keep you within the walls of this keep until Stephen is located and we have our next steps.”

“Can I help at all?” you asked, feeling more like a prized hen than someone who was useful. “I know some healing salves and wound mending?”

“We can’t risk it,” Loki looked to Tony who was considering the suggestion. “One incident with the uncontrolled seidr and that could be the end of us.”

“My sweet, I’m sorry,” Tony pulled your head in and kissed the top of your hair. “It won’t be long until Stephen arrives and we can make a clearer decision.”

As if on cue, Wanda appeared, blood coating her hands and the dark robes she wore.

“Stephen was injured in battle,” she explaine, Loki quickly teleporting with her without another word.

“I bet he’s in the master suite,” your dad mused, a wink in your direction. “He has all of his potions and trinkets in there for emergency.”

You paused, hesitating between leaving your newly alive father, and being by your love’s side.

“I’m needed in a war council,” he answered the dilemma. “We can catch up when the world isn’t burning around us.”

He gave your hand a final, reassuring, squeeze before giving you a quick layout of the keep. You thanked him, promised to keep him updated, and dashed down the halls.

As you hurried, you felt your dress restricting your movements, and briefly considered trousers to be a more apt clothing option for the moment.

It was when you felt the restriction around your legs disappear when you looked down and saw your clothes had shifted. Your crimson gown now crimson trousers, your corset a more reasonable bustier, and a cloth shirt tucked under a matching jacket with the Stark sigil subtly embroidered on the chest.

Stopping in shock at the change, it occurred to you that the seidr had merely been responding to your mental requests.

That, you could get used to. No wonder Stephen and Loki were always ready for balls and events faster than you.

You picked up your pace, rushing through the halls until you found the master suite exactly where your father had told you.

A maid was shuffling out as you approached and you quietly slipped in, doing your best to ignore the blood saturated towels tucked under the maids arms.

“It was a toxic arrow,” Wanda was explained to Loki. “It isn’t allowing the blood to coagulate properly. He’s going to bleed out.”

“I imagine Amora had something to do with this,” Loki murmured, glowing emerald hands hovering just over the gushing wound. “Strange. Stay with us. Stay awake.”

You were discarding your jacket and rolling up your sleeves, moving toward the makeshift apothecary stand while Stephen kept his eyes squeezed in pain.

“If she enchanted the poison or venom before applying it, we should be able to pull the toxins magically, right?” you recalled from a text you’d read during one of the long nights in the observatory.

“I’m trying to, but I can’t detect any traces of magic in the wound,” Loki replied tensely.

“I tried isolating a few drops of his blood to detect any foreign components, but the poison is too powerful. It’s using the body’s defenses in its favor,” Wanda looked rattled, a far cry from her usual, composed, demeanor. “If we had more time, I know I could find the proper antidote, but he’s going to bleed out before then.”

Your fingers hovered over the herbs and elixirs, eyes shut while you considered their words and tried to recall the specifics of what you’d learned under his tutelage.

“Is it actively poisoning his body, or just preventing the wound from clotting?” you asked, your finger twitched toward an herb used to create fiberous seals on wounds from cuts.

“Preventing the cut from sealing,” Wanda reported back, watching Loki try and fall to seal the wound magically. All the rags and bandages he piled ontop of the injury just continued to saturate through. “Bandages are not working. He’s bleeding through everything.”

“We need ice on the wound,” you called out, throwing the proper herbs and liquid into a mortar and pestle. “Shrink the blood vessels and slow the bleeding temporarily.”

Loki’s hand turned to ice and he pressed it on the skin around the injury.

“It’s working,” Wanda called back.

“Clean the area,” you instructed, the paste now smooth and plentiful. You turned and searched the room for extra bandages, finding some by a pile of Stephen’s ripped and bloodied robes.

You passed the remedy and bandages to the sorcerers at his bedside, knowing your seidr would prevent you from making close contact with him. The thought in itself breaking your heart. You wanted to wipe the sweat from his forehead, press a kiss to his hand and promise all would be well.

“Put the paste on the bandages and cover the wound. Keep applying the ice until we can get the bleeding to slow,” you watched Wanda move swiftly in tandem with Loki, pressing the seal to the injury and letting the prince take over applying pressure and ice.

“Princess?” Stephen’s voice called, almost delirious.

“I’m here,” you moved within his eyesight, a smile thrown on your features to conceal your deep worry for him. “What did I tell you about getting shot with arrows, my love?”

“You never mentioned arrows,” he grunted, eyes opening briefly to take you in and closing when he winced in pain. “Next time be more- hngh- specific.”

“Next time don’t get shot,” you countered playfully, eyes falling to the white bandage at his abdomen. Ideally, only a little blood would be able to get through. It’d buy enough time for Loki and Wanda to find a better remedy without letting him bleed out.

“It’s working,” Wanda announced, jumping and moving to the large library of books scattered around the room. Her hands began to glow, her fingers pulling texts off the shelves and discarding them almost as fast.

“Strange, were you injured anywhere else?” Loki asked tersely, eyeing a cut by the sorcerer’s eye. “We need seal all of your cuts, just in case.”

“Face,” Stephen replied after a pause. “Hands.”

Loki got to work, smothering the bandages with the salve and covering the cuts.

“Got it,” Wanda held up a book victoriously. “Antidote will take a few hours to prepare. Loki, you’re going to need to move to the front line. Let Peter and Thor know what is happening. I’ll make sure there’s enough for everyone afflicted.”

“I hadn’t heard any reports of similar circumstance,” Loki murmured, looking back down at the bandage to ensure it was still holding. “This seems personal.”

“To our favor then,” Wanda hummed, summoning her ingredients and moving quickly through the steps. “I will report this to King Anthony. Go.”

Loki disappeared with a flash of light, leaving only traces of smoke where he stood.

“You’re not supposed to be awake,” Stephen realized after you’d seated ourself next to him.

“The seidr had other plans,” you noted softly. “Do not worry, we will address each problem as it’s necessary. You need to rest.”

“Wasn’t I just tell you that?”

“Then listen to your own words, you do often boast of how good your own advice is,” you teased.

He reached for your hand, but you pulled away, frowning apologetically at him.

“The seidr is… it doesn’t like magic-users at the moment,” you explained quickly.

“That’s… unfortunate,” he mumbled, lolling his hand forward and staring up at the ceiling. “Ever the more reason not to die, I suppose.”

(—)

11- a battle cry

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minervacasterly · 4 years ago

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First Protestant King of England, Henry VIII or Edward VI? (And why Edward VI's reign was no less important than his father's)

It is important to dispell myths about the most popular English dynasty, so I decided to briefly take on this topic. A common misconception until recent decades is that Henry VIII was the first Protestant King. In reality, it was his son who was the first true Protestant King of England. I’ve written about this before on my blog, building upon the research by great scholars like Chris Skidmore, Loach, and the short introduction to his reign by Kyra Cornelius Kramer. Besides taking after his father in intellect, Edward VI was fairly concerned with the state of the church of England but unlike his old man, he thought that the time had come to make it into the first true Protestant church of England, agreeing to the issuing of the book of common prayer and a revision of it two years later. Edward VI also frowned upon improper clothing. He loved to dance and watch sports, but didn’t think t0 was a good idea to indulge in these frivolities since the Evangelicals believed that this was a gateway to moral decay. (Don’t you just love those who interpret the will of god so good, that they conveniently forget about the passages where their savior rails against the rich and so on?) Edward’s actions had consequences and these, like the contributions of his reign, are often brushed aside in favor of his more famous father and sisters. One of them, was a rebellion in the North and his half-sister’s resistance to his new laws that forbade people to hear the Mass and forced the new English service on everyone. Long story short … lots of people hung, punished and lots of enemies that his councilors (who as always since people couldn’t point fingers at the king unless they had a sick death wish of some sort) were blamed and were punished for during his half-sister’s reign. Some of you might be pointing out that since Henry VIII was excommunicated and labeled a heretic by most of Christendom, that technically he was a Protestant king but no, seriously, he wasn’t. Henry was, despite these labels, still a practicing Catholic. He agreed to Gardiner’s articles of faith that criticized the church and validated his claim as supreme head of the Anglican Church, and God’s representative on Earth, and surrounded himself by obvious Reformists, but other than that, he forcefully kept everyone in line. Catholics who practiced the Mass or adhered to his new rules while still being loyal to their beliefs were tolerated, but if they pulled a ‘Thomas More’ where they denied the king’s supremacy or insulted one of his beloved wives (before he got tired of them, that is) then yes, off to the block with them!

As for Protestants … Ever heard of Anne Askew? She defended Henry’s actions, she thought he was some kind of Moses as his last wife -Kathryn Parr whom she was closely associated with- would paint him as in her two books (primarily in ‘Lamentations of a Sinner’) and then she defied her husband and Henry’s establishment, pushing for a more Evangelist agenda, and what happened? Oh nothing big … she just got tortured and then burned. As long as you played Henry’s sycophant you were fine. There is also a spiritual aspect that ties into his megalomania. As Henry became more obsessed with securing his dynasty, his focus on spiritual matters also grew. By the end of his reign, nobody could predict what the king would say or how he would act so everyone walked a fine line when they discussed important subjects. Kathryn Parr is one of them who learned this lesson early on during their marriage. If it weren’t for gentleness, and the friendship she established among prominent ladies in her household, her accusers would’ve succeeded in convincing Henry VIII that she was a heretic. She would’ve had a sham trial like Anne Boleyn and then beheaded or worse, burned like Anne Aske. Luckily for Kathryn Parr, she was one step ahead of them. Humbling herself before her lord and husband, she told him that she never intended to change his religious views but just challenged him as people did at the beginning of his reign, so he could stir her towards the right path since she was a woman and these things were too complicated for her to fathom, let alone choose on her own. She lived and continued to be a major influence on future Protestant leaders, such as Jane Grey, Elizabeth I and of course, Edward VI.

Edward VI was greatly influenced by his beloved stepmother’s religiosity and mourned her deeply. He referred to her as his mother. Kathryn encouraged his passion for books and aided his Protestant tutors in stirring him towards their faith, ensuring that he’d become the king they’d all be waiting for, that would transform England into a fully Protestant nation.

It was Edward who began to force religious codes on his people in a way that hadn’t been done before. His father cracked on religious houses on the basis of cleansing them from corruption and because of their disloyalty, and open defiance against his supremacy; but Edward made things worse. The monasteries that were sold to his father’s noblemen left many people begging on the streets while forcing others to adapt to their new environment. When people could no longer handle it, they rose up in open rebellion and like in his father’s time, these were brutally squashed. But here is where it gets interesting … Whereas Henry VIII is blamed for all the evils of his reign, Edward VI is not and the reason for this? He was a kid, don’t be so mean. Leave the poor tot alone. Fact: Edward VI died at the age of fifteen and by renaissance standards, he was not a little boy anymore. Even if he hadn’t come of age, he was not an innocent boy anymore who was oblivious to the world around him. In fact. When Edward VI found out that his uncle had been executed, he was like ‘meh … okay’. And sure, Thomas Seymour was a brash individual who thought he could get away with everything but even after he tried to kidnap his nephew, to act in such a manner and for an uncle who was married to your favorite stepmother and someone you claimed to be your favorite relative, that’s pretty cold. But it gets better. After Edward VI finally got rid of his tedious uncle and his irritating set of rules, Edward wrote in his diary (showing no emotion at all) that the former lord Protector died and that was that. Getting rid of Edward Seymour probably made the little critter sigh in relief because out of all his uncles, the Lord Protector was the one who always reminded him of his duties and responsibilities, not to mention all those rules and not letting him be king! How unfair! And then there was also that issue about the rebellions. Edward VI saw these people as traitors and agreed with Northumberland that they should be dealt with immediately but his uncle didn’t think that was wise, which was why people called him the ‘good Duke’ because they saw him as a friend of the people. Now that he was out of the way, his kingdom would not have to suffer any more dissenting voices, nor any threats of isolation or future skirmishes with Scotland. Edward VI was fully committed to the Protestant cause but convinced by Northumberland, he realized that he would not go far if he did not have any allies. And the whole campaign in Scotland had gone awfully wrong and with Mary, Queen of Scots in France, the only way to neutralize that threat was making an alliance with that country, betrothing him to Henri II and Catherine de Medici’s daughter, Elizabeth Valois. Sadly, Edward VI did not live to marry her or do more for the Evangelicals. He died and before he did, he wrote a paper called “my device for the succession” which became the basis to disinherit his sisters in favor of their cousin, Jane Grey. That opened a can of worms that could have easily escalated into another civil war like the wars of the roses but thankfully for everyone involved it didn’t and his sister won her crown fair and square. But as with every Tudor, once her sister became Queen, she began to make good use of the propaganda machine to portray her sibling as a puppet of Northumberland and other evil lords who had corrupted him and turned him against her. Why was this done? Same reason why people who rebelled against their kings often pointed their fingers at their councilors -because doing so against an anointed king meant that they were upsetting the natural order. It was only in extreme cases, when someone had enough support and belonged to a different dynasty, that they would point it directly at them. Edward belonged to the same dynasty as Mary, and a dynasty divided was bad business for everyone, especially for the first Queen Regnant of England who had inherited a divided country.

Mary I also did something else and that was appropriating some of Edward VI’s religious achievements in an effort to make Catholicism appealing to those who were still unsure whether or not they wanted to return to the church or side with the various groups within the Protestant movement. Sections from the book of the common prayer were added to a new set of prayers in Latin and English, and adapted in a way that didn’t contradict church doctrine. During his reign, Edward encouraged many poets and artists to express themselves. These would reenact passages from the bible, or create allegorical paintings that depicted Edward as England’s messiah, and all those who followed him as true Christians as opposed to the decadent Catholics who were portrayed as heathens.

Edward’s religious reformation became the basis for Elizabeth I’s reign who continued with many of these reforms. Although she did not go as far as Edward or his chosen heiress, Jane Grey, would have liked. Elizabeth I was far more pragmatic, recognizing that if she wanted to rule over a divided country she had to maintain some of the older traditions or else, she’d risk losing everything she had. Unlike her siblings, Elizabeth I wasn’t thought of as legitimate by many of her Christian peers. Ideological purity was a luxury that she couldn’t afford and in any case, she did not want because many Evangelicals didn’t like the idea of the supremacy of kings (or queens). Nevertheless, Elizabeth I built her religious establishment upon her brother’s by issuing a new revision of the book of common prayer and encouraging artists and poets to create works that extolled the Anglican Church and the Tudor Dynasty.

#Edward VI #Henry VIII #English History #English Reformation #dailytudors

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blackwinged-silversolace · 4 years ago

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Scarlet Tanager

Nearly complete now, Mother.

"YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE…"

Gaia? Do I not? Mother do you hear her suffering as well? Sometimes she calls to you, no? The planet she hears and sings to us, her damnations ring out but she is so misguided ... Perhaps even she fears the end of her own life cycle. Her bleeding veins that bear her traitorous children mingle breed conflict here, she gives them rest, and somehow even as her last defendant merges with her shores she ignores the wound we gouge on her surface, she turns her head as it festers, and wastes her energy to drown us out. Gaia, will you not acknowledge that your plight is and has always been a futile one, you should rest now, make peaceful your lamentations and insufferable wailings and accept your glorious fate with the one who would inherit you. Your bleed is my sustenance.

"NIGHTMARE."

My patience for you grows thin, Minerva, Gaia, your skewed images of warning do not threaten me...

"CALAMITY."

Mother...listen, the voices are thickening in attempt to bury us inside her, this sickened place where we have forged preservation within the stream, our shared abhorrence rooting our stigma even as ages of voices would try to force upheaval unto our vestiges. An annoyance, but not enough to hinder our call, through the rivets my brethren are pervious, among the coagulation their voices are here to make us stronger. Attuned to my impenetrable resolve, even the resistant bend in reverence the closer we get to our freedom, but do you feel it now? Those remnants, they are close, our reunion so near completion….

"DEMON…"

When I am to return, our existence will be stronger, and all insolent traitors that drown her woeful voice, wretches that riddle her circuitry and drill to mine her flesh for lifeblood- that is meant for us, they seek to deny us our claim yet here we are unshaken. She is afraid as any animal would within its snare, the wound bleeding out, but oh how her fear is misguided. Louder than ever before is her thunderous lamentation, does she prepare for this body to lay waste upon her? Ah but now her voice is unheard save for you and I, mother. So the planet sinks, troughs of her soil are so much shallower, her breath is hollow…

Threads are unwinding, the tide recedes, this moment, if he had the mouth to do it Sephiroth would be grinning, the singularity, the between of lifestream and physical manifestation is narrowing, his rebirth dawning. There, the place of rest, of purgatory among the rock, and the familiar sky alight with starry cosmos he is nearly complete once again, the ache of limbs rebuilt with godlike power are a sensation like no other. But no chance is had for savoring this celestial beginning, for he….he... is not alone. It is that of a dream, the distance, and the clarity of the voice that pierces the air.

"You are a monster…"

There is no body to hone in on, to vessel to lay his narrowed gaze upon beside his own...but the voice is clear. Indisputable. A memory, no doubt. Was it given with purpose? Or is the planet attempting petty manipulation in its late and desperate hours?

"Perfect Monster…."

The ethereal silver form recoils, blistering ice spearing his once centered thoughts with biting agony, this was not a part of his scheme, pain did not fit within the woven destiny, but there was nothing to dispute it’s echo. The wound...is deep, old. Fire in his bones, his emptiness quakes upon the impossibility -this frozen inferno… only, his urge to purge this presence was washed as instant as it rose…. The knowing whisper in his mind is correct, his beloved mother shushing her son’s rage... for did he not neglect one of his own?

“Kin, do you hear me, your lifeforce is not forgotten” who, where are you, whisper to me as I forge this body to our mother's image once more, tie me to the planet's surface….tie me to the last that is my own of this living crust, oh tiresome crystal grave. The puppet has done most well, but where is it you cover yourself as blackened power merges with my remains, my eternal resolve, this body will merge anew. Where. Are. You.

Closing his eyes the Nightmare seeks through the threads of lifestream, oh how the voices cry out as he scours through them, his cataclysm’s re entrance is dark and splitting against the soft threads of light, searching the tendrils for that...one missing piece.

There are fragments: Black wings, asleep, no- drugged, but how long? Contained, recently perhaps, drowned in mako and glass. Ah but this place he knows well... Deep ground? Hmm. Scarlet hair carried wistfully through the liquid.

GENESIS

Yes. Of course. The memory gains shape, all details and forms hazed beneath layers of a different time, another life, but the source of injury was made clear yet again...if he were the same vulnerable, manipulable soul, if he had not died on that seventh day, then maybe he would have let the other rot as promised...but Sephiroth was not the same, words and finalizations such as ‘monster’ could not sway his purpose, could not hold candle to his resolve. After all, what reunion would be final without HIM.

Have they clipped your wings? Or is it you who locked yourself away, my sweet song bird? Is this where you are hidden Scarlet Tanager, dearest brother? Should you lack home, then it is I who will provide, you will not go wasted.

Some deliberation is necessary,

Most unexpected, this waking desire to reclaim. Oh but there is power in that memory, new and old, foreign and evolved from the familiar. Something through his fingers, through his divine senses that distant presence spoke of necessity, of use and rite the same as was the power that saturated his spirit, and his tie to the planet. Would it ring terrible memory to his beloved kin if faced with the ‘monster’ he helped create, one can find pleasure in that, would he find dread if kept for this grand conquest? Perhaps. But made true in our most vulnerable, are we not? You more than any should know this, Genesis. Then it would be perfect.

So, the essential divergence from his path was set, and Deepground would be paid a visit.

There is a crackle within the underground laboratory, static tangible, men in lab coats scramble away from the intrusion, shouting and tearing their legs pathetically, in all directions they flee in chaotic disarray as the dull light wafts into a large mass. Black, and green tendrils rising from the floor to engulf the space as oxygen itself protests the tearing of fabric, space, time, splitting matter and element to make wide the opening for the return of Calamity’s chosen Son.

The voices mutter, some, scream, but so faceless and belittled, they are disregarded as the plume takes form, solid unwavering he emerges. Proud, motivated, the Silver haired entity is whole, clad in leather, masamune reflecting the faces marred in horror, green slitted gaze casts over the mass of fear only once, “Genesis.” He demands, but no answer is given, looks passed every which way, he is already upon them... then the murmurs are silenced.

One by one those who litter his path are cut down, his eyes need not land on them, they are nothings, they are tread same as the concrete, they are liquid, and sinew with as much purpose as rodents… yet, room after room his prize is not found, and the red wastes of flesh and life are at his heels, glistening and reflecting the narrowed frustration in his focus. “Hmn, Where are you?”

@unforestalledreturn

#here it be #one gracefully grudge driven post cc seph #starter #rp:scarlettanager #ff7 rp #sephiroth rp #genesis rp #crystal emerged seph

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starswornoaths · 4 years ago

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Prompt 20: Jailbird

I’m a bad at math gay, I have one more after this one, and THEN I’ll have my masterpost up ajsdfkdgl

Set post 2.5, prior to the start of 3.0. Uthengentle manages to escape the Braves, but he refuses to leave without a certain companion.

or: Uthen can’t save Raubahn but he can save a chicken, and that’s what he’s gonna do, by god

content warning: mention of use of restraints on a chocobo, but no injuries take place

Word count: 2,450

In the sennight following his revelation about what really happened to the Sultana, Uthengentle did his level best to keep up appearances—though he had begun to lay out what he hoped was a good enough plan to get out while protecting those who would still be trapped in the snare the Crystal Braves had become. In front of Ilberd— and Yuyuhase, who he suspected had far less noble intentions behind his particular brand of villainy— Uthengentle appeared as he had for months, as nothing more than a bitter brother who had made the ‘correct’ choice.

In his dealings with those who he was closest to, those who had given him a cold shoulder, however…he spoke softly. He reached out, for the first time, and nearly wept every time he was met with a relieved, “I’d hoped you’d come around,” every time he did. Suddenly he was warmed by their company again—and they were eager to help him break up the Braves to boot. So long as no one did anything reckless, and nothing suddenly broke out within the ranks…Uthengentle might actually pull this off while sparing as many innocents as possible.

And if something did blow up, as it was wont to do, well. He had thought of that, too.

The morning had been unseasonably cool, with crisp, cloudless skies and a gentle breeze on the wind. That was not to say that it was cold in Thanalan—could it truly ever be, he idly wondered—just that the weather could be described as pleasantly below boiling. As he walked the streets, he averted his eyes to those who looked upon him with disdain, who had spat at him— and worse— when he had worn the Braves uniform. At least now, he fully and truly understood why. He was not there to tarry, however; Ilberd was expecting him, and he would do well to keep up appearances.

Instinctual dread had settled in the pit of his stomach when Ilberd had instructed him to meet at the Royal Stables, where her Grace’s most prized birds were stalled. As if that were not enough cause for concern, he remembered who else’s chocobo was still there, unmoving and belligerent to all who approached him.

Sure enough, he only barely rounded the bend before he heard a muffled commotion, the percussion of a struggle against stall walls only interrupted by a panicked, angry wark!

Swallowing his heart, Uthengentle entered the stables.

The sight before him made him nauseated. Ilberd stood, flanked by Yuyuhase and Laurentius observing a mix of soldiers from both the Brass Blades and the Crystal Braves— but not the Flames, Uthengentle noted bitterly— struggling to hold down a horrifically familiar snow white chocobo. The poor bird thrashed against the ropes they had tried to leverage to pin his torso down from jumping, his beak gnashing against the muzzle they struggled to put on it.

“Ullr,” Uthengentle said under his breath without thinking.

Ilberd turned toward his wayward protégé, alerted to his presence.

“There you are,” the newfound Braves Commander hailed him, his mouth set in a grim line.

Eyeing Uthengentle’s armor, Yuyuhase pursed his lips. “And not in uniform, I see,” he said in a snide voice.

“Local threw a piss jug at me.” Uthengentle lied easily. “Figured it’d be less disrespectful showing up in something clean.”

Really, he just felt dirty wearing the damned thing.

“You’d be right, Uthen.” Ilberd said, easing his frown into an almost sympathetic smile. Uthengentle ignored the rage that flickered in his chest at the nickname. “Good of you to come regardless. I have a task I would entrust to you.”

Already, Uthengentle could see where this was going. His stomach churned as he fought the urge to fidget.

“I could entrust this to no other, if I’m being honest.” Ilberd continued, oblivious— or uncaring— of Uthengentle’s growing unease. “I’ve been attempting to return this feathered fiend to the Maelstrom—we’ve no use for him, ornery bastard as he is.”

“I could calm him down, sir.” Uthengentle volunteered, hoping it would be enough and he wouldn’t be asked to do what he knew he would be asked to do. “I could even ride him to Vylbrand—“

“T’would be a waste of time and effort, I’m afraid.” Yuyuhase groused, and Uthengentle saw the way his lip curled into a snarl. “The Admiral does not acknowledge your sister’s treachery—“ Ullr let out a shrill wail and bucked his head against a Brave who had managed to secure the muzzle around him. “—and has declared that her crime is not permitted to be released to the public without an investigation.”

No fucking wonder, Uthengentle thought but did not say. Ullr’s cries of anger were muffled by the muzzle now, but they seemed louder than ever to his ears.

“Which leaves us with the unfortunate task of dealing with the bitch’s bird.” Ilberd said gruffly. Uthengentle hid his wince with a cough. “We’ve tried calming it down enough for transport to the Maelstrom, but in the ensuing struggle, one of my men was severely injured.”

Uthengentle highly doubted that was the case, but a part of him hoped it was true. He bit his tongue and nodded gravely.

Ilberd continued, “Now, ordinarily I would be fine with just letting the damnable thing out free, but with such wild antics, we wouldn’t want to put the public at risk of injury, now would we?”

“They’ve got a muzzle on him, sir.” Uthengentle said helplessly. “I can just walk him out to—“

“I would not unduly put any more of my men,” Ilberd emphasized with a pointed look to his lalafell companion. “At risk. Nor the Blades.” He turned to look back at his sister’s beloved companion, who was beginning to thrash harder as the panic well and fully set in. Uthengentle’s heart squeezed. “So I would entrust you to put that axe of yours to good use.” He clucked his tongue. “Waste of a perfectly good bird, but if it’s too imprinted on the Warrior of Light to be repurposed, then it needs to be disposed of.”

“Commander, I could—“ Laurentius spoke up, eager to prove himself.

“Uthengentle has already been assigned the task.” Ilberd said, turning away from the struggling chocobo to face the Arcbane Warrior fully. “Surely this is simple enough, no?” He pursed his lips. “Atonement for your failure at capturing the Sultana’s murderer.”

Uthengentle clenched his hands into fists, reminding himself to be calm because this was the kind of implosion he had planned for— he was only sorry Ullr got caught in the crosshairs.

“I won’t let you down—“ he tried to say.

“Again.” Ilberd cut him off sharply. “You won’t let me down again.”

“…No,” Uthengentle agreed slowly as he breathed out his rage. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Ilberd answered with a nod. He turned his attention to the men who were now pulling the ropes taut to force Ullr to be still. “Tie them off and step outside. No sense in getting your uniforms dirty.” With an almost bored flick of his gaze to Laurentius he ordered, “you, stay behind and help dispose of the body. And you,” he looked back at Uthengentle. “Make it a clean kill, eh? Don’t make the poor bird suffer.”

“Yessir.” Uthengentle ground out.

Satisfied that such unpleasant business was concluded, Yuyuhase was the first to dash off, clearly uncomfortable with witnessing the violence he was complicit in. Such cowards in power could rarely stomach the evidence of their own villainy, after all.

Ilberd stepped languidly back toward the door Uthengentle entered, but stopped long enough to place a hand upon his shoulder. Where that had once been a showing of brotherly companionship, Uthengentle could only liken it to the weight of his mistakes pressing down upon him.

“I know this must be hard.” Ilberd said— and perhaps he meant it, perhaps there was a spark of the man he once was in him that lamented what he had become. It didn’t matter. Uthengentle didn’t care. “But sometimes we have to do terrible things for the good of those lesser than us. For our home.” He squeezed his shoulder—in affection or in warning, Uthengentle couldn’t say. That didn’t matter either. “We know that well, don’t we?”

Uthengentle refused to tear his gaze away from Ullr, watching as the fight was worn out of him. As if he accepted his fate. Quietly, he replied, “I do. More than most.”

“That you do, my boy.” Ilberd said, removing his hand, leaving. “That you do.”

The doors closed, and it was just him and Laurentius, staring at the snow white chocobo in front of them. Ullr let out a low, crooning wark, defeated.

“This…this doesn’t feel like something we should be doing…” Laurentius admitted in a trembling voice. Slowly, he reached for his spear, clearly intent on helping carry out the deed. “But…but it’s just like Ilberd said, isn’t it? We do bad so good people don’t have to?”

“That’s what he said.” Uthengentle said, pausing long enough to give the fool one last chance to make the right decision for once.

“Still…” Laurentius lowered his head. “It’s hard…but we’ll carry it out.”

The disgraced Wood Wailer looked up when Uthegentle clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” the Warrior agreed with him. “Yeah, it’s hard. Damn hard.”

Without preamble, Uthengentle forcibly pulled Laurentius toward him as he pushed his own head forward—just hard enough that the lancer’s forehead met his helmet with a loud, dull clang. Laurentius crumpled to the floor, unconscious but alive.

“My ‘elm’s harder, though.” Uthengentle said conversationally to no one, and stepped over the slumped twofold traitor.

Wark? Ullr looked up, surprised.

“Easy, boy,” Uthengentle cooed, carefully but quickly using a dagger from his boot to cut the ropes holding him in place. “Easy, almost gotcha.” The ropes fell in messy piles much the same as Laurentius had, and once the last of them had been pulled from Ullr’s feathers, he unclasped the muzzle from his beak. “Atta boy.”

Ullr trilled and gave Uthengentle’s face a nuzzle, pleased that he was free and with someone he trusted.

“Now then,” Uthengentle said conspiratorially as he held Ullr’s face. “What say you we track down Ellie, eh?”

Wark! Ullr agreed with an enthused nod and a fluttering of his wings.

The doors had been shut, for a mercy, so he had just enough time to saddle Ullr up before anyone caught wise. He spared a moment of thanks to Buscarron as he mounted the bird— having smelled trouble on the horizon, the barkeep had insisted he stable his chocobo in Gridania for safekeeping. Easy enough to go through there on the way to Coerthas, leash Ullr to his own bird, and make for colder climes.

Assuming, of course, they made it out of Ul’Dah.

Quick but muffled footfalls were approaching the front. They were running out of time.

“Alright boy,” Uthengentle leaned over to speak gently into Ullr’s head feathers. “They’ll try to attack us, but we just keep runnin’, alright? We don’t stop until we find Ellie.”

Wark! Ullr agreed, and Uthengentle guided them out of the back door.

The sound of the heavy front doors of the stables bursting open alerted Uthengentle to the return of the guard. There was shouting— someone was barking an order to contact Ilberd. He bit back a grin as he spurred Ullr into a sprint down the alley. The shouting rapidly fell away, distantly echoing off the walls of the tightly cramped buildings…

...Only for a new chorus of voices to rise up ahead of him. In a wave of blue uniforms, they flooded the alleyway— with Ilberd spearheading their charge.

But Uthengentle was prepared for this. Dragoon as he was, he channeled every second of training under Alberic and Estinien he’d gotten— and all of Estinien’s bastard energy he had absorbed— into leveling the sharpened lance at the tip of his axe’s handle, just above its head. He spurred Ullr into a faster sprint.

Ilberd intended to play chicken, it seemed, and doubled down, charging ahead, shield up and sword poised to slash.

But Uthengentle wasn’t willing to endanger Ullr for his own personal vendetta— and he had to get out of Ul’Dah besides. Biding his time until the absolute last second, with a tap of his heel and an order of, “ULLR, UP!” The chocobo leapt onto Ilberd’s shield and, using him as a leaping off point, soared delicately over the crowd of Braves behind him.

Uthengentle spared a glance over his shoulder once Ullr had landed back on solid brick and cackled at the sight of Ilberd knocked to the ground. When the Braves Commander rolled to look at his disappearing protégé, Uthengentle made a point of settling his axe on his back and slowly raising his arm, middle finger up, and held it there as he returned his attention to the road ahead of him.

More shouting— someone called for the gates to be closed to trap him in. Brass Blades began to shoulder past ordinary folk on the path to try and get to the gate lever. Uthengentle refocused and returned both his hands to the reigns. As he saw the gate of Thal descending ahead of him, he leaned further into Ullr’s feathers.

It’d be close, but he had no choice.

“I’ll keep you safe, Ullr, just don’t stop for anything!” He rallied the bird. “Let’s go find Ellie!”

Ullr let out a valiant cry and bent his neck low, pushing himself to run all the harder. The gate loomed overhead like a guillotine as they ran under it— they wouldn’t make it.

It didn’t matter. They had to.

It was a near miss, but with a well-timed swing of his axe, Uthengentle managed to use the momentum from swinging it from his back and use a strong enough fell cleave on the jagged gate spike that it stuttered against the mechanisms controlling it. Sparks showered all around them as they managed to push through, raining down from both the point where his axe blade met the gate, and from the now ground down gears in the pulley system above. With a roar, Uthengentle used that Fell Cleave to push the gate up some fulm above them, high enough they could safely sprint through, and smoothly remounted his axe on his back as they slipped away.

The gate slammed behind them so hard Uthengentle felt the ground shake beneath their feet. Indignant roars reached his ears, but if they were a distant worry before, they were music to his ears now as he eased Ullr into a marathon jog.

They had some ways to go before they made it to Coerthas, after all.

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxiv #Uthengentle Arcbane #Ilberd Feare #look I had to actually address how tf he went from being with the Braves to joining up with the group for 3.0 #I might as well at least let him have a bastard hour as a treat

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