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kallowrites · 1 year

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Will this make sense without extra context? Probably not... but just know I have read many (very good) Micolash centric fanfics over the past while and I want to attempt one for myself SO bad, so this is a snippet of an idea where he's barely even present except for like one passing mention LMAO

(it is LONG so beware - 3775 words)

Mostly hunter-interacts-with-hunter content tbh:

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The cacophonous chants from above came to a sudden, horrific end with no forewarning. The hunter halted in her struggle against the shackles keeping her confined to the chair in this cell and listened for something, anything. The abrupt dead silence hung so heavy in the air, it threatened to choke her, had she not already been contending with a rapidly growing sensation of something that could only be described as existential dread.

A thousand eyes upon her, and yet nowhere near her all at once, for she knew their focus ought to be up above in the chapel. All of her instincts screaming and biting, gnashing their teeth in the back of her mind – Something had gone wrong. She had no way of knowing what exactly, for she didn’t even know the details of whatever this supposed ritual was, but she knew by the way her skin crawled that things had not turned out as what may have been intended. At the very least, it felt unnatural. She jerked her head around, struggling to see if the eyes she felt could be seen in the dark, perhaps incandescent in quality, but the only sources of light were the dimming torches nearby. In an hour or so, maybe less, she’d be in complete darkness. Forgotten, left to rot.

She was completely alone.

The same moment the silence swept through the room - perhaps even all of Yahar’Gul - was when something shifted in her chest, as if a part of her wanted to simply float away and out of this chair, weightless. But she resisted. Fear and paranoia overtook that urge and she began tugging erratically at the shackles, hoping and praying they magically come undone and allow her to escape this cursed fate she’d stumbled into. If her feet hadn’t also been strapped to the legs of the chair, then maybe she could have had enough leverage to be able to break free… Or at the very least, maneuver around the cell a little.

Hell, she couldn’t even reach the augur from this angle. She could feel it every time the muscles in her one arm tensed as she tugged, hidden under the flap of her outer coat and safe from view. If it had been in her hand, she’d be able to break loose with little issue, the strength of Ebrietas making quick work of simple earthly metals like this. After exhausting herself with her continuous failed escape attempts, she slumped back against the chair and stared up at the dark ceiling.

Some hunter she was. First getting taken off-guard and being essentially kidnapped, then being foolish enough to just let herself be placed here despite being vaguely aware of the dubious happenings here. She was no closer to her answers she sought, and perhaps was even further away from them than ever. And now… doomed to rot in a chair in a dingy cell below Yahar’Gul, probably starving to death long before the Scourge ever caught up with her. Not unless she decided to tear her arm off with her teeth to get free. The thought sent a tense, depreciatory laugh through her. Maybe she was already going mad.

…How long was it that she sat in that chair for? Her wrists were growing raw, chafing against the metal even through her gloves. At some point, she must have dozed off, because she could feel herself open her eyes and blink as if to right herself, only to realize the torches had long since burnt out. Her eyes couldn’t adjust because there was nothing to adjust to.

Ah, but then after some other indeterminable amount of time, something faint appeared out the corner of her eye near where she supposed her shoulder was. The softest of blue glows, as a slug-like creature slipped out from underneath a fold of her overcoat, just bright enough she could tell it was looking at her. So the augur finally found its way out through all the layers of leather, huh? What a curious little thing… sometimes the hunter forgot that it was an entity of its own. Micolash had called it a tool, but tools do not have consciences. They did not think or eat or sleep, and they certainly didn’t squirm and leave behind a thin train of phosphorescent slime, either. Though its trail faded almost as soon as it was formed, the phantasm itself didn’t cease to emit that gentle blue light.

The hunter found herself with her gaze completely transfixed by it, as if the glow was the only safety in the room. It slowly slithered down her arm, and she felt her heart pick up speed as she thought it would slip straight into her hand, only to release a huff of air as it sharply turned and decided to instead crawl onto her torso, its sensory tentacles on its head moving about as it seemed to observe her as it moved around.

A nice distraction perhaps, but none of this was helping her get anywhere. But then she heard something so distant, she initially believed it to be her imagination until it got closer. Footsteps. Heels clacking against stonework somewhere up above. The hunter thought it strange she felt very little impulse to shout and yell and make her presence known… but perhaps it was because the nature of the sounds was yet undetermined. If it was another hunter, she may be in luck. If they weren’t blood-drunk. She’d encountered one or two of them in the past, all deceptively placid up until she crossed into their line of sight, and turned erratic and violent. Just because the footsteps up above sounded rather purposeful, didn’t mean it was a good kind of purpose.

The augur had made its way back upwards, momentarily struggling to get its ‘foothold’ as it had to work around a copper trinket that dangled from a buttonhole in her undercoat, before it managed to find purchase on the capelet. Not long after this, did the footsteps return after having faded some time ago, this time much louder, echoing through the hallway where her cell was located. But since it was pitch dark… Would whoever it was dare search around unnecessarily? The hunter felt herself hold her breath for reasons she didn’t know. A light emerged in the doorway and grew ever brighter as the footsteps grew closer… But then the light went out.

What were they thinking?

The steps continued, now accompanied by the telltale sound of a blade brushing against the walls of the stonework just barely, just enough that the mysterious person could feel their way in the dark. She heard them walk straight past the door and for a moment she believed they’d completely pass her by. She opened her mouth to say something, but then she heard the other person shuffle in the hallway, the light being re-lit and momentarily blinding the hunter. She blinked a few times, before realizing that they had in fact seen her.

They approached the cell, stopping in front of the door and leaning in to shine the torchlight upon her in full, as if to check for themselves that she was alive or not (which wasn’t something she could fault them for, given the amount of corpses everywhere around here). Their head tilted with a jerk as they addressed her at last, “Who are you?”

The voice was deep, decidedly male but not strained with age or scourge. She made to respond, but found her mouth was suddenly incredibly parched… How long had it been since she’d last had some water, anyhow? Something wet and cold tickled the exposed part of her face, and she shook it away, realizing the augur was now considering her mask or hat as a new perch. The man didn’t miss this, and though she couldn’t see it, she could tell he’d narrowed his eyes with skepticism betrayed by his tone alone, “...You’re not one of them are you? The church folk with their bloody slugs...”

She almost laughed at his disdain, but instead finally managed to speak, though it was a pitiful croak compared to what she last remembered sounding like, “No, I’m not.”

“Even more curious…” He huffed before gesturing above him with a wave of the torch, “What’s happened here? Do you know?”

“Don’t you?” He didn’t appreciate her quip, and she added quickly, “I thought this place was hidden to most.”

“...Me too.” He seemed to glance around for a moment before nodding his head towards her again, “That's your augur, then? Everyone else up top is dead. It’s all corpses and beasts, now. More than just beasts…. Almost woulda missed you if I didn’t see that blue glow.”

She blinked, “I… Y-Yeah…” She frowned and shook her head, more pressing questions lined up, “What do you mean ‘everyone’s dead’? I… I don’t know how long I’ve been down here for. They weren’t when I was up there last.”

The other man – a hunter, she confirmed by his dark, familiar leathers – seemed to relax a little at her words, as though they’d confirmed that she was not an enemy, and he instead redirected his attention towards the lock on the gate. He tried it anyway, giving it a push, then jerking back and pushing again, the clattering particularly sharp and obnoxiously loud in an otherwise silent room. After a moment he changed his strategy and lifted upwards on it, seemingly with much resistance if his posture was anything to go by based on what light there was now, but pulling upwards and to the side seemed to have the exact effect he wanted. With a metallic clunk, he dropped it from his grasp and it swung loosely open.

Well, go-fucking-figure. It was just a finicky door after all… Not that she’d ever had a chance to try. He approached with narrowed eyes as if he believed the same, but his gaze came to rest on her shackles, “They strapped you in good, huh? What’d’ya do?”

She frowned, “I’m sorry?”

He tilted his head towards her again - a characteristic gesture, she was noticing, “I was in this place once before, a while back, but they never shackled me to a chair. Hell,” He scoffed, though she figured it was meant to be a laugh, though she couldn’t see which direction his lips were turned considering he wore a face cover much like she had, “They even left the bloody door unlocked.”

The hunter huffed in disbelief, “Wish they’d been so incompetent with me. We wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

He shook his head, stooping to place his torch down on the stone floor next to them, before staying on his one knee to observe her predicament, “You’re just lucky I bothered coming down here. Was hoping I’d find something useful…” He gave an experimental tug on the metal keeping her wrists restrained, but hummed in disapproval when they didn’t budge, “But I guess you’ll have to do.”

He’d glanced at her then, a strange twinkle in his eye that had her loosening her shoulders just a touch. From the way his eyes crinkled, she’d swear he just…

But as soon as that look was shared, it was gone and over with. He seemed to fiddle with the cuffs a bit, perhaps attempting to figure out how they worked, but he spoke somewhat idly in the meanwhile, “Interestingly enough, a lot of the corpses upstairs were shackled just like this. Know anything about that?” His head lifted upwards again to look at her, “That or the cages on their heads.”

Ah, “...Mensis cages.” That much she did know, though it wasn’t all that helpful, “I… Don’t know why they’d be shackled though. From what I understand, most of them were all too willing, going into this.”

“Going into what, exactly?” he didn’t look at her anymore, instead having pulled out a knife he seemed intent on using as a shim.

“I’m not sure. Some kind of ritual, but that’s all I know.” She held her tongue from saying more – Telling this hunter that she’d known a couple of the scholars at work here would likely only incriminate her, and the last thing she wanted to do was lose the only ally she had at the moment.

The stranger shifted his weight suddenly, pushing against the handle of the knife until there was a resounding snap that signified either the blade or the shackle had broken. She was apprehensive to discover which… But she felt a gloved hand over top of her own for just a brief moment, and the pressure on her wrist was now absent. He took a moment to sit back on his heels, having shifted to fully kneel at her feet now, “Ritual, huh? Seems to be all there is to Yharnam anymore. It’s too strange, I can’t wrap my head around it all.”

His attention turned to her other wrist-bound restraint as she questioned, “Does this mean you’re an outsider too?”

Though he didn’t look up, she heard the huff of air from underneath his face covering, as if she’d just told him an extraordinarily dry joke, “Could say that, yeah.”

She watched him work for a few moments, watching how he carefully slipped the blade between two very specific pieces of the metal, before cranking it to the side and then putting all his weight on his knees to break the joint that fastened it to the chair itself. He worked like he’d done this before, and though any other day this would lead her to countless questions about his background, in this instance she couldn’t help but feel unconcerned and full of relief. Glancing out the corner of her eye, the augur still sat upon her shoulder as if it too were watching the stranger, and she raised her free hand to gently brush against the side of its slick skin.

Another loud snap, and she finally released an obvious sigh of relief as she tenderly touched her wrists. Sore, certainly… but at least they were still there. His voice drew her from her thoughts after a moment, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

She glanced down at him, and frowned, “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with why I’m locked up?”

“I’ll take my chances with you, when there’s nothing but dead elsewhere. You didn’t answer my question though.”

“I…” She glanced away as she admitted with great self-loathing, “I got ambushed. I was trying to find my way to the Grand Cathedral and I rounded a corner and… Well…”

“...Big pale guy knocked you out cold?” He didn’t wait for her to respond, as her expression said all he needed to know. He chuckled, a pleasant, impersonal thing, “Me too. Not this time, but the first is always the worst.”

He leaned down to start on her ankle restraints, and she couldn’t help but pry further, “So why are you here now? Why willingly come to Yahar’Gul?”

He seemed genuinely confused when he peered up at her next, brow wrinkled rather deeply, “...You mean you can’t hear it?”

“Hear what?”

His eyes drifted towards the ceiling, “The cry of a baby.”

His words caught her off-guard, even as he returned to his work trying to set her free. There had been nothing but dead silence once the chanting had ceased… She hadn’t even heard beasts or these so-called corpses he’d mentioned. She wasn’t that far beneath Yahar’Gul. She should have heard something.

But a baby? Why the cry of a baby of all things? That couldn't be what that ritual was all about… could it?

She barely realized he’d made an attempt on the shackle, until his cursing caught her attention. The blade of the knife had broken clean off and clattered to the floor, rendering it completely useless for his task. Seeing him look so disgruntled had her speaking without much thought, “I have a couple throwing knives in my belt… Would that work?”

She realized with a delay that she could actually reach for them now, and drew them out, the blades shining in the torchlight. He reached for them, “Might be a little thin… but worth a shot.” He seemed to regard her a moment longer with a look she couldn’t quite place, before he leaned back down to attempt it again. The hunter was quite glad she’d been restrained the way she was. She didn’t exactly want to think too hard about him having to work between her legs…

She shook those thoughts away as soon as they’d shown up. A fellow hunter shows up, shows her a scrap of kindness, and she’d think of him like that? Now, of all times? Good lord… She must have been going mad. To shove those terrible, intrusive thoughts aside, she elected to finally answer him, “I haven’t heard a baby’s cry, no. When did it stop?”

He shook his head as he finally managed to free her one ankle, “It hasn’t stopped since the moon turned red. I still hear it, even down here.”

She was going to inquire about this ‘red moon’, but a different thought rushed to the forefront of her mind, and she caught herself reaching out to grab his shoulder to halt him from proceeding with her last restrained limb, “Aren’t you worried?”

“...About?”

Her brow scrunched up in disbelief, “That I could be borderline blood-drunk, or… I don’t know… Bad? Somehow?” She shook her head, relenting a touch, “I just find it difficult to believe you’d be so willing to help me when you don’t even know who I am.”

From the angle which he looked up at her, she saw how he cocked his brow, eyes steeling a touch, “If you were blood-drunk, you would have been at my throat by now. Besides, I already told you – There’s no one else left alive out there. Not in Yahar’Gul, anyway.”

“...But…”

“Are you that worried about it? I’m not going to bite. I could use the extra help.” Before she could protest further, he shifted his weight so he was propped up on one knee, and he surprised her by tilting his hat up off his head a touch and tugging down his face cover, baring his teeth in the torchlight, “See? I’m not a lost cause. Now you on the other hand, I doubt… But if you insist…” He reached up to do the same to her, although instead of forcing her mouth open, he simply held his torch close to her face as his other hand - momentarily knife-free - cupped her jaw, gently tilting her head this way and that as he stared straight into her eyes. His voice lowered into a thoughtful hum, “No collapsed pupils… No patches of fur… And you don’t smell like wet dog. Not for now, anyway.”

Seemingly satisfied with his findings, he tidied up his appearance to become obscured once more as he offered the most nonchalant shrug she’d ever seen, as he concluded “So no. I’m not worried. I appreciate the concern, though. More than I can say about almost every Yharnamite I’ve come across.”

The last shackle was removed the quickest, as he’d now had plenty of practice. As soon as she was freed, she stretched her legs and couldn’t help but stretch and crack her back a little, “Felt like I was there for ages.”

He stood tall and offered a hand, though she realized he still held onto her throwing knives loosely in the other. He helped her rise up, and when he bent to pick up his torch, the hunter made a point to pick up the augur and carefully place it back in the spot she always kept it – a hidden little pocket tucked on her side, just underneath the capelet part of her coat. When she turned back, the hunter ahead of her was watching, and made some sound that might have been light amusement, “Pretty nice towards that slug, aren’t you?”

Out of reflex, she responded immediately, “It’s a phantasm, not a slug.” Oh god, Micolash would’ve loved how she’d picked up on his smart-ass tics now… Her gaze unconsciously rose upwards towards the ceiling as she wondered what became of him. If everyone up there was truly dead as this hunter claimed…

The other hunter waving his hand dismissively caught her eye, “Slug, phantasm… same difference. Just odd, that’s all.” He held out her knives so she could grip them by the hilt, “Here. Don’t need ‘em anymore.”

She nodded in thanks and returned them to their respective loops on her belt. Before she could open her mouth again, he cut in rather suddenly, “How much further does this place go, exactly?”

“Down here?” He nodded, “From what I recall of it… Not much? But I could be mistaken.”

He shook his head, “Don’t think it’s worth it. The longer we stay here, the more those things up there roam about. I wonder if they’ll manage to leach out into Central Yharnam as well.” He turned on his heel and walked out towards the doorway leading into the room, but paused to cast a brief glance over his shoulder, jerking his head in emphasis, “Well? Come on, then.”

She paused, wanting to look around the room a moment longer. Sure, she’d still had her throwing knives on her… but two little knives weren’t going to wipe out all of Yahar’Gul, and especially not the tall kidnappers that dragged her here in the first place. Not when she had been shackled most of the time. But she was lacking her saif and her pistol, and felt naked without them, and she vocalized this discomfort, “I’d rather not leave without my gear. I’m just… not sure where it is.”

She could see the way his shoulders heaved that he’d sighed, perhaps irritably so, but helped her look around the room anyway. When they found nothing, they elected to wander down the last portion of the hallway, leading into a small room at the end that held an oversized chest. Lo and behold, her things were there. As she picked them up, taking comfort in feeling the weight of the saif’s compacted handle and her pistol’s grip in her hands, her newfound ally remarked neutrally, “And here you were, suggesting I don’t keep searching.”

“I didn’t say that,” She frowned, “I just said I didn’t know. I wasn’t exactly paying attention when I was dragged down here.”

She thought he’d quip some more, but seemed to steel himself into a more hunter-like persona, only stating, “Fair enough,” Before gesturing for her to follow him.

#bloodborne #bloodborne related #writing #fic #excerpt #uhhhh basically this is very hunter-interacts-with-another-hunter but also the augur has a cameo #i have not stopped thinking about augurs being like self-aware and just funky lil guys in their spare time #...also have been thinking of some *very* weird stuff with Micolash and the augur so..... that's a thing #how far do I want the brain rot to go? how many insight eyeballs do I want to reveal and which ones are less embarrassing?#only the Great Ones know (they don't know)#also not me mispelling 'Yahar'gul and not realizing it until I actually got there today in-game lmao #the G is NOT capitalized just fyi - i just assumed it was and idk why #anyway moral of the story is - treat ur augur with love and respect and it will be ur best friend lmao

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kallowrites · 1 year

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hello, this is just some raw dialogue (as in, this is how I draft fics - no 'character tags' or much description in-between) for an idea I've thought about ever since I met Vengarl in-game -- I just wanna take him with me to go see how pretty parts of Drangleic are and let him talk a bunch more jhgdj

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“Did you ever have family, Vengarl? Forgive me if that’s a sensitive subject - I’m only curious. I can’t imagine the life of a sellsword is very… settled.”

“None that I can recall, no.”

“None at all? Did you not keep… company?”

“You ask dangerous questions, my friend. Ah- Do not look so distressed. I don’t mind much. Thinking back on it… In those days, I likely did. Though it’d be temporary at best. An… exchange, more than anything. With Forossa gone and divided, travelling as I did, doing what I did… I had no desire for such trivial things. I had no friends. No family. My fellow mercenaries did not even dare to bother me for any such thing, unless it was to announce a departure for more killing. The only persistent company was my blade, and my lust for violence.”

“That sounds… rather lonely.”

“I do not feel the same towards it. I think it was only fitting that others kept their distance as they did. Perhaps I was too frightening for most – I do not recall anyone daring to ask for more than a night’s companionship. And even then… I don’t recall it ending well.”

“...I’ve never done anything like that before. Perhaps I’m too much of a romantic, in that regard.”

(chuckles) “The body has its urges, whether you’re a dreamer, a loner, or any mix of all else between the two. You do what you must, at times. Though I suppose… it depends on the person in question.”

“Then how do you- Oh, forgive me,” (she blushes) “I’m growing far too comfortable, I shouldn’t be so rude…”

“Saying such things only piques curiosity. You may speak freely with me as you please. I will let you know if you offend - I will not hold it against you.”

“...It’s just… About urges. You’ve certainly been undead for far longer than I have, yes? I cannot imagine that… bodes well for them. Or you.”

“Ah, well… I cannot fault such a query. It’s not an issue for me, anymore. Though I could feel my body’s presence and existence prior to you killing it, it was… a distant connection. Perhaps more comparable to an instinct - a hunch, more than a feeling. If it still had urges from when it was human - from when I was human… I never realized it. All I could feel emanating from it was hate and violence. Being so disconnected from it for so long only served to make that obvious to me. Its only desire was to destroy and ruin all it came across, in its blind, mad journey.”

“...I cannot imagine what that’s like.”

“Do not trouble yourself with attempting to understand it. I doubt I would have understood it myself, had it not been my fate.”

“...”

“...What about you, wanderer?”

“Hm?”

“Family. Friends. Companions. Or are you, perhaps, as lonely on your journey as I have been on mine?”

(she shakes her head, looking thoughtful if a bit sad) “No. I don’t have a family, I think. I didn’t really have much in the way of friends either until coming to Drangleic, in truth. I always liked to wander, but… When the curse found its way to me, my wandering suddenly had direction. Before, I just wanted to explore the world. Now… I suppose I have a goal in mind. Though perhaps not one of my own choosing.”

“You did not choose this path you’ve set out on?”

“Not exactly. According to the Herald in Majula, many have walked the same path as I am. Some go further than others. Some don’t go that far at all before losing hope. All I know is that I arrived in Drangleic, and have been… nudged, I suppose… in one direction. ‘Seek souls. Larger, more powerful souls. Seek the King, lest this land swallow you whole, as it has so many others.’ That is my sole guidance. Though… That’s not to say I have not still retained my old ways. I still find great joy in wandering… Enjoying the journey itself. Anticipating the destination, but not rushing towards it.” “I believe that is a very reasonable way to live. Taking time to appreciate the journey for what it is, I mean. I know in the days where I still lived - not branded as Undead - I didn’t do such a thing. I didn't care. It didn’t matter where I went or who I fought for or against… All that mattered was the destination: Spilling the blood of all those who were not the ones who hired me. I may have seen a great many things… travelled to many places… But I cannot remember it all. I didn’t pay attention to it. I didn’t need to, I didn’t have to unless it could prove a useful thing to know in a battle. And even then… I was reckless. Too confident in my strength, despite that confidence not being misplaced. A disadvantage in battle only meant more death and destruction before it was through. Perhaps… That is how I was severed apart like this in the first place.”

#dark souls 2 #excerpt #unfinished #wip #fanfic #kallowrites #writing #vengarl of forossa #please tell me im not the only one obsessed with Vengarl #u can probably tell i contemplated going a vaguely shippy route but then dialed it back into place lmao #after all... the guy IS just a talking head now...#maybe I just really like the juxtaposition of big scary (but mellow) Vengarl with my DS2 character #who has a weirdly cute face and literally has pink hair lmao -- way less emo than my DS1 protag for sure #(Im working on fics with her too dw)#also if this looks weird in formatting... using the 'new' post editor i keep forgetting exists lmao #not sure I like it but we'll see #ON THE PLUS SIDE it actually retains my italics sooo... maybe I AM already on-board LOL

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kallowrites · 2 years

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Just some nice fluff because the Doll deserves some peaceful, platonic relationships and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.

|| Bloodborne -- (female) OC & The Doll || 692 words || SFW ||

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“I… I wish to rest. I know the night will not end, but I… I’m tired. I wish to rest.”

“You may rest upon me if you would like, good hunter. Though it may be a dreamless sleep, it is still rest for the body. You will need it.”

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With some apprehension that was quickly overcome by a wave of immense lethargy, the Hunter slowly shifted her position sitting on the stone next to the Doll in favour of resting the side of her head in her lap. The dress was much softer than she’d expected, yet embodied how comfortable and cozy it looked… Made with such care. A vague memory crept into her mind, of elaborate dresses and gown, lavishly embroidered corsets and tightly-bound shoes. And yet… the Doll embodied none of this, but felt familiar all the same.

Fingers ghosted over her hair that was exposed after she’d removed her hat, a gentle knocking as the wooden joints shifted together. The Hunter had never been touched in such a way before… not even by her own mother. The Doll constantly pondered if the love she felt for the Hunter was real, but this certainly felt real. The love and warmth radiated off of her, and when it wasn’t with words it was expressed in full within her actions. Her eyes fluttered shut as she drew in a deep breath as she cherished this feeling. If the night was everlasting… She hoped this moment was an eternity.

Had the feeling of safe comfort not been as overwhelming to her mind and senses, the Hunter knew for a fact she would have wept right about now. It had been so, so long since she had last been held in any regard… But this felt almost as if she was being cradled in the Doll’s lap. She curled her knees up towards her chest and let her head sink further into the flouncy, heavy layers of the dress, being able to feel the unnaturally solid legs underneath despite it all. It didn’t bother her though. The Doll didn’t need to be flesh and blood like herself in order to mean anything to her. Too many times, those who shared that trait wanted nothing more but to spite her, and reject her existence.

The Beasts wanted her dead. Blood-drunk Hunters, as well. Even back home where she’d travelled from, she had been shunned - She was a foreigner there, and she was a foreigner here. Very little changed, in that single aspect.

Except…

The Doll leaned over ever slightly, just enough that the fringe of her shawl draped around her like curtains. The Hunter caught herself reaching out to tug one of the edges closer to herself, seeking its odd warmth. Maybe it was simply her own body heat causing it, but it was far from unwelcomed. She met the Doll’s eyes after humming contentedly, and she was spoken to in a near-whisper, “Rest, good hunter. The waking world will still be as it was, when you awaken. Do not worry.”

Somehow, despite not even knowing it herself, the Doll’s words relieved her exact anxiety that was lurking in her heart. The urge to stay busy. The urge to remain useful.

But no, she still was useful. She had a purpose now - a goal to work towards. Good to do. It was more than she ever could have asked for, and despite the nightmares and the evil that threatened to destroy Yharnam… She found herself grateful for it, for had it not been happening, she may have never known this feeling.

Sweet, sweet peace as her thoughts finally slipped her mind, to leave her in an ephemeral state of emptiness… Aside from what she swore was humming resonating within her weary mind.

#bloodborne #writing #fanfic #kallowrites #bloodborne fluff #(shocker I know)#excerpt #(fully intended to do a set r series but we'll see where my ambition takes me lol)#*or #also disclaimer - I have not played Bloodborne in literal months even tho im champing at the bit to play it again #so i am going off of stuff on the wiki and memory so i hope it's not OOC? never written the Doll before this tbh #also hello yes i still exist i am in soulsborne brain rot purgatory rn so im trying to spin it around and be productive lolol

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kallowrites · 2 years

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Android AU Character run-down: The D10s

It is SO hard to explain their differences in just words (imo) so I figured doing a little guide would help? With visuals? Basically, the ways their names are stylized are exactly to differentiate them in text but visually they vary (though not necessarily considerably hahaha)

Also don’t @ me - some of these drawings are old and ugly lmao

SO! Under the cut, here’s the boys and some lore/background about their roles:

Dio (Brando): (Referred to as just 'Dio' in most cases, as he rejects the surname)

A custom Gen-2 unit, able to be retrofitted with almost any imaginable upgrade due to his prototype status… although his code is rather unstable and prone to fluctuation. Effectively the 'main' (synthetic) Dio of the AU - He was designed to replace Diego Brando as Dario Brando's successor, but didn't take kindly to being molded to anyone's image, and ended up murdering both Brandos and the man who coded him (who only went by DOG). He's caught by the authorities, disabled, and shipped off to have his memory disc wiped clean to be resold or used for parts, but a (convenient) mis-delivery has him winding up at Miriam Amell's door. Due to a lack of proper, gradual introductions and ease into society, he's notably antisocial and lacks any sort of 'people skills', preferring extreme solutions to otherwise simple problems. He has zero issues with being blunt and stating things plainly, even if it offends the person in question, and as a result he can come off as very judgemental and pushy. Visually, he resembles Part 1 Dio Brando prior to his turn to vampirism.

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D.I.O.: (Referred to simply as 'DIO' for convenience)

A Gen-3 unit (formerly) used for police work. He was sent to pursue Miriam to safely retrieve or disable Dio (Brando) when his existence was tipped off by an anonymous source, but found himself fighting the chains of his suppression when he's treated like a person by her for the first time in his life... Even if it was initially a case of mistaken identity. He is eventually removed of his tracking chip and jailbroken by Raisa (a contact Dio made via the internet) at Miriam’s suggestion, and now possesses his free will to do as he pleases, though he willingly remains with her.

Following the events of the (shared) AU, he's had his body replaced with a much newer Gen-7 model which, among other things, has given him a newfound sense of smell (as well as many a bump into doorways). He's considerably more 'timid' than Dio (Brando), but shares his introversion with sharing personal details. Previously abused by his human partner (which leads to intimacy issues...), and holds a considerable grudge because of it. Has a strong moral compass but is particularly biased towards helping other androids achieve the same freedom he has. Probably the most empathetic & broody of the D10s, tbh.

Despite a vengeful side that rarely rears its ugly head, he’s quite reasonable and easy to get along with, even if he seems a bit detached. He’s far more acclimated to dealing people and existence itself than Dio is, partially due to his former profession/purpose. All he wants is to be treated with respect. Being very level-headed and considerate (if a bit soft-spoken), is a very large part of why Miriam is so torn between the two of them...

Visually, (especially after the bodywork) he resembles Part 3 DIO, neck scar and all, which he keeps to specifically keep himself distinct from Dio (Brando).

(yes, im allowed to pick the cute one because he IS a sweet boy) He shares his colour scheme with Dio though (blond hair, gold eyes), nothing new there!

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EcciDiO:

Formerly a military unit, unlike many he did not turn during the revolt and survived. He was shelved when he was no longer needed and became outdated, only to be pulled off from it for some 'final use' for the government to get their money's worth out of him -- He was repurposed into a 'show-droid': An android used purely for the entertainment of others in what is essentially a professional android ring, which also doubles as a way for the government to flaunt their new androids by forcibly ""retiring"" old ones. While most androids that are left to this fate don't survive for long before being destroyed, EcciDiO ended up becoming a crowd favourite for his flamboyance and subverting the expectations and pre-determined outcome of the show. Both his design and software were updated, and he adopted the persona of 'The Grand Papillon'. Doing so well for the gov't's image, he was eventually reinstated for service as a government agent and was tasked with destroying Dio (Brando), as retrieval was deemed no longer viable after the disappearance of the previous unit sent after him -- D.I.O.. However, his zeal in his task ultimately led EcciDiO to kill Dio (Brando)'s contact, Raisa, terminated her android Ramses (another D10 unit) - both of whom were deemed 'obstacles', and almost destroy D.I.O., while severely injuring both Dio (Brando) and Miriam before he was ultimately disabled by the same man who created the D10 units in the first place (Professor Brando). Needless to say, he's quite the menace. (For the intents and purposes, any fic with him in it runs with the assumption he was repurposed and is functional again with less 'murder-happy' tendencies. Mostly.)

Also following said intents and purposes, repurposed EcciDiO is just as flamboyant as ever, but has a startling lack of understanding for anything beyond wrecking things and wrestling. In truth, he’s a borderline blank slate who has to learn everything from the beginning and is very emotionally flippant... and this process is NOT helped by one very troublesome Joestar he’s acquainted with...

(basically he’s STILL a shitpost but he’s fun and I love him and I’d love to share more but this is already so long wtf where did this bias come from??)

Visually, he has a similar build to DIO but has longer pink hair with purple roots and tips. He's very flamboyant and never dresses plainly.

(technically, this is him in an alternate costume for an idea I had - He returns to the ring of his own accord one last time to retire his former persona. I forget what he called himself, but basically he goes from the butterfly themes of ‘The Grand Papillon’ to a darker moth-related theme to show his transition from face to heel (which alludes to his freedom from gov’t control)!)

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Prototype #13: (Referred to simply as 'Thirteen' for convenience)

Not much is known about him, aside from his existence... In truth, this is because I have no idea the role he’ll play in the shared AU yet hahaha (and since it’s spoilers for both u guys AND me... I’m not about to prod Mag about it lolol)

In terms of the old, solo (potentially not canon) AU though, Thirteen essentially had EcciDiO’s role of ��hunter’. He has zero empathy for anyone, both android and human alike, but seems to have a particular revulsion to the latter. Though he’s restrained somewhat by his control chip, he seems to enjoy the punishment when he’s somewhat defiant, and he’s earned the reputation as a ‘last resort for a lost cause’. He’s sent to eliminate Dio (Brando), no ifs, ands, or buts, because the information he contains that can be freely accessed due to a lack of encryption is deemed not worth the risk any longer.

On the side, he also has orders to terminate DIO if located, and to bring Miriam Amell to the government himself for interrogation into her motives before likely termination herself. He has no qualms with killing civilians if they obstruct his orders. -- “Compliance is preferable to defiance, unless you lack the most basic of human instinct.”

During the android revolt a decade prior, he was noted to have turned against his own fellow androids, seemingly due to a simple urge to destroy, and some wonder if he’s simply been corrupted and never diagnosed at any point, or if this was done on purpose. Thirteen plays pretend all too well and knows exactly where and how to hide information to avoid detection.

Visually, he resembles DIO quite a bit, but has dark hair with a light streak through it, and a rather torn-up arm, revealing the mechanical workings underneath. He’s also got very ominous, cold eyes...

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Ramses:

The first ‘D10′ (though he had a female counterpart) Professor Brando created, his former right-hand man who’s seen it all and been through everything over his lifetime. His status as a ‘beta’ model means his A.I. is drastically different from the run-of-the-mill D10 models that came after him, with most of his code not even being created by Professor Brando’s own hands. This was sufficient enough, however to (in Mag’s own words): “ sell the entire idea to the filthy rich conglomerate overlords.”

He is curt, polite, and rather stiff in his communication with others, coming across as rather robotic. He obeys everything Professor Brando asks of him without question, though does possess his own sentience and holds a healthy respect for him. He was given to Raisa after she was adopted by Professor Brando as a gift, and she thought of him like a brother. Ramses’ own feelings on the matter are... complicated.

He shares Professor Brando’s face, though the coincidence that his features so closely resemble that of the late Diego Brando (whom Dio (Brando’s) own features were based on), is entirely coincidental and genetic. Raisa altered Ramses appearance later on to separate him from his creator, and he now has dark skin and dark hair.

**Unfortunately due to EcciDiO’s actions while under government control, Ramses has been permanently terminated and his memory disc completely corrupted and unsalvageable, thus removing the only ‘beta’ model left in existence, much to Professor Brando’s immense grief.

(I’ve only attempted to draw him once with this updated look (and I never ended up liking how it was turning out, so it’s unfinished), so I v highly encourage you to look at Mag’s drawing of him instead:)

(Also PLEASE give love to the OG post here if u haven’t already: https://magthemage.tumblr.com/post/682429790479876096/android-au-meet-ramses-the-first-functional )

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Okay there’s two additional D10′s here, but neither of them have confirmed/updated designs I care to share pictures of so I’ll just toss a quick tl;dr: about them in case ur still interested somehow hahaha:

Dionysus - an android sex worker Miriam encounters early on. Technically the second android she meets with Dio’s face, but the circumstances under which they meet only serve to confirm to her that she’s attracted to Dio for more than just his looks. -- He has a trio of female androids that linger around him.

Despite seeming enthusiastic and complacent, Dionysus himself is rather frustrated with his situation. His ‘harem’ doesn’t seem to know any better, but his sentience is merely suppressed - his monthly reformatting does little to stop his bitter feelings from returning all the same, trapping him in a cycle and a life he can’t escape from on his own...

AuDio - a mysterious android that Miriam only knows about through the internet. He’s popular in the ‘ASMR’ world for his looks (despite hiding his face), and even more so when he starts speaking. He disappeared after some time due to some rather severe scandal involving a decidedly not safe-for-work account passing off as him is linked and makes the rounds... Despite all the interest from his fanbase, it damages his reputation with sponsors (and likely whoever owns him) to a point he simply stops posting altogether and vanishes without a trace.

Miriam comes to realize later the culprit for the scenario was her own Dio, who thought it would be ‘funny’. This ends up kicking off his own side-gig but still frustrates the hell out of her for ruining a stranger’s life on a whim.

...Though that’s not to say that fate won’t find a way, given how many of these ‘exceedingly rare’ androids she keeps crossing paths with...

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And with that, I’m p sure that covers them all! ...Unless Mag and I add more D10s, but it’s getting hard to keep track of them all as it is xD

I did not include the Professor in this because... he’s human. D10 units are the androids that look like him and that he created.

Each one still retains qualities from the “original” (as in, the source material), but to varying extents due to how they were brought up and the experiences they had. That’s the joy of sentience! You can take an android, “raise” it under the exact same conditions, and no two will come out exactly the same!

Or, in some cases... Some fare out better/worse than others. Best example would be Dio and DIO -- while DIO has (debatably, in Dio’s mind, im sure) gone through much worse treatment, he’s still come out kinder for a variety of reasons. He could have very easily gone the same route as Dio and gone out of his way to kill everyone connected to him, but he actively chooses not to, and only punishes those he feels are responsible (and hence, he has much more empathy towards other androids than Dio as well, who couldn’t care less)

BUT I DIGRESS. Hope this clears things up, at least a *little* hahaha

Also there ARE other androids in this AU besides just D10 units 8D I’m not sure how many we’ll have in total that are relevant, so I don’t think they warrant their own post... Nero is probably the most important one though!

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kallowrites · 2 years

Text

AU!gust Week #2 - ‘Monster’ AU

(TECHNICALLY unfinished - I didn’t like how it ended up and ran out of ideas and it probably shows hahaha -- but just a heads-up in case it seems abrupt!)

|| JJBA x Bloodborne CROSSOVER (tho I took some liberties to accommodate it lol) -- OC x Canon (again... sort of) || 3579 words || SFW ||

Summary:

A monster - not like any beast previously encountered - has been annihilating every single Hunter that encounters it, next group each seeking it out to avenge their fallen comrades and put an end to the massacre that’s cutting sharply into their already dwindling numbers. Miriam is one such Hunter, but not everything is as straight-forward as it used to be.

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“On a night of the hunt... No, on any night -- Nothing out there deserves to live.”

This is the principle she was raised on. To purge the world of seemingly endless filth through her duties as a Hunter, encountering beast after beast, monsters that put fairy tales to grand shame, and even her own fellow Hunters that lost themselves in the madness and the blood. The Master of the League had been right to teach her this from an early age - Nothing out there did deserve to live. If it wasn’t mad now, it would be later - this was an inevitability much like aging was.

Many of her fellow Hunters shunned and condemned the League, and its Master - He was a madman. He’d lost his mind years ago when he earned the title ‘Beast Eater’, he was a loose cannon… He was a fanatic. Ranting and raving about ‘vermin’, which none but members of the League itself seemed able to see for themselves… Were they in the wrong for believing such things? Perhaps not, but they were wrong for being so quick to condemn a man who ultimately, still performed his duties as a Hunter. That was all that should matter.

Miriam was out on this night on a Hunt, but also knowingly walking in the footsteps of her mentor. There was a monster out there that was massacring other Hunters, out of control and with an endless hunger. Only one Hunter ever managed to return, and he went on and on about the spiders in his head - like fingers dancing and tapping inside his skull, feeling something like love for the creature that wounded him and killed his brethren, and being unable to carry out his duties as a Hunter any longer. Beasts appeared and he found himself incapable of mobilizing against them. He claimed he tried, but the spiders in his head forced him not to. That was what the man claimed, anyway.

It was later deemed an act of mercy to put him out of his misery, seeing as he could no longer protect either himself or others, but still ran all the risks that came with being a Hunter. Corruption. This was not the first time Miriam had seen vermin, but it was the first time she’d done so without any of her fellow League members around. The fact she’d been helpless to watch it wriggle and writhe, before skittering away… She should have cared less about appearances and more about crushing it underneath her boot, like a member of the League ought to. It wasn’t as though the whole world didn’t know of her allegiances anyway.

But that regret couldn’t seize control of her quiet anger, as she set out into the Forbidden Woods with a singular goal in mind despite the warnings and protests she’d had to listen to before this. If it hadn’t been an act of vengeance, it would still boil down to something as simple as it being part of her obligations as a Hunter. Whether in-line with the League or not, the motives criss-crossed and overlapped.

Monsters and Beasts had to die. Nothing out there deserves to live.

The only one who had been supportive of her pursuing this path was the Master of the League himself, who’d given her his blessing. He insisted she not go alone, and thus, Miriam travelled with two fellows of the League - brothers, whose names eluded her. It wasn’t important. They’d sworn the same oaths as she had, and that made them brethren in their own right. And if the Master of the League himself had recommended them, she wasn’t going to doubt their capabilities or their worth as brothers in arms against a common enemy.

Especially in a place like the Forbidden Woods.

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The woods were a filthy, vile place. Gnarled and twisted both inside and out, aside from the members of the League who idled at the entrance when there’d been more of them, there wasn’t a single human soul left here that hadn’t been corrupted by the scourge that twisted man into beast, and beast into monster. Every creature that was slain on the path to revenge had black, tainted blood. Every humanoid had vermin that wiggled among the viscera and the brain matter, and each one of those vermin had been squashed underfoot with no mercy. Miriam wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

The path, following in the footsteps of the countless Hunters that had come to this forest to die, led into a dark cavern. It was hidden amongst the hills and twisting paths, but it was walked enough that the vegetation could not grow back and the dirt was still freshly tilled and disturbed. The cavern’s entrance was foreboding, the air emerging from it was damp and heavy, the odor pungent and unmistakable: Death.

The trio glanced towards one another in silent questioning, but none faltered or vocalized any disagreements with entering, and so they crossed the threshold that had claimed so many before them.

Perhaps, if they had not been so single-goal-minded… They may have noticed that they were not alone on their trek.

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The cavern ended as it widened, a large expanse stretching inside the mountainside, and revealing an altar, hidden from sight but well lit with countless torches and lanterns. While everything around it was crudely fashioned, the lines of the altar were exact and precise. The work reminded her of the statues she’d seen lining the halls in the Healing Church… But these motifs were different somehow. Perhaps focused on a different entity. Surprisingly despite the knowledge of many deaths, there was little evidence of such a thing occurring. A handful of corpses were left on the ground, but no blood and no signs they’d been disturbed.

Just when they were beginning to wonder where the creature in question was, a loud shuffling sound was heard from the entrance. Dirt and rocks being shifted to make way for the large snake-like body that slithered in. The upper-half was that of a man, seamlessly merging into one single limb. Jarring of all, was the fact the upper-half, upon closer inspection, was not all flesh - Only the head and scant parts where skin was stretched over raw bone, remained… Implying most of its functioning insides were contained within the snake-half of its body. The limbs were gangly and long, fingers tipped with razor-sharp nails like claws, the ratty blond hair hung over its face like a veil, but it didn’t block the sight of its massive maw when it let out an ungodly hiss, face splitting apart to reveal additional sharp teeth where there ought not to be on a man.

Its breath was pure poison and death, you didn’t need to be up close to see its foul miasma ebb and flow from its torn lips. They had been expecting a beast, but instead encountered a disgusting hybrid of sorts… a beast with the facade of a man.

All the more reason it had to die.

The brothers by her side only hesitated for the briefest of moments, and drew their weapons once Miriam had done so. More shuffling came from behind them, and Miriam chided their haste. The ‘corpses’ upon the ground were not, in fact, dead. Perhaps that same error was what cost so many Hunters their lives before. From the looks of things, most of these corpses were Hunters once. They stood and stumbled closer until they were about four or five lengths away, before they gripped their bagged heads and writhed, the sound of something squirming within becoming louder and louder until all at once, their heads burst into an endless collection of snakes.

She had seen this before, but her concern was with this new monster they had come across. The man who had gone mad from his conflict with it, had not described it in any detail whatsoever… How he could feel something like love for the horrid beast was beyond her. Perhaps his blood had gone bad and the others had been none the wiser to it?

Four snake-men, and one massive one. The latter appeared to keep its distance, watching and waiting… The brothers vocalized their nervousness to which Miriam retorted sharply, “Focus on the smaller ones. I’ll watch your back.”

It was a horrible command to give, especially when she longed to draw blood. She observed the massive entity longer and realized with a chill crawling up her spine, that it had no eyes. Just gaunt, hollow pockets still covered with flesh where eyes ought to be… It was a mockery and an insult to humanity. A poor attempt to replicate something it could never be. She reached into her pocket to pull out one of her two slips of fire paper… Snakes had a natural aversion to flame, just like any other beast did. Not taking her eyes off the monster, she applied it, feeling the paper against the blade, a resistance to it not unlike that of a match upon its striker. Its head twitched as it seemed to focus in on the blade instead of her, fingers crunching and popping as it flexed them in preparation.

Her attention was taken away from it for a moment when there was a cry from behind her, warning her - She’d turned just in time to see one of the snake men recoil back and attempt to snap at her with the venomous serpents. A thoughtless reflex, she swung the blade the same instant it moved, cutting through the heads like it was nothing and watching them screech and vocalize pain as the human body it puppeted was dragged along in its actions.

The other snake-men had been cut down, but the one behind her had been forgotten for but a moment, and a moment was all it took. It rushed forward with surprising speed, and lashed out at the brother that was closest to it, grabbing it with its elongated and dislocated jaw, his screams barely heard as he was devoured whole in moments. His sibling, horrified, lashed out at the monster at the same time she did, aiming for the soft scales of its underbelly. The snake-thing hissed and slithered back, taking a large, telegraphed slash with its claws. They quickly backstepped and refocused on the beast, keeping a careful eye on its movements and watching how it would lead into an attack, lashing out and taking swings when there was an opportunity to do so. Often, one Hunter would act as the distraction to give the other an opening. Cooperation and coordination were the very foundations of the League.

All the careful plotting, planning, and assessment in the world could increase a Hunter’s chances for survival, but it was not enough to guarantee him protection against death, or random chance. The monstrosity was bleeding profusely from its wounds, but its behaviour abruptly changed - Miriam noticed the switch too late to warn the brother before he was struck immensely hard and thrown against the cavern wall, and instead used his death as an opportunity for herself. Using her last strip of fire paper, changing the sword into its whip form, she could feel her blood boiling from within as she lashed at it. Its thick, black blood splattered, and it seemed to grow more aggressive… but as it did and as more blood was spilled, so did she.

Dodging a swing, then having to quickly tumble out of the way of it seemingly diving at her with its entire body, she stood quickly and swung the chain-whip at its neck with the intent of severing it. It lashed out behind itself with its much too long arms, and clipped Miriam across the chest, tearing the leather and drawing blood. She repeated the action a second time, then a third, until its head was cleaved clean-off. It squirmed and spewed its tar-like blood upon the dark floors - She stepped back when it released one final, foul breath of poison before it appeared to fall limp. After a moment, its body seemed to boil, the snake-tail melting and flattening until only a skeleton remained.

In the center of the pond of blood that had formed, was not one, but three vermin. Coiled up and squirming in place. Without fully catching her breath, she returned the whip to its sword-cane form with a snap upon the ground, and stepped into the ooze, savouring in the delightful crunch as she stepped on each of them, not stopping until they were no longer discernible as things, beyond mush. The smell of metallic blood was overwhelming - she hadn’t realized she’d neglected to fix her face covering when it had fallen down partway into that skirmish. It was no wonder she’d almost lost herself in the heat of the moment. As she did so, she noticed her wound on her chest still wept, though it didn’t bleed as profusely as before. It stung, like someone was pouring ethanol into the wound with no dilution… Something she hadn’t noticed until just now, perhaps due to the adrenaline rush from the fight.

She mourned the loss of her fellow League members, but knew she had to continue on. For what better way to honour their losses than continuing the pledge to eradicate all vermin? She intended to bite her lip, grin and bear it… She had to report back that the fiend that was terrorizing and killing so many Hunters was now purged and gone.

But before she could make it to the entrance to the cave, a deep, husky laugh had resounded from above. Turning her gaze upwards, she hadn’t noticed the large interlocking beams… nor had she noticed the evil, dark presence that resided there. The eyes in the dark sent something crawling down her spine - They were golden, just barely illuminating the being enough that she could catch a glimpse of its toothy smirk from this distance. It slid from its place up above, tail first to gently let itself slink down into view without appearing cumbersome despite its great size.

Another half man, half snake… Though this one was by far much larger. This one didn’t appear to be a product of some sick form of necromancy however - It breathed, and had flesh where flesh belonged. No exposed bone, no hollowness in its face or eyes. No, this one appeared to be quite healthy, if one could describe a beast as such. Even its golden hair was considerably more well-kept than the previous monsters’ had been… though it appeared to move on its own as if it was alive. Bathed and backlit by the torchlight, its pale skin appeared to glow.

Miriam kept a hand firmly upon the grip of the bladed cane as it looked down upon her with a scrutinizing gaze. It slowly slithered around her and around the room as it spoke - it spoke just like a man would… This was not a beast. Beasts and monsters didn’t speak.

“Hmm… You’ve made quite the mess… And made short work of my watchdog. Such a shame… That was the only one that didn’t fall apart within a week’s time.”

‘Watchdog’...? With harrowing realization, Miriam realized that what she and her companions had struggled to kill… Wasn’t even what they’d been hunting in the first place.

She reached behind her, but remembered that she had used up all of her fire paper in the previous fight. She was in no position to find herself in a conflict of that scale again so soon, but it was appearing to be the case whether she liked it or not. She was extremely on edge by how nonchalant and lax this beast appeared to be as it continued to speak in a soft, amicable voice.

“...And here I was under the impression the Hunters would simply give up if I cut enough of them down. It’s a pity.”

It paused behind her, and though Miriam did not keep her eyes off of it, that didn’t stop her from tensing when it abruptly approached and leaned in to observe her, “Let me see you…”

She swung reflexively towards its deceptively handsome face with the blade, but the monster caught it in its own disturbingly human hand, clawed fingers curling around it and pulling it away from her… Though she did not relinquish her grasp and now dangled several feet from the floor. Its golden, slitted eyes stared her down like it was analyzing a painting or something of the sort. It was curious… and its tone betrayed such as its lips parted into a smile, “Ah… I’ve never met a woman who called herself a Hunter before,” He pulled down her face covering and flicked her hat off her head with borderline comedic ease, “Tell me, woman… Why did you come here to die, when you could have had your entire life ahead of you? Or… What remained of it, at least.”

She spat at him, “I don’t converse with beasts.”

“Because you have to, by oath? Or simply because no beast has ever spoken to you before?” Her silence made his knowing smile grow, “I know about your type. I had kin who went down that path in life, before. They must be desperate to send you here, to… what? Slay me?”

The great beast attempted to shake her grip off her blade, before resorting to grasping her by the waist and forcing her to release it, if she wanted to keep her arms attached to her body. As he did so, he observed her closer, eyes darkening as they trailed to her chest, “In your condition… I don’t believe you’ll be much of a threat to me, DIO. But were I to simply send you on your way, well… Who’s to say you would even make it back out of these woods alive? The snakes hunger, and there’s grimmer things out there than I. I doubt very much you want to be devoured by your own kind.”

Her eyes narrowed as she vocalized her confusion on his choice of words, despite this meaning she went back on her word about not speaking to his ilk, “There’s none of my kind out here, beast. You took care of that.”

It shook its head, “No, no. Don’t play coy, little Hunter. Surely you’re aware of the fate that awaits you? You and everyone else touched by the Scourge. I may spread it, but it didn’t originate with me. My condition is somewhat unique in that I'm neither man nor beast… But trapped in the middle regardless. This is what happens when you toy with things you ought to keep your nose out of.”

It cocked its head a touch, “I sought power, and was rewarded with it. But now I’m unable to take one form wholly. …But it’s been a blessing in disguise, for you see… Now I have a member of the League with me. Has your Master ever told you about how he was able to see vermin, little Hunter?”

Her eyes widened - How could this beast, presumably stuck in this cave for however long it had existed, know of such things? Particularly because only members of the League even knew about vermin?

It continued, smile turning twisted and wicked as though it was enjoying this, “Yes, I know all about such things. I was a man once too, you know… So weak and fragile. But you can only see the filth in the world if you partake in such inhuman acts. Your Master can see vermin, but acts of depravity are what made me ascend into what you see before you. It’s a matter of perspective. And from my perspective… You will make an interesting experiment into the effects on Hunters.”

The great beast placed her back onto the ground, but stayed coiled up to be closer to her level, “You see, I seek a means to ascend further. I want to be past this middling ground. I either am, or am not, and I greatly dislike this uncertainty fate has placed upon me. All this time I’ve been killing Hunters when, in fact, perhaps… I should be using them. And if one of you can get this far and come this close to killing me, DIO, well… This is a risk I cannot let fester any longer.”

His hair, still moving about suddenly shifted and rose up like it had a mind of its own. Between the strands that splayed out, it revealed the very thing Miriam had sworn against - Vermin. Every single strand of his hair was host to vermin. It had the audacity to grin at her utter revulsion, “Does this sight elicit fear? Anger? Or perhaps… hopelessness, that there are so many out there on top of what I possess? Your Master is right about one thing - The entire world is filthy. But I seek to surpass that.”

Miriam gave him an incredulous glare, “I saw what happens when men are afflicted with your particular filth. You drive them mad. Strip away their main purpose in life and reduce them to nothing but husks!”

“Ah yes, the lone survivor… I had hoped he would have been enough to discourage further interference from your like, but… Apparently I was mistaken. But that may have proven beneficial for me. Much like the snake parasites you’ve fought before - same as earlier - I have a need for puppets.”

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Another rushed one lmao - I originally wanted to just... finish an older smut fic I was gonna write with a snake/naga DIO, but I just haven’t been inspired for it in a long time? So instead I took my obsession with Bloodborne and the daydreams I have while listening to the OST with a Bloodborne/Castlevania crossover, and I applied it to this 8) minus the castlevania part Even though it’s unfinished, I wrote SOMETHING, right? That’s what matters, I think. I’m trying not to beat myself up about it :’) (also yet another one my friend was sad I didn’t lean into a smut/ship aspect with OTL -- I’M TRYING TO BE LESS BORING CUZ THAT’S ALL I WRITE/THINK ABOUT NORMALLY LMAO -- bless u tho <3)

#kallowrites #jjba-related #bloodborne-related #oc x canon #prompted writing #crossover

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kallowrites · 2 years

Text

AU!gust Week #1 - ‘Royal’ AU

(AKA: test post even tho it is a VERY long test post lmao)

|| JJBA -- OC x Canon (sort of) || 9158 words (it’s a doozy) || SFW ||

Summary:

Miriam, a farm hand working on King George’s lands, finds out that even if your intentions were good, that doesn’t mean fate will reciprocate the gesture... And all it takes to upheave your life can be one single person.

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Finding a wounded, unconscious stranger up against the wall behind the door leading into a barn was a scenario one could read about in a romance or erotic novella (not that a lady should own those types of prose in the first place), but it found itself placed in reality - albeit far less glamourous and sensual than in aforementioned works of fiction - for Miriam when she began her farmhand duties on a hazy, cool morning. His presence startled her, but she quickly realized he was unresponsive. Upon closer examination, the man was still breathing but appeared to be very badly injured, his presumably and formerly white, well-sewn shirt was soiled with blood and dirt and riddled with tears. His entire front half of his body that was covered in clothing was stained brown with mud, which explained the peculiar drag marks outside that she’d seen, but brushed off as someone having dragged something to or from the barn at some point.

For several moments, she considered leaving him there and acting like she hadn’t seen him. After all, it was dangerous and scandalous business to get involved with a stranger, let alone one who had obviously been in some kind of skirmish recently. For all she knew, he was a brigand of some kind, running away from the law. She only got three steps out the barn door before her guilty consciousness caught up with her. Or rather, her curiosity gnawed a hole straight through her restraint. She crouched before him, giving a closer examination without touching him. His hair was blond like spun gold, though it too was sullied with dirt and was somewhat tangled. What she could see of his face consisted of very fine, well-defined features… too fine to be of simple farmer stock.

He couldn’t stay in the barn though. Inevitably, one of the other farm hands would come in here and find him, and they were far more wary of strangers than she was (and her tolerance was very low to begin with). On edge and cautious, she pulled him up from his slumped position on the floor to carry most of his weight against her side. She was going to take him into the woods at first, but catching a glimpse of his wounds again made her second-guess that decision. He needed proper attention. The only thing that would stir up more trouble within the small farming village than a stranger, was a dead stranger.

She brought him into her home - a small cottage, really, though she was blessed to share it with no one but herself - and laid him upon her sofa, laying down a rag to prevent him from bleeding all over it in case he became unsettled in his slumber. Using clean cloths, boiled water, and diluted ethanol, she did her best to tend to his wounds while trying very hard to not harm him. And also not wanting to remove his shirt either. His brow had furrowed a couple times as she applied the alcohol, but other than that, he remained unconscious and still.

Wiping her brow with an arm after tossing the bloodied rags in a basket to be washed later, she found herself dwelling on a fresh problem that was arising: How was she meant to perform her chores when she wanted to make sure this man didn’t wake up and cause trouble or rummage through her things? It wasn’t like she owned much to begin with, but she had a right to privacy and it was one of the few pleasures she had in this place. When there was a knock on the door and she answered it, keeping it mostly shut to obscure her new occupant from their view, she did her best to be honest without revealing too much.

“I’m… not feeling that well this morning. Can you get someone to take over my morning chores for me? I’ll make it up when I’m better, I swear.”

She almost didn’t expect it to work, and the look she got from the other woman was of immense scrutiny… But she appeared to relent and sighed, waggling her finger in a critical way, “You know Miriam, if you were anyone else, I’d accuse you of trying to shirk your chores off on someone else. But I think you’re one of the only people who works like they want to be here… So I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Just make sure you’re up and ready to help take the sheep to the other end of the pasture later, alright? I’ll come get you.”

With that crisis averted, Miriam suddenly found herself with much more down-time than she was used to. Pacing for a while, she elected to try and calm her mind flipping through one of the handful of books she owned that she brought with her when she moved here…

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When the man finally awoke a few hours later, completely silent save for his wince at the aches on his body. Touching a hand to them, he realized he’d been bandaged up. …Sort of. He took notice of Miriam before she’d turned around and suddenly saw him sitting halfways upright, obviously being startled by it. For a while, he seemed equally as unwilling - or unwanting, perhaps - to speak and they stood in a tense, awkward silence. The moment the stranger did speak, Miriam realized with the force of being kicked by a horse that this man was far more beautiful in appearance than in personality.

“...You there, wench - speak: Where am I?”

She felt her heart beat a little faster, heat rising to her face with irritation, “Watch your tongue, stranger. You’re in my home. You were leaving a bloody mess in the barn, so I brought you here to mend your wounds.”

His eyes narrowed at her sharp response, but he glanced down at himself before adding with disdain, “...You’re definitely no doctor, that’s for certain. These wrappings are horrendous.” He met her gaze again and eyed her like she was equally as repulsive, “...A ‘barn’, huh? No wonder it smelled like shit when I dragged myself in there last night. I suppose I should be glad that’s not your home.”

Their conversation trailed off for some time until Miriam heard the snapping of fingers to catch her attention as he spoke to her, “Peasant girl, bring me something to drink. I find myself wanting.”

“Do I look like your servant?”

He countered cooly, “Are you telling me you’d go out of the way to save my life before, but will willingly let me die of dehydration? I didn’t take you for a hypocrite.”

She roughly shoved the cup into his hands, causing some of it to spill on his lap. He glared at her but she added, “Here you go, your highness. Don’t waste it.”

“I’ll do as I please, thank you.” He took a sip but pulled a face, smacking his lips as he let the taste fester, “...Are you trying to kill me? Was that even clean drinking water?”

“Yes. I boiled it some time ago.”

“This tastes like the same shit swine would drink out of a bog. I’m offended.”

She heaved a sigh, getting very fed up with his attitude already, “If it’s not good enough for you, you can drag yourself to the stream and drink from there the same way those ‘swine’ do. If you want water, this is the best you’ll find around here.”

The edge of his lip curled up, wrinkling his nose in revulsion, “You do realize you’re speaking to royalty, right? How dare you insinuate that I stoop so low!”

Miriam rolled her eyes and turned her back to him in favour of other things, “Yes, I’m sure you are. Prince of Prigs, perhaps.”

There was an abrupt thud on the wooden floor like something heavy tumbled off of the sofa that caused her to halt and gawk at what happened - The stranger was now on the floor, looking angrier than ever. His handsome features were twisted into one of immense ire, but it was marred with pain as he clutched his side. She frowned, “What in the world are you doing? You’re going to split yourself open again.”

“If it means making you suffer for insulting me so… I’ll keep doing it. I’ll bleed all over your bloody floor if I have to.”

She blinked at him, completely stunned by the sheer level of his pettiness. He’d irritated her, but it was obviously nowhere near such a personal level as the way she’d offended him. A liar - a brigand had no honour to be so offended about a made-up ruse. Taking a tentative step closer, she appeared apprehensive to say the words, “You… actually are royalty… Aren’t you?”

He scoffed, “Of course I am.”

“Who are you then?”

“I’m not inclined to tell the likes of a simple peasant girl I’ll never meet again after this.”

She wrinkled her brow and nose at the remark, “I’m asking because you should consider yourself fortunate it was I who found you. The others would jump at any opportunity to get out of this life if it presents itself… and regardless of whatever your background may be, showing up wounded on a farm like this implies that you’re of worth to someone.”

He seemed to look confused for a moment before realization washed over him, his ire seemingly slipping away in favour of attempting to push himself up off the floor, “While I appreciate the obvious, woman… Achieving the bare minimum of a typical ‘good conscience’ does not mean you deserve special treatment… If anything, you should be grateful for me, for how many lowly peasants can say they’ve met with royalty? Let alone house one?”

Her expression fell as she gave him deadpan, mirthless scrutiny, “You know, you’re making it incredibly difficult to continue to help you, stranger. I could care less if you’d turned out to be the bloody Pope. Leaving you there to die wouldn’t have sat well with me, because I would be directly responsible had you succumbed to your fate. Do not take my kindness for granted.”

There was a knock on her door, and she added with haste, “Now, I must ask you to remain here. It’s safest if you do.”

He raised a brow, “What’s the rush?”

“I have chores to do.”

“...Chores?” The look of bafflement on his face almost made her laugh, had she not covered her mouth quickly with a hand to hide her smile.

The fact she thought he almost looked endearing for a moment, made her stomach turn. She steadied herself again and nodded, “Yes. Unlike you, I have to work during the day. Don’t make a mess, don’t look through my things… And don’t die, alright? I’ll be back in a couple hours to make dinner.”

He didn’t have much room to protest, for she threw on her shawl and hat, pulled on her gloves, and slipped out the door in the blink of an eye.

…Bloody woman spoke of ‘kindness’ and ‘saving his life’... But what does she do?

Leave him on the floor without so much as an offered hand to help.

Scoffing to himself, he slowly, painfully, managed to pull himself up onto the sofa once more. Maybe it was a good thing she didn’t offer him her hand… For all he knew, it was filthy with manure or dirt. He faintly heard the barking of a dog from outside the open window and found himself feeling even more wretched.

…The worst outcome would be her putting her hands all over a mutt before touching him. Peasants probably didn’t even wash their hands before eating…

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Several days passed by, and it was only on the eve of the end of those several days, did Miriam make another attempt to know his name. Much to her surprise however, he seemed to give the question some thought before responding.

“...Jonathan.”

“Jonathan?” Her brow scrunched up like she didn’t believe him, “Hm. Funny… You don’t really look like a Jonathan.”

“And you don’t look like you’d have any kind of interesting name whatsoever.” There was a mean-spirited lightness to his remark.

To his surprise, she smiled, “I don’t, you’re right. I like it that way.” She fiddled with the rim of the glass in front of her before she continued, “…It’s Miriam, by the way. Not that you asked, but it’s better than calling me ‘Applehead’ like the boys I grew up with used to call me.”

He smirked, “I can’t possibly fathom why...”

This was the first of their amicable exchanges. The more they spoke, the more Miriam realized in greater detail, just how fine this man’s features truly were. She still didn’t even know if he’d told her the truth when he said he was royalty, but she’d believe him simply on the basis that he looked like he could be. In truth, despite working on lands owned by the crown, she knew incredibly little of the monarchy. There was King George, deemed ‘the Fair’ by those who knew him, and she knew he had sons. That was as far as her direct understanding of him went.

She didn’t know if this man - Jonathan, as he’d told her - was her King’s son, or perhaps the heir to some foreign sovereign instead. They liked to intermingle and send sons and daughters to mix and be diplomatic and establish relations… right? A scenario that sounded all too familiar…

However, despite their frequent conversations when she wasn’t outside attending to her duties as a farm hand, Jonathan had remained very tight-lipped about himself as a whole, never divulging details where he felt they weren’t necessary. She still didn’t know whose son he was, or what he was royalty of… But then again, he did not know much about her either, and did not seem nearly as inclined to pry. Out of kindness despite the lack of respect he’d shown her, she didn’t push the subject.

His recovery was slow going, but steady all the same. Some time later, Miriam grew bold and asked a favour of him.

“I see you’re up and about, Jonathan. How are you feeling?”

He touched a hand to his side with emphasis, “A bit tender, but I’m not confined to the floor any longer, so it’s a definite improvement.”

“You say ‘floor’ like I didn’t place any padding or material down for you.”

“It’s a very far cry from what I’m used to.”

She shook her head - he always loved to remind her of such things, “Right. …Speaking of which, I wanted to ask a favour of you if you feel mobile enough for the task.”

He frowned, tone firm, “I’m not plowing any fields for you or shovelling manure, if that’s what you’re suggesting-“

“No, no. I know you - you’d refuse even if I asked you politely. I have additional work to do today. Usually I’m the one who takes the time to go into the next town over to buy supplies or arrange a smith or ferrier for work, but due to the present circumstances… and your presence, I elected to stay here and let someone else handle those errands. But this means I have more animals to manage, and I… was hoping you’d be willing to lend a hand? It’d mean a lot to me, and it’d help ease the burden.”

His face scrunched up, “I’m not exactly healed enough to be strongarming animals around-“

She shook her head once again, “You don't have to. I’m feeding them, cleaning up their enclosures and letting them out into the meadow so I can keep an eye on them while checking other things. The dogs round up the sheep, and chasing chickens isn’t nearly the hassle people make it out to be. I… thought you could get your hands a little dirty in a more ‘tidy’ way, I suppose. Collecting eggs from the henhouse, tossing some feed in their yards, milking cows. Simple tasks.”

His lip curled at the mention of ‘dogs’, but he, admirably, made the effort to ignore that aspect and focus on the more important question, “Hmm. It’s not my idea of a fun time, but… It would be nice to get some fresh air. I must admit, for a home where you leave the windows open all day long, it certainly gets stuffy in here.”

She smiled good-naturedly, “Heh… You should consider yourself lucky it’s not winter, then. With the fire going and the windows closed, it’s much worse. I enjoy being outside more, then, than I do now. …But I think it’d do you some good to be able to walk around a little and stretch your legs.”

“And you're not concerned about my… situation?”

She cocked her head and touched a hand to her chin, “Well, I thought about that. We’re not going into the village, and even then, there’s very few people here who aren’t farmers. We don’t get to see royalty every day. Or every year, for that matter. We’re far enough from the capital that the King rarely graces us with the presence of his own barons, let alone he himself. I doubt anyone will recognize you upon a glance. For all they know, I’ve simply hired you as an additional pair of hands for the day…”

He didn’t seem convinced, so she tacked on, “It’s not so unusual - Frederick brings in his brothers twice a week to assist with operating the machinery, and they’re city-folk.”

“...You’ve thought about this rather intensely, haven’t you? I suppose it’s flattering to know I occupy your mind so very often.” Though his words were teasing in nature, he seemed to be considering them quite seriously.

“It’s impossible not to. You’re staying in my home. Which also reminds me… Should I be referring to you by title? I never even considered such until just now, I apologize.”

His eyes brightened at the mention of ‘titles’, but he took another moment to deliberate instead of jumping to conclusions, “Mm… No. That's not necessary, given the circumstances. In the presence of others, I’d have a change of heart… But just between us? We may remain titleless. …Unless of course,” He smiled rather wickedly, “You wish to be so formal with me. I’d never complain about being addressed so highly.”

She rolled her eyes, “Alright, alright. Save the milking for the cows, would you? Let me get ready and I’ll meet you at the front door. I have to check my vegetable garden first anyhow.”

It was during this time Miriam realized just how bizarrely sheltered upper-classmen must be. When she brought him to the henhouse and handed him a basket asking him to collect eggs from one end of the coop, he’d just stood there looking entirely out of place. She frowned and inquired, “What’s wrong? You haven’t plucked eggs out of a basin before?” He huffed, “I have… I’d just rather not touch one of these filthy birds if I don’t have to.”

Instead of arguing with him, she countered, “Be grateful we don’t keep geese here. Those are filthy birds.” She gestured towards one in front of him, “On the bright side… You passed the first test.”

“Test?”

She smiled, “Yes. The ‘common sense’ test. Here,” She gestured for him to follow her back outside as she opened the small doors to allow the hens access outdoors, “The easiest way to collect eggs is when the hens aren’t sitting on them. Here,” She handed him her empty basket and picked up the bucket she’d also brought with them full of feed, “I’ll toss the feed, and you can take the eggs as the hens leave, alright? Unless you’d rather do this instead?”

He eyed her hand as she’d sunk her fingers into the feed, noticing how dusty it was, “...I’ll pick up the eggs, I suppose.”

“Good. Get going - And be gentle with them! Broken eggs are useless and attract wild animals.” With that, she started tossing generous amounts of feed into the cleared yard, letting sheets of it rain down. The sound seemed to be enough to stir up the birds, for he watched them all fluff up and file out from the hen doors to ravenously peck at the ground.

Jonathan, not that Miriam would know, had done some manual labour in his time before he was taken in by his family… But none of that prepared him for working like this. He was transfixed by the first egg he picked up - Initially because of how dirty some of them looked, but also because they were warm in his hand. He’d never seen birds sit on eggs before, so he wasn’t sure what he expected…

After gathering the two dozen or so eggs, he walked back out with baskets in either hand, Miriam smiling at him as he approached and she looked them over, “You’re a natural. Excellent. Let’s bring those back before moving on.”

The cows were next, Jonathan standing there watching with a mix of utter disgust and morbid fascination as she demonstrated how the milking process worked. The barn cats were all too eager to lap up any spills - whether unintentional or not - and he was very content to have no part in this process. Miriam encouraged him to try, but he rejected the idea, “I’m not fondling the teats of an animal.”

Raising a brow at his remark, she then suggested he can help by gently petting the cow instead on her flanks. Mumbling some comment to himself before she teased him for his aversion to the previous option, he patted the bovine on the side a couple times. He asked why it was even necessary.

“Because if a cow gets startled, she’ll kick you square in the jaw if you’re not paying attention.”

“And you know this… How?”

She smiled, breaking her routine momentarily to point at a spot on her collarbone, though it was hidden under the fabric, “Because I learned the hard way and have a scar to show for it. Not on the jaw, mind you… but I’ve seen other people get hit there.”

He breathed a laugh, tilting his head away from her but not hiding his smile nonetheless, “And you wanted me to milk the cow? That’s downright cruel of you, suggesting it without telling me the risks first. What if you ruined my face?”

She shrugged as she went back to work, pushing the full bucket out of the way in favour of another empty one, “I can’t say for certain it would happen or not. I was warned before-hand and still had it happen. It’s just common sense with any big animal. The draft horse we have is the same - You never pass behind her without keeping a hand on her so she knows you’re there.”

The moment passed and time moved on. Though apprehensive with all of it - particularly when it came time to escort the sheep into the pasture with the help of the dogs, Jonathan was a fairly good sport, all things considered. His prior nastiness from when they’d first met came back momentarily when one of the dogs rushed over to investigate his presence, getting jumpy with him and not obeying the command to heel. He’d kicked the dog - more intended as a shove with the foot, but hitting far harder than possibly wanted - to get it away from him, but this served to only aggravate the animal further. Miriam stepped between them and tried to calm it down, giving Jonathan a look, “I’m sorry, they’re usually better behaved than this, even with strangers.”

He gave it a disdainful, down-the-nose look, before she finally seemed to get it under control, commanding the dog to follow the flock and join its companion. She sighed wearily after a moment, “In truth… I’m not fond of dogs. They have too much energy. I loathe having to take over the duty for now…” She looked at him, eyes giving him a once over, “Are you alright? He didn’t bite you, did he?”

He shook his head, “No. But I’d appreciate you keeping the mutts away from me in the future.”

Her gaze hardened a touch, “You didn’t need to kick the dog. There’s better ways to handle them…” She relented, “But I suppose I cannot entirely fault you. It was sudden and uncalled for. Let’s agree to put it behind us, shall we? Just a momentary lapse in judgement.”

“Yes… momentary.”

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Jonathan was healing well, and she was surprised he hadn’t left sooner than he did. Something was keeping him here, but he refused to divulge what, exactly. Miriam had to make an errand trip into the nearby town and left him alone in her home to his own devices, only insisting that he doesn’t wander too far and make a mess while she was out. It was funny though… She ended up learning far more while away from him, than when she sat right in front of him, sharing food and mutual space.

The town was abuzz with news, she hadn’t seen it this chatty outside holidays before. She inquired to a newsboy about the commotion.

“You ‘aven’t ‘eard the news, lady? The King and ‘is son were almost murdered in their own home nearly three weeks ago! It was the un-kin son, they say. Up an’ poisoned ‘em! The report says they caught ‘im, but people are nervous… no one’s seen the King’s true son since it happened, but they’re hopin’ the King’s upcoming golden jubilee celebration will give us all peace of mind..”

She inquired about this ‘un-kin’ son.

“Don’t know ‘is name, miss. Just know he was adopted by King George ‘imself… Ungrateful bugger, turnin’ ‘round, tryin’ to kill ‘im like that… How evil must he be?!”

This news troubled her for the entire time she was in the town, barely able to keep track of why she was there as the gears churned in her mind. Naturally, her mind shifted immediately to Jonathan. The time this attempted assasination happened was right around the same time she’d found him in that barn, bloodied and battered… Was it so unreasonable to suspect there was a connection? Miriam didn’t reckon so.

The problem now was, which son is he?

This question was also answered later on in the day, as Miriam paused to collect her thoughts while gazing down at the river from the bridge leading into town.

Catching wind of some event in the capital regarding the monarchy was intriguing, overhearing some of the prettier women speak of the royal heir was another entirely. She listened to two chatty women as they passed her by.

“-Recovered well. Can you imagine? An attempt on his life by his own kin!”

A scoff, “I ‘eard he wasn’t flesh and blood anyhow. You know how these bastard brats grow up. Greedy, with no respect for anyone or anythin’ ...especially the law.”

“Well… at least he’s gone now. Hopefully this celebration for the king’s golden jubilee will put all those rumours to rest. …And I hope the prince is there as well.”

The one woman gasped, “You just want ‘him to be there so you can dance with ‘im. You’re mad! Princes only dance with princesses… And you’re hardly princess material.”

“Yes, but this celebration is also public. Oh, I still remember when I first saw him from afar… He’s tall like a mountain and just as strong. Gentle eyes like sapphires… Raven-coloured hair like his father…”

“Oh, come off it. You’re going to look indecent in a minute, ain’t you? They haven’t even confirmed he’s fit to be seen in public yet…”

The voices blurred into the background of other words and sounds, but Miriam found herself gazing at her reflection in the water with a bitter smile. The king’s ‘true’ son by blood was not fair-haired, nor did he have golden eyes. She had this suspicion from the start, for everyone knew of the stately visage of King George even if they’d never seen him in person. The entire family was full of look-alike men, all spitting images of their fathers and their grandfathers.

…So this man she’d found herself taking care of, couldn’t possibly be Jonathan. She’d never heard of any sons beyond Jonathan however, which led her to the obvious conclusion that the man she helped was, in fact, this so-called bastard child. Likely the one who attempted to murder the King and his son. Biting her bottom lip, she lingered ever longer trying to decide the best course of action.

Naturally, the most reasonable and safest solution would be to come forward to the guard with this information. She could reason that, working as a farmhand so far beyond the city and having no family for so long meant she’d had very little in the way of information regarding the monarchy. She knew she worked on their land and was familiar with the law, and that was about it.

…But something made her reconsider that choice. If he’d been devious enough to make such a bold attempt to claim the throne for himself and almost succeed… Perhaps earning his ire was a foolish decision. If he found out she snitched on him when she told him she wouldn’t - even despite not fully understanding the circumstances which could alter such an oath - he may take action against her.

There was something else too. Something far more trivial and infinitely more foolish:

She liked having someone to talk to, when at home. ‘Jonathan’ was an excellent conversationalist… if a bit one-sided and arrogant about his tone. He seemed far less stand-offish with her than when they’d first met, and he was so close to being healed up enough to head off on his own again… And yet despite this, she felt she didn’t know him that well at all, somehow.

She decided to err on the side of caution until she had a better grasp on his psyche. She knew his secret, but he didn’t know that. Maybe it was best to keep it that way.

Returning home in the late afternoon, she sent the ferrier to the stable to check on the draft horse, while putting away all the items she’d bought that were required for the upcoming week’s work. ‘Troubled’, wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how she felt, right now.

When she sat down after preparing for dinner, she was tense and quiet. ‘Jonathan’ seemed to pick up on this, and instead inquired how her trip into the town had gone. She only met his eye for a half second, quickly gazing away as she replied curtly, “Fine.”

He frowned, ��...You don’t sound fine.”

She chewed at her lip for a moment, hotly debating her own idea in her head for some time. This man didn’t know that she knew he wasn’t who he said he was, yet. This could give her a window into prodding for his own context about it… But it was risky. If he found out she knew, what would stop him from killing her? She turned her gaze momentarily to the knife at the side of his plate, heart racing as her mind conjured a hundred different scenarios that could happen… many of which ended poorly for her.

Pulling her from her thoughts, he spoke again, curtly and matter-of-factly, “...You heard the news, then?” She gave him a wide-eyed, incredulous look as he closed his eyes, suddenly looking a little older and worn-down than usual, “It’s rather poor timing, isn’t it? Predictable… in exceptionally poor taste…”

She refrained from speaking until she knew what the point of his words was.

He paused, before looking up at her, realization dawning on him, “...You think I did it, don’t you? You think I’m the assassin.”

Miriam opened her mouth to deny this, but hesitated, instead awkwardly closing it and once again looking away… though she kept his utensils within her line of sight.

He leaned forward suddenly, elbow resting on the table as he gesticulated with a wave of his hand, “I know it looks suspicious, finding me wounded like I was. But you have to understand… I was framed.”

His words piqued her interest, and she listened carefully.

“I never admitted before that I was the king’s son. Considering you laughed at me when I told you when we first met that I was royalty… I wasn’t particularly inclined to share,” He gave her a knowing, judgemental eye, “But to defend my honour and my name… I must divulge such things willingly. My… brother… Made an attempt on my Father and I’s lives, but failed. I risked my life to defend him, I went out of my way to confront him and defend the man who raised me! And it hurts… It hurts to be betrayed by the man you called ‘brother’...”

To her complete shock, the man in front of her began to cry, “...but as much as I hated having to do it, it had to be done… And God can strike me where I stand if that was the wrong thing to do. Can I be blamed for self-defense? …But just as my brother failed… so did I. He’s still out there, plotting and planning… recovering from this failed attempt and likely conspiring revenge upon me for my interference, after framing me with the suspicion. My… family isn’t safe until he’s dead. Tell me, Miriam… Am I in the wrong?”

He had a hand to his chest, imploring, pleading for her to believe him. She almost did for a moment. But… She already knew. Everything he was saying right now… everything he was expressing… These tears, this distraught tone he was taking on…

It was all a lie. One big, ugly lie.

She sobered considerably, taking her time before responding, though it was not at all anything he was expecting to hear.

“...I heard the news through gossip in town… But something has been gnawing away at me ever since I heard others speak of the royal family. …What must it be like, for your brother?”

His expression faltered somewhat, “...What?”

Miriam continued, “It occured to me earlier that, even despite this attempt on the King’s life, I still don’t know his name. No one used it. Everyone speaks of you as the ‘true’ son… but I can’t help but wonder if his actions weren’t driven out of a simple desire to be known.”

She heaved a breath, feeling troubled once more as ‘Jonathan’ kept a close eye on her, “I know what it’s like, to be brushed aside in favour of others. Perhaps not in the same way, but I know enough that these things happen. And while I know what he did was still morally wrong, I cannot help but feel sympathetic for him. From my understanding of it, the King adopted him as a show of good nature - he did it because he’s supposed to be King George the Fair, and from what I know of him, he is. But it seems obvious to me that, despite this, he still brushed him aside in favour of his blood son. And that’s cruel. That’s a cruel expectation to place upon someone, I think.”

After a long pause, he spoke again, “...What does any of this have to do with what I told you?”

She met his eye, “They say no one knows where the prince is, or if he’s even alive… But I know he must be.”

“Because you’re speaking to him?”

She shook her head, “Because the King wouldn’t be continuing with his planned golden jubilee celebration if his son had died. So this means not only did your brother fail to kill the King, but you as well. He’d be mad to attempt it again so soon…” She crossed her arms, deep in thought, “But… I find it a little hard to believe there were no warning signs of what was to come. If I were in his position, being shunned at every turn in favour of my brother, I’d feel incredibly frustrated. And if I know anything about frustration, it’s that it is incredibly hard to hide.”

He countered sharply, “You didn’t live with him. He was an incredibly good actor. Everyone loved him and were willing to roll out the royal rug for him at every turn when he didn’t deserve it.”

A tiny, tense smile formed on her face as she caught his words, “...Your unknown brother was so beloved?”

The look he gave her was intense and a rather blatant warning she was toeing a fine line with her words, “You weren’t there to see it.”

She challenged him in return, holding his stare, “I don’t need to be there to comprehend the frustration I just mentioned is impossible to hide. Johnathan is the ‘beloved’ son. Not the other one… So why are you so upset about it?”

“Because regardless of how you’re attempting to spin this, woman, it’s still betrayal. Of course I’m upset.”

“No. You’re upset because you failed.”

He tensed immensely in place, but she casually stood up in her seat, eying him as his fingers twitched like he wanted to grab at something. Looking down at him and emboldened in the moment, she admitted her suspicions:

“I cannot hold my tongue on the matter any longer. I know you’re not who you say you are. Everyone knows the King and his son, and their relatives before them, are all dark-haired and blue-eyed. And you, decidedly… don’t have either of those traits. So will you now tell me what your name is… Stranger?”

His eye twitched as he scowled at her, making no attempt to hide his hand curling around the handle of the knife upon the table and feeling beyond irritated she seemed to show no signs of fear about this. He could kill her in an instant. One well-placed push of the blade into her neck and she wouldn’t be talking down upon him a moment longer…

But her earlier words came back to him, speaking of feeling ‘sympathy’ for him… He didn’t want her pity. He stood as well, towering over her with the height difference, “...Why should I tell you? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just end your pitiful existence right now.”

She narrowed her eyes, “Because if you kill me, you’ll attract attention. And if you fail to kill me like you did your father and brother… I’ll have no qualms or guilty conscience with standing at your execution if you get caught.”

Her snide remark made his handsome face twist up with ugly emotion, “But you would if I don’t? You make no sense.”

“I saved your life. I just admitted to you that I feel some sympathy for your situation. Perhaps the reason you are not beloved like your brother has more to do with your confrontational personality.”

He rounded the table in an instant, knife at her throat as he seethed, “You aren’t doing your case any favours, insulting me like this. You, a simple farm hand, are so far beneath me, I won’t even stumble over your corpse should it fall in my path. Why should your sympathy mean anything to me?”

She attempted to lean away from the blade as much as she could, but he held her firm with his other hand, “...I know I’m not worth much. You reiterating this means nothing to me. But I fail to see how you threatening to kill me improves your situation any. Won’t it just delay the inevitable?”

“The inevitable what? Inevitably obtaining what I deserve?”

She raised a brow, though her expression remained neutral despite her racing heart, “I wouldn’t know what you deserve, considering you never bothered to elaborate on anything. I don’t know you. You lied about who you were, and you’re only making it worse by the minute.”

“And you think you’re entitled to any of that? You?”

“Well I know you’re certainly far more interesting than I am. I just want to know why.”

He held firm, thinking for several moments, before he lowered the knife a touch, smiling nastily, “You’re talking in circles, woman. You said it yourself, it’s as simple as wanting to be known… I am entitled to be King - I share blood with JoJo, much as I used to loathe it. The issue with royalty as a peasant like you may not entirely understand, is that… inheritance is direct. Kingship is direct. I am fortunate the royal lineage is very small, but there is a constant risk that the oaf will get married. If he can breed, that adds more obstacles in my path because they will be next in line. …I have to remove them now before that happens. That’s the only way I can take my rightful place.”

“You speak of him like he’s vermin instead of a person.”

“For all intents and purposes… To me, he is. Now,” He raised his knife again, “Are you content with this information? Does that change your perspective? Do you still feel sympathy for me?”

Miriam frowned, “You just want to be King. That’s not much of an ambition.”

“It is for me. It only starts with being King… A stepping stone. Just as you are acting as one right now.”

“...So why haven’t you killed me yet?”

His grip on the knife made his knuckles turn white, “...Because you don’t know my name, yet.”

He lowered it abruptly and tossed it aside so it clattered on the floor. His air was now one of complete confidence, as though he was incredibly aware that she was no real threat to him. Tilting his head to give him that much more height over her, he stated simply:

“...My name is Dio.”

She tilted her head with interest, “...Dio?”

“Yes. The bastard son of a drunken, petty thief and a servant girl who was King George’s sister before her disgrace and death. I am, I suppose… King George’s dirty little secret. His sister is long dead, but without his son or himself to sit on the throne, it leaves only I. Now, do you think that’s not reason enough? When I realized my real father raised me in squalor and never told me of my fate, I felt betrayed.

“He willingly let me live such a pathetic, lowly existence for so long… and if I hadn't killed him, he might’ve continued this until the day he finally succumbed to his vices. It’d be too late by then. Do you think a man’s entire life should be dictated to by his father? Even if he’s low-life scum? I certainly don’t.”

She frowned, troubled by his words, “I understand your frustration, but… To go that far with it? To kill your own father?”

“You wouldn’t understand. No one does. So many have the mindset - especially in this day and age - that family, your blood-kin are the most important people in the world. But in the end, the only one you can rely on is yourself, to forge your own path. That’s what I intend to do, and am trying to achieve. My failure was a learning experience. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

There was a long, tense silence that passed between the two of them after this. Dio seemed content to not speak on the subject any further and his aggressiveness was nowhere to be found any longer. He knew and Miriam knew that he would very easily overpower her in a conflict, armed or not, and she supposed that was why they trailed off in a stalemate of sorts. A mutual understanding.

But his words barely shifted her views on the subject. Despite the fact he was very obviously a killer, she still felt bad for him, as if his circumstances could have made him a better person if they’d been different. She did not believe that people could be evil from birth. It was something that was developed over time. The way she saw it, he felt justifiably bitter towards the monarchy for pushing him aside and obscuring him from view. Perhaps if he’d been treated more like an equal, he would have been less-inclined to resort to cold-blooded murder?

…But saying such things, even in her mind, made her sound absolutely insane. King George and his son had done nothing wrong that she was aware of. Most of the time, Miriam only judged people based on her personal experiences with them, and not by what others say. In this case, the King did not overcharge his Barons on land taxes, and he was proving to be quite forgiving of their slow progress on working the land. That was the extent of interaction, and that was all she’d ever judged his character by.

…Dio however, was near-unlikable when they’d met, and he had his moments. But he was also a very charismatic person when he was speaking, and when he wasn’t acting like an arrogant prig, he was amicable and polite.

She was conflicted, to say the least. She knew what the morally just thing would be to do, but she found herself unable or apprehensive to act on it, for selfish reasons.

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

Fate was unkind in his favour of a stealthy, quiet exit from this tiny farming community. He intended to stay one more day before announcing his leave, but came back from getting some air in the woods nearby one evening, to be approached the instant he entered the door by a visibly distressed Miriam.

“Dio, you need to leave. We need to leave.”

He blinked, overwhelmed momentarily, “What? Where’s this coming from?”

She ignored him and pulled him inside before rushing back to cleaning some things - broken glass was scattered on the floor, and there was a mound of bedsheets dragged from upstairs and left in a strange shape on the floor-

Until he noticed the blood oozing from the underneath, in-between the floorboards. His tone shifted entirely, turning accusatory, “What did you do?”

She shook her head as she swept the glass under the sheets as well, “I- I made a mistake. One of the other farm hands figured out who you were and confronted me about it. Said they’d called the guard already and was going to remain until they arrived to keep an eye on me… So…”

He finished her sentence, “You killed him?”

She turned and snapped at him, “I know it was stupid! I just… I acted rashly and I knew if I didn’t get rid of him, you’d come back and it’d be equally as disastrous.”

“...Did you do it to protect me? Or save your own skin?”

Miriam threw her arms up after a pitiful moment’s thought, “I-I don’t know! Does it matter? I can’t talk my way out of both having a corpse in my home, and safe harbouring the King’s attempted assassin of all things. I…” She slumped to the floor suddenly, “I’ve just thrown my entire bloody life away, and I don’t know what to do. I had a good thing and now it’s ruined and I’m going to be executed for this!”

He grabbed her roughly by the biceps and tugged her up to her feet, holding her close as he glared at her, “Listen to you, squabbling and whining like a child! I can’t stand it. Your entire life isn’t over yet because you haven’t been caught. Whether you like it or not, you took your fate into your own hands just now and made a choice. Now you have to live with it and accept that responsibility. Does that mean you have to be punished? No,”

He let her go in favour of smoothing the wrinkles of her sleeves where he’d just been gripping, “...I suppose I should admit I’m surprised though. I didn’t know you had it in you, Miriam.”

She shook her head, “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Self-preservation makes you do incredible things, my dear. Now,” He walked to where the hat stand was and picked up the one that had presumably been the now-deceased man’s - he gave it a once-over, giving it a sneer before placing it on his head after a quick shake, “I don’t know how long ago he squealed about my presence, but I’d rather not find out.”

He got halfway into opening the door before he looked back and noticed her still standing there, stunned. He gave her a proper once-over now and realized she had quite the bloodstains on her sleeves and apron. Heaving a sigh, he walked back over to her and made to untie the latter as he spoke again, “Miriam, you’re a very lucky woman, you know that? I was intending on leaving tomorrow,” He tossed the piece of fabric carelessly on top of the bedsheets that were now starting to show the blood seeping through them, staining them red, “And because you know me so well now… I’m inclined to return your favour.”

She blinked, shaking her head as she finally refocused on him, “...What favour?”

“Life for a life. You saved mine, I’ll save yours… All I ask in return, is an oath of silence and that you don’t leave my sight. I fully intend to return and take my rightful place, and you would be wise to stay on my good side. Now,” He handed her her bonnet, “Are you coming? Or are you going to roll over and let this cadaver decide your fate for you?”

She gave him a long, searching look… Should she trust him? After all the times he’d lied to her? She didn’t need him to be able to run away… But how far would she get? She was a creature of routine, and normalcy. Complacency. What she’d done was entirely out of character and had upheaved everything she’d worked towards, throwing away years of establishment in this community.

And yet… She felt more connected to this single man, than she had any of her fellow farm hands. Why, she’d never be able to put into words. Maybe it was her inner romantic, maybe it was the result of reading those nasty novellas that were entirely inappropriate for a woman to be reading… but something about hearing him offer for her to come with him, had something like a thread tugging at her heart, pulling her towards him.

…But from a more realistic standpoint, it boiled down to a rather stark lack of choice as he’d addressed just before. She couldn’t stay any longer - she had to move onward. Taking her hat from him, she drew in a deep breath before nodding, meeting his eye, “I’ll take my chances with you, I think.”

The smile he’d flashed her for just a brief moment somehow made everything feel worth it, despite the insanity of it all. He was going to lead her into the forest to head out that way, but she dug her heels in and tugged his sleeve, “Dio, the work horse’s already in the stable by now. She’s saddle-trained.”

It’d be much faster, if a bit more obvious of an exit, but speed was of the essence, and Dio seemed inclined to agree. She’d asked if he knew how to ride, but he’d given her an incredulous glance, before hopping up with very little effort and offering his hand. She didn’t hesitate this time. Under the cover of dusk, the pair disappeared. When the guard showed up a short time afterwards, the residents of the farming village were surprised to discover that one of their fellows was murdered, and even moreso that someone as benign as Miriam had seemingly vanished without a trace.

But that’s how it always went, wasn’t it? No one believes their neighbours or fellow workers could be guilty… but the stranger? Strangers were always guilty, and it was supposed that in-turn, Miriam herself was guilty of putting her trust into one, instead of those around her.

And yet, she bore no regret in the moment she’d made that choice and changed her fate.

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

“Father, please - I implore you… Allow me to seek him out. If he cannot be convinced to return and take the honourable path, then at the very least, it only feels right that I take full responsibility for his wicked life, and all the suffering it has caused us.”

The King, looking tired and weary as ever, gazed upon the bright, impassioned visage of his son, Jonathan. While he shared the sentiment that this was a family affair, he could not help but sigh gravely, “I still find it hard to believe that the boy I raised, would turn down such a different, dark path. It’s a disgrace. I cannot help but wonder what I did wrong…”

Jonathan shook his head vigorously, voice softening, “You did nothing wrong, father. This is no fault of your own, but a fault in his breeding. If he’d been raised differently, or had been with us from the start-”

“It would have changed little, I fear. Jonathan, my son… My only son…” He grasped the man’s face gently between his hands, “I’m sorry I was so hard on you, for all those years. But you are the one right thing I have created in this world. And I’m proud of the man you’ve become. I insist, you should remain here… Losing you, I don’t believe is a burden I could bear.”

Jonathan placed a hand over his father’s, “If I don’t do this and seek him out, I’m more afraid of what other, evil things he could do to people beyond you and I. The fewer lives he interferes with, the better. I’m sorry I must trouble you with this, but I trust you will be safe. I feel he has more of a vendetta against me than you, for what I did to him.”

The King released his son from his grasp and gave him a tight smile, “Then go, my son. Know that I am incredibly proud of you, and I will eagerly await your return and success.”

Jonathan Joestar - son of King George - set out with one singular goal in mind: Put a stop to the devilish nature of the man he’d always been loath to call ‘brother’, once and for all. For he knew all too well of Dio’s capricious nature, and the severity of the risks that came with him remaining alive were. His conscience demanded he attempt to lead him back on the right path, but deep down, Jonathan already knew he was far beyond the point of redemption.

To poison his father and endanger his family was despicable and unforgivable. Dio had lived his life beyond reproach, but that time was now at an end.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - (END) - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

This one got a lil rushed cuz I crammed everything from the first line of the second part to the end in the span of a few hours on the last day LOL But I think the idea was fun enough I might mess around with it in the future... Left it open-ended on purpose for that reason 8) Also I... found out copy+paste removes all italics and I cannot be bothered to put them back in so i hope I can be forgiven for that sdhg

#kallowrites #jjba-related #oc x canon #prompted writing

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