#and she could find no comfort not even in a deity who brought eternal rest there was no solace. and there was no correction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tsuukirana · 2 years

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𝟎𝟒 | 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒

Teyvat was a weary place, battered and beaten by the history of war, mortals continue to feast upon dreams. Though only a few make it out to be heroes, many come and go as quietly as the wind. One woman stands against the story of time, destined to walk on the ground with nothing more but an outstretched hand. Darkness reaches her neck yet never did it quell her light. Her followers wish to be beside her as she veers to the land of defeated gods.

The Tsaritsa's right hand is a lonesome soul who wanders the snow-covered grounds of Snezhnaya. Those serving beneath her swear their loyalty, guided truthfully by the sound of her gentle voice. And though her youthful appearance shields years of pain, she chooses to continue forth her journey in overseeing the land's future, hoping that change will be brought upon her people.

Return to 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

Raising your frail fingers to the sky, you could feel the winds brush against your (s/c) skin softly, nipping and chewing at the ends of your nails as you let out a small smile. The air is fresh and clean, nowhere as heavy as those from Snezhnaya regardless, you find it rather pleasing and familiar. Some might describe it to be comforting. Could you describe it as that? Your eyes flutter gently alongside the whistles of trees. Their leaves take flight like butterflies during early spring. You could discern the way the breeze moved against your hand, taking upon it with its own and weaving you into its intricate dances. It was cool like the silver ring that rested upon your digits, its embrace shielding you away from the flame that yearns for your skin.

Liyue’s winds were nothing like those from the loveless Archon. Compared to the desolate lands of snow and ice, you saw the ways that life blossomed at every corner. You wake up to the welcoming noise of birds singing their songs in the morning. To the sound of mortals relishing in their trade, their words churning themselves into gold. To the winds kissing your bare shoulder as a lover does for their darling. It was a peaceful nation that rested soundlessly against the chest of its god. How sheltered, you say, for a place to be so devoted to a being written from the stars themselves.

Snezhnaya was nothing like the land of contracts. While one was a land full of warmth and joy that enveloped every soul who dares to tread its land, the other was a scornful resting place of former deities and their acolytes. Though the grass here was greener, the ground of Snezhnaya was frozen over like a lake that never sways. With its air being so thin, a few travelers make the fatal mistake of standing still for too long, their lungs feeling as if they had been submerged under water while their skin turns blue and black. You’ve heard tales that even the most experienced Dragonspine climbers had never once been able to survive a few nights in the Tsaritsa’s homeland.

Their bodies now wash over with waves of snow, the eternal blizzard devouring all that stands in its way like starving wolves. Such storms were powerful enough to engulf large cities and small towns with ease. It was unrelenting and unforgiving, such as the Tsaritsa. Closing your eyes for a moment, you remember her icy fingers caressing your cheek, her gaze as frigid yet timid. A strange shyness overcomes her figure as she looms over you, holding onto you tightly with eyes desperately blinking away the wetness that had formed. Her shaky breaths settle upon your ear. May it be out of fear or relief, you choose to settle within her arms, trusting that she never leaves you.

Perhaps these storms were nothing more than the reflection of the Tsaritsa herself. Her voice and her calling beg for you to stay within her palace walls. Her devotion and eagerness to consume what is left of the old world, her need to create what she had promised long before the war. If she could preserve one last memory of what she had cherished before then she would do it all. She will rewrite the stars, tear apart the clouds, and rip Celestia from her throne to bring back what had been lost to time. To say what she could never say. To right her wrongs. To take back what she loved. So when you sit upon your bed, leaning against your headboard to watch the skies turn into a faded, gray color, do you realize how lonely she is. You hear her cries louder than ever, her tears which turn into shards of glass shatter as they touch the clean, palace floors. Her sobs are as loud as the pouring rain, her screams coating the halls as her acolytes feverishly fight against the tempest. The wind twists itself, struggling to find reason in its actions. They call out to Celestia, damning her, soiling her divine name as they so did to her love.

“You are still lost in your head,” The Balladeer says, breaking through your thoughts as you slowly let your arm fall to your side. His eyes deliver glances to the silver ring that rests upon your finger, a smile nearly creeping up on his lips. If he was less careful he might have let such useless emotion slip through the cracks of his façade. A brief shiver runs down his fingers as he presses his nail against the palm of his hand. “Pray tell, what are you thinking of?”

You let out a small chuckle, seemingly amused by his sudden interest. “I am just in awe at the scenery. Liyue is nothing like Snezhnaya. It’s much laxer.”

He clicks his tongue in response. “That is to be expected. That nation is too damn cold for anyone, it’s a miracle that anyone can get through the thick blizzard without turning into a snowman.”

“Every time we get back on ships, the harbor is always frozen over. We have to break through the ice just to set foot onto land.” He tilts his hat upwards, the jingle of his bell echoing alongside the sound of whistling birds. He kicks a rock off to the side of the road, letting it dart a few steps before settling on the lush grass. “I can’t stand being in that palace. It’s freezing even when it's the middle of summer.”

“Do you prefer Liyue then?”

He snaps his head towards you, scoffing at such a question. “As if I’d want to be here with that meddling child. He somehow makes things all the more difficult with his impulsive and insistent behavior. Although he may be stationed in Liyue Harbor, I can’t help but feel as if he is still watching over us. I could hear his pitiful voice whining at me in my head. It's irritable and unnerving, to say the least.”

There is a moment of silence between the two of you, the crinkling of grass and rock being the only sound filling the open air. You hold your tongue as you place your hands behind you, interlacing your fingers together as the wind brushes against your cheek. The navy-haired man’s eyes met with yours for a fraction of a second, his cheeks growing a slight tint of red as he quickly looks away.

Your shoes click against the hardened ground, dirt soiling your heels as you held your breath for a moment. You didn’t think too much of Tartaglia, let alone his relationships with any of the other Harbingers. You would be lying to yourself if you said that you weren’t interested in his life, but you knew better than anyone else that it would be a futile attempt to reconnect or bother brushing up. Yet you wonder if he was as impulsive as they say, or if it was mere rumors created by his alias. You tilt your head upwards to stare at the passing clouds, the skies parting themselves to reveal Celestia through its soft cracks.

You question if he became the warrior he had always dreamed of. Ones that he described in those picture books, the same ones who fought against the ideas of time and god itself. Part of you thinks that such ambitions have already been fulfilled. When you bring yourself to remember those dull, ocean eyes, you understand that there was nothing more but unrelenting desperation. The blood that coursed through him was as harsh as any forest fire, his desire and will burning as bright as the hot summer suns. You knew that man would never be satisfied, he was anything but that. A glutton at heart, and you could see through his eyes that the shining, crown jewel of his dreams was still far out of reach for him. His heel remains empty as his hands wait to wash with red.

You remember a vivid memory.

That boy of yours. Halting your steps within the Tsaritsa’s palace, you slowly turn to stare at the shorter man dressed in royal blue. It is as pristine as ever, freshly pressed as he brushes his hand against his sleeve, wiping away at specks of dust. You see that he has a strange expression on his face, his lips curving into a small, amused smile as he closes his eyes. He raises his hand to lift his circular glasses, shifting them as he clears his throat. The one from the Abyss. You think he’d make a fine Harbinger, don’t you?

He is rather blunt, you say to yourself. Despite his quiet demeanor, you could tell through the look in his eyes that he was much more talkative. You feel yourself pressing your nails against the palm of your hand, your shoulders dropping down slightly. The cold breeze coming from Zapolyarny palace brushes against your bare skin, sending chills down your spine as you let out a deep exhale. I am ever so aware of your intent, Pulcinella, but he is much too young to be in the Fatui. You reply, restraining yourself from biting your tongue. There is no place in the Fatui for someone like him.

Of course not. . . but he has talent. Even someone like you could see it. You hold your breath at his response. It’d be a waste not to ask his father if he could join.

Biting the bottom of your lip, you curse yourself. Although he has the potential and the future to become a fierce soldier, you were unsure whether or not you wished for such a fate for him. Children were meant to play in the open field, for them to throw snowballs at each other, and laugh at life’s strangest miracles. They were meant to grow with freedom at their fingertips, unburdened and carefree like northern birds. Hardening your gaze, you stare at his confident expression. You knew better than anyone else that Pulcinella, despite being in an unfavorable gamble, had the winning hand. That's why he came to you, wasn’t it? Laughing at yourself, you grip your shoulder tightly, digging your nails into the soft flesh. He is just a child.

Even though you knew this to be true, why were you desperately trying to convince yourself that there was another option? You were wasting time brooding over something that had been set in stone. You begin to question yourself if you should bother kidding yourself into thinking that you were some kind of saint, guiding a lost child down the road when you were nothing of the sort. Regardless of your answer, you knew that fate will always lead him back to where he was meant to be: a cold-blooded mercenary that holds not a tongue to anyone but the mother of ice. Chewing on the skin of your lips, you stand there. Could you forgive yourself for letting him go like that? Could you?

We can train him. Pulcinella holds onto his cane, his smile fading into a grimace. His expression changes to one of disappointment and flushed bitterness. It wouldn’t be wise of us to leave that boy in his hometown. You’ve seen what the Abyss has done to him. He’s a wild animal. You’d be creating a monster if you let him go. Your nails drills themselves deeper into your skin, a cold shiver running down your neck as a small bead of sweat trickles down the side of your temple.

Nevertheless, it is your choice. I would not be against your judgment.

Even if you could see it, you wished not to.

“. . . Where would you like to be then?” You suddenly ask, turning your head towards him with an unknown expression. One that he could only describe as being mixed. The look in your eyes made him swallow a thick lump that had formed at the base of his throat, his hands feeling slightly clammy at the sudden change in atmosphere. Though he had grown used to your small conversations, such a question struck a nerve within him that he cannot express. He could feel the ends of his hair stand defensively against you.

Where does he want to be? When his journey with the Fatui is over, where will he end up? Would he be washed up on the shores of the Land of Eternity, or would he be running amongst the starved animals in Snezhnaya, desperately clinging onto the warmth that you've bestowed on him? If in his hands was the gnosis of the Electro Archon, was there anywhere he could be welcomed? Could he be seen amongst the crowds in Mondstadt? Within the shadows laced in the cracks of buildings, would you find him?

He is unsure of his answer, though he finds that a part of him wishes for you to fill in the blanks. For you to call out his name, to reach out and caress his skin as you did that winter night, to say that you’d remain by his side. He wishes to be where you were, to eat the same warm stew made from boars, to hold your hand when the Tsaritsa’s storm grew, to rest upon those familiar sleeping bags alongside you. He yearns to relive those fruitful memories. Nevertheless, despite his overwhelming desire to shout such dreams, he couldn’t bring himself to say those words.

Not now at least, he huffs.

“. . . Inazuma.” He mutters with a voice too small for you to hear. His voice trembled slightly, almost as if he was struggling to articulate his thoughts. It was as if his tongue had been confused as to what he wished to say, hidden words lying deep underneath the slick, pink muscle. “I would stay in Inazuma.”

You let out a small, satisfied hum at his answer. You aren’t surprised by his answer. After working alongside him for a few hundred years, it seemed almost inevitable that by the end of his journey, he would return to the land of Eternity. Chewing on the side of your mouth, you let your ears fill with the sound of your gentle footsteps alongside him. Birds fly across the skies, flapping their wings as they chirped loudly amongst the buzzing bees. Stray animals scurry off into the deep forests, their paws growing wet and dirty from the mud that tarnished their once glistening coat.

“Where would you go?” His voice breaks through your thoughts, slicing through them as easily as warm butter.

Lifting your hand to brush against your clothes, you toy with your decorative pin, feeling its thorny edges prick at the tips of your finger. Although you knew he would ask you the same question, you couldn’t help but feel rather puzzled at the thought. Where would you go? Where exactly could you go when the storm calms? Like him, you were unsure of what to think. It would be easy for you to say that you’d continue to live in Snezhnaya, underneath the ruling of the Tsaritsa, however, something deep within you seems to be calling out for you to turn the other way. To consider new possibilities, new outcomes, and a new world.

Would you let yourself though? Would you let yourself abandon your homeland, in favor of some kind of fleeting dream? You don’t see nor think of yourself as being that naïve and foolish. You knew deep within that you may never be able to run from the Tsaritsa’s home. Even if you were to cloak yourself in the finest and thickest of wool to conceal yourself from the cold, it would always catch up to you with its sharp, ravenous eyes. Even if you were to rest upon another nation’s bed, will you dream of the harsh winters freezing your skin. Even if you were to sing songs of freedom, you will hear the crackling of familiar fires burning.

Condemned to eternal suffering, you chuckle. Cursed with nothing more but a debt that lingers. A stain that you may never be able to wash off of your hands. Clutching onto your pin tightly, you feel your fingers shake as violently as the trees fighting against the frost. No matter how hard you try, you will never change anything. No amount of power could grant you the comfort of reassurance. No amount of wishing and praying could ever prepare you for what fate had kept in its hands. For what Celestia had planned. For what the divines had deemed as. . .

(Y/n)! A russet-haired boy ran towards you, a bright smile plastered across his face as he looks up at you with those familiar, ocean-blue eyes. The shade was a much brighter color, yet still lacked the white shade. While the air was cold, his breath was warm and his cheeks were painted with a beautiful shade of apple. He held a black mask tightly to his chest, gripping it with his short, delicate hands. Right now I’m not mature enough to go on adventures, but it won’t be for too long! I’ll be right behind you, every step of the way! You’ll see me at the top! Isn’t that exciting?

. . . Inevitable.

“I suppose. . . I would stay in Snezhnaya,” You answered.

#♰ ─── disciplinary perdition #fatui harbingers #fatui #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #x reader #tartagalia x reader #childe x reader #scaramouche x reader #la signora #la signora x reader #il dottore #scaramouche #il dottore x reader

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avengerscompound · 3 years

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Small Gods: Lost Objects - 5

Lost Objects: A Thor Fanfic

Lost Objects Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Thor x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 1722

Warnings: Mentions of sex, oh umm... hey there’s a little bit of talk about things in the trailers for the loki series some people who don’t know anything about the comics might not have picked up. Should have warned on the series for that. I wouldn’t personally call them spoilers, because ... i haven’t seen the series to spoil it, but if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t like to know anything...

Synopsis: Thor has lost a lot in a very short period of time and he’s worried about losing himself too. He goes to the one person who understands loss.

Chapter 5

Barnaby the fat ginger cat sat down and began grooming himself as the black one seemed to stare at you and Thor. In what really was only a few seconds, Thor seemed to have a whole thought journey. It started with how close the green of that cat’s eyes was to Loki’s and ended with the conclusion that the cat must be Loki. The journey took him through a lot of stops, including Loki’s ability to shapeshift, the fact he had faked his death twice in the past, and the fact you could draw lost things to you, but once he landed on it, his eyes went wide.

The cat mimicked Thor’s expression as the man jumped to his feet. “Loki!” Thor shouted, sending the black cat running. Barnaby seemed to watch him go with a look of contempt like he was above such things. “Loki!” Thor shouted again, chasing after him.

“Thor?” You asked, following on, though with much less urgency than Thor. “It won’t be Loki.”

“It has to be,” Thor said, looking around. The cat had vanished, but two rows over there was a bang and the smell of sulfur followed by a cat yowling. Thor charged in the direction of the sound and when he came around the corner and came to a screeching halt as he reached his brother who was lying up against a partially knocked over shelf, his legs in the air, rubbing his head as various pieces of cutlery, jewelry and stuffed animals clattered down around him.

He looked up at Thor with an expression of resignation. “Hello, brother.”

“Loki!” Thor roared, pulling his brother to his feet and drawing him into a tight embrace. “I knew you must not be dead. You are always the trickster.”

Loki did not hug back but did not resist the affection either. Just allowing it to happen. “What are you talking about?” He asked, dryly.

You appeared behind both the men and looked between them blinking. “What? How? How are you here?”

“That is a very good question,” Loki said, pulling back from Thor. “As is, why I can’t seem to leave.”

“Come,” you said, gesturing to both men. “I think this is a tea conversation.”

“Yes,” Thor said, clapping Loki on the shoulder. He hadn’t felt so light and genuinely happy for years. He had resigned himself to be the last of Odin’s lineage and yet here was his brother, returned to him again. “Come. Let us celebrate!”

Loki allowed himself to be dragged down to your kitchen, where you began to potter around. You brewed tea and coffee and tried to find some kind of sweet to be served with it. Eventually finding a packet of slightly stale cookies behind a teapot with a mismatched lid.

“Tell us, how did you escape Thanos? And how is it you are here?” Thor asked as you moved around the kitchen.

Loki picked up one of the cookies and sniffed it before taking a hesitant bite. When he appeared to deem it satisfactory he shoved the whole thing into his mouth and grabbed a handful of others. It was very un-Loki-like and reminded Thor more of his old friend Volstagg than his much more dignified brother. “How do you even know of Thanos?” Loki said through a mouthful of cookies. “Besides, I don’t know what he has to do with anything. After I escaped from Midgard with the tesseract, I used it to travel around. I worked out a way to move through time, which was fun…”

“Wait? What?” Thor asked. “When you were on Midgard with the tesseract? The last I saw you we were in space. And how did you get the tesseract after Thanos destroyed it?”

“You are speaking nonsense,” Loki snarked. “Thanos never obtained the tesseract, and he certainly didn’t break it. The Time Variance Authority confiscated it.”

You put a sandwich down in front of Loki, and Thor wasn’t sure if you’d made it or just found it like that. It was on a large crusty roll, filled with various meats and salad, and wrapped in thin white paper. Loki picked it up and sniffed it before taking a large bite.

“Why don’t you tell us when you last saw Thor and what has happened to you since,” you said, taking a seat at the table.

Loki rolled his eyes. “After the battle that I brought to Midgard, you shackled me and were going to let the Midgardians lock me up. There was some kerfuffle in Stark’s building and the tesseract fell from its case. I took it and used it to leave. I went to some friends who removed the restraints you put on me and I was traveling around, entertaining myself. Then the TVA took offense and locked me up, confiscating the Tesseract. I was just breaking out to go get it when suddenly I was here and you and this lesser god were fornicating.”

Loki spat the words lesser god the same way he used the word mortal or Midgardian. Like even the words themselves were beneath him. Thor considered addressing it, but he was more distracted by the tale Loki had just spun. It didn’t make sense and he was having trouble getting his head around it. “You were taken back to Asgard and locked up. Mother was killed when there was a prison breakout,” he said.

Loki started at Thor mid-bite and slowly lowered the sandwich to the table. “Mother was killed?”

“You know this!” Thor roared, slamming his hands on the table. “You were there! Why are you saying these things?”

“I know not of what you speak, brother,” Loki said. “When I last saw mother she was alive and well. Certainly, I have not returned home since I fell from the Rainbow Bridge, but if she passed…”

Thor looked at you like you might have some answers to what was happening right now. You took a sip of your tea and seemed to think. “The time variance authority exists outside of time, correct? I don’t know much about them, but it is generally accepted that they are not of this universe exactly?”

“That’s what they say,” Loki said in a bored voice.

“And when you were escaping, had they realized you were gone? Were they looking for you?” You asked.

“Yes,” Loki said. “Which was why I was in the form of a cat. I was moving through the vents.”

You nodded and looked at Thor. “This is just a hypothesis, because… this isn’t how my powers work, Thor, but-” you glanced at Loki and shook your head. “I don’t think this is your Loki. At least… not the one you knew more recently. After the battle there was a divergence, this Loki got away and yours did not. And just now - I think there is power in you worshipping me, Thor. What I am… Loki said it himself, I’m small-time. People don’t actually worship me, they pray and they beg the universe for the return of their missing keys or cell phones. It’s never to me directly, and it’s never very hard. Yet here you are, one of the Norse gods, and you were on your knees for me.”

Loki scoffed and took a long drink of his tea. Thor ignored him. “You think you brought him here?”

“Yes,” you said. “I can’t be sure. I’ve never brought a person here before. Small pets are the limit of the living creatures with free will. But maybe if Loki was in cat form, and maybe if they were wishing for him back, while we were… doing what we were doing… it was enough to bring him here.”

“Well, I’d like to go, if it is all the same to you,” Loki said, sounding bored.

“Brother, I haven’t seen you for a long time. I saw the life choked from you. Surely you can stay for a little while. We have much to catch up on,” Thor said.

“The last time I saw you, you had planned to lock me up for eternity,” Loki said. “What has changed?”

Thor frowned and shook his head. This was not the Loki he had worked with to save Jane and stop the dark elves, nor the Loki who had helped him escape Sakaar and stop Ragnarok. This was the angry Loki who had attacked a city at the behest of a titan and whose pain of finding his father had lied to him about his past for over a millennium was fresh and raw. “You are my brother.”

“And what else?” Loki asked.

“And I have lost everyone,” Thor said. “Mother and father are dead. Jane left me. Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, Heimdall, even Stark and Rogers. They are all gone. Loki, Asgard is gone.”

“And that is why I find you hiding with this lesser god?” Loki scoffed. “Why would I want to stay in such a world anyway brother? Where I am from, everyone is alive and well - as far as I know.”

Thor lowered his eyes. “Why must you be so cruel?”

Loki started laughing and patted Thor’s shoulder. “Oh brother, I’m sorry. You are in a bad way, aren’t you?”

“It might be a moot point,” you said with a shrug. “You’re mine now Loki. I can return you to the ones looking for you, and perhaps you could leave with Thor because he was also looking for you, but otherwise, you are stuck with me. That’s why you didn’t go anywhere when you tried to teleport out. Would you like me to return you to the people of the TVA?”

“I obviously do not,” Loki deadpanned.

“Then you might as well make yourself comfortable,” you said, pouring him more tea. “You clearly haven’t eaten properly for a long time. Why not rest and recharge and we can work out what to do?”

“Fabulous,” Loki snarked. “Just what I’ve always wanted - to be stuck with some hoarder deity.”

“Cheer up brother, it isn’t so bad here,” Thor said, grinning and clapping Loki on his back. He had his brother back, even if it wasn’t quite the Loki he knew, it was still one he was familiar with. Soon he’d have Mjolnir too. Coming to see you had been the best decision he’d made in a long time.

// NEXT

#thor #thor odinson #thor x reader #reader insert #thor fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #small gods #lost objects

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honourablejester · 3 years

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Homebrew Thief Deity

A little bit of an expansion on one of the homebrew gods from this post, building him and a few of the others into a bit of a history and a pantheon. A god for rogues, thieves, urchins, exiles, travellers, and clerics of the grave, trickery and twilight domains:

OREM, THIEF GOD OF THE BOUNDARY

Alignment: True Neutral/Neutral Good

Domains: Grave, Trickery, Twilight

Symbol: A Hooded Lantern

A gentle shadow padding silently through the twilight, his hooded lantern held aloft, Orem is the thief god of the grave, the boundary and the night. Believed to have once been a mortal man, he is the guardian of lost souls, all those who die alone or in dark places, the dim light of his lantern guiding them to their rest. He is the messenger between the lands of the living and the dead, and may be implored to carry messages past the bounds. He is the god of thieves, watching over all who find their comfort and their livelihood in the shadows. He is the gentle warden of the outcast and abandoned, granting shelter and comfort to any who pray in desperation. Orem is the god of the in-between, the guardian of all that is lost or fallen through the cracks of the world, and all who seek them.

TALES OF THE THIEF GOD

God of Thieves

Orem is the god of thieves, and believed to have once been a thief himself, when he was still a mortal man. He is the god of shadows, of seeking, of hidden places and forbidden things. He encourages exploration, trespass and the seeking of knowledge. He protects those who making their living in the shadows. Thieves pray to him for luck, for protection, for that wisp of shadow or sudden noise from another direction that will keep them safe from discovery, and he is often known to grant it. Many a thief has a tale to tell of a desperate kiss pressed to the sign of the lantern, and a sudden stroke of luck that kept them from the eyes, the prisons or the knives of their opponents.

Nor does Orem shy from theft himself, even still. Of knowledge, most particularly, and of opportunity. The Thief God travels the planes at his will, and suffers no power to keep him out. He has walked the planes of the dead and brought secrets and mementoes back to those who seek them. He has walked the hells and the abyss and stolen souls and knowledge and some more intimate things from devils and demons alike. From Oromasdes, the Lord of Wisdom, the Holy Fire, he stole a tiny, flickering flame of magic, and taught it to his chosen, granting them the small but necessary magics of thieves, the slender wisps of illusion and see-me-not. Oromasdes, curiously, was not offended by this, for the Lord of Wisdom is rarely opposed to those who seek and spread knowledge. Had Orem kept that flame for himself, perhaps the Light of Truth might have judged him more harshly for it, but Orem chose to teach it instead, and thus did Oromasdes forgive him. After, it is said, reminding the Thief God rather gently that he could have simply asked instead.

To which Orem is said to have replied, but where would the fun be in that?

God of the Grave

Orem is the god of lost souls and those who die alone, their shepherd and guide to what lies beyond death. He is fiercely and dangerously protective of this duty, and a hidden, implacable enemy of those who would steal souls for their own use. As such, he and his chosen people are ferociously opposed to liches, necromancers and other soul-stealers.

It is said that once, in the early days, when Orem was only newly a god, a great and terrible archlich sought to devour enough souls to fully destroy the boundary between life and death and unleash a plague of undeath across the planes. While the other gods and champions took up arms and stood to fight this black menace, Orem instead took a more secret path. While the lich stood against his fellow deities, blazing with necrotic power, Orem sent a small, fragile party of his own champions to seek the archlich’s phylactery instead. Though almost all of his champions died in the attempt, the last managed to seize the object and bring it to her god’s temple, bleeding and near death herself. Safe and reunited with her fallen companions under the shadow of the Grave God’s cloak, she watched as Orem reached into the phylactery and drew forth and reconstructed every soul that had ever been fed to it, slowly and viciously unmaking the lich to repair all the damage he had caused. When the lich had been broken and siphoned down to only the tiny, stained remnants of his own original soul … Orem gathered it up, quietly and carefully, and stowed it in his own lantern, there to be kept safe and warm for all eternity. His three champions, who had died for his cause, he gathered also, and tucked them gently into his cloak to take them wherever they need go. Even, along with all the souls the lich had stolen, back to the realm of the living, if they wanted to.

It is unknown how many souls are stored in the Grave God’s lantern. Only those that he wishes to keep close, either for their own protection or for the protection of everyone else. The lantern is not a fearful prison, however. Orem is the god of lost souls, and there are none more lost than those who seek to destroy others. Perhaps he hopes that in time, in his company, seeing all that he sees, in the dim light of his hooded lantern, they will come to think as he does.

God of Outcasts

Orem is the god of the outcast, the abandoned, and all those who have fallen between the cracks of the world. He is the god of the lost, both living and dead, and all who have lost their way in the world or in life may pray to him, for the dim light of a god’s lantern to guide them onto the path once more. Even those who do not venerate Orem himself, those who despise him as the God of thieves and the lawless, sometimes tell tales of a light in the darkness when they were alone and terrified, and a tall, grey figure who guided them to safety. Of a grey cloak, warm and welcoming, that draped over them where they scrabbled, freezing and abandoned, and brought them warmth enough to survive that little bit longer. Those who survive where they should have died, who walk away from swamps and battles and slums and mass graves, often whisper of the quiet god who helped them, who warmed them and sheltered them and showed them the way to freedom.

It is also said, however, that there are other entities, spirits and demons and creatures of illusion, who have used the God’s image falsely over the years. Will-o-wisps who have used the hope of his lantern to lure travellers to their deaths, demon lords of illusion who have taken his guise to sow false hope and entrap souls into their webs of deceit. There is nothing, save perhaps the trapping of souls, that will earn the Thief God’s enmity faster. There is no demon he hates more than the Lord of Lies, who has used Orem’s image far too many times to betray those Orem would protect, and done so knowingly, with aim to taunt and wound him. Only the lords and masters of undeath are as antithetical to him, and he hates them with equal passion. If there is one creature in all the planes that the Thief God has sworn to see destroyed, it is this demon.

Those who wield the Thief God’s powers, therefore, those who have learned the magics of illusion and the turning of eyes from him, must be careful to what purposes they put their powers. He does not forgive those who use his power, his lantern or his image to betray those he protects. For this reason, among others, certain fey and demons remain extremely cautious of him.

God of the Boundary

For all else that he is and was and will be, however, Orem is first the God of the Boundary. Between life and death, between light and darkness, between danger and safety. Orem is the god of trespass, of exploration and intrusion, of crossing the line, and there are few beings in all creation as conscious, therefore, of where those lines actually are.

Once upon a time, the story goes, a mortal man met a trapped and dying god. A god of death, who could not die. An ancient, desperate being, alone and in agony. The name of this god is unknown, long lost to time, remembered only by Orem and by those gods who mourned or despised its passing. That god pleaded with the mortal man to take its immortal soul from its body and carry it beyond the bounds of death, into the quiet lands where it could, if not die, then at least know rest. The man was a thief, you see, a wily, dauntless creature, and the god knew that if anyone could find a way to free it from these immortal chains, it was this tiny, curious, fearsome little man. Duty demanded that the god stay, endure, but desperation and despair pleaded that it be allowed to rest. Against all the laws of good and all the forces of evil, it pleaded with this man to bring it rest.

So the man named Orem took the god’s soul, its divinity, and hid it in a lantern, the better to carry it unseen across the dividing line. For who looks for a hidden thing in the light? Who looks for a secret thing in that which reveals the darkness? Orem hid the god’s soul in small light of a lantern, and smuggled it gently into darkness. Into peace.

And when he returned, that thief, from the lands of the dead, he found himself changed. A piece of the god he had helped to die had remained in his lantern, and a piece of the god’s divinity had remained in him. Not a god the dead, not fully, but a god of the boundary. Of the line, of the gate, and of the ability to move across it. Orem became the god of the boundary, the god of lost souls, the guide between the lands of the living and the dead. He became the god who carries those who need it into rest, and the god who, sometimes, allows those who deserve it back to life. The god of thieves, yes, the god of outcasts, the god of the dead, all of these. But first, and foremost, before all things, the god of the boundary. The god of the in-between.

And here, in this, he has his allies. Even among the lawful. He has a strange and special relationship with those other gods who guard the boundaries, who endure when nothing should be forced to endure. Elaia Siveth, who offers respite, healing and death in equal measure, whichever should offer freedom from suffering faster, and who approved of the actions for which he became a god. And Yorm, the Unyielding, who guards the light against darkness, who fights demons and devils, who protects the vulnerable beneath his shielding cloak and his watchful remaining eye. They have a strange bargain, those two. Yorm, bound by law, turns his blinded eye to where Orem needs to tread unseen, and will not leave him to die undefended should the thief be caught. And Orem will not leave Yorm to endure alone, nor Yorm’s people to be ravaged after death. The souls of all Yorm’s paladins who fall to demons are ever safe in Orem’s care.

Notes:

There’s a lot of inspiration from Hermes in this, god of thieves and travellers and guide of souls, with a little bit of Prometheus as well. Oromasdes is taking a lot of inspiration from Ahura Mazda, while Orem and Elaia Siveth have a bit of Janus to them. And I threw in Yorm from this story, because they felt like a nice fit, two gods of the boundary, one lawful, one not, but united in a common purpose. Also, I like the rogue/paladin dichotomy. Heh.

And I like the lantern imagery, the hermit from the tarot, the god carrying souls in his lantern, the thief smuggling things in the light, because who goes looking in what you look with. I can’t remember what book or story I came across that concept in (possibly Discworld?) but it stuck like glue. Not least because I remember an episode of Wild Wild West where the shoddy lighting on that show threw a shadow of a lantern that a character was holding, and that was supposed to be throwing the light, against his shoulder, accidentally highlighting the fakeness of it all. Playing with light and dark and reality and illusion is a bit of a theme for me

#long post #worldbuilding #deities #d&d #homebrew #thieves #clerics #rogues #mythology

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zuihuojoui · 3 years

Text

reflection eternal

Thursday December 10 2020; Evening.

There is a stillness in the air when the sun sets. A silence just before the night truly comes alive. There the hues of amber meet and melt into deep purples. Those that enjoy the cover of darkness for what it offers, prepare in this time, waiting for the moon to take its peak and to let their revelry begin. Joui too at this time would be preparing for some merriment at his favorite haunts. Bathing and scenting himself, adorning in perfectly created attire for his frame. And then off to lounging with a beautiful courtesan with music playing and laughter filling the space.

But his evenings had been filled with more focus than pleasure since the veil had opened and closed. His own self awareness had been revived. Genun had raised a mirror before him, showing Joui all his shortcomings. His faults were so plainly obvious then. How he had not seen it and needed another to point such flaws, the sign of another.

A weakness, and one he could not afford.

Since then reflection had kept the Ace away from the gatherings he so frequented and adored. Nights passing the threshold into the home nestling one warm fox, alone broke this reflection. Nari’s smile and embrace turned his nights into mornings, then noon, and back to nights again. Days had been spent in front of the fireplace, idly reading old tales with her fur and curiosity accompanying him. Even when she had been wrought with complaint of his turning from her on the Blue Moon’s rise, he had taken it in spoons, answering where his temper would let him, his countenance warning after further indulgence. Even with the revelations that night brought for both, her company had offered him peace.

Now, within the confines of his own palace on the estate of his clan, the peace she gifted lingered like cashmere draped around him to edge the chill of cooling air. Yet that peace could not change the image he saw in the mirror Genun left before him. And that kept the doors to his palace closed, his staff keeping all his clan away.

His aunt had come through the portal to stay, a close sister of Genun. Her eyes felt like his, though lacking his restraint. This Zuihuo took much pleasure in torture and had perfected her mental cages far earlier than her older siblings. A prodigy with a wicked smile. With her tutelage Joui had mastered his illusionary webs and come to understand other usages, beyond the fatality of its complete form. He cared deeply for Ayao but could not be in her presence as he was. She despised weakness and he could see nothing but its stench on him.

Locked within, he weighed himself and found himself lacking, all while seeing the path he needed to take. How he hated being forced to act. How he hated influence on his actions. But he loved the woman with this influence. And that love was his weakness.

He sat at his table, dinner having been removed and tea before him. The golden set chosen was delicate with embossed butterflies along its front. As he let the aroma flood his nostrils, his eyes closed, falling into the calm it provided. When his eyes opened the creature with strong illusion magic from his birthday was before him, matching golden cup in hand, the black gnarled remnant of what would be a hand. He looked ahead at the skull of a head and wondered how this thing would consume the expertly brewed tea.

Again, he sensed no malice from this creature so he stayed calm, drinking from his own cup. Eyes passing the features he still did not comprehend, his questions pilling. And then it speaks. The voice a beautiful melody, enchanting and alluring. He recalls the illusion this being wore at their first meet. Such a voice would pair nicely with that crafted deception, but this, this robed creature with its branch like antlers extending a span wider than his table, this visage did not suit such a sweet voice. The combination forced his focus, even with calm, keeping watch over all its movements.

“Ace of Hearts Zuihuo Joui of the Zuihuo Clan.” There is a pregnant pause here, almost as though she’s drinking though the small cup in her hand doesn’t move. “You didn’t tell anyone about us.” This last is said as statement, and you tell by her tone she’s amused. “I would like to know why.”

Joui’s eyes set upon the swirl of meshing grey that he supposed still was this creature’s eyes and smiled as it spoke. That was what it wanted to know?

“I am rather good with secrets”, he breathed, cup at his lips. “And this one is the best I’ve come across in centuries. Why would I let those who couldn’t enjoy it as I, know of it?” he posed then looked to the staff in the other hand of this being. “Worry not, just my clan know of it, and none else will ever”, he vowed in all sincerity. Lying to a being he suspected could quite easily see the end of his days, was not a wise thing to do. And even as Joui felt quite diminished in his self reflection, he was still much about his senses.

“Consider us honored”, he continued. “In awe really. This play at deity would entertain us for lifetimes”, he said looking from the creatures eyes to its antlers to his cup within its grasp. “No doubt it has entertained you,” He paused, head tilting to the side, strands falling off his shoulder as his thoughts formed words.

Us. You didn’t tell anyone about us.

Multiple of these beings, far removed from this realm, yet deeply engrained in both. There was admiration there and a sense of similarity between his clan and these beings, Joui felt.

“You - do grant me a name to call you as I hope I will be afforded more of these visits, I do appreciate them so. Perhaps even your preference in teas. Does this one suit your palette? I find the oranges and chrysanthemum blended so, comforting, with the climate shifting”, Joui said, musing with this horned creature as a new friend than a superior being . He then took a sip from his glass before resting it down.

The creature made no moves to answer him outright but Joui wasn’t sure what he expected in return to his request. He was testing just how much this creature cared to give and what his limitations would be in asking.

“Though I did not speak of you, and yours, and certainly will not, I do wonder. The lessers walk from interactions with your kind blessed, and while I do feel more informed, I too would like such a gift. But spare me a gift of your mischief, no matter how amusing. Knowledge is what I crave”, he spoke watching tea be removed from the cup but showing no path, simply removed. This creature was consuming it, just not in any manner Joui could see. He wondered what other skill beyond illusion magic it possessed.

It pleased him, even in its outrageous form, lacking no real beauty. Joui was deeply enthused by the possibilities unknown and the unknowns held in this being. How he desired to converse further and ask of it things beyond this world. It pushed his reflection aside, minimizing it.

“Your stalwart silence about what you've seen is appreciated. In return for it's continuation, Joui of the Zuihuo Clan, I will give you a gift that will ease your path in the future. Something you've long wanted. “

Joui looked up as the door opened and attendants stepped into the room, heads lowering to him once their eyes met. He looked back to the creature but it was gone, his cup too. Joui chuckled to himself as he rose from the chair, easing from the table. He walked from the dinning room out into the hall, sending a servant to fetch something warm. Returned with a velvet cape, secured around his shoulders, Joui walked down to see his growing dragon.

Syuusen had been taken through the portal into the realm, nourished in its magics while the veil was open, then returned to this world before it closed. The dragon had doubled its size, its fires hotter, and more capable of caring for itself. The difference in how time moved between this realm and their home was a gift in times like this. Joui watched the golden creature uncoil from the trees above him, his golden eyes, tinted with a touch of mahogany connecting with Joui’s own golden glare.

“Hello my beautiful friend”, he spoke as the dragon coiled around him. His head leaned into meet the dragon’s, whiskers passing his cheek. His hand passed his underbelly, earning a hum of appreciation. “Have you ever seen a creature drink with no sign of drinking, my Syuusen?” he asked countenance lifted much after his meet with the foreign being. He smiled, hand passing over the creature happily receiving Joui’s focus and care. “To do without being seen, but the goal well accomplished. Indeed”, he mused taking meaning far deeper than the simple act of tea drinking. “To act”, he breathed as two cages were wheeled into the space, two large uncorrupted manabeasts shaking the cages at sight of the dragon and fae. He stood still, his eyes holding their glow as the cages were open and creatures let their calls go out into the night air.

Syuusen freed himself from Joui’s frame and lunged at the horned beast, whipping past it, its tail lashing at it while flames roared from its mouth to the other. The enflamed creature wailed under the flames for a moment before a secondary burst ended its suffering. The other ran from the blaze, Joui paying no attention to his dragon and its play with its food, too caught within his own thoughts. Wind lifted his cape as the dragon flew past Joui to catch the escaping prey.

“To act”, he mused again, “regardless of sight”, he continued, eyes looking up to the star filled skies. “Even love cannot hold me prisoner’, he spoke with a soft smile. “For action is demanded of me and I cannot fail.” Syuusen roared on capture of his prey, pulling Joui to look as he encircled the beast with its body, sound rising in the night like laughter from the dragon. And then the blaze took to the prey, ending its existence. The dragon clamped its mouth around the cooked beast, flying back to where Joui stood. There he pulled both burned manabeasts, slowly devouring their flesh.

“I see my love enjoys playing with his prey”, he said watching the dragon snap into the bones and toss them aside for meat. “As do I, my Syuusen, as do I. To play is amusement, to kill is the finality of that act.” He worded, watching the creature eat its fill.

“To act.”

#kadeu: plot drop #sp: reflection eternal. plot drop 7 #will prob glance over this again but eviction it is

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gingerwritess · 5 years

Note

i dunno if anyones asked for this since you’ve said you have a bunch of requests but!! how about the moment loki realizes he wants to marry reader? like that Aha moment of “shes the one” sorta thing

no one has but i am SO GLAD that you did!

btw i never thank you all enough for commenting, reblogging, dropping asks, etc. it really keeps me going and i am forever and eternally grateful for all the support i just love you all so much ughhhhh thank yoU

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It’s three in the morning and something shatters. A window, on the second floor of the Avengers compound, completely and utterly obliterated—oops.

At the crash Loki flies from the bed, yanking himself out of the peaceful sleep he had just been enjoying. He’s already gripping a knife in his hand and he inches his way to the window, the shattered glass crunching under his footsteps, and he glances cautiously out the window to find—you?

Yes, you, the mortal fool he can’t help but proudly call his, are standing on the lawn below his window, not moving and staring back up at him with both hands clapped over your mouth in shock.

“What…what have you done?” Loki whisper yells down to you, a breath of relief leaving his lungs at seeing it’s just you. “Good gods, mortal, the sun hasn’t even risen!”

You just open your mouth in a silent scream, moving your hands up to grip your head—that wasn’t supposed to happen! Your arm isn’t even that good, definitely not enough power (or so you thought) to shatter Loki’s window like that.

“I was, uh, throwing rocks at your window! You know, Dicaprio’s Romeo and Juliet style?”

Even from your spot down on the grass, you can see Loki’s face scrunch up in confusion. “Oh my—are you ill? Intoxicated?? Who told you that was a good idea?”

“I thought you of all people would appreciate it.” You shrug and flash him a sheepish grin, shuffling your feet on the grass below his window. “I dunno, I was just trying to be romantic?”

“Romantic?! Darling, you shattered a window!” He hisses down to you, running a tired hand over his face. “It’s too early for this…meet me at the front door, I’ll be right down.”

For the record, it would have been perfectly romantic if the glass hadn’t broken, but since when has your relationship with Loki ever gone the way you expected? So you just grin up at him and bounce excitedly on the balls of your feet as he shakes his head at you, then you bolt to the door.

He’s there waiting for you when you round the corner, leaning his head against the doorway and squinting for you through the darkness of the early morning. “Now that you’re finished destroying this property, care to tell me why you’re here?” He halfheartedly returns your hug when you barrel into him and give him a good squeeze around the waist. “Oof. One of these days you’re going to crack a rib.”

“You awake yet?” You mumble and grin into his chest, not letting go until he sighs and melts into your embrace, relaxing his tense muscles and letting himself just be hugged.

“Hardly. Why in all the nine realms are you here at this ungodly hour?”

“I’ve got an idea,” you sing and lean back to look up at him with a grin. “Go get dressed. Or don’t, those sweatpants make your butt look cute.”

“Norns, love, find an ounce of dignity, would you?”

He really should say no. He should politely turn down whatever crazy plan you’ve concocted and return to his bed, wake up at his usual hour, and continue on with the coming day as he had previously expected.

But you’re standing here with your arms around him, after shattering his window in an disgustingly cliché attempt to woo him, in what appears to be your sleep wear: it’s not often he gets to see you in such personal clothes as these.

It almost feels a little too…intimate.

They’re hardly dignified, unlike his layers of loose tunics with their embroidered arms and cotton pants, no, yours appear to be old. Battered, used, much too large for your body, unlike anything he nor any deity would be seen in for the life of them—yet as he looks at you, taking in your purely natural and comforting state of apparent dress, he can only dream of holding you.

Holding you and hugging you to his chest and just being warm, comfortable, untroubled and secure in your promising embrace for the rest of eternity.

…the rest of eternity?

“Something tells me I have no say in this matter,” he sighs and leans forward to kiss you; that smile on your face and little spark in your eye have his chest in knots.

And oh, how you wind your arms around his neck when he kisses you, curling your gentle fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck just to make sure he stays on your lips as long as you need him to, his mind goes fuzzy and he can’t help but pull you closer.

“Sorry ‘bout the window,” you whisper and he chuckles, his lips brushing yours with every movement.

“Replaceable…” he can’t finish his thought, because now you’ve parted your lips ever so slightly and dear gods, there’s something minty on your tongue and it’s addicting.

Toothpaste, he eventually pieces together, but somehow only heightening the trance your lips have put him under. You must’ve woken up and come straight over—Loki allows himself to wonder for a split second if he was the first thing on your mind when you woke up.

Of course he was.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” you gasp and pull away from him with a loud smack. “We’ve got stuff to do. You comin’ or not?”

“Naturally. Though I have to admit I’m terrified.” He reaches behind him and closes the door, taking your hand and letting you lead him to the car parked at the curb. “First you break my window, now you’re abducting me for some early morning escapade…tell me, where do you plan on taking me?”

“In bed, obviously,” you hum without missing a beat and open the door, shoving him into the passenger seat. Loki’s jaw drops—having a less than appropriate sense of humor is his job—and he thinks he feels his face flush when you wink at him.

“I—goodness. Is that where we’re off to?” He stuttering behind his grin, evidently enjoying and a little impressed by your comment.

“Don’t get too excited.” You turn the car on and a soft melody fills the car, something acoustic and darkly smooth and pining over an almost-lost lover. It’s calming, really, and you drive away into the morning’s darkness with one hand on the wheel, the other draped over the centre consol inching subtly towards Loki’s hand resting on his knee—okay, not very subtly.

He notices, of course, and takes your hand before you reach his, twining his fingers between yours and bringing it to his lips. “If you want to hold my hand,” he chuckles and presses his lips repeatedly over the back of your hand, “you don’t need to ask. You know these hands are only for you.”

“Damn right.” Your heart skips a beat and you grin over at him. The roads are empty around you, little markings glowing on the street flying past the windows into the darkness. It’s perfectly peaceful, even with how early it is, just to be driving into nothingness with your hands intertwined, Loki’s lips on the back of yours—wait a minute.

That’s a pretty midgardian “boyfriend” thing to do.

“Loki, did someone tell you to do that with my hand?”

Loki freezes with his lips on your hand like a deer in caught headlights. “No, of course not. What, am I not allowed to kiss your hand?”

You shrug—that was weird. It’s probably best not to push it, so you just give his hand a reassuring squeeze and turn your gaze back to the road. Nothing but the soft music playing fills the car until Loki pipes up again a couple troubled minutes later, not looking at you.

“I can’t lie to you,” he sighs. “I…might have done some research.”

“What?”

“I wanted…I wanted to make sure I’m fulfilling my duties as your ‘boyfriend,’ so I did some research to make sure I’m meeting the criteria.”

Oh my god, my heart.

“You did?” You glance over at him with a smile tugging at your lips, heart swelling.

He nods. “Google and…I believe it was Pinterest were most helpful. They said I should hold and kiss your hand while driving, and seeing how you refuse to let me drive—”

“You’ve almost killed us like, four times.”

“—that’s beside the point. Since you won’t let me drive, this will have to suffice.”

You can’t help but start laughing, and he quickly drops your hand and pushes it back towards you. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have trusted that article,” he starts rambling, and you can tell he’s red in the face. “It just—it said that’s how to ‘keep your lover happy,’ and I assumed since it was written by midgardians, you must want that from me as well, and—”

“Loki!” You laugh and grab his hand again, holding it tightly. “Do you think I’m not happy?”

He casts his gaze down to his lap and tries to tug his hand away from you. “I…I don’t know.”

“Oh my—Loki, sunshine, I’m more than happy,” you promise and this time bring his hand to your lips, one hand on the wheel and the other keeping his hand still so you can kiss it with grinning lips. “How could I be anything less than happy with you in my life? You’re the best boyfriend anyone could ever ask for.”

“Oh.” He’s quiet for a moment, searching for words worthy of your affections. “That’s…wonderful to hear.”

Silence settles over the car again, save the music, but you can tell there’s something more on the tip of Loki’s tongue that he’s holding back. “You alright, sunshine?”

His gaze darts to you for a split second and he flashes you a tight-lipped smile. “Never better. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise!”

“How wonderful.”

“Don’t worry,” you laugh, reaching over to pat his knee. “We’re almost there, you’ll see. I think you’re gonna like it.”

“I certainly hope so,” he jokingly sighs. “You ruined a perfectly enjoyable night of sleep for this.”

“Just trust me.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Trusting you is new to Loki...but never once has it let him down.

You’ve brought Loki up winding paths and steep dirt roads to a tiny, empty dirt lot on the top of a hill, a little cliff overlooking the entire city sleeping below.

Not bad for Midgard.

It’s still dark out and Loki follows your lead, keeping quiet when you turn off the car and pop the back, beckoning him to come join you.

“Come sit with me.” You pat the space next to you, on a cozy-looking blanket in the back of the car. “Hurry up and get comfy, it’s only gonna be a couple more minutes!”

“Until what?” Pushing aside his pride, he sighs and hoists himself into the back of the car, crawling over to sit next to you. You immediately lift his arm up and nestle into his side—damn you.

That awful, addicting warmth spreads through his frozen chest.

He’s almost used to it by now.

“You’ll see,” you grin and pull a blanket up to your chin; he’s still a bit of a cold cuddle-buddy, but hey, you’ll deal with it.

Not two seconds of being under his arm, his thumb starts tracing figure-eights on your shoulder and immediately your eyes start to droop, the early morning breeze brushing softly at your face and ruffling Loki’s unusually curly hair. Something sweet is in the air—peaches, you guess, there must be a grove nearby.

Light begins to peek through your closed eyelids, and you quickly open them and sit up straighter against Loki’s chest, tapping his leg to make sure he’s awake.

“See?” You spread your arms proudly in front of you, the blanket and your giant t-shirt slipping off one shoulder as you do. “Told ya it’d be worth it.”

Words don’t seem to be working all that well for the silver-tongued god right now.

It’s a sunrise, clearly, and certainly not the first one Loki’s ever seen. Maybe the first on Midgard, but really, he hadn’t expected much.

This, however, is the hand of the gods at work, it has to be.

The sky is filled with the most beautiful, precise brushstrokes, a masterpiece of sky blues and golden hues crashing into one another, interrupted by coils of cotton clouds that he finds himself wanting to touch, good gods, what is wrong with him?

And you, ever the surpriser, look over your shoulder with a grin and drop your arms back to your sides, slipping once again under the blanket and nestling into him.

“Gotcha.”

Speechless, you mean. It doesn’t happen very often.

His head dips to press his lips to your head, eyes drifting shut and just letting the new sunlight wash over him.

“It’s warm,” he mumbles a moment later, and you crack an eye open.

You didn’t think about that.

“I’m sorry, Loki, do you want to go back now?” You attempt to sit back up but Loki’s arm holds true.

“It’s warm and it’s wonderful,” he continues, rubbing a reassuring hand over your arm. “I haven’t...I’m speechless, love. I have no words to describe this.”

You look up from his shoulder with a small smile, catching the way the sunlight glints off his pale complexion the same way that the sun reflects off freshly fallen snow. His eyes have a warmth to them that you’ve honestly never seen before…right now, he looks different.

He looks soft, for the first time in his life.

The angles and planes and sharpness of his features have softened to careful waves that you reach up to caress without thinking, and he blinks into the early morning sunlight.

“You’re gonna hurts your eyes if you keep staring at the sun,” you chuckle, tilting his face towards you to sneak a kiss to his lips.

“It will be worth it, this is…” he trails off, half-heartedly kissing you back when you do. “This...you’ll have to forgive me for speaking so candidly, but...I—th-this is the first time Midgard has ever felt like home.”

You pause and pull away from him slowly, a hand still resting on his cheek. Hopefully the surprise doesn’t show too clearly on your face; that was a lot, coming from Loki, and full of raw emotion and stuttering and the poor guy is terrified, you can see it in his stinging eyes.

“That’s the great thing about homes,” you smile, kissing him softly once more before wiggling to lay your head in his lap, clutching onto his thigh in a perfectly odd, oddly perfect little hug. “They’re relative. And I want you to always feel at home, ‘kay?”

“You are my home.”

You glance up at him, winking in the sunlight. “You’re such a sap, Loki.”

The god smiles weakly, cheeks a beautiful rosy gold as the sunrise bounces off his blush. He touches his fingertips to his lips before bringing them down to rest on your cheek, lightly brushing his fingers over your warm skin as your eyes drift shut.

You’re glowing, golden light illuminating your figure right on his lap.

There it is again, that sick warmth spreading through his chest as he gazes down at you—he wants to hold you again.

Gods, he’s never been one for hugs, but right now...nothing could possibly be better than being engulfed in your embrace, your hands clutching his back and your face buried in his neck, chest to chest and—

His heart twists. You’re so cozy, hugging his thigh and perfectly content with falling asleep on his lap, so peacefully in this position that he resolves to just run his hands over your hair and brush his thumb along your jaw.

You look like home. Feel like home.

Home that he can’t lose, a home he needs to hold dear for the rest of eternity. Whether that be his eternity or yours, the god doesn’t care; he will love you for all eternities.

“I am going to marry you,” he whispers to himself, tracing his finger impossibly light along your lips. “I will marry you.”

You shift on his lap to look up to him, a smile on your lips, eyes closed and adorably groggy.

“You better,” you mumble, grabbing his hand and pulling it over to press a warm kiss to his knuckles. “Marry the hell outta me, Loki.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettrosella @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01@lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @vast-ish @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000

#loki x reader #loki reader insert #loki imagine #loki x reader fluff #loki requests #boyfriend!loki #loki fanfiction #loki drabbles #loki laufeyson #loki fluff

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patricia-von-arundel · 4 years

Text

A World on Its Side: Part 1 - Prisoners of Fortune - Chapter 1

Art by @zaaschila

Rating: M

Summary: It began with a simple mission: to rescue the Imperial children from beneath the palace in Enbarr. But when Jeralt brings home with him the sole survivor - Edelgard - he sets in motion a chain of events that will forever alter the course of the war to come in Fódlan. Soon, Edelgard and Byleth will find themselves joined by unlikely allies... and by ghosts from a past neither knew existed.

Prologue

Imperial Year 1180

Keep a close eye on that one, they said.

Don’t trust what you see. This animal is feral. Rabid.

Anaxi had taken it all very seriously, at the start. Checking upon the hour, every hour. Keeping logs of all that he observed, exactly how much food was consumed at each meal, the length of sleep cycles. He asked the questions his training had told him to ask, despite receiving no more response than cold, bright eyes briefly meeting his own. By the book, just as he had tried so hard to do in his magic training.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that it worked no better here than it had there. Maybe he just wasn’t a by-the-book kind of man.

He had been assured that this was a truly plum position, especially for one on such a tenuous second chance as he. He was in charge of guarding no ordinary prisoner, kept only to provide a means to gain influence and information - this one was somehow... different. And had once escaped, almost a year previously, killing two guards to do so. (This information had weighed heavily on Anaxi’s mind, in the earliest days of his posting. Now, he questioned the truth of it, honestly - it was rumored there had been accomplices. This one hardly seemed to have the will to move, much less kill.)

A plum position, yes. A very special position.

So why did he feel as if once more, existence had chosen him as the butt of some nasty, inescapable joke?

All he’d ever wanted was to be noticed - to be something more than just another cog in an army that seemed less a well-oiled machine and more some mighty automaton collapsed to ruin, pilfered for scrap and beginning to rust. The children of Shambhala were taught of their own great legacy - descendants of those who had brought down gods! - but Anaxi had very early found himself questioning if any of that greatness truly remained. What was the value of legacy if no one lived up to it?

As a naïve child, he had dreamed of being the one to do it - to rise up, and reclaim that glory his ancestors had called their own. False gods once more reigned across a beastly, primitive world, worshiped by vermin. He could bring them down. He could become the rebirth of true history. An end to stagnation! Words with meaning, more than parroting ideals, proverbs of steel left without bite!

But it was not to be, of course - beyond boyhood, he remained devoted to such a cause, but knew the war would never be his to lead. Instead, he watched as his dreamt-of reclamation nonetheless began, plans unfurling first as rumor, but soon as proud promises that the end of that world of primitive creatures and nefarious false deities would soon, finally, be at an end.

Anaxi was then in military training - the perfect place for lapping up every drip of information. Soon, the gossip all seemed to whisper. Soon, soon, soon.

Then they called for more mages - training for any willing to do what was necessary for the greater good. And once more, Anaxi felt a calling. There were moles on the surface now. Infiltrating. Risking everything. But they could do nothing without magic.

Anaxi was accepted.

Half a year later, he was dismissed.

There was no dramatic story to tell, no grand plot against his future - he simply proved to be, in a word, lousy at magic. Juggling words, his hands, and the direction of power, all at the same time, turned out to be more than he was able to handle.

A blow - and one that, at the time, had seemed likely to leave unfading bruises to his pride. He had believed in himself - believed he truly had something to give for the glorious future of this woefully maligned land.

But eventually he realized... He still believed it. He just had to figure out the true capacity by which he might show it. It wasn’t magic or leadership - so be it. But whatever it was, he would search until he found it. Deciding he needed a position that allowed time for rumination on the matter, and speaking to some of his former tutors in spellwork, he had received his current security position: monitoring the most valuable of prisoners. The advantage of it was that they were also the least likely to escape - far darker means than wood and iron kept them in their cells.

This one, though - this one was kept apart from the others. He could see the dark magic, writhing, powerful, that worked its way across the entrance to the tiny, bare room. There was a bed in there, a wooden bucket, cleaned twice daily (thankfully not by him), a small basin of water...

And the prisoner.

Face covered by a cowl, though he did not know if that was by order, or choice. Rarely moving - sitting on the edge of that narrow bed, most of the time, looking down. Lean, in those dark fabrics: more a wraith than a feral animal. Still and silent. And those cold, bright eyes...

He no longer bothered to do hourly checks - just the occasional one, and he scribbled “no unusual activity” in the log for each required entry at the end of each tedious session. He spent most of his time cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the wall and trying not to doze off. He wasn’t supposed to engage beyond official questions, but he really wished the prisoner would talk, even just a little bit. Babble or something, like some of the prisoners in the regular cells, where he had been before. Some sound, any sound; something besides his own bored sighs.

He told himself he was accustomed to the silence by now. It wasn’t true.

Still, he remained. Considering the future. Maybe he would see that outside world of beasts, when it had been taken. Maybe there was still a way he could assist in the taking. Maybe -

He jerked his head from the wall, sat up straighter.

A noise. Around the corner. Echoing - a cry, quickly silenced. A muffled thud.

The prisoner’s head turned.

That sharp face, beneath the cowl -

It was smiling.

Imperial Year 1159

For most of the journey, it had rained. Like the clouds were following them - a dark thought, but an amusing one. And rather appropriate - she felt a little cloudy still herself, though far stormier than the steady spring showers she watched through the window.

The distance was not great, but the entire journey was across craggy hill and mountain, and the rain did nothing to improve the conditions of the roads. Even calling them “roads” was being generous - they were often hardly more than muddy goat paths. The carriage made slow, steady, laborious way along them, a crawl that made what should have been a 10-hour journey become instead a day and a half. She spent the short night at the inn tossing and turning, wishing desperately that this part could be over with - that she could just get there, and be done with it.

Be done with him.

The pompous, self-righteous picture of perfect piety sitting across from her in the carriage.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting there myself,” she had said - multiple times.

“Of course you are. But it wouldn’t do for a young lady for your stature to arrive at such a place alone. Besides, I would like to pay my respects to the Goddess at her own eternal resting place.”

Of your stature - she should have laughed every time he said it. As if she didn’t know exactly why he wanted to accompany her. It had less to do with the Goddess or any “eternal resting place,” and far more to do with hoping to kiss the holy rump of the Archbishop and any powerful noble rumps that happened to be there besides.

She had wanted to go to Fhirdiad, to study sorcery. But no - no, to him, that was not good enough. Not after he had been denied his own place, over a decade before, their mother citing the stiff cost. Where the gold had been found now, she did not know. Perhaps the Goddess herself thought to give her a year’s respite from pious social-climbers, and had vomited money down upon them.

She smiled at the mental image, then quickly forced it away - but not quickly enough. “There’s a happier expression,” he said. “From what I’ve heard, it will soon be hard to hide that happiness. You’ll like it here - it is the heart of all Fódlan.”

She had her doubts, but said only, “Perhaps.”

The sun was trying to find its way out as they made the final, winding climb - he’d probably see that as some kind of sign. There were other carriages now, a few open wagons, and one small party on horseback. She envied the last; they had probably made the best time of any of those arriving.

Arriving at Garreg Mach Monastery.

She had been here once before, though she did not remember it. There had been border skirmishes that threatened to turn deadly, and her mother had brought her here for shelter until the situation was resolved. She’d been only two or three at the time.

Looking up at it now, she wondered how impossibly enormous it had appeared to a child so young. Even now, it was imposing... almost monstrous. What message was intended? If she asked, she was certain the answer would be “sanctuary.” But she felt no warmth, no comfort. She felt threat.

...Which even she had to admit to herself was ridiculous. Certainly, she did not view the Church of Seiros with the same blind devotion as some, but this was no more than a series of buildings. Large, looming buildings, but still just stone and wood for all that. The worst that might happen here was admonishment for her abysmal bow skills. No need to be over-imaginative.

How often had she been told that?

A lot.

They were stopped at the gates, and a knight with a long scroll of paper opened the door, bowing his head as he did so. “New student?”

She opened her mouth, but was not given a chance to speak: “Yes - my sister.”

She bristled, but only until the knight looked at her then, not him. She appreciated that. “Your name?”

She sat up a little straighter, head held high. “Anselma von Arundel.”

Whatever happened later...

This was how it began.

Her room in the dormitory was larger than her room at home - significantly so. For all the value of the Arundel lands compared to much of the rest of Adrestia, they might as well have been in Faerghus (and practically were), and the manor house reflected as much: low and long, with a thatched roof and small rooms built to retain as much heat as possible through long, cold, damp winters.

The room at the Officers Academy was high-ceilinged, bright, airy. She wasn’t about to admit it to Volkhard, but this offered a very positive first impression of a school she had fought tooth and nail not to have to attend.

She left the two trunks of her things beside the bed - she could unpack them later. For now, while Volkhard was off kissing rings and the toes of Saints’ statues, it seemed the perfect opportunity to come to know her new surroundings a bit better, before the welcome dinner to be held that evening.

(That, she was actually looking forward to - because it would offer her her first glimpse of her house leader. Alger von Vestra, cousin of the recently-recognized new marquis - even in the remote northwest of Adrestia, the Vestra family was... notorious. Infamous. Volkhard’s pursed-lip displeasure at the choice had alone been enough to leave Anselma intrigued.)

She closed and locked the door to her room - something she would have to try to grow accustomed to doing, though slipping her very own key in her pocket made her feel foolishly adult - and gave her new home a longer look around than she had coming in. Walls, and more walls. Paths, and more paths. Grass. A lot of grass. All very well-kept, attractive, but -

I’m going to get lost. Often.

Perhaps forever, and she could become the Eternal Lost Soul of Garreg Mach, a tale told to frighten new students and see that they were in their rooms come curfew. Better than a year here trying to woo some noble so she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of her life offering utterly sincere prayers under Volkhard’s thumb. Though lost souls probably couldn’t visit Enbarr, something she rather wanted to do, as long as she was this close. She’d never been anywhere bigger than the hamlets and villages scattered across the Arundel lands, and most of those had more goats than people.

From her left, a sudden crash - loud and close enough to make her jump. She whirled, startled, to find a girl of about her own age. The girl’s eyes were wide, and her face was flushed a brighter color than her rather-bright hair. She was already in uniform - Anselma only noticed because the collar was incorrectly fastened, and had come askew. At her feet, the source of the crash: a pile of large books that had to stack almost as tall as she was.

Their eyes met, and the girl’s face grew even brighter. “I... I’m sorry. I tripped on the edge of the path. None of them hit you, did they?” She held up a hand, almost as if offering something. “I can heal you. I mean... if you need it.” She looked almost hopelessly eager - like a naughty puppy trying to wag its tail to avoid trouble.

“They didn’t hit me. I’m fine.”

The girl’s hand dropped, and so did her shoulders. “Oh. Good. But... I’m still sorry. And sorry if it’s rude, but I... I need to pick these up. Quickly.” She gathered them with almost frantic hurry, hugging them to her chest with one arm in nearly as much disarray as they had been in on the ground.

They were just going to go everywhere again if she tried to get them all like that. “May I help?”

For a moment, the girl’s eyes met hers once more. “You... you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. All my things are already in my room.”

“I... it would be easier. If you’re sure you don’t mind. I would... very much appreciate it.”

“Not at all.” She got the rest before the girl could attempt any more herself, then followed her to her room - “Hey, it’s right next to mine!”

“Really?” The girl was fumbling for her key, her books in danger of going everywhere yet again. Finally, she managed to shove the door open with her shoulder. “But your clothes... I thought they said the nobles mostly take second-floor rooms? That’s... what someone told me, anyway. When I was applying.” She dumped the books on her bed, so Anselma did the same. “Are you a noble?”

She laughed - she couldn’t help it. “Theoretically. More like Lady of the Goats. I’m Anselma von Arundel, and I’d bet my last 100 gold the name means absolutely nothing to you.”

For the first time, the girl smiled. She really had a very eye-catching face, especially those heavy-lidded blue eyes. “I don’t think I should take that bet. I don’t have 100 gold. I’m Cornelia Arnim.”

“Cornelia Arnim, who likes to read.”

“Well... not just... I like to read, but -” She stopped abruptly, and turned to stare out the window. Her eyes once more went wide. “I... my apologies. I have to go. Right now. The wagon is hired, and I have to get the rest of my stuff - if the driver’s not back to Enbarr by sunset, he charges for another day. I’m sorry, I have to -”

“I’ll help,” Anselma said - and at the door, took off running. The gates were the one thing she knew how to find, and she’d been cramped in a carriage for nearly two days. “Come on, hurry! We can get it all!”

Cornelia’s voice, calling after her: “Are we allowed to run?!”

“Nobody said we couldn’t!”

Behind her, she could hear the quickening footfalls, hurrying to catch up.

He had never had the richest lands, nor the richest life. Nonetheless, Volkhard von Arundel had always felt blessed by the Goddess. Truly blessed. He had never lacked for food, or shelter, or clothing. Losing his parents - his father when he was 12, to an injury from a horse kick; his mother when he was 16, to an inflammation of the lungs - had been hard, and attempting to raise Anselma, only 5 years old when he became her guardian, even harder. He had become lord and parent, and in doing so forewent his lifelong goal - something he had never truly abandoned until then - of being the first Arundel to attend the Officers Academy.

Still, he felt he had risen well to one of the Goddess’ accompanying challenges - as lord, he had managed to arrange for increased sales of meats, furs, and cheeses across the border, into Faerghus. It not only allowed for fresher goods to be sold, it also meant less travel and higher prices - much of Faerghus still highly reliant on imported goods to feed and clothe its population, and paying a premium to do so - which in turn led, for the first time Volkhard knew of in recorded history, to significantly greater profit across the soil-poor Arundel lands. Anselma might complain of all the sheep and goats, but he suspected she would change her tune soon enough, when she truly understood all that those animals had brought her.

But that was the other challenge of the Goddess: Anselma.

Here, he feared his plans had not fared so well. Maybe it was losing her parents so young, and then being allowed too much indulgence and freedom as he focused most of his attention on their livelihood. She had had a nursemaid, of course, and later there were several young scholars willing to take low-paid positions in exchange for a recommendation to carry along with them at departure, but perhaps none of them had been firm enough, disciplined enough, for one such as Anselma. She had been pushing boundaries - if not outright leaping over them - her entire life, and showed little inclination to attempt to stop doing so even now. She spoke her mind even when her thoughts were highly unorthodox - even vulgar - then five minutes later refused to speak at all. She had a self-righteous pride the Saints themselves would find trying - and Volkhard was himself certainly no saint.

She accused him of sending her to Officers Academy solely to see his own dreams fulfilled, and perhaps there was an element of that. Certainly, the offer from the Central Church to pay for her time here had come as an unexpected, very pleasant surprise, after he had so long ago seen his own dream of attending dashed.

But there was also the hope that it might instill in Anselma more discipline - and, perhaps, a modicum of piety. She did not yet recognize the value of such things in arranging a successful marriage - nor, as yet, did she seem to recognize the value of a successful marriage in and of itself. It was a sign from the Goddess, surely: she had rewarded him as a faithful servant, for his increased donations each year to the church as his own wealth slowly grew, and now she had sent a sign she did not intend to forget him... nor even his wayward younger sister, difficult though she might be to reach.

He had never had the opportunity to visit Garreg Mach; when their mother had fled here with young Anselma, he had been 14 years old, and already lord in name if not in practice: he remained behind. This visit was not one he intended to squander, and he allowed Anselma to shoo him from her new dormitory with little protest. There were things he must do.

The cathedral itself: that was where he must go first. One of the oldest structures in Fódlan, and - as he could confirm for himself now, staring up at it with his own awe-struck eyes - very likely the most beautiful. It was a far cry from the squat little stone church he had attended all his life. He could only imagine the glory of seeing this place filled, hundreds of rapturous voices rising even above the rafters, all the way to the heavens and the ears of the Goddess herself... Back at home, it was usually only himself, Anselma (if she hadn’t woken up early enough to disappear first), and a handful of the oldest inhabitants of the nearly villages who attended worship. Much - too much - of Adrestia had seen the dissolution of the Southern Church as an excuse to turn their backs on the Goddess.

The money in his pocket - he’d brought it for just this visit to the cathedral. More than he could truly afford to give, but it wasn’t only for himself - it was also for Anselma, and her future, and the future of the Arundel name. Perhaps a husband in Enbarr, children to cure some of Anselma’s high-spiritedness, and security for the family beyond wools sold to Fhirdiad and the frigid borderlands to its north: that would be all and more Volkhard would ever ask of the Goddess. His final gift, then, would be himself. Should Anselma bear a son to take over the family lands, he intended to retire here, and dedicate the rest of his life to the Goddess as a monk.

(Yes, of course, some would call his desire for a male heir antiquated and ridiculous - Anselma likely among them. But he had no qualms about being viewed as old-fashioned, and as long as he was alive and serving as Lord Arundel, he would pick an heir as he saw fit.)

It felt satisfying, dropping the gold into the collection basket beside the entrance. He walked inside slowly, breathing deep of hushed, rarefied air. This was where the Archbishop herself came to pray. This was where the Goddess dwelled. This was where the Saints might watch over Fódlan, with all their holy wisdom.

He could feel them all.

The space was enormous - cavernous. His steps echoed now, as did many of the prayers offered from the pews. The nave was more filled than he would have expected - and many of those praying or sitting in silent contemplation were in the uniforms of students. Some with their families, but just as many were alone - here of their own volition? If so, it must bode well for their potential influence on Anselma’s faith... or lack thereof.

He allowed himself, very briefly, to have a seat and a prayer of his own: a prayer that he was making the right decision. A prayer that this was truly the will of the Goddess.

Then, he went to the left. Down the aisle.

Just as the letter had said - a courtyard. A knight stood in the doorway. He ducked into a quick bow. “My apologies - this area is currently off limits.”

“My name is Volkhard von Arundel.” The words, too, came from the letter. “I am expected.”

Like magic - the knight stepped wordlessly aside.

The man outside had his back turned, looking out over the wall at the world spread before them, so very, very far below. He was wearing robes and the distinctive cloth tri-cornered hat of a monk.

“You came, then, Lord Arundel,” he said - and only then turned to duck his head in greeting. “Well met. The Archbishop will be pleased at your willingness to come even this far.”

“I would do anything the Archbishop asked of me. As I have already put into writing. I would gladly do so again, and seal it with my own hand.”

The monk almost smiled - he had a youthful face, but something of his expression spoke of greater years. “I think your presence here is assurance enough. Your sister - she has also arrived?”

“Yes. Though she is probably more eager to nose around than to begin her studies.”

The monk laughed at that. Very briefly. “She is not the first such student, nor will she be the last. Worry not - there are eyes everywhere at Garreg Mach, especially as new students arrive. She will be kept to approved areas. For her own safety, of course.” He glanced around, as if to make certain none of those eyes he spoke of watched them. “Now - about the... small matter... I alluded to in my letters. Dangerous to all of the Church - and all of the people of Fódlan. You remember all of this, I presume?”

“Of course.” The letter - the second he had received - had come with instructions to burn it... and a chit for the full cost of Anselma’s time at the Officers Academy. From any other source, he would have of course immediately smelled a rat, but from the Church itself - “Whatever I can do to assist you in this matter, I give you my word, I will do it.”

A curt nod. “My thanks, Lord Arundel. Come, then - let us speak of his more privately. And perhaps over a cup of tea? I fear all I need to tell you may take quite some time...”

Imperial Year 1180

Anaxi scrambled to his feet, reaching for the shortsword at his belt. He could feel himself shaking - and he could feel the cold eyes of the prisoner still, staring at him through all that crackling, surging magic.

I probably just fell asleep. Fell asleep, and had one of those dreams that wake you right back up, like the one where you miss a step and your foot jerks in real life.

Then why had the prisoner been looking at him? Why that smile?

He could hear something new now. It sounded like... breathing.

Panting, eager breathing.

Just around the corner.

On the surface world, beastly creatures stalked their prey. They made a game of it - toying. Sending eyes wide, flesh quivering, hearts racing. Fear - they feasted upon it as surely as upon muscle and marrow.

He was prey.

Cold sweat, beading along his skin.

He drew his sword. As silently as he could. As if whatever lurked around the corner did not already know he was there.

He wished now, once more, for magic.

The heavy breathing had slowed. There was no other sound. His own breath had long caught.

Then -

A slow, sliding, heavy step closer.

Another.

He held the sword up. Breathing, suddenly, in harsh, erratic gasps. “Halt!” His voice shook, too - and suddenly, irrationally, he wondered if the prisoner would laugh at him. “None are permitted here!”

“Oh?” The voice was deep... sonorous... and very close. “I do not recall asking.”

“I have a weapon!”

“...Glorious.”

He was grabbed by a blur of movement and pain, the shortsword falling from his hand as he was slammed, hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs, into the cold stone of the wall behind him.

But colder still was the blade that speared his middle.

He heard his own desperate, choked groan.

Eyes. Colder even than the prisoner’s.

Then the blade was gone - jerked mercilessly from his belly - and he was released, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

Blood. Hot. It was so hot.

Something to give for the glorious future of Shambhala...

His life.

It was hard to focus - darkness dancing around his eyes. Inside his head.

The last thing he saw: the one who had killed him. Walking through that crackling wall of spellwork as if it was no more than cobwebs.

And the prisoner’s eyes, watching him die.

#a world on its side #what-if tales of the tiny emperor #fire emblem three houses fanfiction

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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

Photo

CONGRATULATIONS, JORDAN! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF GADRIEL.

Admin Rosey: Eeeeeee! Jordan you have no idea how much I’m bouncing off the walls because you brought us such an unparalleled Gadriel! I was hoping, with all my heart, that someone would dare to write a character that is full of such unfettered love, and you did it. All the more, you didn’t hold back with the adoration that seems to burrow itself into every single facet of the character. Your para sample was an absolute thrill to read and truly, I couldn’t have asked for someone more capable of delivering the Gadriel we all know and love. Thank you so much for this wonderful application - it had me grinning from ear to ear. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Jordan

Age | 23

Personal Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | I’m not in school or working right now, so I do have quite a bit of free time on my hands. However, I still have real life stuff that crops up occasionally, and I’m currently looking for a job, so if/when?? (hopefully) that happens I’ll let you guys know! As it stands, I can on average devote a few hours each day to rp’ing, though that might vary depending on the day.

Timezone | EST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group? | I saw Rosey reblog the prerelease advertisement thing and the rest was history.

Current/Past RP Accounts | https://chandlerrosen.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Gadriel

What drew you to this character? |

Though there were quite a number of characters I considered applying for at various stages, I kept coming back to Gadriel. Within her character is everything I’m familiar with, and yet nothing that I’ve written before. I study (or studied, technically) early modern literature and art history, with a focus on Catholic theology, so I was initially drawn to Gadriel’s background as a martyred saint. I love her grief, I love the way she grows from it while still carrying it with her. I love her fighting for compassion and pacifism, while still being shrouded by the monstrous aspect of her that has always lingered within. Her love is her driving force, and her vision all encompassing, and for the “greater good,” but she is still so selfish. More on this now!

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |

i. beware of false prophets [. . .] ye shall know them by their fruits

The God she loved was not always a benevolent one, but she loved Him nonetheless, the words of the scripture a familiar glaze on her tongue, weaving its way through the air as it settles around her like a warm blanket. These were the words she lived by, and the words she, in another life, died by. But now these words, and the God who fomented them, are obsolete—ash and dust, they swirl around her still, only a faint echo of their former glory. Now, the residents (those who choose to partake in religion) worship the Hundred-Eyed God—instead of fire and brimstone, this new deity promised everlasting serenity. Gadriel, like most residents of Caelum, doesn’t worship the Hundred-Eyed God, but as God’s most devout and loving follower, she is faced with the difficult task of protecting ISOLDE, the All-Seeing Priestess of the faith. Despite her best efforts, Gadriel finds herself liking the mortal, and where once Gadriel would have seen an idolator, she now sees what could turn into a friend. The relationship, however, is tenuous, and Gadriel is very reluctant to let herself become attached to the girl—it didn’t end so well for the last worshipped figure in Gadriel’s life. But more than that, Isolde feels like a punishment, or rather, like she should be a punishment. Sure, it pains Gadriel to watch new rituals when the old ones sit in her bones and on her tongue, aching to be remembered and repeated, but otherwise, her task is, at times, an enjoyable one. So when will the other shoe drop? I’m very interested in seeing how this relationship will develop, and how ESTIENNE will fit into it. The biography mentions that Gadriel would kill to protect ARAEL, presumably she would do the same for Isolde, if only out of obligation (though personal affection may one day be a reason as well). Whether it be Estienne or someone else, how will Gadriel, generally a pacifist, react if Isolde is threatened?

I also think it’s interesting to consider what would happen, not if Isolde is physically threatened, but if her status is somehow threatened, or if someone, say ORIAS or CASSIEL (though there are many others), challenges Isolde (an extension of the Hundred-Eyed God) as someone/something to be worshipped? Zealotry is comfortable for Gadriel, a familiar armor to lace over her chest as she draws her sword, but it has rusted and worn down, a passion without a purpose, without an outlet. I think Gadriel is far from becoming a zealot for the Hundred-Eyed God, and to be honest, I’m not sure it would ever actually happen. However, I can see this going two ways (not necessarily mutually exclusive, either):

Gadriel develops a love for Isolde similar to the love she felt for God; it would be different, no doubt, but I think part of Gadriel’s worship of God in her mortal life came from, faith yes, but also love and a desire to be loved. Her worship of God was not entirely unselfish, but fervently pious nevertheless. Could Gadriel ever get to the point where she would take up her sword for Isolde, not against imminent danger, but against idolatry? Maybe, maybe not, and if it did, it would be, as I said, much further down the line, and certainly not as strong as the zealotry she exhibited for God, but I do think it’s an important aspect of Gadriel that cannot just be shirked because her God is dead.

Regardless of Isolde and how Gadriel may feel about her, there is still a part of Gadriel, no matter how slowly waning it may be, that fought tooth and nail to worship her God, both as a human and angel. And now, with people cropping up, Orias, Cassiel, Michael, etc. who try to fill that void He left, to be worshipped in their own right, I’m interested in how Gadriel will react. Obviously, Gadriel is not omnipotent, and therefore doesn’t necessarily know the extent to which these various figures have designs on power, on reverence. But throughout the course of the roleplay, I think as their actions reflect their intentions, and as those intentions become clearer, the familiar feeling of zealotry will crop up again, burning inside Gadriel’s bosom as it once had. Perhaps something starts it, perhaps she will see the corruption of mortals, of her fellow angels, even, and she wants to stop it. It’s not something she could do alone, at least not successfully, and depending on where Gadriel is in her development, she might not even care at first. But I still think it would be interesting to explore, and which unlikely alliances she may form to quell the rising of a new, different, idol.

ii. should intermitted vengeance arm again / His red right hand to plague us?

For every cloud, there is a silver lining, and for every slain deity, a world to be made anew. I don’t think Gadriel has ever been motivated by power, and I don’t think she is now, either. I do think, however, that she believes in a very strong vision of the world, a vision she believed she shared with her God. Of course, without God, Gadriel now has the freedom to reshape her vision, and mold the world into, as the biography states, “her own vision of beauty.” But that which is beautiful, is also terrible, for beauty without power is vulnerability, a quality Gadriel has shedded like a skin too tight and too itchy to ever be comfortable again. There is an anger inside her, a feeling of righteousness against those she believes have acted unjustly. Namely, MICHAEL and CASSIEL. There are many people she blames for this war, for the death of her beloved God, and Michael’s name is at the top of the list. He clipped her wings, he punished her for her pride (for is hubris not the most base of the tragic flaws?), smearing her face in the dirt of her own folly by naming her the Virtue of Temperance, forcing her to protect a being instrumental to the worship of a new, unfamiliar religion. And still, Gadriel turns the other cheek. To wage outright war against Michael would be foolish, and though Gadriel is privy to foolishness (a lingering effect of her not-so-long-forgotten mortality), she isn’t that foolish. I think the dynamic between Gadriel and Michael is very interesting, and something I’d love to explore. As he hungers for more power, as Gadriel’s resentment of him festers, infecting her life’s blood with boiling wrath, when will Gadriel decide that enough is enough. And who will stand with her?

Now onto Cassiel. Cassiel’s betrayal of the Cherubim, of Gadriel and her own people (though really, with Gadriel’s part in the war against Michael, I think Gadriel would be put on trial regardless), is another interesting avenue to explore. I mentioned Cassiel above as being a sort of “False Prophet,” and in truth, I think she is the antithesis to Gadriel. Speaking of Cherubim, I think Gadriel and ZADKIEL would actually get along fairly well, as Gadriel is (or at least was) well-liked by her fellow angels, and liked them in return, and I think they have a similar philosophy and moral compass. Would Gadriel and Zadkiel, two angels affected by Cassiel’s actions, end up lighting the spark of retribution against Cassiel? Or will it divide them? Cassiel and Gadriel are two people driven by the notion of beauty, though their definitions couldn’t be further apart. While Cassiel’s vision is of herself, Gadriel sees an eternal peace, filial piety and the burning passion of people who join in communion as one (so really, the concept of the Hundred-Eyed God should be alluring to her, once Gadriel realizes that it aligns with her vision and she could wield it considering Isolde is her charge—I digress). Perhaps Gadriel goes against Cassiel, not necessarily for past indiscretions, but present grievances.

To create, you must destroy, and from the ashes of the old world will Gadriel’s vision of beauty rise, sheathed in gold with a purity so simple, it can only be considered divine.

iii. when is a monster not a monster?

The answer, of course, “when you love it.” Gadriel’s connections to Asmodeus, Arael, and Mammon are all thematically concerned with when Gadriel shows her monstrous side, if at all. With ARAEL, Gadriel’s monstrous side is not hidden, because with their level of intimacy, with its purity, Gadriel holds no secrets from Arael. It just rarely (if ever) rears its ugly head. The biography mentions that Gadriel would kill for Arael, and I would like to put that to the test. I don’t know how, or when, but I want Gadriel to become a monster, all for the sake of Arael. She knows of Arael’s grief, but I’m wondering just how much Gadriel knows of Arael’s visits to ABBADON’S domain. If she doesn’t know, then perhaps Gadriel will feel betrayed. Of course, she wouldn’t take it out on Arael, there is very little Arael could do to warrant that sort of emotion from Gadriel, but I do think it would shift their relationship. If Gadriel does know, however, I wonder if Gadriel might try to take it upon herself to help Arael (if it’s unwanted, so much the better), because Gadriel is the picture of self-righteousness.

ASMODEUS is an interesting case with regard to Gadriel’s monstrous side. She hasn’t quite figured him out, she doesn’t know his sad past, but the glances they share, the stares that betray his longing for something else, someone else, intrigue her. And I think it makes Gadriel feel powerful, this unsaid tension between them, the notion that at any moment, it could all crumble and collapse, that he could, if she so chose. I think she wants to poke and prod at him, maybe from afar at first, and then toy with him, his vulnerability between her teeth, with only gravity (the gravity she is so adept at manipulating) to crush it, or release him from her grasp. Of course, Gadriel is not without compassion, and maybe once she knows Asmodeus’ story, she’ll feel differently. It all depends on what part of Asmodeus she chooses to see: the human, or the demon.

Gadriel’s most monstrous side, her most vindictive and self-righteous, self-satisfying, parts, are shown in her relationship with MAMMON. She spared them, not because she felt pity, not because she cared, or didn’t wish to shed blood, but to show them that she could. She held their life at the end of her blade and laughed when she removed it from his throat. Surely they still harbor bitter feelings towards her, feelings of hatred and resentment, even. In Emma’s app for Mammon, she mentions how she envisions them fighting, even to the death. I fully agree, and am looking forward to their confrontation a lot. Gadriel is, generally, soft, but I want to explore those parts of her that are more monster than divine, more human than angel.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation |

In Gadriel’s mortal life, her driving motivation was her love for God, and her desire to be loved by God. The picture of piety, Gadriel shirked near all else to proclaim her love for God, frustrated when others wouldn’t recognize His great power, his all-encompassing love. Even when she became an angel, she was still driven by this love, but now it was realized, it was reciprocated. And rather than have that be diminished upon conquest, it only grew stronger and more fervent.

Of course, after the war, after her wings were clipped, Gadriel turned into the dutiful angel, obeying Michael’s orders (much to her chagrin). Now she’s driven by her vision of beauty, of peace everlasting and passion overflowing. Love is still very much part of the equation, and the love she feels for Arael, for Isolde (maybe, eventually), also motivates her. But it’s her love for God, and for his vision, that stoke the fire of ambition in her loins. I think Gadriel is tired of constantly being taken for granted, being walked all over, and is using the new world as an opportunity to turn a page in her own life. To become all that she once sought to, to fulfill all righteousness on earth, and to spread her vision to all those who will listen.

Character Traits |

(passionate, loyal, empathetic)

(dogmatic, vengeful, obstinate)

In-Character Para Sample |

“Brothers, sisters, friends, lend me your ears,” she began, standing in front of her fellow angels, on trial for crimes committed against Michael, committed for God. “I stand on trial today, though I believe myself innocent of all crimes, guilty only of being consumed by love. Perhaps my love was misplaced, my loyalty misguided, but is that so unreasonable? Was that not God’s almighty power—to stir inside those who are lost the guidance to follow His will through His love?” She looked around, eyes imploring as she clutched her chest. The room was bright, the sun almost overbearing and artificial, devoid of everything Heaven held, a false divinity imbuing every corner and crevice. She had been here before. But rather than in a spotless room, she was surrounded by dust and the jeers of Romans who believed her guilty of the same crime she was accused of now: treason.

“You accuse me of treason,” she began again, and the lion’s roar in her ear was so loud, she felt as though it was standing across the room from her, not Michael, “but forgive me, I knew nothing else. If my actions offended, let us rectify the situation, together. Let us venture forth, hand in hand, brothers in arms, angels enshrouded in the divinity that is our right, into this new era. But let us not paint this era with more blood than has already been shed; for is that truly what you want your legacy to entail? Fire and brimstone—would you be any better than the God you have deposed?” She raised her eyebrow, scanning the eyes of the crowd as they shifted uncomfortably. An invisible string lifted Gadriel’s spine—perhaps it was her power of gravity, perhaps newfound confidence at the uncomfortability of the angels who wished her dead.

“And how, dear sister, could we trust you?” Michael asked, unmoved, the pinnacle of strength and composure.

“This is new territory for both of us, brother. This world has never known God’s absence—but together, and only together, could we bring it into a new Golden Age, an era of rebirth and plenty.” Everyone was silent, pondering her words. This silence was deafening, and the lion roared louder. Her heart began to race as she saw the saliva glint off the lion’s teeth, the blood staining its fur from the last human he shred.

“You seek to do better than God? Well do better. Ff His picture of compassion was imperfect, perfect it. His vision of mercy unfulfilled, fulfill it.” The words stung her tongue as she spoke them against her God, but perhaps she could give Michael and his legions the chance to be better, if that is what they truly sought. “Violence, retribution. This is not the way, and we both know it.”

Silence still more. Until finally, Michael made his decision.

“Very well, you have your amnesty. But Gadriel, this can not go unpunished.” He contemplated further, his hands steepled like a church she once worshipped at, before continuing, “your wings will be clipped, and we will watch you. Very closely.” He nodded, but she could tell this wasn’t his desired outcome.

“Thank you, Michael, for your compassion. You won’t regret it,” she said through gritted teeth, sharp as a lion’s, before she sheathed them. Not now. Not today. Today, she lived, and she will continue to do so, if only to continue God’s work. For so it become us to fulfill all righteousness.

Extras |

i. COMPANION: By her side, Gadriel’s companion is a LION. I’m hearkening back to the typological tradition of depicting a martyred saint with the instruments of their demise. St. Lawrence has his grill, St. Catherine of Alexandria her spiked wheel, and so Gadriel will have her lion.

ii. WINGS: Gadriel’s wings are clipped, but not torn from her back. Right now they don’t extend past her shoulder blades, but at once they were the most radiant, pure, white of the softest down. When they grow back, however, perhaps they will be muddled and murky.

#accepted #accepted: gadriel

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laceymorganwrites · 5 years

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Eternity in your arms

Word Count: 6,179 Pairing: Ban x reader

Warnings: swear words, smut at the end A/N: um, i went a bit overboard with this….been rewatching nnt recently and had this idea so ya...

The forgotten one (Merlin´s perspective)

The supreme deity is known for cursing her daughters, if she had more than one…

But she only gave birth to Elizabeth, didn´t she? What if I told you she had another daughter, who was even older than Elizabeth? Would you even believe me? Maybe the idea seems crazy at first, but think about it: think about the forgotten one. There exists one person that has been eliminated from everybody´s memories and knowledge, but why is that? What did she do to deserve this? Well, if my theory is correct and she is indeed the first daughter of the supreme deity, it would all make sense. What if she was even stronger than her mother and would replace her some day? It would only be logical to the deity to take away her daughter´s wings and make everybody forget about her existence, wouldn´t it? She wouldn´t have to be afraid of her daughter replacing her this way. And it is quite peculiar, considering all of the goddesses are strong except for one, the one they sent to the front rows… if she wasn´t dead, it would´ve been a pleasure to confirm my theory.

3,000 years ago, during the holy war

It was a mess of wings, magic and blood. It was chaos, you lost the overview a long time ago, now you were just standing in the middle of it all, completely lost and surrounded by the explosive impact it all had on you. It was loud, but it felt numb. It was war. Being the weakest daughter of the supreme deity wasn´t something to envy, you always had to fight to get her approval. You trained and fought and did everything she asked until she didn´t show you her hate anymore. She even allowed you to fight in the front lines in the war to seal the demon clan away. You promised to make her proud, but you lost the overview in the battlefield. Desperately trying to get it back you stumbled over a fairy corpse and fell against a demon. It was in this instance you knew you lost, you saw your sister run to you from the distance, she screamed out your name, shouted to you to get away, but you were in a trance, you couldn´t move. You were born without wings, so you were useless, your mother said. She now also saw your misery and shook her head at you. “All you´ve ever done is disappoint me...I wish you would just vanish from this world...but that punishment would be too light. Instead, I curse you to wander the earth in solitude all eternity! Everyone you shall meet, shall forget you immediately after and you shall be forgotten! It will be like you never existed!” the supreme deity´s words reached your ears right before the demon smashed you against a tree with all his might. Your body broke and you slid down onto the ground, falling unconscious right after.

30 years ago

You awoke feeling lightheaded, everything around you was dead silent, which confused you. Sitting up slowly and looking around, you found yourself shocked. Where was everyone? There was no blood, no corpses, no fighting. Everything was gone. “Hello?” you called out for someone, but nobody answered. You stood up and walked around to see where you were. Surrounded by woods, it was difficult to see, everything was dark and the only sounds you could make out were those of the animals. You tried to cast Ark, but it didn´t work. “Why can´t I use it? What is happening?” you were hysterical, weren´t you a goddess? Shouldn´t you be able to cast a spell or use magic? Maybe it was because you didn´t have wings. Where did you lose them again? Right...you were born without them. A disgrace to your race, to your mother, the supreme deity. And then it all came back to you. “She cursed me...” you whispered, you didn´t want this to be true. What have you ever done to her? All you did was everything she asked, you never spoke up about anything, wasn´t that enough? What else could you have done? “She...she wanted me to vanish” you realized and sighed, shaking your head. “But instead she cursed me with eternity...” you continued walking through the woods and finally reached the clear. It was too dark to see anything, so you rested until the sun came up. Then you could finally see a small town in the far distance. Somehow that motivated you and on midday you reached the town. A smile curled around your lips as you saw the people and town flourishing, that must mean you had won the war.

Now you wanted to confirm that and started walking faster. You didn´t really notice where you were going, so you bumped into a child. “Oh!

I´m sorry, little one” you bowed your head and apologized. The child didn´t say anything, but hurried away from you. Then you realized he had taken your necklace in the process. You ran after the child and stopped him. “Give it back to me! My sister gave this to me!” you yelled at him, he wasn´t even fazed, while you were angered. You ripped the necklace from his hands and wanted to go your way again, until you noticed his eyes. What shocked you wasn´t the unusual red color of them, but rather the empty look he gave you. “You little devil!” you growled at him, but then you sighed. “Where are your parents, little one? I´m bringing you back to them” you calmed your voice and talked gentler. As soon as you mentioned his parents, the boy seemed frightened. “Please don´t! I don´t wanna go back! I´m sorry I stole your necklace, please don´t bring me to them...anything but that!” he clutched onto your dress desperately. “Fine! Just...let go of me!” you grumbled and slightly pushed him away from you. There was no resistance, you could feel his bones underneath the worn out shirt he was wearing. Before you could say anything, he ran away from you.

Suddenly you noticed the dirt in the city, the worn out houses and suspicious people, who all looked at you with those cruel, greedy eyes. With a bad gut feeling, you continued to walk through the city, eventually reaching the good parts of this town. “Hey you! Did we win?” you asked a man who crossed your path. He just looked at you as if your were crazy. “Win what?” he asked. “The war! Did we manage to seal them away?” you asked again. “Do you mean the holy war? Of course we won that, but that was about 3,000 years ago...every child knows that” he shook his head in disapproval and went his way. In the next few days you tried your best to gather all the information you could get about where and when you woke up, everybody told you the war was long over, but for you it felt like yesterday that you were in the middle of it. “I´m not crazy...” you muttered to yourself, it was devastating that nobody believed you, and even more so that nobody remembered you. You ran into the kid occasionally, he was always accompanied by a man, who seemed kind. The kid didn´t look beat up anymore, he had a healthy weight now and his eyes seemed to gleam with happiness. It brought a smile on your face, maybe you could also experience this happiness someday. He bumped into you many more times, but when he did it again on the next day, he had already forgotten you. So this was what solitude felt like, the supreme deity was right, it was hell indeed. And you needed to change that, you needed to find a mage that could lift the curse. Maybe Merlin was still alive, but before you could finish the thought, you heard cries from a big mansion. Following your instincts, you rushed in and saved the kid from getting beat up more. You grabbed him and escaped, he showed you the way to a secret hideout he apparently shared with the man he was always with, so he told you. “Where´s your friend, little one?” you asked him, the feeling you had about this wasn´t good. He sat down next to you with his head down and shoulders slouched. “He didn´t come...” he whispered. You gently placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. “I´m sure something important happened, he didn´t leave you behind, he wouldn´t do that. If you remember one thing I said to you, please remember this.” you told him sincerely. He looked away and pouted. “Thank you...” he said as if he forced the words to come out of his mouth. You tilted your head and frowned, nobody has ever thanked you for anything. “...for saving me, you were just suddenly there...like an angel” he spoke like he just saw a miracle. “I´m far from an angel, little one.” you mumbled. “I know this sounds crazy but I feel like we´ve met before” he said out of the blue. “Do you remember?” could it be that the curse has been broken? “Remember what? I know we haven´t met before, but you just seem familiar...like Zhivago. He also saved me” he explained. “Oh...well, either way, I´m glad you´re safe.” you told him. “Listen, kid, I know you´re not gonna remember me in the morning, but if you have the chance, leave this town, and keep on living a happy life” you said, but then frowned. What was the point in telling him all of this when he´d just forget it anyway? What was the point in saving a child from a broken world? But you had to give it a try, you just had to do something...and then it came to you. Writing your words down and everything else you said to him, your story, who you were, you handed it to him. Even if he would forget you, you wrote down the proof that you´ve met before. He would forget you, but not the words you told him, maybe you could save him after all. Then you continued your journey, you would exist again, this was your goal.

20 years ago

You grew infuriated by your curse, growing more and more lonely, without any cure in sight. Entering a bar in the town you were currently gathering information about mages, you sat down in front of the barman and asked him. Unfortunately he also didn´t know anything, so you just ordered a drink. Someone plopped down next to you and also ordered something to drink. “Oi, I heard you ask about mages...I´m going to a place that might interest you” the stranger said. That was when you faced...crimson eyes? You frowned, he seemed familiar, you just couldn´t figure out why. “And what would that place be?” you couldn´t deny your interest, you just had to take the shot, you had tot try it, what else could you lose?

“Ever heard of the fountain of youth?” his eyes lit up as he grinned at you. Your eyes shot wide open and you leaned forward a bit. “You´re going to the fairy king´s forest?!” you smiled, maybe the fairies could help you. He nodded and smirked at you. “Wanna come?” he asked. You nodded heavily. “Guess that makes us partners~” he said in a sing sang voice. You reached out your hand. “I´m (Y/N)!” you introduced yourself. “Ban” he shook your hand and then proceeded to dash out of the bar. “Bastard!” you yelled as you realized he had stolen your necklace, again. You ran after him and were able to catch up with him. “You little devil, give it back!” you screamed at him. “Huh? Who´re you?” he looked at you dumbfounded and you groaned, ripping the necklace from his hands. You proceeded to write down the happening in your notebook, before handing it to him. “Do you still have that piece of paper I gave to you?” you asked, to which he nodded and read it. “I´d say that´s bullshit, but I remember stealing this necklace before” he mumbled. “Just hold onto this if we´re to run into each other ever again, I don´t want to start over every time” you said. He nodded and went back to the bar.

And before you knew it, you were on your way to the fairy king´s forest, holding onto your necklace. “Lizzie, what am I supposed to do if I don´t find a cure? All I have left of you is this necklace, I don´t even know what happened to you...I´m sorry for being such a disappointment...I just wish I wasn´t alone, I wish people would remember me” you sighed, lying in the soft grass as nightfall came and tears rolled down your face. “I´m so terribly lonely!” you cried out into the night air. “Are you happy now, supreme deity?! Can you hear me?! You won! I wish I was dead, okay?!” you cried out, falling to your knees. “What else do you want from me?” you whispered defeated. Something shifted beside you, making you jump slightly. “I finally found you, forgotten one” Merlin smirked. You stood up to face her. “So my theory was true after all...” she reminisced. “Who are you? What do you want from me?” you asked. The mage rolled her eyes and changed her appearance to how it was 3,000 years ago. You gasped and then smiled widely, you finally met her. “Merlin!” you hugged her and she changed back into the grown up version of herself. “I searched for you all these years...” you told her. “You see, my mother cursed me and I think you might be just the person who can lift it from me. I´ll do everything you ask of me in return” you still couldn´t believe your luck, finally something would happen. Merlin smirked. “Getting to know your curse is already reward enough for me” she said. The mage then started to work her magic on you, frowning. “There are four cursed parts in you, I´m afraid I can only cure two of them… your mother sealed your powers away in the necklace you wear, I can unleash them, then there´s the eternal life. I´m afraid I cannot undo this, but what I can undo are the effects of it, I can make people remember you again. And then there´s the fourth one, this curse hasn´t been unleashed yet...I don´t know what kind of curse it is, it seems like the opposite of the forgotten one but I can´t be sure unless it´s unleashed. But I don´t know how to unleash it...I´m sorry” Merlin said. You couldn´t help but laugh, your mother hated you so much, she cursed you four times. “Thank you, Merlin. For helping me. I would like the curses to be broken, so please, undo what you can, I´ll just have to live with the rest...” you frowned, thinking about the last decade, about how things would change now, but maybe the change wasn´t so good, maybe you were better off cursed. If people would remember you now, there would be a risk of falling in love, everyone you´d meet and get attached to would die eventually, this curse was even worse than the ones your mother bestowed you with. You sighed as you nodded to Merlin and she started to commence with her magic treatment. First she set the people´s memories free, everybody would remember you now. Then she broke your necklace, unleashing all your power that your mother took away from you. It was so overwhelming that it brought you to your knees, it was like hot and cold energy was flowing through your entire body, making you feel dizzy and start shaking, you had a murderous headache. You screamed as your wings forced themselves out of your body again, and then it was over, the former uncontrollable energy has quieted down and your wings didn´t hurt anymore. Smiling you stood up and flapped your wings, the weight felt good. “Thank you, Merlin” she smirked. “You´re very welcome. Now, what do you plan on doing with your new half uncursed life?” she asked you. You said nothing for a while, not having thought about that yourself, but then you smiled to yourself. “I´m going back to the city to see Ban” you couldn´t quite figure it out, this feeling you got every time you saw or thought about him. What was it that drew you to him? You needed to find out. Merlin chuckled: “Are you going to tell him?”. “Tell him what? How can I tell him something I myself haven´t figured out yet?” you asked. “Your heart figured it out already, you´re just trying to tell your head the same thing. I saw your memories and feelings when I broke your curse. You love him, but you don´t know why, so you´re telling yourself you don´t. I get it, the need for a logical explanation for everything, you´re telling yourself it´s too soon, it´s wrong, it can´t be...you don´t even know him, do you? But that´s where it gets interesting, you and your sister have an enormous heart, you feel things on such a high level, you feel more than anyone could ever imagine. Your sister accepted it, now you have to too. There´s nothing wrong with loving someone, even if you don´t know why… that´s what makes love so interesting, it´s nothing we can control, but it controls us, it makes sense when you think about it. People act on love to justify it instead of just letting it be and following their heart. I understand your struggle, but if there´s one thing I learned from your sister it is following your heart” Merlin smirked as you blushed, you felt so exposed. “But what if he doesn´t love me back? And even if...we could never be together...” you whispered, slouching your shoulders. “He´d clearly be a fool not to love you” Merlin mumbled.

Your feet subconsciously dragged you back to the city, you almost ran. Your eyes searched for Ban, but you didn´t admit it to yourself. Ignoring the people staring at your wings, you finally found him sitting on a small hill in the outskirts of the city. He sat there, crouched, with his head resting on his arms that were hugging his legs. He seemed glum, looking up at the moon. You felt your heart and lungs squeeze together and had to physically restrain yourself from hugging him. Hesitantly you sat down next to him and as he noticed, he flashed you a big toothy grin, making your chest flutter. You returned a shy smile. “I always knew you were an angel” he remarked, pointing at your wings. With a hopeful look on your face you turned to him. “Do you remember?” you asked and smiled when he nodded. “I thought I´d never see you again” he admitted sadly. “We always cross each other´s paths, don´t we?” you whispered, looking into the distance. “I know...and I´m glad. I don´t know what I´d do if we didn´t...” he confessed. You tilted your head. “Why is that?” you asked him. “Now that I remember, I know that you were always there for me, protecting me. You saved me from getting killed that time I was a kid… you know, I really thought there was something between us, like a connection, destiny or whatever… but then I realized that I only felt that way because I owed you for saving me. It´s just...this notebook you gave me, I always felt as if I knew you and now that you´re here before me, everything makes sense and confuses me at the same time. I just can´t figure it out” he told you. His words left you speechless, your heart hammered in your chest. Follow your heart, what was that even supposed to mean? You were about to find out. “I did...or rather, a friend helped me figure it out. She also lifted some of my curses. She told me that I should just follow my heart and not listen to my head, because love doesn´t need reason, it just...is. And I think she´s right, because all this time I kept telling myself what I felt couldn´t be and I tried to justify it in some twisted way, I think you´re the same… so, let´s figure it out together, whatever this is” you spoke boldly, feeling dizzy from the blood rushing in your head. Your hand subconsciously found its way to cup Ban´s cheek, looking up to him for permission. You were met with his eyes filled with desire, he gave you a soft smile as you both anticipated and bathed in the friction between you two. Slowly you leaned in, Ban meeting you halfway. As your lips finally connected it was as if thousand fireworks went off at the same time, illuminating you in warm light. You smiled into the soft kiss and kissed Ban more eager and hungry, it felt so good and so right, this was the closure you needed. Waves of energy and electricity rushed through your body, making you feel light. You held hands with Ban and pulled him closer with your wings so that he held you close by your waist. Ban slowly pulled away and opened his eyes. He looked at you for a while, smiling, before he spoke: “I think I love you”.

The fourth curse

Your mind went pitch black, it was as if something was ripped out of your life, or rather someone, but you couldn´t figure it out. You were sitting in the grass with a stranger next to you, you didn´t know how you got there and what you wanted. The last thing you remembered was that Merlin lifted the curse your mother bestowed on you. Merlin. You needed to find her, maybe she could explain all this, you must´ve been on a journey with her. You figured you should find her and left the hill, but the stranger came after you. “(Y/N)! Wait! Don´t you have anything to say to me? Was it all worth nothing? I wanted to get the fountain of youth to be with you! I really thought you loved me back...” he yelled, making you tilt your head. “Do I know you? I´m pretty sure we haven´t met before, what are you yelling about?” you asked confused. “You don´t remember me?” he asked, defeated. You frowned. “No. Should I?” you went on your way, leaving him behind without losing another thought on him.

Wandering the streets and then the woods until you finally found Merlin, you suddenly felt lost, without a goal in life. But that was because Merlin lifted your curse, you told yourself.

She looked at you confused when you came back. “Haven´t you spoken to Ban?” she asked and you asked yourself who that was. “Who?” you asked her. Merlin frowned and her face was full of concern. “Why don´t you remember him? You love him...” she told you. “I don´t love anyone, I never have” you answered, what was wrong with Merlin? “This can´t be right, something must´ve happened...” she mumbled. “Let me see your curses once again! Maybe this is the fourth one...” she asked but you declined. “I´m not letting you in my head again, you already cured me, there´s nothing else you can do” you demanded.

16 years ago

You were traveling with Merlin for quite a while now, helping her find magical objects and such. You even joined the holy knights with her, you were now traveling with a group called the seven deadly sins. The group was led by the son of the demon king, Meliodas. You confronted him about it, saying he should be long sealed away with the other demons. This was when you found out about what happened to him and your sister in the holy war, it left you completely cold. Merlin figured out your curse was a loveless life, but you didn´t think it was that bad, your mother protected you from getting hurt this way. Meliodas was out to recruit a new member on this day, that left only Diane, Merlin and you. Diane said she´d gather food so Merlin and you were all alone now.

“(Y/N), I´ve had quite enough of this curse, a life without love is not befitting for you. I know how much you love your sister, I can´t stand how her fate leaves you so cold… and you don´t even remember Ban, that´s just tragic… you don´t even care, do you? Don´t you see how much you´ve changed? It scares me, I will lift the curse, and if I have to knock you out for it!” she warned you, you´ve never seen her so angry before, it made you smirk. “Do you really think you can knock me out, little girl? Need I remind you that I´m a goddess stronger than my mother? And how often do I need to tell you to stop mentioning this Ban guy, I don´t know who that is!” she infuriated you, always trying to tell you you were a different person than you were. You were sick of it. “Yo! This is Ban, I just broke him out of prison, he´s gonna travel with us now” Meliodas announced when he was back. It broke Ban´s heart all over again seeing you like this, with this stern expression on your face, like you didn´t even know him. This wasn´t the you he remembered and knew, but did he really know you? He doubted it. You slowly stalked towards him without any expression on your face. “So you´re Ban, huh? I´ve heard quite a lot about you… tell me why I should remember you again?” your cold words were like knives in his heart, how could you have changed so much? “That´s it! I´ve had enough of it! Meliodas, hold her down!” Merlin shouted as she cast a magic spell on you, making you unable to move. “You´re making a huge mistake, Merlin. I told you to never get into my head again, you´re gonna regret this!” you hissed at her, trying to use your powers to fight against her, but you couldn´t do a thing. Merlin cast a magic insight of your head again and sighed heavily. “So I was right after all...”. She turned to Meliodas and Ban. “Before I break the curse, I think it´s only fair if you know what exactly is going on with (Y/N). The supreme deity, her mother, cursed her four times. The first curse was sealing her powers away, the second one was eternal life, the third one was making everyone forget about her and the fourth one is taking all the love away from her life, making her forget about her true love and not being able to express love ever again. Don´t be mad at her for being so cold, it wasn´t her fault, she had no other choice but act that way, all the love she had was taken away from her by force. I can´t imagine in how much pain she must be, after all she always felt more than others, just like her sister. Now, I don´t know what is going to happen after I lift the curse, I don´t know if she will remember you, Ban. But I will try anyways...” she concentrated and lifted your final curse.

You opened your eyes with the worst feeling of guilt and sorry you ever felt. What have you done? How could you break people´s hearts like that? It was cruel. You looked up at the smirking face of Merlin, a smiling Meliodas and Ban who looked like his whole world just crumbled. “Welcome back” Merlin said, followed by Meliodas´ chuckle. “We should have a drink!” he announced. Ban still didn´t say anything, he didn´t even look at you, but who could blame him. Before you knew it you were dashing out of the room, the pain in your chest was too much to bear. You ran until you couldn´t feel your feet anymore and then you slid down a wall and cried, because you didn´t know what else to do. After ten minutes when your tears have finally dried out, Merlin came to talk to you. “See? It´s better not being cursed” she sat down next to you. “Thank you, Merlin” you whispered. “You should come back, Ban and you have much to catch up on” she smiled. You shook your head. “I can´t go back to him, not after all I´ve done...I can´t even look at him without being ashamed of myself! Besides, I don´t think he wants to see me...” you mumbled, this was your own fault, you only deserved to feel the hurt you did right now. “You have to talk to him eventually, you know? It won´t be as bad as you think. I can only imagine how bad you must feel right now, but Ban will understand it, he will forgive you, he loves you” she sighed. “I don´t believe that” you said quietly, tears rolling down your cheeks yet again. “Come on, let´s go back” Merlin took your hand and dragged you back to your hideout. It was already late in the evening when you got back and Meliodas and Diane were fast asleep, Ban was still awake.

“Talk to him” Merlin urged you. Your guilt ate you alive, you just wanted to leave and never come back. But you couldn´t run like a coward again, you had to face your fears and take responsibility for your actions. With a shaking hand you knocked on his door. He opened it, still not looking at you. “I´m sorry for everything I said and did while I was cursed” you told him sincerely. He shook his head. “It´s not your fault, you don´t need to apologize for anything. Please come in, I need to tell you something” he had the same look of guilt in his eyes as you. You slowly walked in his room and closed the door, leaning against it. “What´s wrong, Ban?” you asked him gently. He sat down on his bed, sighing heavily.

“After you left that night, I didn´t know what to do, I was lost. But in the end I still went to the fairy king´s forest to get the fountain of youth...I told myself it wasn´t for you, but for me. I don´t want to die, you know? And...when I got there, there was this girl, Elaine...” he started sobbing and you frowned as he continued. “She was up there all alone, you know? She had no one, she told me. We got really close in this time, I stayed with her, I didn´t want the fountain anymore. Did you know it was the very thing that kept the fairy king´s forest alive? I couldn´t steal something like that. And then one day demons attacked, burning the whole thing down. I killed the demon, or so I thought… I didn´t know they had three hearts, he got Elaine and I told her to drink the fountain, which she did. And then I also got hurt and she… she kissed me, forcing me to drink the fountain. I knew she loved me, but I didn´t. I still loved you, I never loved anybody but you, even after you left, I couldn´t forget you and that´s so unfair towards Elaine. I should´ve loved her back. But I didn´t. It´s my fault she died.” Ban looked up at you, tears streaming down his face, he had a pleading look on his face, almost as if he begged you to forgive him. You gulped and walked over to him, sitting down next to him and pulling him close, cradling his back and hair until he calmed down. “It´s not your fault, there´s nothing you could´ve done to prevent her death. I´m sorry, Ban, I really am. But… you shouldn´t love me. Not after all I´ve done and said to you. And also not before that. We didn´t even know each other, it would´ve never worked, you were mortal, I should´ve never approached you after my curse was broken, it was selfish. Everything about us is wrong, Ban, can´t you see that? You wanted to have eternal life because of me, you wanted to bestow yourself with the worst and unbreakable curse because of a girl you didn´t even know? That´s just reckless… and forgiving yourself to move on is just stupid. I´m sorry, but loving me isn´t getting you anywhere...” you told him. Ban pulled away from your arms to look at you. “I know and I´m sorry, I just thought...I just thought you loved me back, because after all this time I still love you and I really don´t know what I should do with that, now that you´re telling me this is never going to work” his head hung low. You grabbed his hand and softly caressed it with your own as you chuckled. “I love you too, Ban. I just couldn´t say it back then, if you never told me, maybe I could´ve saved you...but it´s too late for that now.” you reminisced. “What now?” he asked, looking into your eyes deeply. You smiled. “The inevitable curse has already been bestowed on us, it´s too late to be saved, but you can move on. What is it that you want?” you met his gaze. “I want you. I want to be with you forever, I´d give anything for that...” he confessed. “You already gave everything you had...and I will give you all my heart and all my love. It all belongs to you, it always has. I´m yours, will you be mine?” you asked him. He leaned in closer to you. “I already am~” he smiled and pulled you in for a hug, kissing your neck. You were positioned on top of his lap and cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look up to you. Then you leaned down to kiss him softly. You felt Ban smile into the kiss and his hands roam over your back, pulling you even closer. You moaned a bit and Ban used the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth. He teased you a bit until you kissed him back hungrily, pulling away from his lips only to continue leaving kisses and hickeys along his neck. The friction got you aroused, you felt so relieved and happy having him by your side. You bit your lip and tugged at his shirt, begging him to pull it off. He did so smirking and watched with big eyes as you undressed as well. His fingers traced all over your naked skin slowly, he wanted to take all of your beauty in. Then he gently positioned you on his bed so you laid with your back down. Ban placed sloppy kisses all over your neck and collarbones, moving down to play with your breasts, leaving you sighing heavily and touching his back and muscular arms. Your hand quickly found his hard member and massaged it through his pants. Ban groaned lowly. Then he smiled at you. “You´re so beautiful, you know that?” he husked into your ear before he knelt in front of your bare legs, licking his lips. You blushed and bit your lip. He spread your legs slowly and peppered kisses over your legs, stopping at your folds. Starting to lick up and suck your clitoris, he left you trembling and lost for words. “I-it feels so good...” your breath hitched, making Ban smirk and continue more eagerly. When he deemed you wet enough he pulled back slowly and sucked on your neck, slipping his index finger inside of you, pushing it against your sweet spot. In the mean time you moaned, pressing nearer to Ban, taking his pants off and pumping his length in your hand. You were gentle, rubbing your thumb over his tip and cradling his balls in your hand. Ban soon added another finger as you sped up your movements. Ban groaned and growled in your ear lowly as a sign of enjoyment and he was smirking widely, having his eyes closed, thinking about how lucky he was. “Ban? I think I´m ready… “ you told him and he pulled out his fingers, replacing them with his cock. You let out a long cry of pleasure and moved your hips against him as did he. Your arms were interlocked behind his neck and he held you close by your waist, resting his head on your neck, kissing it thoroughly. “Yes….it feels so good, Ban” you smiled up at him in your ecstasy and held onto his arms. “I love you” you told him, you were so close to cumming. Ban stopped for an instance before he continued with deeper and faster strokes. Soon you were both cumming and held onto each other.

#nnt #the seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai #anime #imagine #fox sin ban #ban #nnt ban #ban x reader #one shot #nnt imagine

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peachyteabuck · 5 years

Text

sacrifice, sacrament

summary: we only know of one duty, and that is to love – albert camus

touches between tender lovers, unburdened by mortality or a world beyond their own

pairing: hades!valkyrie x persephone!reader

words: 2,514

trigger warnings: angst with fluffy ending, soft sex, scissoring, tribbing, light d/s dynamics

notes/other: 2019 goals completed: hades & persephone au. this fic also pushed me past 100,000 words written since I started posting fanfic on this blog!!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

READ ON AO3

Marriages are usually a time for fan fair, feasting, festivities. The uniting of two souls is not something the mortals take lightly, each celebration grander than the last as more and more people are brought together in an eternal union.

You tried to remember this as you’re passed off to the woman in front of you. The ghost of fried desserts and large plots of meat coat your nostrils, a small reminder of home and the life you so valiantly decided to leave behind. Phantom pains from the screams of joy from little children and your cheeks from smiling too much plant themselves in your muscles and skin, and as you step closer and closer to the altar. When your bare feet meet her shoed ones, you realized how much you truly didn’t know about your new life.

If they did not link their love into the earth, where would it go? You wondered. Would she wear shoes when you consummated the tie as well?

Vows are exchanged as smoothly as a rusted sword enters well-made armor. You choked up quickly, the occasional tear smearing the make-up you had been requested to wear. Right before the “I do”s your almost-betrothed wipes one out of the corner for your eye. She didn’t smile when you look up at her chocolate brown eyes, but she did squeeze your left hand. It was enough. Not much, but enough.

“Baby,” Valkyrie speaks lowly, her lips brushing against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Come back to me.”

You don’t pull away, one arm across your chest to fiddle with your necklace and the other at your side, the soft sheets bunched up in your hand. “I never left you, my love.”

The only witness was the mother, who was a thousand times more excited at the nuptials than her daughter.

Soon after the priest finished the rituals traditional to the wedding of gods he sent the newly-weds away, escorted by a few of the she-wolves that guard the entrance to the Underworld.

Valkyrie’s dressed, ready to start her day of judgement. The black suit is impeccable, fitting her perfectly with the matching matte tie, shirt, and shoes. “Mmm,” she pushes aside the soft, thin fabric of your nightgown to kiss further down your back. “I disagree, my love. What are you thinking about?”

“The day we wed,” you reply honestly. “How terrified I was of the life after I would become yours.”

Valkyrie doesn’t reply, and her touches have stopped. She remembers that day as vividly as you do, despite her contrasting emotions. Where you were terrified to your very core, she felt nothing but disdain. Law had it that she had to be married to someone within the first year of her crowning, and by “luck” your mother had offered you up during the social season that corresponded with the last few months of Valkyrie’s disgruntled search.

“I thought they were vicious beasts,” you mumbled. One of the large creatures sees your twitching fingers, and begrudgingly allowed you to pet their large, fleecy ears.

“Only to those who have not been allowed to enter,” Valkyrie said back with voice flat as a well-made kitchen table and just as smooth. As you enter the bottomless cave, there’s an indescribable darkness that makes your hands tense around your betrothed’s hand. “Are you scared?” She asked, still not looking your way.

“I-I…” You swallowed as something scaly brushed past your bare feet. “Yes.” “Well,” Val grumbles. “Welcome to your new home.”

The woman had intended on ruling the Underworld alone, spending eternity in sweet solitude with her cows and Cerberus. But not even she could defy the law of the gods, despite her stubborn ways.

The once-blank ceiling above the bed is now covered in deep green vines with minds of their own. As you still and tears well up in yours eyes, they reach down to curl around your limbs and wipe at the wet trails on your cheeks. The warmth from their leaves is calming, and you pet at the main stem as a small thank you.

“You know,” you can feel your wife smiling as she talks. “I still find it offensive that they don’t ever do that for me.”

You curl into her, tracing the stitching in the suit. The thick, woolen material scratches at the skin where Val’s pulled your dress has been pulled down. It’s an itch you welcome, rubbing into it while you cuddle into her chest. Valkyrie always runs cold, her olive skin always chilled when you’ve twisted your legs with hers or held her hand or, in the beginning, accidently brushed against her body as you shared Val’s large bed.

The marriage went unconsummated for months…four, to be exact. For the first week you hid in a greenhouse that had been abandoned long ago, tending to the expiring plants. You didn’t allow Val to touch you, you didn’t allow her to see you.

She knew what you felt, exactly what you felt. You were an abused puppy that had been dumped in a card box in the rain after pissing on the carpet. You weren’t mad at Valkyrie, you were petrified of her, of your new life, of your new home.

Somehow, you’re able to unbutton the first few buttons on her shirt and press your hands between her braless breasts. Val looks down at you, glaring at your innocent smile and contented face.

“Your fingers are so hot, love,” she whispers playfully. “Every time you touch me I think you’re going to burn me.”

You turn to face her, slipping more buttons back through their slits. Coyly, you lock eyes as you push off her scratchy jacket. “Is that a bad thing?”

Val smirks, untying the loose night gown you were to let it fall down your bare shoulders. The skin just below your collarbones is peppered with dark purple bruises from your escapades the night before, similar coloring smattered across your chest, inner thighs and waist. She reaches out to touch one, the tough skin of her fingertips touching the sensitive skin there. “Mm,” she hums thoughtfully as you both sit, facing each other topless. “Oh, of course not, wife, I love your calescence” she crawls over you, pushing the rest of your dress off. You get the message quickly, moving to undo her belt and zipper. “Love it when your fire stings me, when I dip my fingers into your heat and I think you’re going to set my arm ablaze. Love it when my lips drag across your skin and it feels like you’re going to incinerate them.”

You whimper as she finally removes the last of her clothing, leaving both of you naked as Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden (or, you think that’s how the Christians tell it). Each time your skin meets you think there’s going to be smoke, be marks scorched across both of yours’ bodies; the touch renders you speechless.

The first time Valkyrie lured you out was with a small Highland calf that had been sacrificed but cast aside by the rest of the “better,” more “worthy” gods an account of its missing back left leg. You stepped out of the greenhouse, hands up to your elbows and feet to your calves caked in deep, rich soil.

The small animal immediately limps over to you, happy noises leaving its mouth as you pet its hairy belly.

“What is her name?” You ask, looking to Valkyrie as if you were a child expecting their mother to take away their toy at any second.

“She doesn’t have one,” she said truthfully.

You furrow your brows thoughtfully for a second as you stare at the creature before widening to excitement. “We should call her Ludic!” Val’s brain stops as she watches you play with the three-legged creature. We, she thought. What do you mean “we”?

Nonetheless, after that day, you and Val became closer and closer as the cow grew.

You gasp as Valkyrie kisses down your navel before stopping right before your center. “You evoke such feeling of a fire in the middle of snowstorm, my love,” she tells you, her flattened tongue licking from the bottom of your slit to your sensitive nub. She ignores your high-pitched whines, ignores your begs as she sinks one, two fingers into you. “Make me want to curl beside you and fuck you with fervor.”

You cry as she leaves slow licks around her fingers, which remain annoyingly stagnant inside of you. As you try to fuck yourself down onto them, her unoccupied hand presses into your hips.

“Don’t move, love,” she whispers into your inner thigh. “I’ll take care of you, let me take care of you.”

Your head is flush against the pillow, your wild hair splayed across the black, silken pillows. Val loves seeing you like this, all vulnerable and glowing and desperate for the God of the Underworld to bring her unnamable pleasures. Your mouth hangs open as you gasp at each slight curl of her fingers or press of her tongue. This woman, this deity has you at her very whim. You would walk into the River Styx if she asked you, you’d trust she’d keep you safe as you stepped into the smoking green sludge.

Your orgasm is intense, each muscle contradiction a storm, a thunder cloud wherein each breath makes more electricity spark across your skin. Valkyrie coos as your body convulses violently, her sweet shs and light kisses bringing you down from your sweet high.

Something changed after you had named the cow; Valkyrie had your world turn upside down when she chose you as her wife, and it seems in beautiful revenge she had flipped yours as well. While you still loved to spend times in the greenhouse, you began to invite Val into your room at night when she would ask if you needed anything before bed, if you were comfortable, if you needed water.

She had come to expect that you would shake your head and turn over, but that night you simply pulled back the thick covers as a wordless welcome.

Val walked forward slowly, as not to scare a wild doe in the thick of her forest. “Are…are you sure, love?”

You just nodded, waiting for her to join you before curling yourself into her arms. She seemed tentative, worried any sudden movements would scare you off. You were relaxed though, and after months of sleeping so devastatingly alone, you fell asleep quickly in the arms of the woman you had married.

“Please, more,” you cried when she pulled off you. “Please, my god my king please give me more.”

You can feel Valkyrie’s smile as she kisses at your stained neck. “Of course, my queen. You know I will always grant you whatever you wish.”

In an instant she has your legs spread open with one thrown over her shoulder and the other pressed flat onto the disrupted sheets. With both hands pressed onto your chest, she begins to rock her heat against yours in long, fluid motions.

Soon you’re both throwing your heads back in pleasure as sounds of slick begins echoing in your shared room. You try and touch Val, try and trail you hands up her torso to draw her closer.

“Nuh-uh, my love,” she coos like before. For a moment you don’t understand, don’t understand why she’s stopped touching you until you feel her remove her own hands from your chest. She links your fingers together before pushing yours into each side of the pillow next to your head, the action giving her every type of leverage. All you can do is turn your head and kiss at her wrists, mind blank apart from the pleasure your wife brings you.

“I love you,” is all you can muster. “I love you I love you I love you.”

For a moment, Valkyrie slows as she tries to find the words to reply. Valkyrie, God and King of the Underworld, is not one for off-the-cuff professions of feelings, of intimacy. With you, though, she feels like impulsiveness is always a bad thing. Maybe spontaneity isn’t something to fear, maybe your happiness grounded in playfulness isn’t childless or something to fear.

So, Valkyrie speaks, oh does she speak.

“Gods, I love you more than Icarus loves the sun, I love you more than the mortals love to pray to Zeus, I love you more than you love that stupid cow. I love you more than I love this realm, I love you more than I love black coffee,” her ruts speed up as she professes. “I would lock Apollo up in a world of water if you wanted the sun, I would drink the oceans if you wanted to walk on their floors. There is nothing, oh- “Val’s head falls as she nears her own orgasm. “Oh, there’s nothing you don’t deserve, my love, and nothing I wouldn’t do to make you deserve it.”

Any further sounds from either of your mouths are loud gasps and choked cries as you both meet your peak. As Val collapses next to you she slows, wide smile plastered across her face.

Breathless, you’re the first to utter comprehensible words.

“Do you love me that much?” you mutter in the sunlight room. Val turns over and peppers kisses all over your face, making you giggle and try and pushing her away.

As she succeeds, she leaves one final peck over your left eyebrow. “Does that prove it?”

You two continued like that, cuddling in one another’s beds at any time possible. Each time you both became more and more adventurous with the other’s bodies. First it was the meeting of skin – not laying on the other side of the bed as you slept. Then came the brushing of fingertips, the lips meeting lips, the lips meeting skin, the lips meeting lips again.

You’d had…experiences…from your time on the face of the Earth. Cute little experiences with farm girls in wide fields hidden by tall grass and blossoming crops. They’d never been as awe-inspiring as your times with Valkyrie though, never been as toe-curling or jaw-dropping or leg-kicking as the early morning and late afternoon and mid-night testimonies to each other’s bodies.

There were other professions of passion, though, like when you left Val flowers on her desk or when she unties your dresses at the end of a hard gardening day.

But the love-making always topped all of that, was always the best way for both of you to express your devotion. No matter how frantic or tender, whether your wife is conquering your body or putting it back together. The electricity between you always seemed to be your greatest treasure.

For a moment you faux-consider, hmming and tapping your chin. Val fakes the offensive she takes, gasping and hitting your shoulder.

“Really? Are you going to do that?” she cries.

You shrug. “Yes.”

Val’s eyes narrow. “Yes to hesitating, or yes to the proof.”

Your smile is bright as you speak. “Both.”

#persephone reader #h & p tag #valkyrie x reader #brunnhilde x reader #valkyrie imagine #marvel imagine #lukis writes stuff #i wrote this in like..............#two days #idk how #idk why #but it doth been done

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maythefanfictionbewithyou · 5 years

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The Long Sleep

Summary: Lana takes AJ to see Archer for the first time after the coma.

The hospital loomed over her, like a scary fortress in one of AJ’s books. She had already been inside the fortress, she had already seen the monster inside, but AJ hadn’t. AJ hadn’t been exposed to the quiet, lifeless form of Sterling Archer. The last time she had seen her father, Archer had been bubbly and goofy, he had been blowing raspberries on her tummy, booping her nose and had been an overall goofball, ignoring Lana who had still been mad at him at the time.

Lana glanced in the rearview mirror and saw AJ playing with the teddy bear Archer had given her for her birthday. He had bought her an exuberant amount of gifts, but this was the only one that he had actually put effort into instead of just buying the most expensive gifts off the shelf, and AJ could tell. She pressed the front paw of the bear, and Archer’s voice saying, “Danger Zone,” with his usual theatrics, rang through the car, causing AJ to burst into a fit of giggles.

Lana and Archer had been at a low point of their relationship when he had bought the bear, and he had said that he wanted AJ to have a piece of him no matter what state his relationship with Lana was. Lana had thought it was sweet of him at the time and had fallen back into his bed that night, she was eternally grateful now that if anything happened to him, AJ would still have the bear. The giggling had died down in the back, and Lana turned around to see AJ clutching the bear to her chest, “I miss daddy,” AJ said sadly.

“Me too baby,” Lana told her, placing a comforting hand on her knee, “Do you know what we are doing?” Lana asked her, she had tried to go over what had happened with AJ, but she had not seemed to grasp the idea.

“Like in general or here?” AJ asked, Archer’s dumb face written all over hers.

Lana shook her head and tried to force herself through the next part, “Here. Daddy got very injured and his body is having a hard time fixing itself. He is still okay, but he is going to be asleep until his body can fix itself.”

“How long?” AJ asked, looking up at her mother with big hazel eyes.

“I don’t know, baby,” Lana said truthfully, her heart hurt as AJ’s eyes filled with tears. She pulled the bear away from her chest and pressed the little paw again.

“I love you AbbieJean, I hope you are having a badass day,” Archer's voice said. Lana had originally been furious that he had cussed in her teddy bear, to which he had argued that ass was not, in fact, a cuss word. She couldn’t find it in her to be mad at now, especially as her baby was now full on crying.

Lana got out of the car, swinging AJ’s backpack onto her shoulder before freeing AJ from her car seat and pulling her into her arms. All of AJs limbs wrapped around Lana, the toddler crying into the crook of her neck, “It’s going to be okay baby, we just have to be brave until daddy wakes up,” she told her, stroking the toddler’s hair, trying to push away her own tears. AJ nodded into her neck, but kept crying, “We’ll be okay baby.”

The room was like any other hospital room: quiet, bland and sterile. Malory was sitting in the chair beside the bed, not getting up to greet them, she barely nodded to acknowledge their presence. Lana sat down in the chair beside her, AJ in her lap. AJ paid little attention to Malory, her focus entirely on Archer. Lana tried to make small talk with Malory: “Any improvements? Have you gotten any sleep? Do you need food?” the usual. AJ had been antsy the whole time, squirming in Lana’s arms. She would glance between the two of them occasionally, but her attention always snapped back to Archer. After some struggling, AJ finally broke free of Lana and crawled on to the hospital bed. Lana went to stop her, but Malory put a hand up to stop her, “I don’t think she can do any more harm to him.”

“Daddy...” AJ said quietly, barely a whisper as she looked for a sign of life. She poked him, lifted his hand just for it to fall back into place, “Daddy...daddy,” she repeated, louder each time, trying to get him to react. Lana swore she could hear her heartbreaking, Malory was outright sobbing beside her. AJ was getting upset now, she took a deep breath, scrunched up her face, and yelled, “DADDY!” at the top of her lungs. Lana felt a small smile break through the pain, she was definitely Archer’s daughter, but her baby girl was starting to sob, and that had to be her first priority.

Lana motioned towards her and AJ crawled back into her lap, crying into her neck. Lana tried to console her, but nothing seemed to be working, even Malory was rubbing her back, trying to help. “Hey baby, do you want to show grandma what you brought daddy?” Lana asked her. She nodded slightly and Lana handed her off to Malory. She was still hiccuping but seemed to be doing better.

“What did you bring?” Malory asked her as Lana dug through the backpack. She pulled out a framed picture and handed it to AJ.

“Me and daddy,” AJ said showing Malory the picture. The picture had been Archer's favorite, AJ’s as well. Lana always claimed that it was an okay picture, but she loved the picture as well. The picture was of Archer holding an eighteen-month-old AJ, he was in the middle of booping her nose, and she had broken out into a fit of giggles. Lana didn’t know what deity had allowed for the picture to be taken, but between the giggling AJ and Archer’s broad smile, she was sure she had never seen Archer happier.

“That’s nice dear,” Malory said, and Lana could hear the tears in her voice, as she looked at the picture of the pair. “What else did you bring?” AJ looked at Lana and opened and closed her hand towards Lana, asking for the next thing. Lana smiled at her and handed her the picture she had drawn for Archer. It was mostly just two sticks, one considerably shorter than the other and a bunch of colorful scribbles, but Lana was sure the message still came through.

“Drew daddy and me,” AJ informed Malory, pointing at the tall stick as she said daddy, and the short stick when she said herself, Malory was definitely crying now. “You okay grandma?” AJ asked, reaching up to touch Malory’s face.

“I am fine, princess,” Malory told her, forcing a smile. Lana had known her for long enough to know she was not okay. “Did you bring anything else?”

“Yeah I brought a book,” AJ said, again motioning towards Lana. She handed her the book, and she hugged it to her. “Read it to daddy,” she told Malory, showing her the book.

“Do you want to go ahead and read it to him?” Lana asked AJ.

“Yes!” AJ said excitedly, nodding her head dramatically. Lana picked her up and sat her down next to Archer. AJ quickly made herself comfortable and started dramatically telling Archer her story. She was mostly rattling off nonsense, saying a few words that she remembered from the story, but it was cute nonetheless.

“So how are you really doing?” Lana asked Malory once AJ was absorbed in the book. Malory didn’t answer the question but instead went to pour herself a glass of bourbon from the bottle on the side table. She took a few sips before downing the rest of the drink.

“Not great,” she finally answered, staring at her son and granddaughter.

“It’s been a rough time. I hate that AJ has to see him like this,” Lana said, watching her daughters arms wave and flail as she told Archer the most animated version of her story possible.

“Well, at least he didn’t completely suck at everything,” Malory said pouring another drink and taking a huge swig of it and staring at the picture of Archer and AJ.

“He has done alright with that one thing. He may be a giant shithead, but he was patient, kind and just an overall good father when it came to AJ. I swear she gets a different Archer than anybody else in the entire world did,” Lana said, willing the tears in her eyes to go away.

“I told you it was a good idea,” Malory told her, a small smile on her face.

“And to think, I thought you were crazy. This is the one and only time I will ever tell you, you were right,” Lana told her.

“You know, I don’t think there is a single picture of Sterling and I, plenty of him and Woodhouse, he was there for every aspect of Sterling’s life, but I wasn’t,” Maloy said tracing a finger down the picture.

“Well, you are here now, and at least AJ won’t be able to say the same,” Lana said putting a comforting hand on Malory’s shoulder, surprised when she didn’t shake it off. She just continued staring at the picture, probably reliving all of the moments that she had let Archer down, though that would be literally every moment. Lana looked back at her little girl and the man that she hated to admit was the love of her life. AJ was excitedly talking about princesses and astronauts, the book discarded. Lana had known that using Archers sperm without his permission had been a bitch move, but she wouldn’t change that decision for anything in the world.

Part 2 Part 3

#archer #archer cartoon #sterling archer #lana kane #sterling/lana #sterling archer/lana kane #abbiejean kane archer #malory archer #archer fic

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withyouandthemoon · 6 years

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Decree

Author’s Note: It’s Qixi Festival here in China today and since it’s a festival partly celebrating the reunion of lovers, I couldn’t help but put Klaus and Caroline together yet again (as they should be). Here I present you a Hades/Persephone modern reincarnation AU. (I’ve only borrowed a small element from the original Qixi stories and tweaked it a bit, but anyone familiar with that mythology should be able to detect it.) Enjoy!

Caroline went to him as soon as she knew. First driving to the airport, then getting on a plane, then back to driving again on her rented car. Without a second thought, like it was a knee-jerk reflex, her body acting mechanically through the trivialities whilst her mind was stuck in that connection bigger even than herself. Yet here she was, across the ocean, rushing through the vast moors of the British Isles. Human life had become such a commonplace to her in the past twenty-or-so years.

Heather and daffodils were blooming outside her windows as she drove by, embellishing the monopoly of green on the lands regardless of the season being too early or too late. The bright colors rose at her approach and dwindled at her departure, forming a wave along the quiet roads of the countryside.

Caroline was never too good at controlling her powers provoked by her moods, nor did she cared to-in fact, she doubted any of the older gods did. They were all in their bones impetuous beings, driven more by the powers surging through their veins than a sane mind-which was probably why when the powers of nature ran thin and the piety of the few humans left believing in them wouldn’t suffice anymore a dozen centuries ago, they just ceased to be.

Vanishing was not too painful for her physically, just numb and cold, like the water of the Styx River guarding the Underworld. Her thoughts were frozen in place, her memories frosting and her emotions swallowed by a thick mist. And then when they thawed, drop by drop, the first thing breaking free from the nothingness was her last thought before there was no longer a her-the thought of his tousled blonde hair and widened blue eyes, fleeing into her mind like a lark that had been trapped in the glacier for centuries and miraculously maintained a heartbeat.

It sang to her, the melody always playing in the background when she pieced together her past as an immortal deity.

She didn’t know if it was a joke on nature’s part, to have gods like her reincarnated into a paltry human life, only to reconnect with their memories and powers when they’d barely grown into the weaker, more ignorant version of themselves. She wondered what it would achieve. Was it meant to be a lesson for them to rein in their hubris? To feel how fleeting life could be for these tiny creatures and show a smidgen of sympathy?

Yet how could she sympathize with them, if she’d never looked down upon them in the first place? She never took pity on the withering flowers, just as he never did with the dead in his realm. The only thing demeaning them was nature herself, creating cruelties like spring and death, constant reminders of their mortality sneering mockingly to their faces, and waiting for them to weakly sneer back.

Just as what she was doing to Caroline right now. Reminding her of how much time she’d lost-time with him-and mocking her for just realizing it after spending twenty-one meaningless years in oblivion.

But no matter. Now that she had eternity on her hand she just had to find him, like he found her the first time.

Although it might be more accurate to say that she had unconsciously drawn him to her, with her dainty fingers plucking a rosebud, its stem snapping with the fresh scent of sap as a last cry, mixed with her blood adorning the stubborn thorn.

She’d always secretly wanted to crush the flowers she created, to feel their velvety petals break into tatters in her palm, the sweet juices seeping from between her fingers so desperate and mournful. She wanted to crush them one by one, until the whole season was nothing but a muddled mess of tangled colors and pungent smells. After all, what was one spring if there were an infinite set of springs to come?

She was sucking her finger prickled by the thorn into her mouth when she heard his voice, soft and low, and her own blood instantly tasted sweeter, “I see you have a touch of death on your own fingertip.”

She knew who he was even before she stared into his beautiful face. Millions of times she’d granted plants the wills to feed from the rotten flesh six feet under-the silent darkness felt so very familiar she had to suppress a tiny smile as she discarded the rosebud in a cavalier flick of her wrist.

“I am merely doing it justice.”

She bit her tongue when those words escaped from her reckless lips, knowing full well his reputation of being sturdily just and impartial in his ruling of the Underworld.

“Then it seems we have more than one thing in common.”

The rosebud deserted on the ground slowly spread its petals into full blossom, but its color paled in comparison to her blushing cheeks. She watched as the almighty King of the Underworld bent his knees before her to pick up the rose, kissing it before placing it on the collar of his toga, just above his heart, all the while piercing her with his iron-hot eyes.

In that moment she knew she’d always make herself a place in his world, like a resilient plant sticking its roots into the hardest rocks, be it the impenetrable realm of the dead, or the English countryside in the disguise of a human life.

She knew his memories hadn’t come back yet, nor did his powers. The grapevines among the reincarnated deities brought to her the knowledge that the older and more powerful the gods, the slower their awakening. By now the lands were teeming with gods of nameless ponds and streams but those who were present during the battles of Titans were nowhere to be found.

Though his location was no secret to her-she felt the unbearable pulling even in her fitful sleep on the airplane, her heart thrashing in her chest ready to burst out. The name “Klaus” came to her in a murmur through the winds, and the rest of discovering his identity in the human world was just logistics.

She stopped the car at the back of the ancient mansion where a large garden resided. It’d been no surprise to her that Klaus would make his living by grooming people’s backyards. He’d always been fond of the manual work-he excelled in it, which was never made common knowledge. They had their own gardens just outside their palace in the Underworld, and he was the one who always tended to them, cropping and brushing just like he did with an artwork, even if he knew she could make the plants flourish without a batting of her long lashes.

Caroline wandered along the windy paths lined with cypress, her heart already settling down feeling his proximity. Rounding a corner she came into sight of a giant pomegranate tree, the orange-red flowers blooming like little flames among the branches, burning her eyes with a sudden rush of hot tears.

It was only fitting that the plant the fruit of which kept her with him before had brought her back to him.

She’d asked him once why he’d offered her pomegranate on her first visit to the Underworld. It was the third winter they’d spent together as King and Queen, the hearth in their room crackling with drowsy warmth as the scent of the fruit etched into their sheets and covers. The fruit was ever present on the nightstand beside their bed, a gesture he’d silently assumed since their union. She hadn’t once brought it up. She just used her powers to ensure the prolific supply, and then turned it into their own aphrodisiac by licking the juices from his tout muscles.

That morning she was feeling all too comfortable, wrapped up in the cool silk, his tight embrace, and the residue daze from her previous orgasm, that the tiny branches of curiosity were sprouting in her heart. So she picked up a few seeds from the glass plate, rolling them on her tongue while whispering the question in the crook of his neck.

She heard him sighing into the crown of her head in response, the tips of her hair spread out along her back humming with the inviting sound, “they remind me of immortality, these bizarre little fruits.” He traced the lines of her lips idly with a finger, “the endless time we have in our hands is no more than wasting in the void, with tiny pieces of sweetness stuck in your teeth. It’s a torture in disguise really.”

“But you enjoy torture.” She nibbled on his finger challengingly.

He huffed a laugh, “That may be so. However,” he put a little force on his finger and she sucked it in willingly, her tongue circling it like boneless vine, “this is a different kind of torture. You’d always get a taste of your heart’s desire,” suddenly he drew his finger out, leaving her with an emptiness in her mouth and a pout on her lips, “but never quite enough.”

“Not if you share it with another.”

She dove into his mouth, pushing the pomegranate seeds in along with her nimble tongue. Soon they were rolling around both their tongues, the friction setting off little sparks on her nerve endings, making her shiver with need and her powers oozing out of her like the juices between her legs. The seeds began sprouting in their mouths, the soft shoots tickling her palate till they reached down her throat. She moaned aloud in pleasure, her eyes snapping open for a moment, only to curl at the corners as a laugh involuntarily rolled out of her.

As aroused as she was, the image of the King of the Underworld with his mouth stuffed like a herbivore was too hilarious to let pass.

But then he was pinning her down and swallowing all her laughter, turning them into one moan after another, till the new branches growing out of the pomegranates on the nightstand broke their window, and the whole realm heard her screams of ecstasy.

That memory was one of the first to come back to Caroline, and for a long period of time the only one that she had. She’d savored it over and over just like a pomegranate seed, sucking up every last drop of juice and taste, drowning in the sweetness, but never getting enough. The empty yearning nearly drove her crazy.

And now, looking at the pomegranate tree before her eyes, she wondered if he’d suffered, even unconsciously, as she did. If he had ruby-colored dreams and felt lost when he woke, if the sight of the fruit made his cock and heart throb at the same time, if that was the reason why he was planting pomegranate trees in a British garden.

Entranced, Caroline reached out to pick a pomegranate flower from the tree, her eyes squinting a little at the fresh smell of the stem breaking. When she opened them again Klaus was there, the shades of the branches casting on his face covering his expression, only the up-turned corner of his lips lit up by the mid-summer sun.

“It’s a pity.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, “it won’t grow into fruit now that you’ve led it to an early death.”

Caroline snorted, “die a flower or die a fruit, what does it matter?”

“You put Prince Hamlet to shame, love.” He stepped out of the shadows, and Caroline’s breath hitched as she stared at his face, the face she’d dreamed of every night after she remembered him and the face she’d longed for in the hollow darkness of her sleep before that.

It’d been so long since she last saw him in broad daylight. There was no sunlight in the Underworld, the sky always steely-grey and the air stuffy with despair. She’d always pictured him with her in the half year she was among the living, but she didn’t remember the color of the sky bringing out the blue in his eyes like this, nor did she recall the lines on his smirking face filled with shining gold.

She wanted to run into his arms right then and there, to mash their flesh and bones together with the sun like honey and the scent of the herbs they crushed under their feet the spice. They’d make the perfect dish with everything blended and nothing out of place, and she’d devour them, as a whole. She’d drink and gorge and breathe and fill her aching palms with it, letting it rain on her from head to toe, drown herself in it, in them.

But she was frozen in place as the idea hit her like Zeus’ lightning bolt-he didn’t know her yet. He didn’t remember the time they spent together and the time they suffered apart, half-years of light and darkness passing before their eyes in turn like the streetlight cut into pieces by the sprinting midnight train, long before they were tossed into a human world where trains had been invented and that metaphor made any sense.

He didn’t understand any of that. He was only an un-awakened deity with the erroneous notion that he was human and an inexplicable fixation on pomegranates and maybe cypresses.

But then he was but a step from her, his fingers scorching her wrist and his head bending down. He was kissing the pomegranate flower ever so gently yet Caroline saw the poor flower catching on fire in her mind’s eye, as did her heart.

“I don’t…I don’t know why I did that.” Hesitation seeped into his eyes as he straightened up, and Caroline had to wonder how those blue orbs could appear so clear even when she could see the storm brewing in the midst, “except that it could make you stay.”

She cupped his cheek with a trembling hand, smoothing over his furrowed brows with her thumb and he effortlessly leant into her touch, closing the distance of several long meaningless centuries. “Apparently your instincts are failing you.” She smiled to reassure him as the dark shadow of dejection flashed through his face, “even the powers of the gods wouldn’t be able to drive me away.”

Klaus should probably be surprised, or even alarmed at that, but he just seemed pleased, his eyes fixated on her face drinking her in, murmuring things of which Caroline was sure he himself wasn’t aware. He had always been drawn to danger, trudging into the darkest gorges, fighting in the deadliest battles, falling for the woman who was suited to rule the living and the dead, as if he’d known all along it would change his life forever and he welcomed it.

It was with that certitude that he invited Caroline into the mansion where the owners had left him in charge while they went on vacations to the Caribbean. Somehow they shared the same feeling of waiting for something to happen, like holding one’s breath for the impending boom of thunder. But neither of them spoke of it. The lingering stares and brushes of skin left them simmering in a gentle fire all day long, their body tender and minds half-melted till they barely registered the goings-on around them.

That afternoon Klaus showed her around the garden, his masterpiece of trees, bushes and vines. He told her their names and characteristics, the shape of their flowers and the smell of their fruits fallen on the ground crushed by human foot. Caroline listened to him, rapt, not for the knowledge stored in her brain since birth, but for the passion in his tone, the rise and fall of cadence, the imperceptible pride coating his voice.

She remembered him introducing her to his kingdom the first time she followed him into the Underworld. He’d used the same voice, briefing her of the dead souls trapped there, every single one of them, going into details about their deeds as they lived and their sentence after death. She’d listened with cold interest, surrounded by broken limbs, out-stretched viscera and ear-piercing shrieks without a lift of her brows. When he’d finally finished she’d merely hummed.

“This place stinks.”

“Then we’ll grow flowers, everywhere you’d like.” He held her hand, as if trying to distract her with the heat of his palm from the use of the word “we”.

“I suppose it will do.” She pictured the white petals of lilies splattered with blood, and it was not at all an unpleasant sight.

It all seemed so distant looking back. The time when he endeavored to win her either with a kingdom or with chains or even both, the time when she was still trying not to show all her cards. They’d danced around each other, probing with a word here and a touch there, both thinking they were reeling the other in while in reality they were bound to meet in the middle.

But not this time. They’d waited so long for this without knowing they were waiting, without the existence of themselves, and that ended the second she booked the flight like a good little human.

That night Caroline pranced into Klaus’ room in her tank top and a pair of boxer shorts. She didn’t hold his gaze, but she didn’t evade it either. She walked right to the bed like she owned the room and she’d done it a million times before, every thud of her bare feet touching the hardwood floor her claim over him, his space, his life.

She climbed into the bed where he was leaning shirtless against the headboard. She curled into his side, wrapping his sheet around herself and placed her head on his stomach, using it as a pillow. The feeling of his warm skin against her cheek made her sigh out, and she felt his fingers tangling into her hair like a sigh of his own.

“Tell me a story about yourself.”

He chuckled and his fingers in her hair shook with it, “demanding, I see.”

He complied while she ran a finger along the lines between his abs-he’d always complied back in the days, telling her all about the ten years of the Battle of Titans, how he and his siblings overthrew the elder generation. But this time he told her about football matches and bar fights, how he’d gotten his tattoos on a drunken night, (those were new to her, and she scratched their edges slightly in envy that they’d accompanied him in his human years rather than her; but also desperately in desire because she was dying to lick them till those little birds on his bicep were too wet to fly)-things she filed into her keen mind to tease him about when he’d regained his memories.

“I was a dork in school, as people would say.” Klaus curled a strand of her hair around his finger and tickled her neck with the tip, making her squirm in protest, “when I was younger I was quite fond of wood-carving. Not to brag about it but I knew my way around knives. I used to carve out a whole palace with gardens attached,” His voice dimmed, “but somehow I couldn’t keep it-I couldn’t bear the sight of it.”

Caroline snuggled closer to him, biting her lips to keep her tears at bay. The exact picture of the carving flashed through her mind, only it was much older than this time. It was placed on the mantelpiece in their room from the Underworld, with mosses and tiny little flowers growing out of the dead wood, coloring the gardens and every window of the mini-sized palace-her finishing touch to his silly pastime.

“A girl in my class-Sally, I believe-begged to take it off my hand. I smashed it right before her. Got detention for a week.”

She’d seen punishments a thousand times harsher than that, 180 days a year in her past life. Blood had splattered on her white dresses, ruining one piece and another, but it was no more than a nuisance. Yet now hearing the ridiculous human approach of discipline placed on him pained her like thistles in her heart, the contradiction between their past and present cutting her raw and broken.

“It’ll all make sense in time, right?” Klaus brushed her cheekbone with his knuckle, “now that you are here…Soon. I can feel it.”

And so could she, clear as his heartbeat under her skull.

They settled into a peaceful routine in the following days, neither bringing up the subject again. He’d take her with him to do his gardening work, tending to the delicate plants with his strong hands and slender fingers. Jealousy looked unbecoming on Caroline (not that Klaus would ever agree-he always loved her eyes ignited with green fire), but she couldn’t help it. These plants dared to vie for his attention in her presence-cheeky little bastards playing damsels in distress when they’d survive a stampede out in the wild.

She was boiling in fury until he gently grabbed her hands and pushed a bunch of seedling in her palms. Guiding them into a pit he’d dug in the ground, he held her hands in place with one hand while the other pushed down the soil around. The earth was warmed by the sun but his hand was warmer, their fingers intertwined around the seedling, the tender flesh at the base of her fingers buzzing from all the sensations that Caroline had to close her eyes for a while to control her breath, otherwise the seedling would turn into a grown tree by now.

“Does it scare you that I wish it weren’t just our hands down there?” Klaus whispered, his eyes fixed on their hands buried in earth.

“It’ll only scare me if you don’t.”

For all its darkness and gloom, she missed the Underworld. It was the only home she chose for herself, and she its rightful Queen. The outsiders only knew of the reputation of death and suffering, of the goddess of spring forever imprisoned in the most harrowing place in all realms. But little did they know that before human technology it was the only haven where flowers bloom in the throes of winter-they thrived on the hopeless tears of the dead.

Little did they know that every day in the land of the living ailed her, tearing her heart apart petal by petal that could only be repaired by his deadly loving hands.

Caroline wondered if they could just dig their joint hands deeper and deeper until the ground cracked opened and revealed the gates of their home. She was never one for patience. In the past when he spent too much time in his meeting hall she’d send tenacious vines growing into the seams between the pillars and roof of the palace until it crashed and crumbled.

He’d break out of the debris to drag her to the side and kiss her senseless, even fuck her right on the ruins with stones and bricks digging into them like blood-thirsty teeth. But never once did he forge the grand building into invincible steel, something well within his aptitude.

He always did know how to soothe her temper-and in the process soothing his own, like right now as he pulled her hands out of the soft soil and pressed a kiss to her muddied knuckles, “you look ravishing with your hands dirty, love.” He smirked with dust in his stubble, “so I think I’ll have you under the sun for a while longer.”

Just like that, suddenly it wasn’t so bad playing the mundane human couple on a land that used to only remind her of his absence.

And they played it to the fullest. Every night was movie night, with a single sofa, her folded into his lap, and every snack shared between bites. Caroline was simply amused when she learned that horror was Klaus’ favorite genre. She sat through the repetitive plots and sound effects with a fine view of his neck and jaw line, more fascinated by the shrieking monsters and humans chasing each other reflected in his eyes.

“Do you not enjoy this?” She felt him caressing her bared shoulder, drawing a pattern she was almost sure resembled the scales of the vicious creature on the screen.

“It’s alright.” She searched her brain for an answer that would fit the speculations of his still-human mentality, “just a little scared.”

Truth was she felt almost at home when one of these movies were playing. They were not nearly as gruesome as what she’d witnessed in the Underworld, but if she turned her eyes away and let the screams and cries wash over her like a faraway thought, she could for a fleeting moment picture herself frowning in half-sleep in their old bedroom and him whispering apologies that he’d shove nettles down their throat the night after.

Memories of those nights made her sleepy so she snuggled further into him. She felt his smiling lips pressing to her forehead but his mumbled word was lost in her ears.

“Liar.”

The next morning that word finally caught up with her as she found Klaus in the little shed outside that he apparently used as a studio. She’d never before that day been aware that he kept his old passion, simply assuming that it transformed onto the canvass of nature and the palate turned from more grey to more green. She stared in silent awe and burgeoning hope as he painted her in one of the scenes from the movie they watched the night before, in the dress that she wore the first time he found her-an image he’d painted countless times in the past.

They dedicated a whole room to storing all his works featuring that one theme, an eternity of springs lining the walls soaked by the thick frosts of winter.

“You were so moved by Orpheus, yet he changed his flimsy tunes every time, not knowing that the greatest stories only ever needed one song; the else were mere pale duplication.” He’d told her when she playfully complained about the staggering amount, “though that’s why he earned but his own path to the living, while I rule in a throne right beside my Queen.”

His painting spree lasted for days to come, always the scenes from those horror movies they watched and always her smiling under the spotlight. The more blood and gore spread out around her, the brighter her smile.

Caroline didn’t ask. She didn’t point out that their past was gradually seeping into the paintings, shadows of the landscape of their realm appearing in the background, the faces of the made-up characters substituted by familiar ones sentenced to the Underworld since the void of Chaos. But she was ever present in the focal point of them all, past her, present her, in dresses, shifts, T-shirts and camisoles, smiling while the two different worlds etched into each other.

It was almost as if he was building and shaping his majestic kingdom all over again around the presence of her.

Caroline didn’t utter a word until one day, the content of the painting finally changed.

Whereas in the previous days the canvass was dominated by red and bluish-grey, this time it was almost swallowed by pitch black. She knew that color, the black with no shades-not a hint of another color added, the darkness impervious to sound or even light. It was the color of the Styx River guarding the border of the Underworld, ruthlessly dividing the two realms with its lethal waters. And there in the far corner, drenched in the darkness of peril, was her.

Caroline’s lips trembled at the sight, that same darkness from the painting aching in her bones, the coldness sawing through her every pore, leaving her hollow and unsteady. The same feeling weighing her down on that day. The day when all the gods faded from existence.

But…how could he know?

“I saw you.” Klaus’ voice startled her, and he reached out to ease the tremors of her body, his hand hovering just over her forearm, as if suddenly afraid of the touch, “I see everything in our realm, remember?” He let out a bitter laugh, his hand finally landing on her skin, instantly fighting away the chills that could never be rid of once you’ve been exposed to the waters of Styx, “I watched as you struggled in that blasted river but I was too weak to get to you…”

“You? Weak?” The forced laugh cut her throat, “beats my imagination.”

And she dared not imagine him frail, helpless, wasting away not in the eternity they were granted, but into the unthinkable nothingness, a void where she was but also wasn’t, where they took no shape or form, bore no minds or thoughts. For all her time of being she’d never been that scared and the only one who could drive that fear away was him. It was still two days from winter and she’d fought so hard to get to him, rules be damned. But in the end, it was all for naught.

“The same way I couldn’t bear the sight of you losing yourself in those dark waters.” His eyes averted to the painting and hers followed.

She saw herself in that moment, her face blank and disoriented, the dark mist of the river eating away at the blue in her eyes. She remembered how the river of hatred poisoned her heart, consuming her with such resentment and bitterness she could no longer see clear. Images of his face, every time she was leaving their realm behind stabbed at her from all angles, making her want to bellow out like a savage animal.

“All I ever wanted,” She tore those words out from the deepest layers of her, those hidden petals in the core of the bud that had never seen sunlight; she drained them from her marrow, scratched them from the walls of her vessels and pulled out her nerves to spell every letter, “is you.”

“Then you shall have me.” He answered, marrow, vessels and nerves, “and I, you.”

Their lips crushed together as their bodies mashed and this time it was not they that were fading, but the whole world around them. Yet it was not fading away, but rather fading into the two of them. Her hands roamed over his body and the sun was flowing underneath her fingers, she breathed him in and his smell was decorated by that of the cypresses, she swallowed his tongue and the summer breeze with the taste of pomegranate slipped down her throat.

And she knew they were now in the garden, in broad daylight, for all creatures and gods to see.

He flicked his wrist and there were wild flowers and briar between his fingers, weaved into a crown just like the old times. He placed it gently on her head with such an intense gaze, the thorns needling her making her moan softly and the smell of the few drops of blood from his fingertips making her knees weak from need.

He tended to her like a flower, caressing and brushing with the most delicate touch; he forged her like steel, kneading and stretching with unparalleled force and finesse. When his stubble prickled the lips of her core she cried out with her back arching, her nipples sticking out into his unrelenting waiting fingers and another scream was pried out of her. She felt his chuckling hot breath in between her legs and she had to clench them on his shoulders to anchor herself.

“Will you grant me permission to your Underworld, sweetheart?” He ran his fingers at the base of her thigh, just short of reach to her sex, and a fire spread from there to all the surfaces of her body but she wanted so much more-she wanted it burning inside her. She choked out a “yes” between her panting, and felt a scorching kiss on her inner thigh.

“As you wish, my Caroline.”

Reincarnation had never felt so real until he called her by the name of a new life, until his tongue dove into her to claim his presence. He licked and sucked and nibbled, the flesh, the warmth, the spasms between pleasure and pain that was the signature of existence. She felt death blooming all over her as she reached her high, and nothing had made her feel more alive.

She lost track of time the moment he thrust into her, their deviated paths now joined again for another eternity. Hours past or maybe years and centuries, with the world violently shifting its positions around them, the sky either above or under, her fingers twisting this minute into midair and the other into the soft earth, their juices and sweat dripping onto every leaf and every pebble.

In the throes of passion they clang to each other in exaltation and in despair, their newly-restored powers pouring out of them in sheer abandon. Skeletons burst through earth in a maze of deadly white, the fountains in the middle of the garden sprung hot-steaming melted steel while the hydrangeas growing rampant on the ground ever since they laid hands on each other turned blood red. Blowing in the wind was the sweet singing of larks, symphonied with the drawled-out howls of lost souls.

“How was that for reunion sex?” He whispered in her ear, his finger brushing her over-sensitive nipple, sending another shiver rippling through her.

“It’ll do,” she nibbled at his shoulder, already feeling his cock swelling once more inside her, “for now.”

He chuckled, “you always have a penchant for understatements, Kore.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the use of her old nickname. “Well I have high standards.”

“Then what about me?” He smirked cheekily, pinching her nipple while slightly moving his hip, his cock stirring a gasp out of her, “where do I fit into your high standards?”

“Beyond.”

He was perfect in all his imperfect ways. So were their following days loitering in the land of the living, just exploring the world born out of sunlight and enjoying each other’s company, like a normal human couple going on their second honeymoon.

It’d been centuries since he’d stepped foot out of the Underworld. He was strict to himself exactly as he was to the dead souls trapped in the lifeless realm-in they went and out they never shall be. Yet he had shown mercy, under her persuasion, once or twice in the string of centuries. He’d always made exceptions for her-she was that exception. But Caroline feared that this exception would not be extended to himself.

For spring could fit herself among the living, but never could death.

The ominous news arrived in the form of whispered words rousing her out of her sleep. The sheet on his side of the bed was cold as the feeling of dread settling in her heart, and she snuck down the stairs barefoot to the entrance of the drawing room.

It was odd, seeing the King of all gods donned in an immaculate suit, not a hair out of place. But his sharp eyes were what betrayed his true identity, the thunders booming underneath the calm façade of dark brown.

“And here I thought the first to call upon my door would be your designated messenger.” She heard Klaus’ voice, “how is good old Hermes fairing these days, brother?”

“Unfortunately, it is considerably hard to locate him given his well-known prowess. The same, however, could not be said about you.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Klaus feigned innocence.

Zeus merely chuckled, “you stirred quite the chaos the other day. I believe the human term of speech was…PDA?”

“And since when have you concerned yourself with humans?” She could detect the menace hidden in Klaus’ words, and apparently so could his brother, as his tone turned serious.

“I don’t. But that is no excuse to leave the Underworld untended.”

Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure both of them would have heard her by now. But for her sake neither addressed her as the conversation pushed forward.

“I would be more than glad to return to my kingdom,” Klaus paused, something soft creeping into his voice, “as long as Caroline comes with me.”

“We’ve been through this. Demeter…”

“I don’t bloody care what Demeter thinks! We’ve all been reincarnated and I say the rules change from here.”

Zeus sighed, “I understand that you two must be inseparable right now. But we have eternity on our hands, and you and I both know how time erodes all things. Could you swear to me that Persephone and you wouldn’t have been reduced to what Hera and I used to be, had we not made that deal?”

Her heart dropped when she didn’t hear him respond, but after a short while his sneer reached her ears, the cold sound warming her all over, “Hera had always been a cunning floozy and you, brother, were nothing but a hypocritical coward. Sorry but the comparison fell flat on me.”

“That may be so.” Zeus’ face revealed no emotion, “but I would do anything to resume the balance, and Hera hated you enough to lend me her powers so she wouldn’t ever see your face even on Gaia’s land. I guess there was something salvageable between us after all.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Klaus hissed through clenched teeth.

Zeus raised his hands and bolts of lightning whirled around Klaus like mesh, blocking him from her blurry sight, “you know I would.”

Clashes of thunder shook the room and then, as abrupt as they came, the lightning bolts disappeared into thin air, leaving in their wake the dizzying smell of burned debris and an absence that was Klaus mere seconds ago. She was frozen in place, feeling disoriented and lost like she was once again drowned in River Styx, not even a strangled scream could break through her clogged throat.

She watched in horror as Zeus fixed his cuff links with his eyes downcast, his voice vague and indecipherable in her ringing ears, “it’s only two months till winter, Persephone. I suggest you sit by and let the leaves fall on their own accords.”

And then he was gone.

Caroline slipped down the wall, curling into herself on the cold hardwood floor and sat there for days. What was time to her anyway? She had loads and loads to squander, time that she should be spending with him but wasn’t.

Once again she pictured him in the Underworld, painting her, thinking about her, but never uttering her name even in his sleep where he didn’t dare dream about her. He’d look after their flowers and water them with blood tortured out of the dead, he’d listen to the pleas of the poor souls sent to his realm each day, building a case for pardon like she might do in his mind, and then vindictively sentence them to even harsher punishments because she wasn’t there.

There would be no day or night for him, for the days didn’t see her return and the nights didn’t have her warm in his bed.

She imagined all his eternity in those fleeting days because there was not much to imagine. They had all the time in the world and yet the world was cruel enough to make them forsake half of it.

She wouldn’t have it. Not this time. Not ever again.

Just like driving the car and boarding the plane after she’d found Klaus’ whereabouts, she traveled to the borders of the Underworld straight from the floor of the British mansion without a single stop, in her sheer silk night gown with her feet bare and her hair a tousled mess, with the residue warmth and liveliness of the end of summer clinging to her skirt.

Let the leaves fall in her wake. Let the flowers wither and the fruits stricken by frost. Humans could call it El Nino or whatever fresh term of the day they invented to appease their narrow minds-it was but a blink of an eye in the eternity that she was claiming for her own.

The Styx River was as it always had been, darker than all the nights combined and colder than a heart maliciously scorned-but never colder than the prospect of his absence. The black mist whirling above the water hindered her sight but she could hear the whimpers of Cerberus from the other side. The loyal beast was trying to warn her-he had seen this once. He knew she wouldn’t make it across the river however hard she tried.

A condescending smile adorned Caroline’s tight lips. She never repeated her mistakes.

With her arms opened wide, a forest grew from scratch behind her, the trunks stretching high and the leaves casting shadows covering half the surface of the water. Flowers budded, bloomed and fell faster than a breath, and then the branches of the trees were teeming with ripe fruits, cherries and apples and apricots, their fragrance flowing over the stillness of the river like waves.

Soon there was a loud noise fast approaching from the other side, high-pitched cacklings like that of when a soul was flogged by brambles rolling together like thunder. Then came the shadows that shrouded the other half of the water. Crows, thousands of them, marching their way through the heavy mist of Styx River towards the fresh fruits that were never found in the realm of the dead, their beaks tainted with rotten flesh and stale blood glistening at the enticing aroma.

There were so many of them you could not tell one from another, their bodies forming a black bridge over the river with no seams nor holes in between.

Caroline closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, the sweet scent of fruits and death filling her lungs. Zeus’ words about eternity flashed through her mind, and she drowned them away with the deafening screams of crows.

She wanted eternity, but she also wanted every day and every night. She was greedy for not only the whispered endearments and the loving gaze, but the tiring, the cold shoulder, the dry spell, the tempers, the catastrophe of fights where every new leaf turned brown in the middle of April and every ghost screamed from the primroses growing out of their dead hearts, and the equal catastrophe of make-up sex where the roots of the trees from the upper world grew into new trees hanging upside down in their iron-grey sky.

She wanted it all, and no gods in all the realms could tell her otherwise.

She stepped onto the bridge of crows with the grace of a Queen that she had always been, their feathers tickling her feet and the flapping wings ruffling the fringe of her gown. But all that caught her attention was his imposing form on the other side of the bridge, approaching her with the pace and determination matching her own.

They met in the middle of the bridge and she crushed herself into his eager embrace. Their lips were fused together as soon as they touched, his fingers tangling into her hair and her hands reaching down his shirt to feel the heat of his skin. As their kiss deepened further she could feel an air-stream lifting them up a few inches till they were floating-the fruits were growing in a frenzy and the crows were flapping their wings so hard, hundreds dropped from sheer exhaustion and were instantly swallowed by the steely-cold water of River Styx.

But she paid no heed to any of that, her whole being satiated by his lips on hers, centuries of emptiness stuffed like frozen soil in her heart melting away from the warmth that he exuded. When they finally pulled back a little, landing back on the bridge and still basking in each other’s presence, they were both smiling like fools, their eyes drunken and skin flushed.

“Rumor has it that you never took even half a step out of the Underworld.” She teased him.

He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his face weary yet tender, “my body may be bound to this land through my oath, but my heart used to flee to the land of the living every time spring made its entrance. While winter came to an end for the livings, it was only just the beginning of suffering for me.”

Her smile became watery as she cupped his cheek in her palm, “you may keep your heart this time around, almighty King of the Underworld.” She braced herself for the weights of her next words, “I will make sure of it.”

He instantly tightened his arms around her, his body speaking all the seriousness of vows and promises that were hidden from his teasing tone, “then who am I to question your decree, my Queen?” He slightly bowed his head, his voice now a dangerous burning whisper, “and I pity those who ever dares to.”

With a certainty as palpable as the endless time shared between the two of them, she believed her words to be the ultimate truth, now that he was by her side for however long eternity was.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #kc drabbles #kc fanfiction #happy qixi festival my friends!#this started as a whim of the moment and ended up way longer than i thought #but i managed to finish it before my short trip so i'm posting it on the road yo #and yeah i'm still a bit vengeful so i'll have them together even in the underworld #my drabble #my fic #z writes

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pamphletstoinspire · 5 years

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Gospel Reading and Commentary for Thursday, January 3, 2019 - Roman Catholic - Luke 2: 21 - 24 (Optional Memorial of The Most Holy Name of Jesus)

21. And when eight days were accomplished for the circumcising of the child, his name was called JESUS, which was so named of the angel before he was conceived in the womb.

BEDE; Having related our Lord’s nativity, the Evangelist adds, And after that eight days were accomplished for the circumcision of the child. AMBROSE; Who is this Child, but He of whom it was said, Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given? For He was made under the law, that He might redeem them who were under the law. EPIPHAN. Now the followers of Ebion and Cerinthus say, “It is enough for a disciple if he be as his Master. But Christ circumcised Himself. Be you therefore circumcised.” But herein do they deceive themselves, destroying their own principles; for if Ebion should confess that Christ as God descended from heaven and was circumcised on the eighth day, it might then afford the ground of an argument for circumcision; but since he affirms Him to be mere man, surely as a boy he cannot be the cause of Himself being circumcised, as neither are infants the authors of their own circumcision. But we confess that it is God Himself who has descended from heaven, and that enclosed in a virgin’s womb, He abode there the whole time necessary for her delivery, until He should perfectly form to Himself of the virgin’s womb a human body; and that in this body He was not in appearance but truly circumcised on the eighth day, in order that the figures having come to this spiritual fulfillment, both by Himself and His disciples, might now be spread abroad no longer the figures but the reality.

ORIGEN; As we have died with Him at His death, and risen together with Him at His resurrection, so with Him have we been circumcised, and therefore need not now circumcision in the flesh. EPIPHAN. Christ was circumcised for several reasons. First indeed to show the reality of His flesh, in opposition to Manichaus and those who say that He came forth in appearance only. Secondly, that He might prove that His body was not of the same substance with the Deity, according to Apollinaris, and that it descended not from heaven, as Valentinian said. Thirdly, to add a confirmation to circumcision which He had of old instituted to wait His coming. Lastly, to leave no excuse to the Jews. For had He not been circumcised, they might have objected that they could not receive Christ uncircumcised. BEDE; He was circumcised also that He might enjoin upon us by His example the virtue of obedience and might take compassion on them who being placed under the law, were unable to bear the burdens of the law, to the end that He who came in the likeness of sinful flesh might not reject the remedy with which sinful flesh was wont to be healed. For circumcision brought in the law the same assistance of a saving cure to the wound of original sin which Baptism does in the time of the grace of revelation, except that as yet the circumcised could not enter the gates of the heavenly kingdom, but comforted after death with a blessed rest in Abraham’s bosom, they waited with a joyful hope for their entrance into eternal peace. ATHAN. For circumcision expressed nothing else, but the stripping off of the old birth, seeing that part was circumcised which caused the birth of the body. And thus it was done at that time as a sign of the future baptism through Christ. Therefore as soon as that of which it was a sign came, the figure ceased. For since the whole of the old man Adam is taken away by baptism, there remains nothing which the cutting of a part prefigures. CYRIL; It was the custom on the eighth day to perform the circumcision of the flesh. For on the eighth day Christ rose from the dead, and conveyed to us a spiritual circumcision, saying, Go and teach all nations, baptizing them. BEDE; Now in His resurrection was prefigured the resurrection of each of us both in the flesh and the Spirit, for Christ has taught us by being circumcised that our nature must both now in itself be purged from the stain of vice, and at the last day be restored from the plague of death. And as the Lord rose on the eighth day, i.e. the day after the seventh, (which is the Sabbath,) so we also after six ages of the world and after the seventh, which is the rest of souls, and is now carrying on in another life, shall rise as on the eighth day. CYRIL; But according to the command of the law, on the same day He received the imposition of a name, as it follows, His name was called Jesus which is interpreted Savior. For He was brought forth for the salvation of the whole world, which by His circumcision He prefigured, as the Apostle says to the Colossians, “you are circumcised with a circumcision made without hands, in the stripping off of the body of the flesh, to wit, the circumcision of Christ.”BEDE; That upon the day of His circumcision He also received the imposition of the name was likewise done in imitation of the old observances. For Abraham, who received the first sacrament of circumcision, was on the day of his circumcision thought worthy to be. blessed by the increase of his name. ORIGEN; But the name of Jesus, a glorious name and worthy of all honor, a name which is above every other, ought not first to be uttered by men, nor by them be brought into the world. Therefore significantly the Evangelist adds, which was called of the Angel, &c. BEDE; Of this name the elect also in their spiritual circumcision rejoice to be partakers, that as from Christ they are called Christians, so also from the Savior they may be called saved, which title was given them of God not only before they were conceived through faith in the womb of the Church, but even before the world began.

22. And when the days of her purification according to the law of Moses were accomplished, they brought him to Jerusalem, to present him to the Lord;

23. (As it is written in the law of the Lord, Every male that opens the womb shall be called holy to the Lord;)

24. And to offer a sacrifice according to that which is said in the law of the Lord, A pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons.

CYRIL; Next after the circumcision they wait for the time of purification, as it is said, And when the days of her purification according to the law of Moses were come. BEDE; If you diligently examine the words of the law, you will find indeed that the mother of God as she is free from all connection with man, so is she exempt from any obligation of the law. For not every woman who brings forth, but she who has received seed and brought forth, is pronounced unclean, and by the ordinances of the law is taught that she must be cleansed, in order to distinguish probably from her who though a virgin has conceived and brought forth. But that we might be loosed from the bonds of the law, as did Christ, so also Mary submitted herself of her own will to the law. TITUS BOST. Therefore the Evangelist has well observed, that the days of her purification were come according to the law, who since she had conceived of the Holy Spirit, was free from all uncleanness. It follows, They brought him to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord. ATHAN. But when was the Lord hid from His Father’s eye, that He should not be seen by Him, or what place is excepted from His dominion, that by remaining there He should be separate from His Father unless brought to Jerusalem and introduced into the temple? But for us perhaps these things were written. For as not to confer grace on Himself was He made man and circumcised in the flesh, but to make us Gods through grace, and that we might be circumcised in the Spirit, so for our sakes is He presented to the Lord, that we also might learn to present ourselves to the Lord. BEDE; On the thirty-third day after His circumcision He is presented to the Lord, signifying in a mystery that no one but he who is circumcised from his sins is worthy to come into the Lord’s sight, that no one who ho has not severed himself from all human ties can perfectly enter into the joys of the heavenly city. It follows, As it is written in the law of the Lord.

ORIGEN; Where are they who deny that Christ proclaimed in the Gospel the law to be of God, or can it be supposed that the righteous God made His own Son under a hostile law which He Himself had not given? It is written in the law of Moses as follows, Every male which opens the womb shall be called holy to the Lord. BEDE; By the words, opening the womb, he signifies the first-born both of man and beast, and each one of which was, according to the commandment, to be called holy to the Lord, and therefore to become the property of the priest, that is, so far that he was to receive a price for every first-born of man, and oblige every unclean animal to be ransomed. GREG. NYSS. Now this commandment of the law seems to have had its fulfillment in the incarnate God, in a very remarkable and peculiar manner. For He alone, ineffably conceived and incomprehensibly brought forth, opened the virgin’s womb, till then unopened by marriage, and after this birth miraculously retaining the seal of chastity. AMBROSE; For no union with man disclosed the secrets of the virgin’s womb, but the Holy Spirit infused the immaculate seed into an inviolate womb. He then who sanctified another womb in order that a prophet should be born, He it is who has opened the womb of His own mother, that the Immaculate should come forth. By the words opening the womb, he speaks of birth after the usual manner, not that the sacred abode of the virgin’s womb, which our Lord in entering sanctified, should now be thought by His proceeding forth from it to be deprived of its virginity. GREG. NYSS. But the offspring of this birth is alone seen to be spiritually male, as contracting no guilt from being born of a woman. Hence He is truly called holy, and therefore Gabriel, as if announcing that this commandment belonged to Him only, said, That Holy thing which shall be born of you shall be called, the Son of God. Now of other first-borns the wisdom of the Gospel has declared that they are called holy from their being offered to God. But the first-born of every creature, That holy thing which is born, &c. the Angel pronounces to be in the nature of its very being holy. AMBROSE; For among those that are born of a woman, the Lord Jesus alone is in every thing holy, who in the newness of His immaculate birth experienced not the contagion of earthly defilement, but by His Heavenly Majesty dispelled it. For if we follow the letter, how can every male be holy, since it is undoubted that many have been most wicked? But He is holy whom in the figure of a future mystery the pious ordinances of the divine law prefigured, because He alone was to open the hidden womb of the holy virgin Church for the begetting of nations. CYRIL; Oh the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! He offers victims, Who in each victim is honored equally with the Father. The Truth preserves the figures of the law. He who as God is the Maker of the law, as man has kept the law. Hence it follows, And that they should give a victim as it was ordered in the law of the Lord, a pair of turtle doves or two young pigeons. BEDE; Now this was the victim of the poor. For the Lord commanded in the law that they who were should offer a lamb for a son or a daughter as well as a turtle dove or pigeon; but they who were not able to offer a lamb should give two turtle doves or two young pigeons. Therefore the Lord, though he was rich, deigned to become poor, that by his poverty He might make us partakers of His riches.

CYRIL; But let us see what these offerings mean. The turtle dove is the most vocal of birds, and the pigeon the gentlest. And such was the Savior made unto us; He was endowed with perfect meekness, and like the turtle dove entranced the world, filling His garden with His own melodies. There was killed then either a turtle dove or a pigeon, that by a figure He might be shown forth to us as about to suffer in the flesh for the life of the world. BEDE; Or the pigeon denotes simplicity, the turtle dove chastity, for the pigeon is a lover of simplicity, and the turtle dove of chastity, so that if by chance she has lost her mate, she heeds not to find another. Rightly then are the pigeon and turtle dove offered as victims to the Lord, because the simple and chaste conversation of the faithful is a sacrifice of righteousness well pleasing to Him. ATHAN. He ordered two things to be offered, because as man consists of both body and soul, the Lord requires a double return from us, chastity and meekness, not only of the body, but also of the soul. Otherwise, man will be a dissembler and hypocrite, wearing the face of innocence to mask his hidden malice. BEDE; But while each bird, from its habit of wailing, represents the present sorrows of the saints, in this they differ, that the turtle is solitary, but the pigeon flies about in flocks, and hence the one points to the secret tears of confession, the other to the public assembling of the Church. BEDE; Or the pigeon which flies in flocks sets forth the busy intercourse of active life. The turtle, which delights in solitariness, tells of the lofty heights of the contemplative life. But because each victim is equally accepted by the Creator, St. Luke has purposely omitted whether the turtles or young pigeons were offered for the Lord, that he might not prefer one mode of life before another, but teach that both ought to be followed.

#gospel of luke

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itshigh-boop · 6 years

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Will Hanzo ever see Dragon!Symmetra again? It is not the dragon he was expecting. And why did Symmetra want his ribbon?

He sees her again but it’s not really because he intended it. Shortly after he returns to the surface with his treasure from Satya, he finds he can’t part with the crown. Despite knowing that it’d be worth an exorbitant amount of money, he can’t sell it. Every time he sees his reflection in the crown, he remembers golden eyes.However, one evening, he’s resting at a tavern and ends up having the crown spotted by other treasure hunters. They harass him, demanding to know where he got hold of such a beautiful piece. He refuses to share the secret, both from his pride as a treasure seeker himself and because he doesn’t want anyone else to disturb Satya. Nagini are beyond beasts of myth - stories say they are closer to deities than mortal. Disturbing one could cause all sorts of disorder. She let him go because he managed to entertain her, perhaps…but he doubts it would be the same for these fools.Unfortunately, his refusal to speak causes a bit of an uproar among treasure hunters, determined to find this secret cave that “only one other” has seen. Even though he knows others have seen Satya before, he’s probably the only one who bothered to make civilized contact. Hanzo goes back to the cave in secret, ensuring no one follows him. It’s difficult to find, since the first time he found it completely by accident, but he manages. He feels he has to warn Satya about possible intruders. She’s not a killer - he hadn’t sensed blood lust within her in their first encounter but who knows what she’s capable of.When he finds her, she’s in her human form, settled against a rock and overlooking her giant, tranquil pool, his yellow silk ribbon wrapped around her forearm. She doesn’t seem disturbed by his intrusion or presence but does ask him what caused him to return. He tells her of his mistake and she merely seems irritated at the greed of humankind. Nothing will happen if the mortals find her, beyond them thinking she’s a helpless human woman and ransack her cave. Hanzo still feels guilty for essentially causing her so much trouble. He asks her if there’s a way he can help and even offers his bow to dispose of any intruders. This offer, however, causes her to swear that she’d sooner seal off her cave to the rest of the world for all eternity. He quickly apologizes; it truly appears that Satya avoids killing as much as possible, if not entirely. Instead, she admits that perhaps the situation could be made into something productive. Millennia of guarding her cave have left her without stimulation. For all the trouble Hanzo has brought her, Satya says he’s also provided entertainment. She essentially demands his help in seeking a new cave - one untouched that she can mold to her design. It would pass the time, at least, and leave her in peace. He agrees readily, glad to help, and is surprised when she does not walk out in her human form. Instead, taking the form of a thin, long snake and slithering up his body until she reaches his head, where she asks him to hold his hair back. When he does, she uses herself as a ribbon, and the two are off.Satya is very picky - she will accept nothing less than perfection when they look for a new cave for her. Hanzo takes her to many caverns, caves, openings in the earth, but each one is deemed unworthy. He never questions her criteria but it does make things take longer. The archer doesn’t mind, instead, as the days stretch into weeks, and months, he takes to the companionship of his nagini partner. Hanzo’s never been one for jokes but he enjoys Satya’s dry sense of humor. He secretly admires how he can sense her curiosity whenever they pass through human settlements but she never has any questions for him.One night, as they rest underneath a milky-way littered night sky, Hanzo decides to ask why she agreed to his initial trade for her crown and his ribbon. It takes her a moment to answer but eventually she explains that she was once mortal; a girl who sought truth and order in a time where the world was more chaotic than it was now. The gods turned her into a nagini for her virtue, and truthfully, she’d been happier for it. But it did become lonely as time went on. Humanity is chaotic but it does present certain pleasures of mind and wonderful discoveries. Every human that ever wandered into her domain reminded her of less pleasant times in her once mortal life and she quickly sent them off. Hanzo was the first mortal to ever attempt contact as an equal rather than act as if she were some mindless beast simply guarding treasure. The trade presented itself as a chance to regain some token of humanity, the soft silk so different than her hard and cold gems - it was an anchor, at times. Hanzo is humbled that she would be so honest with him and thanks her. She makes another confession; in truth, many of the caves they’d seen were perfect. She just grew to enjoy and prefer his company, even while traveling in the world of chaotic humans. He returns the sentiment and the two fall into a comfortable silence. The journey for a cave is soon forgotten as the nagini tags along with the treasure hunter, and occasionally teases him about perhaps one day showing him to the realm of the naga, where he’d find treasure beyond his comprehension. In turn, he makes amused promises of showing her his homeland and the beauty they’ll find there.

#hanmetra #anon ask #au #man i'm tired but these two are a pretty chill way to end the night.

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overx · 6 years

Note

Kill Me (Death and Dirge)

Some things are inevitable.

Like the collision of two souls, drawn to each other across worlds. Fate is not such a fickle thing that those meant to be could ever miss each other by chance.

If anything… She was just the opposite.

So it was a familiar story would play out for the first time, a fated meeting to be repeated in ripples throughout creation. Spirits so different, but so much the same, clashing before intertwining.

“You’d be surprised how much you can learn in such a short time. The living have a lot more to offer than just souls to house and organize when you come for them.”

Silence, as usual, met lady Fate.

“It’ll only cost you one lifetime, Death. Long for him, short for you, so give it a spin.”

Rock wiped a hint of purple coolant from his cheek, eyes narrowing at the first person to ever keep up with him. An irritation, but also a temporary fascination.

A feeling that was only semi-shared by the tall blond across from him. Amusement more than annoyance at the tiny black haired android who’d barked at him since he set foot here. Was this really who he was meant to spend his time with? Was this the mortal selected to teach him something about the souls he collected? He’d been told he’d learn something from this one, but all he saw before him was a reckless, wretched creature that would be better taken care of with some other deity.

And all Rock saw was another machine, a challenge to be won or be conquered by. The first and only other being of his kind sentient enough to hold a conversation, to have ambition, to pose a threat.

“Stop lookin’ so fuckin’ calm an’ finish the fight ya started,” is demanded, green eyes narrowing dangerously in the taller man’s direction. Rock dusted himself off, teeth bared. “I don’t like t’ leave shit unsettled.”

It’s not your time.

No matter what the hothead may have desired, and he did want the only thing Death knew how to give, this was not the time and place destiny deemed for that life to be severed. A simple shake of the head is served as the blond’s answer. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“Why the fuck not?” Rock looked so furious to be rebuffed, but Death could see something else in those green eyes. A nameless thing that existed underneath the fury and hellfire. Not the despair he saw daily in the fading lives he visited, not fear, but a different kind of pain.

A miserable existence, with so much longer to live.

How tedious this would all be.

The Reaper didn’t know pity, not truly, but that hadn’t stopped him from sweeping the hotblooded android into another world for a short period. He’d offered the only thing he could think of, to keep the mortal he was supposed to interact with by his side.

They marched through the snow, Rock’s arms wrapped around himself for some useless layer for comfort and warmth. “That’s all it’ll take huh? I beat ya, for real, an’ you’ll grant me a merciful death?“

“That’s the idea,” an oversimplification on Rock’s part, but one that would be accepted. There would be no mercy in the machine’s end however, no peaceful afterlife, or place for his soul to wander. The artificial consciousness that he had could not be categorized, so if it would even exist afterwards was a question all its own.

Such an odd situation, why did they put me here?

“Well alright then, guess we better get t’ trainin’ so I can give both of us satisfyin’ fight for me t’ go out on.” Rock knew how brazen he must have sounded, surely, but there is no uncertainty in their arrangement for him. They’d train, together, until the Light-bot was good enough to win. And once he had…

If that’s really what he wants… what am I supposed to learn?

“A promise is a promise,” the blond replied, opening the door to the abandoned facility they’d be using. “…but don’t think it’ll be quick or easy.”

Not with so much time still left for Rock to live.

How had routine given way to something different? For months they crossed blades, traded fists, shared idle quips, everything as planned. So when did he begin to take an interest in the android’s moods? His opinions? They were often dark, morbid things, inky blackness covered up with layers of falsehoods to make them appear lighter. A cocky grin and easy denial, hiding nihilism akin to Death’s own views on existence. If it wasn’t for the self loathing, the way Rock threw himself at anything and everything destructive, maybe they could have shared a real conversation. A moment of understanding.

Maybe then, we could really talk.

But that cloud still hung over the mortal’s soul, the miasma of misery that drove him to constantly wound himself in any way he could. He was incapable of physical self harm, but that didn’t stop him from goading others into fights– as he’d tried when they met– or from finding ways to leave other scars on his heart.

The blond leaned over, leering down at his sparring partner, fresh with coolant from some off world encounter. His right arm was torn to shreds, exposed wiring sparking and leaking precious internal fluids.

You did it again.

Rock is given only a heavy sigh, before the snap of fingers can be heard. A cloud of purple light swarmed around them, healing flames stitching together the shorter man’s injuries. Nanites, or so the excuse was for Death’s “mortal” shell. Another machine, in Rock’s eyes, far more advanced, so far above him…

“…why do ya bother fixin’ these things…?“ The question is quiet, the machine unwilling to meet Death’s gaze. “…you know what I want. Why I come t’ see you day in an’ day out, so why not let it happen?“ It’s asked in a different tone than usual, though he likely expects the same answer. “If somethin’ else kills me, who cares?”

“Because, Rock, we made a deal. I can’t keep my promise and neither can you, if I let you go.“ The answer slips so easily from his mouth, despite the strange unease setting in. It’s not the whole truth anymore, is it? But even he doesn’t know the real answer beyond “duty”.

No, the loud, violent, and blunt little machine could have been allowed to pass several times now without intervention. All Death would have needed to do is collect his soul. And yet…

“…you’ve got a weird sense of honor, savin’ me over’n’over just so ya can keep that fucked up promise of ours.” He looks up, finally, a thin smile on his lips, like he knows something the God does not. “…guess we should get goin’, then. Don’t want t’ fall behind.“ A spark of something else flashes in his eyes, just behind the resignation there before. He’s already wandering off towards their normal training area, leaving the Reaper to simmer in his curiosity for another day.

Kissing, that’s what this was. Another impulsive decision made by his charge– for once surprising. A skill Rock had gotten very good at, as of late, catching Death off guard at the oddest times. The mortal had pinned him in their fight, pulled him close to deliver a crack to his jaw, and instead…

It’s warm, the living energy such a deep contrast to Death’s own cold aura. Their lips connect, once, twice, each sending a spark through the Reaper’s form. A slow burning fire that made him yearn to continue. To explore the foreign feelings and sensations never before afforded to him.

He eases back, red eyes uplifting to the lively green across from him. There are flames, but not like before. Not rage and hurt, but the shine of life so rarely found there. It makes him want to lean in, to feel it again, but…

“…is this really what you want?”

Or was this just another passing fancy? The newest trial in Rock’s attempted self destruction?

Tell me the truth.

Daunting, for such a simple question, and it makes the robot hesitate. He’d done it just now without thinking, yes, but the truth was he’d been enamored for a while. A fact he was slow to admit, color burning in his cheeks. “…I’m… curious? I don’t know what I was thinkin’, I just…“ he resisted the urge to look away, optics locked on the face in front of him, but only just. “…want t’ try it with you..?”

That was earnest enough, a longing for connection clear on the Light-bot’s flustered face.

You’ve led such a lonely existence, haven’t you..?

Rock clung in his recharge cycle, not unlike a human pulling close in sleep. The affectionate gesture had become so common now, it almost felt strange not to have it. Death rested his head against that mess of fluffy black hair, content in their silent stillness.

…it was a feeling that brought him dread, every time he watched Rock go.

He’d prolonged the android’s life several times now. Saved him from situations that could and should have killed him. At first in those early months it was only because he thought he hadn’t learned what Fate wanted him to, but now it was… different.

He felt his partner adjust, burying his face drowsily into Death’s side, and the Reaper frowned. He hooked an arm around the smaller being, keeping him safe, close.

There’s so little time left.

This wasn’t like watching a human go. They aged, fought disease, faded so clearly and visually. They gave up their souls, and Death only ever had to find them.

For Rock, there was only a deadline he’d been allowed to unknowingly miss. Close calls growing in exponentially since that date. He could be repaired again and again, survive things no human could as long as a few precious pieces stayed intact. It worked, up til now, justified by their morbid first day promise.

It was the unknown that kept Rock among the living. The underpinning fact that no one knew if he had a real soul, or if he would simply cease to exist. It was unprecedented. Terrifying. The thought of spending the rest of eternity torn away from the life they’d created together. Years spent building up to some futile end that neither of them wanted.

Is this why mortals fear me?

Another outing into the snowy wastes. They stopped, finally, at one of their favorite shared places. Glacial walls, filled with light and color, surrounded them. Cascading rainbows in the otherwise bleak, blizzard laden world. They’d come with the intention of sparring outdoors, and then spending the rest of their time as they pleased. Gleeful in their shared freedom, as always.

Rock caught his fist, reflexes far quicker than they ever had been that first day. The raven haired robot gave a grin, confident in his standing. Their rivalry had sharpened every skill over the years, and there was only so long his partner could stay ahead. Today he would win.

…and he did.

He held a blade to the blond’s throat, panting to vent steam into the cold air, but triumphant. “I finally fuckin’ did it! I…” It’s a short lived smile, a crestfallen look overtaking him as his love rose from the snow. “…I… did it…” is repeated, disbelief making the mortal start to tremble.

Death plopped a hand into Rock’s hair, giving it an easy ruffle. “…you did.”

Is this still what you want?

Rock swallowed, gaze cutting away from his partner. “…you must’ve been goin’ easy on me.”

So it isn’t.

“Oh..?” A tired smile graced the God’s face.

You want the same thing as me.

“No, I wasn’t, but there is… something I wanted to give you first. If you’ll take it.” Death knelt, revealing a box in his hands. “We would… have to renegotiate that deal of ours but…” It snapped open, blue ring sparkling almost as bright as the ice around them.

He watches Rock’s hands raise to cover his mouth, tears threatening to fall from the gut punch of horror turned joy. “Y-yes! Yes of course you moron.” He doesn’t even wait for the ring to be on his finger, pulling the blond from the snow to kiss him. “I love you.”

“…I love you, too.”

It’s a mortal custom, one that won’t mean anything once Rock is gone, but one that will also give them a little more joy all the same. A last needed push, before the end.

Something to hold onto, even if it’s only a trinket. A memory.

I don’t want you to go.

It’s coming faster now. A sense only he has, but even as they begin to wander home, he can see the exhaustion taking Rock’s body. The mere act of being around the God of Death was slowly killing his beloved, taking him in one final bittersweet act of inevitability.

The only gift Death knew how to give.

…The only one he wanted to take back.

#ziel-soundwave #;a fading light #;death’s guardian #~bounded vamploid~#~angel of death~#[strings of fate]#[the archives]#thegatesofinfinitespace #[~Not even the strings of fate will untangle me from you~]#[earth prime]#implied death tw

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lolcat76 · 6 years

Text

Perdu

your-otp-prompts

Your OTP is dead and both of them live together happily in the afterlife…. until they find out Person A is due to be reincarnated. Person B refuses to spend the rest of existence without them and asks to be reincarnated too. They then spend their new mortal lives trying to find each other again.

@okaynextcrisis just a THOUGHT in case either of you are BORED and/or NOT ENTIRELY FILLED WITH ANGSTY FEELS“I think you were right,” Bill said as he sat on the side of the bed next to her. “The Gods – or God – they exist.”

Laura sighed and stretched, one long leg creeping out from the covers to tease his thigh with her toes. He always woke before she did, long before they’d found themselves in this cabin, where the days were always sunny and the nights were just cool enough that she needed to curl into him to stay warm. Back when she’d fall asleep without him, and wake up with him breathing ambrosia, or worse, Joe’s rot-gut on her neck. Even in the throes of his worst hangover, he was still awake before she was, breathing a night of regrets into her skin as he tried to keep the chill of mortality from creeping any further into her bones.

Then, he woke her with reports and updates. Now, he woke her with random thoughts. Was your hair always this red, or is it just the sun here? Are there fish in that lake? Is it against the rules to find out? There’s a constellation of freckles that looks just like Virgon on your chest. When I was a kid, we had a dog that kicked in its sleep, but damn, woman, nothing like you.

Non-sequiturs and random thoughts, but never theological debates, and she was too warm, too comfortable and too naked to engage in any sort of deep conversation. “Hmmm...I would have thought the cabin and the pantry that’s always stocked with food was enough to tip you off on that score.”

“I had a pretty good idea,” he agreed.

She liked his ideas, especially here, especially now, where there was no concern of infection or exhaustion or dropping dead while he rambled about gardening. She had some damn good ideas as well. Laura wiggled a little closer to him, her arms escaping the comforter to wrap around his waist. “If you want further proof, come back to bed, and I’ll shout them, or him, or whomever, down again just for you.”

He didn’t pull away – he never pulled away from her, not once, not since that first handshake after the end of the worlds – but he didn’t come any closer. This was apparently a serious conversation. Laura tucked the duvet under her shoulders. “Bill? What brought this on?”

“We had some guests this morning.”

Guests? They didn’t have guests. That was the trade-off – sacrifice for the good of humanity, die of cancer, and walk around naked if she so chose in her little cabin in the afterlife. She’d held up her end of the bargain, so why the frak were they suddenly worrying about guests?

Gods, if it was Ellen Tigh, she’d give up her immortal soul here and now.

“Maybe guests is the wrong word,” Bill sighed. “Landlords? And I guess our rent is due?”

“Bill, you know you’re awful at metaphors. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

He shrugged, the grin her teasing brought to his lips not quite reaching his eyes. “All this has happened before, and all this is happening again.”

He was even worse at quoting Scripture than he was at metaphors. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, I’ve been told I’m going back to Earth.”

***

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. She was not spending the rest of eternity alone in a cabin. She was not giving up Bill, not just when she’d gotten used to his snoring and was finally able to live with him without wanting to smack him every time he asked her why she didn’t just wash her dish rather than leaving it in the sink.

No. She might not have been the most devout follower of the Gods, but she was devout enough. And sure, she thought Baltar’s sermons were 97% bullshit, but she’d believed in the other 3%, so why the hell were the nebulous Almighties showing up now and ruining her happily ever?

No. She wasn’t losing Bill again. Not now, not ever.

Laura kicked off the covers and dug through the rumpled bedclothes at her feet to find the t-shirt she’d tossed aside last night. No, she muttered as she tugged the shirt over her head, no, not this time. She pushed him out of the way and strode into the living room of their cabin, ready to do battle with…with what, exactly?

They didn’t have a phone, and even if they did the cabin didn’t have a phone book. She couldn’t just look up Gods Comma The in the Yellow Pages, punch in a phone number and insist that whatever holy beings were in charge of their interior design report for the full Roslin interrogation. She didn’t even have a damn airlock here.

She might have been the more faithful, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t shove a deity or two out an airlock if it meant keeping Bill with her.

But deities were nowhere to be found, and she was left standing in one of Bill’s old t-shirts and bare legs, trying to choke back tears at the realization that if this was going to happen, there was nothing – nothing – she could do to stop it.

“Laura?’ Bill asked. So hesitant. He hadn’t been timid around her since she was dying of cancer. He wrapped his arm around her waist, so gentle that she could almost feel him slipping away.

There was nothing she could do to stop it. Nothing, except this. She twined her fingers with his, squeezing so tightly that she was almost certain she’d broken a bone. Hers or his, she couldn’t tell, and didn’t particularly care.

“You’re not leaving me again. I don’t care what they said, I’m holding on to you and I’m never letting go. If they want you, they have to take both of us.”

***

It was her little ritual to mark the day her life fell apart with a strong drink in a shitty bar. Counterintuitive, but she had a sick appreciation for life’s little ironies. A shitty bar was where Rick told her he wasn’t going to leave his wife, and a strong drink was what led her to wrap her car around a telephone pole.

If she’d been as good a drunk then as she was now, she could have made it home, her car, her criminal record, and her unborn child intact. But, shit happened, and she was perfectly happy to revisit her past mistakes every year on this day. Maybe this time would be the time she’d finally get drunk enough to really wreck her car and never wake up. Practice makes perfect.

“All this has happened before,” she muttered, before throwing back another shot of tequila.

“All this will happen again.”

Laura looked up, her vision more than a little blurry. Most of the regulars at Joe’s knew to steer clear of her, if not by her attitude, then by the sharp tongue of the bartender who usually lectured her about being self-destructive, then dumped her in a cab. Rich coming from a man who was well past retirement age, but still pouring shots and cleaning up vomit. All this will happen again, she’d heard Jack say every Friday and Saturday night, when she’d been perched on her barstool. She’d never heard someone say it so…hopefully. As if all of this happening again was a good thing.

Maybe for him it was. This guy was new, and by the looks of his white starched uniform, not someone she wanted to know. Damn San Diego anyway. She should have moved back to New York or headed north to Los Angeles. Any city where she could hide among the freaks and dregs, instead of fighting for a spot at the bar with sailors and college students.

He looked a little long in the tooth to be a sailor, white uniform notwithstanding. He looked too old to be in a bar like this, and if she hadn’t just knocked back her fifth shot of tequila – Your last shot, young lady – she might have thought she was too old to be there as well.

“What do you know about what’s going to happen again?” She wobbled on her barstool, and she would have fallen off if he hadn’t grabbed her by the belt loops of her jeans and jerked her upright. She yanked his hands from her jeans and slapped them on the bar. “I didn’t ask for a hero.”

“I didn’t volunteer.” He smiled at her. Warm, his smile. Warm, his voice, too low and rough to be safe. Warmer still, his hands curling into hers.

They fit, his callused fingers twined against her own. Laura hadn’t held hands with a man since the accident that had broken 17 bones in her body, including four in her hand, but damn if his grip didn’t fit perfectly in hers.

Jagged edges looking for a match. If she were less drunk, she’d be pleased. If she were more drunk, she’d fuck him on the spot. She was just drunk enough to know that whatever this was, it was a bad idea. “I’m going home.” She slapped a couple of bills on the bar and pushed herself off the stool.

“That’s only two bucks,” Jack yelled after her as she weaved past Chads and Brads and Tyffinies and sailors, but Jack knew she’d be back. She’d make it right with him tomorrow, or the next day. Tonight, she needed to get the hell out of this bar.

She swayed on the street, punching in her password for Lyft again and again before giving up and muttering fuck it, I’ll walk. Laura made it halfway down the block before the night caught up with her, and she ducked into a storefront to throw up a night’s worth of booze and fish tacos.

“Happy birthday,” she whispered, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.

“As far as birthdays go, I’m guessing you’ve had better.”

Yes, just what she needed, the creep in the Navy uniform following her home. “If you touch me, I’ll fucking rip out our balls and feed them to the rats.”

He shrugged. “In San Francisco, I’d be worried, but this is San Diego. There are no rats.”

Not with four legs, anyway. “Whatever you think is going to happen, I can assure you it won’t.”

He brushed her hair back, then offered her a bottle of water. She swished it in her mouth, then spat the remnants of $60 worth of dinner and drowned sorrows into the gutter.

“Thanks,” she said, and held out the bottle.

He grimaced “Keep it.”

“Well, I’m going home now.” She stumbled down the street and would have taken a header in the middle of Friday night traffic if he hadn’t caught her again.

“Do you mind?”

“Matter of fact, I do. You might be intent on killing yourself, but I don’t want to see it.” His hands were still on her waist, still holding her more or less upright.

“I’m not trying to kill myself,” she said, unsure whether she was trying to convince him, or herself.

“I’m glad,” he said, “because I’ve seen you die once, Laura Roslin, and I don’t want to see it again.”

Who the fuck is Laura Roslin, she wanted to ask, and she would have if those five shots of tequila hadn’t chosen that moment to knock her ass right out.

***

The first thing she thought when she woke was that she desperately needed to brush her teeth. The second thing was that she probably owed Jack an apology, and definitely a tip. The third thing was who the hell was in bed with her?

She was still dressed, more or less. Shirt, underwear, socks, but her jeans were gone. Cracking her eyes to survey her surroundings, she was relieved to see that she was in her own bedroom, and her jeans were folded nightly on her desk.

Small mercies, but it didn’t explain how she’d gotten into her own bed, or who was breathing on her neck.

She’d had awkward mornings after before; she could survive this one. Wake him up, send him home, pretend that nothing happened for another 364 days.

Only problem was, he was already awake.

He was always awake before her, waiting for her to open her eyes and smile at him before he got out of the rack and started his day. “I love waking up to you,” he said, every morning.

Dammit, Jack, she’d settle up her tab but she wasn’t giving him a tip if whatever he’d given her last night led to hallucinations like this.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said. Nothing better than bringing up bodily functions to chase a man from her bed.

“Okay. Go.” He rolled onto his side and burrowed his face into his pillow, breathing into her 800-thredcount pillowcases just as easily as he’d breathed into her neck.

Is this all there is, Bill?

“You don’t have to be here when I get back,” she said.

Is this all there is?

“You said you wouldn’t let go.”

“No, I didn’t.” Yes, I did. Didn’t I? She didn’t remember saying it, but it felt real.

“Go to the bathroom. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Hair a little too processed, crow’s feet a little too prominent. She was too old for this, for waking up to a stranger in her bed. Even her robe, soft cotton instead of satin, was an old lady’s robe.

Is this all there is? A late night and too much to drink?

It was all that she had to offer. She tugged the belt of her robe a little too tight around her waist and ventured out of her bathroom, only to find her bed empty. Thank god, she sighed, breathing in a moment’s relief.

Until she heard pots and pans clanging in her kitchen. Why wouldn’t he just leave? She didn’t need to have breakfast with a stranger.

Saul will be here right after Jaffee brings breakfast, he said.

“Are you telling me you don’t want me to be here when breakfast is served?”

He pulled her closer, whispering the word no over and over again into her skin, brushing his lips against the ribs that had become too prominent in the last few weeks. “I want you to eat. If I could make you breakfast in bed, I would.”

Laura shook her head, trying to clear it from the fog of too much tequila and too much…whatever this was. She didn’t know any Saul. She didn’t even know this man’s name, or why he was here.

He was cooking her breakfast. Nobody had cooked her breakfast since college. He was making a mess of her kitchen, dipping low-calorie, high-fiber bread into an egg wash. He looked up and caught her eye, grinning at her as he dropped two slices of bread into a frying pan. “The French call it pain perdu, lost bread.” He gently laid a slice into her skillet. “Lost. How sad is that?””

“Lost bread.” Laura hummed. “It has a certain romance to it. Lost in what, I wonder?

“Do you really want to know?”

“No,” she admitted. She pulled plates out of her cabinets and folded napkins, waiting for breakfast to be ready. “I think I prefer things to be found, not lost.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” he muttered as he slid the French toast on her plate.

For the first time in she didn’t know how long, she thought God just might be listening.

#lolcat fic #spaceparents fic #Bill Adama #Laura Roslin #spaceparents #bsg #battlestar galactica

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