#his hair is like shoulder-blade length. it's about the symbolism!! of not making a change for a long time!! until he does cut it!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aspiringfictionwriter · 1 year

Text

A Light in the Darkness: Chapter Nineteen

Trigger warnings: mentions of lesbian attraction, (please notify if these need to be changed)

It had been two days since then, and thus far, and Arachne had reflected on this quite readily, it had been the best two days of her life, as it was filled with people enveloped in an air of kindness that she had never before seen or felt, so much so that it was almost overwhelming if being overwhelmed was a good thing. Better yet, she had made what she had found to be two real friends, ones that she had made not for political gain, but because she had truly found them to be people she enjoyed, as they were one of the many in the community that could make her laugh a true laugh without any repercussions.

One being the starry-eyed Amalica Caddath, who frequently wore more colorful clothing throughout the days Arachne had come to know her, and each day it seemed as if she was getting more and more attractive, her voice more captivating as the drow elf found to understand it more as well as its habits, and each little brush of their hands as they walked from place to place as she learned was a blissful occurrence despite its frequent happenings. She didn’t quite understand what had been taking over her senses the past few days, for the feeling the escapee felt around her newfound friend had been something akin to a fluttering in her stomach, a painful blush in her cheeks once she set it free accompanying it in quick succession. Whatever bodily reaction she was experiencing, Arachne knew not if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Despite this, she also had another companion, or rather friend to put it simply, who was a Sword Smith who bore the name of Ristil Alevar, although his job was far more complex than that, as he made small gadgets in his time alone, little, ‘magical bobbles,’ as he liked to call them, his talent nurtured by the community, and had been since his birth. For he had been born within the confines of the community, and had flourished with it for some time, his parents still looking after their son despite being out often as Unsheathed Blades for the Lady Eilistraee. In fact, it had been his mother and father, Ilphrin and Ereldra, who had met her and Amalica at the gates.

Ristil was the spitting image of his mother, with his unkempt shoulder length white hair, twisting and turning in impossibly thick knots, almost as if he had been wearing a braid once and never bothered to take it out until it withered into a matted mess. Although, half of the time, specifically due to his work, his hair was out of sight, it was only during his resting hours outside of the smallsmirthy, or even his workshop, which was also his home that he shared with a Moon Singer, Nym Mylyl, who expressed his own frequent exasperation at the explosions that frequented their home. As such, many times Ristil was seen with a pair of golden goggles, almost always mounted at the crown of his head when he wasn’t bent over a steaming hot weapon, signet ring, or holy symbol, and as such he typically wore a loose, soot-covered shirt, so dark it almost blended in with his ashen skin, the sleeves loose and short, although for proper decency, he wore a brown leather jacket over his shirt when he was outside of work.

The three of them had gotten along swimmingly, both Amalica and Ristil being friends before Arachne’s coming, and had been since Amalica had made her own escape from Abburth, which she spoke little of, just as she did, for either it was traumatic and horrible, as it most likely was due to the fall of her House, or it had been deadly as the newcomer’s had been. Each of them had their own strengths, and perhaps that was what made their connection so powerful, for they all had different prospects of certain tasks, and in turn the world about them, which offered time for jokes and the like. It was quite refreshing after everything that occurred over the past year or so.

As for what Arachne had been doing over the course of her two days, it had been quite simple, as she had been accompanied by Amalica as she did most of her work, learning the prayers, dances, and songs, as well as her private audiences with the Mother, who she had learned to be called Maccis, as all were before her in honor of the name of the cell itself, but most were in regards to other things, such as her adaptability with the changes at had, as well as her connection with the Lady of Dance.

She had remarked at the strange meaning behind her encounter with Eilistraee with much confusion, pondering why she had named Arachne as one she had, ‘touched,’ for all of them were touched by Her, although none had been saved by Her. The Mother simply stated that it had to have been something She had meant as a way to educate her in the ways of a true Goddess, one that standed for compassion and benevolence rather than apathy and malevolence which most of their brethren were taught. Either way, she had been brought to them safely, while she did still breathe, and that was a blessing in of itself, despite the fact that she had been advised to not speak of her encounter to others, as it may cause unrest within the community, which, in hindsight, made little sense, for the community had been nothing but accepting of different ways peoples were blessed by Eilistraee, and surely visions were of the same nature. But, what did she know compared to someone who dedicated their life to her Lady’s worship?

However, that was the least of her worries, as that day, or rather that night, was the night of Amalica’s predicted moonlit dance, a sacred celebration to those of their faith which occurred every full moon, just as it had been described to her their meeting, which seemed far off despite its proximity to the present. And typically it would spark joy in hearts such as hers if she had not been the main spectacle due to her recent coming, and as such the toasts of wine and beer would go to her wellbeing, safety, voice, and such.

It had been nice, though, that she had been given a beautiful dress for the occasion by an aging Argent Maid by the name of Talabrina, who was reaching the end of her time, being older than Mother Maccis at the age of seven hundred thirty, it had been a wonder she had lived so long throughout the many stages of the cell itself, the most prominent point in her life being a near eradication of the Dawn Guard, which then led to them being split up across many parts of the Underdark, and she had only been two hundred fifty. Either way, she had a dress to spare from quite a long time ago when, as she did say to Arachne, “slimmer about the waist.”

And quite a form-fitting dress it was, even complete with purple quartz accessories, perfectly matching her eyes. The dress itself was a deep purple with a deep dip into the chest area, the collar of the gown meeting where she V began, the line across stitched with intricate silver thread, depicting the shape of stars, something Arachne anticipated to see during this dance. At the waistline was a small line of quartz running around the entire part of the waist, acting as a makeshift belt, allowing for some form of separation from the top of the dress to the very bottom, which reached to her mid-calf despite the intention for it to fall at her knees, as Talabrina was much taller than her, but modesty for modesty’s sake was quite the nice change. Stitched into the shoulders of the dress, acting as covering for the otherwise sleeveless dress was a thin and transparent black cape, a web of silver wire sewn into the fabric itself, its design ending at her forearm despite the cape ending at her knees. To add to that was the purple quartz adornments, these being a beautiful triple-chained necklace, each with a gemstone at its center, for a long chain to be held by the longest one of the formation so that the chain fell into the V of the dress, bringing attention to her chest area. Wrapped upon her wrists were two silver bracelets, one on each wrist, each simple enough to compliment the quartz finger claws on her right hand.

One would think such a garment would be uncalled for in regards to such an event, but to those of their faith, a moonlit dance is when all properly groomed themselves (much to Ristil’s own discomfort) and dressed their best for a celebration, as it was akin to a great holy event, and in some people’s understanding, it was. That was the beauty of it all. Everyone was allowed to have their own thoughts and beliefs without repercussions. It was something Arachne admired very much.

So, walking with both Ristil and Amalica, it was no surprise that the smith’s normally matted hair was smooth and combed properly, most likely by his mother’s ministrations, and that, instead, he wore a clean coat and shirt instead of his typical outfit, as well as a lighter, indicating its cleaner disposition, brown leather jacket, its collar more refined, although still messy in its nature, since it was still, in fact, Ristil Alevar who was wearing it, as crude as that sounded.

However, what Amalica wore made Arachne’s heart clench, as it was one of the most flattering dresses she had seen on her in her time of knowing her, even as the three of them made talk of their day, the Maid muttering about one of her fellows who had fumbled about with a candle and nearly burned herself before she had to step in and catch it, landing on her ankle wrong in the process. Mother Maccis had managed to fix it with the use of magic, but if it had not been the night of a dance, she would not have cared much and let her ankle heal by itself. But despite the chaos of which she spoke, the escapee found solace in her friend’s voice, one of the many things she so adored about her.

As she continued speaking about her time in the temple, Arachne instead focused on her beautiful dress, which had taken up most of her attention at her flustered wonder, as its simplistic elegance was one to be admired. For it was a simple high collared white and gold dress with long sleeves that ran down to her calves as hers did, but with darker gray intertwining lines running about the sides of the front area and down to the forearm of the sleeve, most of it covered by a black cape connected to her by a golden band slung across the top of her chest, the shoulders of the extra garment itself also having connected golden accessories added to it as well. Around her waist was a brown corset that split in the center to showcase her stomach, extenuating her alluring waistline. But of course her eyes were spotless, framed by her hair once more, the long white mane of hers still wet from a recent washing, bangs framing her face alongside her wavy hair, her red eyes glimmering in the phosphorescent light accumulated from the larvae about the cavern as the entire cell journeyed to the surface.

“How about you, Arachne? How was your time with Miss Lualyrr?” Amalica called, breaking her from her spell with her beguiling voice, a wide smile placed upon her plump lips, dimples making themselves known as she did so. “I hear some people think she’s a little overbearing, and we can’t have our newcomer feel that way, now can we?”

She smiled, looking down for a moment before responding, “Her lessons were quite interesting, but I couldn’t quite figure out where to put my hands on the harp, so she tried to teach me how to play the lyre for a while, but I wasn’t hitting my stride just yet.” Arachne chuckled awkwardly, “Part of me thinks I’m beyond hope for this music stuff.”

“Don’t lie to yourself! I sucked, too, my first few lessons. Miss Lualyrr is an amazing Moon Singer, but sometimes she forgets we all start somewhere. I had to take lessons from Talabrina back when she could muster the energy to move her fingers fast enough.” Amalica paused for a moment, looking around for a moment before continuing. “I could help if you’d like. I don’t know much, but I know enough to get you started so that Miss Lualyrr doesn’t pull your fingers off.”

Arachne almost didn’t have time to catch herself before she began to blush, the sudden offer catching her off guard, the reaction almost unsolicited, Ristil saving her with his own remark, “Y’know, I heard that she did that to Mother Maccis, which is why she has that wooden one.” He leant over as if he was telling an immaculate tale, a wild-eyed expression enhancing his already big eyes, a playful flint lighting in the depths of his own irises. That was something she liked about him, as he wasn’t scared to speak his mind, or tell a joke, but she supposed it came from being untouched by the cruel truths of the drow community outside of this safe haven.

“Liar!” Amalica jeered.

“Am not!” Ristil retorted, an indignant smirk on his face.

If she hadn’t been walking, Arachne could have fallen over backwards from their teasing nature, attempting to catch her breath from the overwhelming laughter they caused her, and she had done so once before, but it had been in the comfort of the quaint home that the clergy had given to her to aid to her adjusting process, a couch beneath her to catch her fall. Despite the tears of joy in her eyes, she held her stance firm, her giggles still echoing throughout the cavern, blending in with the other conversation that was bound to occur during such a journey. The sense of family was bolstering her self-esteem and energy, for the small amount of time which she had spent in the cell, she had found herself contemplating real feelings of which she felt, such as her feelings about a religion she chose, or about Amalica.

Speaking of the gravitating woman, she had been laughing merrily from the depths of her throat, a wide smile on her face, which almost appeared permanent, as her smile was everlasting, a beacon of light in the darkness of the world, Arachne’s beacon. She found, as she basked upon Amalica, that there was almost a similarity between her and Durdyn, the starry-eyed curiosity being one of them, for, despite being an adult, the bard found wonders in the simplistic world of which she had chosen to take on, allowing her imagination to run wild. It made her a perfect fit as a storyteller and minstrel, another captivating thing about her.

Laughter ensued, the congregation seemed to cease all conversation as they began to alight from the Underdark and into the surface world, Arachne closing her eyes tight to prepare herself for the experience, attempting to devise a plan to engrave the sight into her mind, expecting it to be a stunning sight, as, unlike everyone about her, she had never been to the surface, this being one of her drives to leaving. Her lost family members had been quite specific on their desire to be where she was, and she felt as if preserving the memory would show the lost souls of her kin some form of closure to their morals.

So, as she stepped onto the ground of the surface world, a large inclined step barring her from going upwards without focus, she felt her feet press against a long and dark green plant all about the ground, sticking upwards and swaying with the light wind, void of the unpleasant smell of sulfur, but instead with a nonexistent fragrance, the simple movement of the weather dictating it. Within it was a plant with a deep green supporting stem, petals of various colors decorating them, scattered around the site itself.

And if the ground wasn’t mesmerizing enough, as Arachne looked upward, into the sky, she saw a glimmering ball of silver, which she knew to be the moon, full and gleaming, much more captivating in person, behind it a backdrop of black sky, tiny dots of silver lining about it in an almost organized pattern, some indistinct shapes being made depending on where one looked, one being that of a five-headed dragon as well as a normal one, each star illustrating a different curve or contour in the shape.

It was almost as if time stood still as she gazed upon such beauty, that was until Amalica jumped in front of her, taking her hand, her crimson eyes scrunched up in joy, her own alluring appearance beside the surface’s almost too much, a small blush lining the edges of her cheekbones, something she hoped to be easily thought of as makeup. “C’mon Arachne! Don’t look so wide-eyed! Let’s dance!”

Feeling herself being dragged away by the soft and strong hand of her friend, she felt as if she was flying on air, a smile rising on her face as she and Amalica playfully spun about as the bonfire was lit, the Moon Singers beginning to play their tunes of wonder as they all danced, each drow elf possessing a companion to dance with, some of the younger children dancing with both of their parents, singing along playfully with the tunes.

Arachne, though, stared into the eyes of her friend, one who caused such strange feelings within her, the moon behind her, serving as a way for her to feel as if they were the only two people in the vicinity of the music. She felt herself grab onto Amalica’s hand more securely, giggling as she did so in unison with her, twirling her partner with the aid of her longer arms despite their matching heights, her white gown fluttering upwards to form a small air pocket where the dress made its own spin, mesmerized as it did so, dancing along to the music being on of her priorities as she looked upon the enthralling elf with awe.

Amalica giggled, grabbing onto her hands and squeezing them with an infectious smile, “How do you think tonight’s gonna go, Arachne?” She and her interlocked arms, skipping about in a circle, Arachne’s own steps uncertain to contrast her partner’s certainty, her feet already worn from the fast and intricate movements. Whoever had said dancing was easy had to have been quite the skilled liar.

“It’s too early in the night to tell, but I have a good feeling that we’ll have a lot of fun!” Arachne exclaimed, tucking her head underneath Amalica’s elbow as she spun around, her right hand still interlocked with hers, her own purple dress doing the same independent spin as the white one had done minutes ago.

“And drinks!” Amalica added frivolously.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Arachne had long since decided to take a bit of a break from dancing, instead watching Amalica frolick merrily about the remaining cell members, bringing wider smiles to those she talked to, and even to those who had yet to be graced with her fine company were brought joy to see her boisterous behavior, something she had learned to accept, and even like, about her new friend, this being one of the few things she was certain about her kind friend.

She sat admiring the woman causing her contemplation, feeling her hands against the strangely moist and sharp, “grass,” below her, a small blanket ensuring her clothes’ own cleanliness, her hands still wandering to the green plants underneath her form despite her best efforts. In this new area, it seemed as if her curiosity knew no bounds, each strange sight another thing to add to her collection of memories, as she had seen animals not purged by hunters, as well as creatures who didn’t harm one another for food, instead keeping themselves to themselves, something of new prospect for her despite having the knowledge of the more peaceful tendencies of the world above.

Hearing a voice behind her, she jumped for a moment before realizing its familiarity, a smile forming once again on her features instead of the resting one that once adorned it as she saw Ristil place a blanket on the ground, pressing a knee to his chest as he himself had an almost knowing grin on his face, “So…” he began, a hitch in his voice as if he was implying something she was meant to know. “What’s goin’ on with you and Amalica? I’m dumb, but I’m not that dumb.”

Arachne chuckled almost awkwardly, turning to her friend with an almost weighed expression of confusion upon her face. “I don’t know why, but ever since I met her, I’ve had this strange feeling in my gut and have been high-strung over the simplest interaction with her. It’s been a consistent thing, and, frankly, I have no clue what might be causing it.”

Ristil almost looked taken aback, either by what she had been describing, or at her own obliviousness, the latter probably being the most likely, as her knowledge and feelings in regards to friends was rather limited to politics and the like. “You sound like you’re in love. Looks like it too.”

“‘Love’? Like your parents?”

“Yeah, just like my parents!” Ristil explained, looking forwards towards the dancing drow elves before turning to her once again. “It’s when you really care for someone, more than you do a family member and more than you do a friend, like you’d lay your life down for them if you had to. It’s hard to explain. You really just feel it, deep in the marrow of your bones, and sometimes, when you’re in love, the other person feels the same way, and after you tell each other how you feel, you get in a relationship, get engaged, get married, and have kids if you want to or if you can.”

Arachne looked down for a moment, watching as Amalica began to walk towards them, beckoning for them to rise and begin to dance again, the two of them standing up from their sitting positions, and, taking a glance at him before they began to move towards their friend, she said, almost as a spoken thought, “Then maybe it is love.”

__________________

This plot is so hard to write, but it's fun!

See you next Wednesday!

2 notes · View notes

phantasmagoriaoriginals · 3 years

Text

Here There be Monsters: Mage Basic Intros (Part 1)

Hyousa

She/her, Red Mage.

Her history is fairly normal. While her mother died in Hyousa’s early childhood, she was close with her father and lived happily enough even after the loss. She joined the Organization willingly for the sake of making a difference in the world, even mostly unaware of how difficult that would be. Cream was given to her as a Familiar a couple years in.

Cheerful, energetic, and persistently optimistic, Hyousa is the kind of person who aggressively sees the best in the world and everyone in it. While some people consider her hopelessly naive, her determination can’t be beat. Hyousa is actively, willingly kind to everyone who crosses her path, whether they deserve it or not. She chooses to see the best.

Her magic is the typical Red— pure power made of her own magical energy. It’s completely suited for physical combat, but somehow, Hyousa manages not to make it violent. She fights to help people!

5′5, 19. Thin, girlish build which nonetheless carries quite a bit of lean muscle. Short, cinnamon brown hair worn mostly slicked back and out of her face, with only a few strands escaping to fall on her forehead. Wide, bright brown eyes, fair skin. She constantly fidgets around.

Sinclair

She/her, Purple Mage.

After growing up at an orphanage following the death of her parents in an unfortunate accident, Sinclair willingly joined the Organization as a way of making use of her magic. She’d mostly taught it to herself as a way of looking after the orphanage’s children, and once she had access to a real way to improve it, she wanted to learn how to use it properly.

Sinclair’s personality is best defined as motherly. She’s an incredibly kind, soft person who others feel innately comfortable around. However, she’s also strict on those who do wrong and wants to see people improve, not be coddled. Caretaking is in her nature. She looks after those around her and does her best to keep everyone happy and well.

Her magic primarily operates around charms imbued with curses and blessings. While she generally prefers to use the blessings to help her allies, when she sets her mind to a curse, it’s deadly.

5′6, early 30′s. Fat, with a pear-shaped, soft build. Wide through the hips and all-around soft. Black, frizzy hair worn around shoulder-length, with shorter-cut bangs. Black eyes, round glasses, and soft, sweet features. Moderately dark brown skin.

Livva

She/her, Yellow Mage.

Born with an innate magic known as the “human sealing container”, Livva was highly valued even from childhood. She spent her early years being passed between “homes” and different people who owned her— usually to use her for her magic or to own an expensive prize—, until the Organization took possession of her instead.

Serious, cold, and disinterested in the world, Livva is the kind of person who rarely shows fondness for anything. She’s seen some of the most selfish sides of humanity, so her worldview is quite corrupted. The things she does are only because she’s forced to, and she has no real attachment or loyalty to anyone or anything. She just exists.

Her magic, as mentioned above, is sealing-based. A seal on her tongue allowed her to hold “objects” inside of her body and release them at will. These things range from artifacts to spells, to even offensive energy.

5′10, mid 20′s. Tall, slightly pear-shaped build with notable curves. White, fluffy hair that falls to her shoulders and has considerably more volume towards the ends. Dark brown, somewhat lifeless eyes, fair skin. Posture is always stiff and near-perfect.

Madeleine

She/her, Orange Mage.

An amnesiac, she lacks any memories from what she assumes to be almost twenty years of life. She only remembers her time with the Organization, and is currently in the process of trying to discover more about her past— including a large, mysterious scar across her chest. However, she doesn’t necessarily want to look too deeply.

Madeleine is friendly, open, and upbeat. Despite her internal issues, she tries to make life better for herself and the people around her. She’s close friends with Sinclair, likes to use her magic for other people’s enjoyment, and is generally a very kind-hearted sort. However, when it comes to missions, she has a serious, brutal side that comes out.

Her magic is similar to Sinclair’s but involves food (specifically sweets) instead of handmade charms. Her desserts have a variety of effects and are more useful in a conflict situation than you’d expect.

5′9, early 30′s. Tall, athletic, curveless build with wide shoulders and strong legs. Dark brown, thigh-length hair worn in thick box braids and a high ponytail. Dark, warm-undertoned skin and sparkling brown eyes. Large, diagonal scar across her chest from collarbone to navel.

Aurora

She/her, Green Mage.

Born without her left leg from the knee down. It took a while to find her a suitable prosthetic, but after getting a highly functional one and practicing plenty, she’s completely adjusted to it. She’s always lived in the shadow of her older sister, Rosaria, who she both adores and resents thanks to a feeling of having to live up to her success.

Strict, intense, and serious, Aurora is the picture of ambition and hard work. She’s always felt a need to compensate for her self-perceived weaknesses and feeling of being “second best”. However, her cold exterior hides a warm heart and burning passion. She’s the type to never give up on anyone or anything when she sets her mind to them.

Aurora’s magic, as Green magic always is, is derived from the world around her. The main way she uses it is to increase her speed, agility, and mobility through absorbed energy from other moving objects.

5′7, early 20′s. Slim, straight build with long legs and a narrow shape. Long, hip-length, white hair worn loose and straight with bangs and shoulder-length sidelocks. Intense gray eyes with pale lashes. Black and silver, high-tech prosthetic from below the knee down on her left leg.

Ranisha

She/they, Blue Mage.

The oldest of many siblings, Ranisha had to grow up fast and take on a lot of responsibility. Developing excessive maturity so early gave her a jaded, logical outlook on the world, where she prioritizes what needs to be done instead of what she wants. She joined the Organization for money as well as something to do with herself that felt like success.

Ranisha is most notably aloof, cold, and efficient. She takes her work very seriously, places her job before any personal desires, and doesn’t make friends easily or well. Seemingly uninterested in anything but what’s assigned to her, many people feel intimidated by her strict nature and harsh standards. She butts heads with Vash quite a bit.

Her magic turns written symbols into weapons manifested solely from her energy. Ranisha favors guns over bladed weapons, can use anything from small pistols to larger rifles, and her accuracy is near-unmatched.

5′8, early-mid 20′s. Fairly average build with slight curves. Somehow petite despite her height. Black, thick hair styled in a short, natural faux hawk with close-cropped sides. Black eyes, dark, cool-toned skin, and pleasant features that are always set in a stern, neutral expression.

Katz

He/him, Brown Mage.

While he grew up as a relatively normal Mage, Katz considers getting involved with the Organization to be the worst mistake he ever made. The job is stable and suits his skills well, but the people he has to deal with drive him absolutely insane. He developed a stress-related drinking habit from a young age, which did nothing to help his nasty attitude.

Katz is the kind of person who’s hit his breaking point. He’s an angry, bitter man who’s perpetually exhausted, short-tempered with everyone around him, and a raging alcoholic on top of all of that. While he’s very good at what he does, Katz is the type who most want to stay far away from. His dead-eyed glare is incredibly intimidating.

His magic focuses on sealing. Specifically, sealing the powers of others. Katz creates items that, when placed on someone’s body, restrain some or all of their magic to whatever extent he crafted them to.

5′11, mid 30′s. Thicker build that’s on the stockier side of muscular. Reddish taupe-colored hair worn in a short style that falls about to his ears and is often slicked back. Fair skin, dark eyes, and a good amount of stubble on his upper lip, cheeks, and chin. Perpetual scowl.

Emilio

He/they, Purple Mage.

A lot of Emilio’s life has been spent wishing he was something other than himself. He grew up relatively average, but underwent a fair amount of bullying for being shy and reclusive. When he learned magic, his main goal was to change himself— and he did that completely. He’s always trying to hide from the person he used to be.

Emilio is best described as a charismatic jokester. Despite being very much a “class clown” type, he exudes so much pleasant, cheerful energy that people can’t help but be drawn to him. However, underneath his sunny disposition is a serious, capable man who wants to give his best to the people close to him... as well as something of a dark side.

The magic he uses revolves around shapeshifting. Emilio can change his own appearance at will and is known to constantly be doing so. No one is sure what his original appearance is, and Emilio isn’t telling.

Mid 20′s. Everything about Emilio’s appearance varies. He can change his height, hair color, eye color, features, build, and more with a simple spell, and he does that frequently. He seems to favor taller, more handsome looks, though, and usually retains bright hair and eye colors.

Vash

He/him, Orange Mage.

Trained in magic from a young age, Vash made it his mission to be as good at it as possible— and gather all the admiration and respect he can. He’s never experienced much in the means of personal hardship, but the standards he’s placed on himself do plenty of damage. He’s been in the organization since he was fifteen, thanks to his family’s choices.

Short-tempered, viciously ambitious, and high-strung to a fault, the main things in life that drive Vash are gaining the approval of everyone around him and making himself look as impressive as possible. He’s a hot-blooded teenager in every sense of the word, and painfully unaware of his own inexperience and how dangerously reckless he can be.

Vash’s magic is typical for the Orange kind. He uses elemental powers; in his case, fire. Despite being made of magic, this fire burns just like the real thing and is every bit as destructive and hard to control.

19, 5′8. Skinny, lanky build with less muscle than you’d expect. Straight, chin-length, black hair usually worn covering one eye. Pale skin, orange eyes, and numerous silver piercings all over his body. Extensive burn scars covering him from his magic going haywire.

Alexander

He/him, Brown Mage.

Born to a prestigious and high-class Mage family, Alexander grew up in the lap of luxury. He was spoiled to a fair extent, but the consequences are fortunately mild. Told from a young age that he’s destined for great things and incredibly capable, Alexander has always felt like he doesn’t have to do much of anything to be successful and loved.

Alexander is friendly, sociable, polite, and generally pleasant to be around. He’s the kind of charismatic person who draws others to him whether he tries to or not. However, he also has an unfortunate tendency of viewing people as lesser than him and expects things that he shouldn’t more often than not. He’s also worryingly naive.

The magic he uses relates to forcefields. Alexander can generate and manipulate forcefields out of his magical energy, and uses them for defense as well as offense. Their purposes are quite varied.

6′1, early 20′s. Tall, broad-shouldered, elegant build. Dark red, wavy hair worn in a short-ish cut and sometimes styled with a low ponytail or pins holding the side back. Dark hazel eyes, handsome features, and fair skin. A perpetually welcoming smile and the posture of a trained nobleman.

#Here There Be Monsters #Hyousa #Sinclair #Livva #Madeleine #Aurora #Ranisha #Katz #Emilio #Vash #Alexander #Character Info

22 notes · View notes

snaketherapy · 3 years

Text

Siren/merfolk au thingy-

Part 1/?

Roman sighed as Logan walked over to another door, this one looking much like the others except some weird symbol carved into the metal. “I swear, this is just gonna be another room full of documents talking about fish we already know about. Or maybe another shredded picture torn up by rats!” Roman scoffed. He was so done with exploring this abandoned aquarium. They were the only ones to enter it in years apparently, due to rumours of some man-eating creatures that lurk there. That’s why Roman came along. He wanted adventure but all they’ve found so far is useless and information about fish they’ve already done research on.

“Hey Lo, did the former owners take the fish from here?” He called over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the floor of the tank. “According to what I read about this place and it’s owners, no. Why do you ask?” Logan answered as he and Patton walked over to the tallest of the group. “Well, there are no corpses or anything. Not even bones, cartilage, fins, nothing.” He hummed, looking from the water back to his colleagues. Logan stayed silent as he thought about Roman’s words, his own eyes searching the water himself. Suddenly the sound of footsteps entered the room. The three turned to see Roman’s brother, Remus, standing near the door. “Sup nerds. Sorry to distract you from your research or whatever your doing here but Emile is freaking the fuck out for some reason. He’s still in the truck but something obviously spooked him.”

The four quickly walked out of the room and out of the building altogether, unaware of the two pairs of eyes that were watching them.

✨🌙✨

Patton hopped into the back of the trailer attached to their truck, the doors already opened. He could already hear the distressed splashing coming from the tank near the front wall. He walked over, followed by the others, and sat on the side of the custom made tank. They had learned that the mer had abandonment issues and the twins, with the help of their older brother, made a tank for Emile in the trailer so they could take them with the group when they were exploring or going to the beach. Usually Remy also tagged along but the merman was currently resting due to him hitting his head against one of the tanks rather hard when he was playing with the other mers and marine mammals.

As soon as Patton sat down, Emile quickly jumped out of the water and sat beside Patton on the side of the tank, his pink tail folded under him. Their eyes were worried and their nose was scrunched up as if they smelt something vile, their large rounded tail fins flicking anxiously. “Hey emmy, what’s wrong?” Roman asked, figuring the mer might’ve just been uneasy because Remy hadn’t tagged along. Emile replied with a few distressed clicks, their head turning to the entrance of the trailer for a second before turning back to the humans. Patton hummed a small tune to hopefully calm Emile’s nerves enough so that they could respond in human tongue.

Emile had been rescued a few years ago when he got caught in a hunters trap, which was illegal at the beach they had placed it. They still had small scars littering their back and chest, and they had to get a replacement for one of his fins due to it bending due to the chains of the trap. The group had to remove it because Emile wouldn’t be able to swim with it bent like that. Roman had worked with Logan to make a replacement fin for them though. At first, they planned to help the mer just get used to its new fin and clear the beach of traps before releasing them but Emile had other plans. They had gotten attached to the other mers and creatures at the facility. The humans even tried to put Emile back, bringing Remy along so that Emile stayed in the tank with them. Roman had managed to pick up the mer and place them back into the ocean but Remy had jumped out of the portable tank they brought them here in and followed Emile. They tried everything to get Remy to get back into the tank but nothing worked. Well, until they agreed to take Emile with them.

So while Emile was now a permanent resident at the facility, they still didn’t speak fluent human so Remy often helped them, as the coffee-stealing mer was actually human-raised and not ocean born like Emile was.

“P-Predator.” Emile had managed to spit out after a while. Another thing about Emile the others had noted was that they often were sent into a panic attack when they sensed something that could be dangerous, even if it wasn’t. Logan blinked, a few thoughts running through his mind. They hadn’t found any signs of life or anything living in the abandoned building besides rats and a nest of birds. And they knew that Emile was fine with birds and small mammals, as they had seen Emile bring back animals like a cat, except they kept them alive.

“Did you see anything nearby Remus?” Logan asked, figuring that Emile may have heard a large dog or maybe seen one on the beach of where the abandoned aquarium was placed as another cat-like trait Emile had was having an irrational fear of canines. “Nope. I was planning on letting Emile out to swim in the water but they refused quickly and basically tried to hide in the corner of the tank. All that I’ve seen are some seagulls.” Remus replied, leaning against the wall of the trailer.

Suddenly alarmed squawks sounded from the beach, making all of the humans eyes widen and look over to the beach. They couldn’t see much behind the cloud of sand, dust and feathers where the sound was coming from. Emile immediately dove back into the tank with a scared whine. “What the hell…” Remus muttered before he ran out, Roman following. Logan ran after the two after making sure Patton was okay with trying to calm the panicking mer down.

When the cloud of dust cleared the three humans' eyes widened. Blood and feathers covered the sand around the creature, as well as three dead seagulls. Each one of the seagulls' corpses had a large bite mark on the side of them, their wings being torn halfway off and skin being shown behind the torn off feathers. The creature didn’t seem to notice the humans at first as it was still spitting out feathers with its nose scrunched up, the blood from the birds must’ve overpowered the scent of the humans. Suddenly the creature's head turned to the humans, it’s teeth bared in a snarl before it must’ve noticed something about the humans. The humans than got a good look at the creature.

It looked somewhat like a mer, a long tail starting at its waist and must’ve been at least 6’ feet in length, not taking in count of its fins. Starting from around the middle of its tail and ending in between its shoulder blades just below its neck was a large black fin covered in purple stripes that ended in the middle of the fin. It’s tail fins look similar except with more of a leather-looking texture and the ends looked as sharp as knives. Smaller fins went along the side of the tail and were also placed on its shoulders, elbows and bigger ones on the side of its torso and two longer ones replacing its ears. It’s eyes were a bright purple and it’s pupils dilated like a reptiles. It’s limbs started fading into a black near the elbow, small black freckles going up its arms and covering its back. The sides of its face, torso and neck also faded from the very pale white to pure black, almost looking like spray paint. It’s hair was long and tied back with what looked like thin rope, the long dull purple pony-tail resting on its back.

Roman almost shrieked as the creature bared its sharp teeth again, a low growl coming from its throat. The blood coating around its mouth and teeth didn’t help at all either. “Woah...” Remus muttered as he took a step forward but was quickly yanked back by Logan grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling. “That thing could be a siren. Don’t approach it!” Roman hissed as he backhanded his brother on the head. “It’s not a siren. I’ve done research on them. If it was, it would’ve lured the seagulls instead of just straight on attacking them with tooth and claw. Sirens drown their prey first, and they mostly go for humans or larger animals.” Remus informed, hitting his brother on the head back.

Remus took a step forward again, leaning down slightly like the group did when they first approached a new mer. The mer-like creatures ear fins folded back as it glared at Remus, another growl rising from its throat. Remus stopped walking and instead slowly sat down on the sand, giving the creature space and not making any sudden movements. The creature blinked a few times before its expression changed. Instead of glaring, it was looking Remus up and down sceptically. The mer slithered forward little by little until it was around an arm-length away from Remus. Remus slowly reached his arm out towards the mer, who backed its head up in response for a second. It relaxed soon again but a loud screech filled the air, making the three humans instinctively cover their ears with their hands.

The creature turned its head and looked to the aquarium and then suddenly to the truck, its ears perking up. It growled again, but this was more high-pitched and seemed to almost mimic a happy squeal that they commonly heard from the mers. That’s when it hit Logan. This is what Emile was freaking out about. This was the predator they were talking about. Logan quickly yanked Remus up with surprising strength, grabbing him by the arm and then Roman and hurrying back to the truck. He let them go near the side of the truck, not answering their questions as he grabbed his gun from inside the truck. It wasn’t an actual gun, just one that shot narcotic bullets that would put mers and other sea creatures to sleep, and hopefully this creature to. “Patton! Come here and make sure the twins don’t move.” He called out and started walking away, much to the two siblings protests.

Patton did as told and came to stand beside the twins, equally as confused. Logan crouched down near the side of the trailer, focusing on the creature as it moved towards the trailer. It hadn’t noticed Logan crouched there, as it was clearly focusing on something in the truck. That something being prey.

As soon as the creature set a hand on the edge of the truck, Logan aimed and quickly shot. The bullet hit the creature directly on the fin and it let out a surprised hiss. Logan quickly moved out of sight and hid against the side of the trailer. He heard a bit of thrashing and then a small thunk. He let out a sigh of relief and turned his head to see the creature laying on the ground unconscious. “Logan! What the hell was that for?” Remus exclaimed, trotting over to Logan with the other two following. “It was hunting Emile. I think that sound we heard might have been another one of them alerting it of nearby prey.” Logan explained, pushing up his glasses with his free hand. “Now call Thomas. We need another truck just in case it wakes up.”

“You don’t mean… Logan, we can’t take this thing back with us!”

“We can and we should. If you two didn’t notice, one of its fins is twisted.”

✨🌙✨

Remus gently placed the creature into the large tank, closing the door behind him as he walked out and back to where the others were looking through the glass. The creature floated in the water for a few seconds before its eyes fluttered open and then widened. It immediately spun around, its tail thrashing wildly. It continued to look around frantically, seemingly panicking at its new surroundings. “I told you this was a bad idea specs. The thing is clearly panicking-“ Remus was cut off by a tap on some glass and the sound of splashing water. The four turned to the small tank in the corner of the room that was connected to the tunnels that went in between all the tanks so the mers could move around more. Remy was leaning against the glass, an eyebrow raised at the group of humans as a still anxious-looking Emile popped out of the water beside him. “Emmy told me about how you found a sharp-fin.” He hummed, his head turning towards the tank. “Sharp-fin?” Roman muttered but didn’t get a response as Remy suddenly jumped out of the tank and slithered over to the glass of the larger tank. He knocked on the glass in a certain rhythm the humans didn’t recognize and the creature suddenly stopped thrashing its tail and looking around, its eyes now directed on Remy. It seemed to snarl for a moment before it stopped and suddenly appeared at the glass, moving at insane-speeds despite its bent tail fin.

Remy cooed happily and knocked against the glass again in the same pattern. The humans and Emile looked at Remy dumbfounded as the creature tapped back the same pattern. “Remus, do you mind letting me into the tank?” Remy questioned, looking to Remus with big eyes through his sunglasses. “I- but that thing literally tried to hunt Emile and tore apart a bunch of seagulls! How do we know if-“ “Just trust me on this one.”

Through some convincing, Remy was eventually allowed to jump into the large tank. As soon as he was in the water, he was tackled by the creature who was a bit bigger than him. Roman was just about to run up to the entrance of the tank when he saw Remy nip at the creature playfully. The creature immediately swam off a bit away before doing a small twirl. Remy did the same before swimming forwards and tackling the creature like it did to him, the two rolling through the water. The creature nipped back but Remy just head butted it in its stomach before swimming off again and doing a twirl. The group watched the two continue to play the strange game for a while before Remy started actually talking to the creature. A few minutes of talking later, the creature hesitantly nodded and Remy smiled brightly. The creature swam up to the top while Remy tapped the glass while looking at the humans before following after.

The group hesitantly walked up to the top of the tank, Remus leading. When they got up they saw Remy resting on the platform where the door to the tank was, the creature sitting not too far away. It looked like it wanted to jump back into the water the moment it laid eyes on the humans but Remy’s tail gently curled around the others to make sure it didn’t leave. “Okay, so, this is V. He’s a sharp-fin, or a mer that stays in the deeper water or caves and hunts smaller mers, seals, and a few other things. I met him when we were just small, a bit before I was taken here.” Remy explained with a smile. Before the humans could respond or ask questions, a soft but low and husky voice cut them off.

“Hi… Sorry about trying to eat your friend.”

💫🌘✨🌙✨🌒💫

#siren au #sander sides #tss sander sides #tss Roman #tss Logan #tss Virgil #tss Remy #tss Emile #tss Janus #tss Remus

92 notes · View notes

thekatherinewinchester · 3 years

Text

Touch

Summary: Soulmates are found by touch; wherever you touch them, a mark symbolizing that person appears. Reader longs to meet her soulmate but in order to that she has to touch them - Reader has an aversion to touch. What happens when reader starts working at the BAU as a PA and starts having feelings for a certain genius agent.

Characters: Spencer Reid, Fem!Reader

Paring(s): Spencer x Fem!Reader

Parts: 1/1

Word Count: TBD

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: slight angst

A/N: This fic was part of a secret fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins discord. This is for my sweet Meg - @daydreamingatnight209 ❤️

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY RIGHTS TO SPENCER REID, THE BAU, OR ANYTHING CRIMINAL MINDS RELATED. I SIMPLY OWN THE READER.

I looked upon the new soul pair with longing. I want that; I long to find my my soulmate. It would never happen though. In order to discover one’s soulmate, touch is involved. That is where the problem lies -I have an aversion to touch. It’s something I have dealt with since I was a little girl.

Getting up, I took my turn in congratulating the newest couple in the in the BAU, Luke Alvez and Penelope Garcia. We all knew they were soulmates before they even touched. “Congrats you guys, I’m so happy for you both! I might be still be a little new and just a probationary agent, but even I could see that you two were meant to be together.” I blew them a kiss before sitting back down at my desk. Garcia blew one back at me. I will forever be grateful that this team that I hope to be a part of one day have been so understanding about my feelings towards being touched. Then again, they have gotten used to having a different teammate, Spencer, having an aversion to touch due to his autism. I have noticed that he is more open to touch when it’s someone he cares about, like his team.

Dr. Spencer Reid is the final person to hug and congratulate the couple. I felt my heart flutter seeing his smile. The man has captured my attention since I was first introduced to him nine months ago. He has been a huge comfort when I start to feel insecure about my aversion to touch. He truly understands and it’s a nice change. The team have been wonderful and supportive, but it’s different when someone else experiences it too. I don’t know why I am this way, I just have always been for as long as I can remember.

I freely admit it, I wish I could have Spencer as my soulmate. Deep down I know that he deserves to have someone better than me -someone he be physically affectionate with. By physical affection I mean, hugging, cuddling, hand holding, and the like. I would love to feel what a forehead kiss feels like. This is something sweet yet intimate that I would love to experience but, I am too afraid to.

“Hey Y/N, we’re all going out for dinner to celebrate later and we would love it if you would join us,” came the sweet and perky voice of Garcia. I smiled at her. It’s wonderful feeling like I am already an official member of the team.

“I would love to Garcia. I can meet everyone at the restaurant once a place has been picked,” I nodded in excitement. This would be my first team outing and I couldn’t be happier.

Pulling up to the Japanese restaurant I let out a breath. As excited I am, I’m also nervous. I have never joined the team in a public setting outside of work. I began to worry that I didn’t bring enough money -I would never just assume that someone would take care of my meal-, that didn’t want to order the wrong dish, I wasn’t sure if I should order alcohol or not. I forced myself to take a deep breathe and let go of all my worries and anxieties. I had nothing to worry about and everything would be fine.

I got out of the car and straightened out the skirt of my dress. I entered the restaurant and began to make my way to the hostess stand to see if I was the first to arrive or if they could direct me to my table. Before I reached the podium I heard Spencer before I saw him -well his front side anyway. It might sound creepy but I would know his head of curls anywhere. They just always looked so soft and fluffy. I had seen a couple of pictures of him with his short hair, but I have to admit that I much preferred his shoulder length locks.

Just as I was about to call out to Spencer I heard my name being called from somewhere behind me. Turning around to see who was seeking my attention, I didn’t pay attention to how close I was to Spencer. He began turning at the sound of my name too but his right shoulder blade met my left shoulder blade.

I just stood frozen for a moment. I know that Spencer was talking to me but it all sounded muffled. It was like I’d turned into a statue. I couldn’t force myself to move no matter how much I wanted to. I felt my mind going blank.

It took me a moment to get over the shock of being touched. By the time came out of it, the whole team had gathered around me and we had an audience. I could tell that they wanted to move me out of sight from the other restaurant patrons but didn’t want to touch me without consent. Looking at the team I could see the worry on their faces.

“Why don’t we move out of everyone else’s way,” came JJ’s voice. I could hear the worry in voice. I just nodded, I felt like I couldn’t find my voice quite yet. I followed the team to an party room the restaurant was allowing us to use for the moment.

“I am so sorry, Y/N! I didn’t know you were that close behind me,” Spencer looked at me with so much worry. He looked as if he had broken me. I managed to give him a small smile.

I cleared my through in attempt to get my voice working. “I’m okay Spencer, I was just shocked. I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” I tried reassuring the sweet doctor that I really was okay. He didn’t damage me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the girls huddled together whispering and Garcia bouncing like an excited child. Before I could think anything of it, Spencer recaptured my attention.

“I’m still really sorry. You would think I would have a better idea of my surroundings,” He smiled embarrassedly at me. The smile that graced my face at the sight of his was embarrassingly big. I just love all his smiles.

“I promise that it’s okay. I wasn’t expecting it so, it shocked me more than anything.” I reassured the doctor. Honestly, I was feeling a little confused. I have avoided being touched for so long that I don’t actually remember what it’s like to be touched. I didn’t feel awful like I did as a kid and it didn’t hurt - I didn’t feel anything really, but shock. More so that we bumped together rather than “oh my god, he touched me.” Maybe, just maybe, I’m not as adverse to touch like when I was little girl.

“Y/N, I don’t wanna freak you out or anything but you have a mark on your shoulder… right here Spencer touched,” I heard the strained excitement in Garcia’s voice. She wanted to be happy so bad but she wasn’t sure how I would react.

“What is it, what‘s the mark?” I asked no one in particular. Spencer moved to look at the new ink on my skin.

Without thinking, he begins tracing my skin with the tips of his fingers.“It’s an open book with a steaming cup of coffee, and what looks to be a traveling airplane.” I shivered at the feel of his touch but I wasn’t disgusted or anything by it. Actually, it felt refreshing. I turned around to face Spencer. He still hadn’t registered that he had touched me. We just stared at each other for a moment before it dawned on me. Spencer Reid is my soulmate.

“We’re soulmates,” I softly whispered. If he wasn’t so close to me, Spencer wouldn’t have heard me. A huge grin form on his handsome features.

“From the moment we met, I hoped my soulmate would be you,” Spencer confessed. My own smile grew as big as his.

A loud squeal -curtesy of Garcia- broke us from our little bubble. I looked over at the team and they all had shining smiles upon their faces. Their resident genius had found his other half finally.

“Seems like we get to celebrate not one but two new soul pairings,” announced Rossi. “Well, officially welcome to the family, Y/N!”

I blushed. “Thank you Rossi.” I looked back to my soulmate, “I’m really happy it’s you, too”

The team began making their way to the reserved table so that the celebrations could finally get underway. I tentatively took Spencer’s hand in mine. He looked at me with surprise.

“It doesn’t feel like it used to. I’m hoping that this mean I can start trying to recover from my childhood. I don’t how much I can handle, but this seems like a start.” I spoke softly.

Spencer squeezed my hand lightly, “Whatever you need. We can go as slow as you want.”

I smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you, that means so much to me.”

We resumed our path to the table where the rest of the team was waiting for us. Looking around the table I felt at home. I knew that life was only going to get better from here on out.

Wheels Up Fam:

@spencer-reid-in-a-pool @andiebeaword @httpnxtt @rileysann @sunlight-moonrise @wave0fg00dvibes @spencers-dria @april-14-blog @aperrywilliams @dreatine

#Thekatherinewinchester #Spencer reid #spencer x reader #touch #poms discord fic swap

58 notes · View notes

seokoloqy · 4 years

Text

Cut Deep | myg (m)

➳ PAIRING: hunter!yoongi x reader

➳ GENRE: smut, angst, Nevermore universe

➳ WORD COUNT: 3.8k

➳ WARNINGS: knife play, dirty talk, oral (f receiving, cum eating, first half is porn, second half is pain, blood, demonic possession, character death oops my hand slipped and I’m not sorry at all

➳ SUMMARY: Yoongi, a fearless hunter, swore an oath to protect others, but when you needed him the most, he was nowhere to be found.

➳ A/N: this also take place in the Nevermore universe! You’ll see Yoongi again in Nevermore :))

—

Yoongi is one of the best hunters in all the seven realms—one of the very few people who had hunted dragons before they became extinct.

He boasts about every scar across his body, letting you map out each one with your fingers as you laid in bed together at night. Every scar had a story of his brave adventures. You would hold your breath when he recalled how close he had been to death’s grasp or laugh at how he fought off dozens of angered fae while running through the forest. His passion for hunting is admirable, but it also terrifies you.

You always dread the next hunt where he would kiss you goodbye and never return. You want to keep him safe in your arms where no evil can touch. You will even plead on your knees with tears streaming down your face if it means he will stay out of harm's reach.

He always jokes that hunting and you are what make him whole. You can’t take that away from him. It isn’t fair.

So for now—while you can—you hold him close.

“I’m heading to Nevermore tomorrow to hunt a vampire,” Yoongi yawns, stretching his arms over his head. “These rookie hunters let it escape so now I have to deal with it.”

“Tomorrow?” You echo, a frown forming on your face as you watch him climb into bed next to you. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

He just got back from hunting a succubus two days ago, now he’s already ready for another hunt. You haven’t had time to properly enjoy his return.

Yoongi gives you an apologetic look, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “It shouldn’t wait. You know this.”

Yes, you know the longer you wait the more people die, but why couldn’t he be selfish for once? Couldn’t he love you more than hunting for just one more day?

You shift you back towards him to hide your pain and the growing tears in your eyes. Yoongi is so loyal, so passionate about hunting. Maybe too loyal and too passionate.

Yoongi, noticing your mood change, exclaims, “When I come back I’ll bring you a gift! I heard there’s a market in Nevermore where they trade all sorts of things from the seven realms. How about a pair of new earrings?”

You remain silent.

“Or a dress,” his voice comes down to whisper sweetly in your ear while one hand grazes your shoulder, “one I could tear off you.”

Attempts to seduce you out of your feelings won’t sway you so easily. You huff and bury your face into the pillow, ignoring his calloused hands gliding down your bare arm leaving goosebumps in their wake. Whenever he returned from hunts he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Always touching and teasing throughout the day, never getting enough of your lips.

He always kisses and touches you as if it were his last. He wants to savor the taste of you and make that taste last for the time he’s away. But it never satisfies his longing and desire to be buried deep inside of you.

“You’re gonna to miss me. I know you will.”

Yoongi’s hand reaches around to your chest, kneading your breast roughly. He hums contently in your ear, teasingly taking the tip between his teeth lightly.

“Take off that nightgown.”

His hand wanders down to the hem of your dress, sliding his hand underneath. His warm hands press against the base of your stomach. You shiver from his touch and the demand.

“Make me,” you challenge, flipping yourself over to face him. You stare into his two different colored eyes, one a warm brown and the other a deep amethyst. His hunter mark is branded into the amethyst eye. A symbol of his unwavering commitment as a hunter.

You’ve always been enamoured by his marked eye. It’s a representation of who he is and he wears it proudly.

Yoongi raises a brow, amused. He pushes himself out of bed and reaches down to grab something off the floor. When he gets back onto the bed, straddling your hips with whatever he grabbed hidden behind his back, he takes the edge of your nightgown to pull it off your body.

Exposed to the cold air, you shiver, rubbing your arms and chest. Yoongi hungrily eyes your perked nipples, resisting the urge to take them into his mouth and tease you, but that can wait for another time.

From behind his back he brandishes one of his daggers. You recognize it as the dagger you gifted him for one of his birthdays. He promised to always carry it with him as a representation of you always being with him.

“What are you doing, Yoongi?” You mutter cautiously, eyeing the menacing dagger. He’s probably cut down so many ghouls with it. You almost shiver just thinking about the viciousness of his job.

“Relax,” He drawls, dragging the hilt and ghosting the inside of your thigh. His low voice and determined eyes, ease your body just a bit, but you’re still curious.

His fingers loop around the waistband of your underwear, pulling them off swiftly and exposing you to the midnight air. Yoongi hums, delighted to see your pretty pussy against after being gone for what seemed like ages. He can’t wait to make you feel good. Bring your body to the peak of pleasure as your cries become louder and louder for all the gods to revel in the sweet music of your voice.

“I’m gonna fuck you with the hilt of my dagger, baby.” His raspy voice sends a hot shiver down your spine. The daring look in his eyes as he stares at your clenching pussy turns you on even more. “Is that alright? Can I fuck you with this?”

With his hand on the sheathed blade, he presents the thick and metal hilt.

Yoongi rests a soothing hand on your thigh, but that only arouses you more once he starts rubbing your heated skin.

“Mhm,” you mumble, shifting your hips to get any attention on your core. You want his fingers, his mouth, anything to stimulate and get you off.

“Good girl,” he praises.

The hand on your thigh slowly slides up to cup your pussy. You jolt when his palm presses down on your clit to massage your sensitive bud roughly.

You’re mine, his gesture seems to say. This body is all mine.

You’ll give it to him. You’ll give yourself to him with no regrets.

“More,” you moan, arching your back off the sheets. “Please, Yoongi, more.”

Yoongi’s hand leaves your pussy, stealing away the warmth it offered. Your body jolts when the cool head of his dagger presses against your tight hole.

You squeak, hips unconsciously shifting away from the foreign object attempting to push into you. The round head feels so thick, different from Yoongi’s cock.

Yoongi tsks, a large hand grasping your hips to hold you at bay while he aligns his dagger up to your cunt again. “Stay still for me. Gods, I can’t wait to make you come around my blade. Now show me your face. I wanna watch you fall apart.”

With his hand holding down your hip, you obediently rest against the bed eagerly for him. The head of his dagger meets your dripping hole again, barely prodding the entrance just to tease you.

“Yoongi,” you whine, arching your back restlessly.

He smirks, “what do you want, huh? Does my needy girl want me to bury this dagger in her tight, little hole?”

He swirls the tip around your outer folds, coating it with your arousal, patiently waiting for your blushing reply.

You nod, refusing to answer verbally. You’re so desperate to be filled by anything, writhing and moaning for him to fuck you with a dagger. How embarrassing.

Yoongi’s hand leaves your hips to cup your cheek and drag his thumb down your lips. The look in his eyes is carnal, desire pooling in the mismatched shades.

Say it, his eyes command you. Tell me how badly you wanna be fucked.

You muster up the courage to speak under the heavy weight of his gaze. “Yes, I-I want you to fuck me with your dagger, Yoongi. Please.”

Your words are breathy, bated, needy.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs distractedly, tracing over your bottom lip with his thumb. “I love you.”

Your heart flutters for a moment and you’re reminded of why you’ll never leave Yoongi. No matter how long he’s gone or how his mind sometimes gets distracted thinking about his next hunt, he always comes home to you, showing you all his love and adoration unconditionally.

You daringly stick your tongue out to lick him, an action that seems to excite him. He pushes his thumb past your lips, commanding you to open and suck. You willingly take him into your mouth, sucking lightly as you stare up at his mesmerized face.

“Ready?”

You swirl your tongue around his thumb while nodding.

“Can you spread yourself for me?”

Trembling fingers make their way between your legs and you spread your folds open so he can push the hilt slowly to stretch you open. Your eyes widen as you gasp, arching your back up slightly when he begins to fill you.

“Relax,” he says when he notices your brows furrow at the strange sensation of his dagger entering you.

The thick head penetrating you is agonizingly slow with Yoongi trying to make sure you’re comfortable and adjusting properly.

“F-Faster.” You manage to moan around his thumb still resting between your lips.

At your request, Yoongi wastes no time in burying the hilt all the way inside you.

You cry out, releasing his thumb which allows him to thread his hand through your hair. The first thrusts are tentative and careful, he watches your face carefully, making sure you’re not in pain. He watches your chest rise and fall, the quiver of your lips, and the drops of tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

“Are you alright?” He dabs his thumb at the corner of your eyes, catching any threatening tears.

You lazily nod, eyes fluttering shut when you grind your hips impatiently, clenching around the length of the dagger. “Keep going.”

Yoongi catches you by surprise when he swoops down to sweetly kiss both your eyelids. He chuckles, but says nothing more. The head of his dagger is dragged back to your opening, lingering for what feels like an eternity, before it’s plunged back in. Yoongi thrusts the dagger at a toe curling pace. Sloppy, wet noises resonate in your ears, causing your cheeks to heat up.

Your hands grip the bed sheets as your knees bend and spread your legs wider. His name comes out as a mantra, you swear the gods can hear your pleasure. When your head turns to the side Yoongi takes that opportunity to let his lips dive onto your damp skin, licking and sucking new marks.

His tongue glides over your collarbone and up to your earlobe. You can hear his ragged breaths and praise.

“Hah—what a good girl,” he grunts, “you’re doing so well.”

You mewl at his words, hands finding their home gripping the back of his loose fitting shirt. Your back arches up to his chest, tightly holding onto his body as overwhelming pleasure flows through you.

“You gonna come soon?”

Yoongi draws himself back to sit on his knees, unlatching your arms around his back, and presses down on your clit with his other hand. You jolt, whining and writhing when he rubs languid circles.

“If you wanna come, then come. I’ll lick you clean.” He winks, massaging your swollen clit faster to bring you over the edge. Your legs tense as the coil in your abdomen tightens.

You cry out when your vision explodes in white. Your entire world is drowned out as you come, clenching around Yoongi’s dagger.

Yoongi removes the hilt as you begin to come and throws his dagger to the floor. He spreads your legs apart with both hands before diving down to lap your pussy, coating his tongue in your cum again and again. His grip on your thighs tighten as your legs spasm around his head with each flick of his tongue against you.

Rolling your hips as you ride out your high around his mouth, you grip his hair, tugging when the pleasure of his tongue gets too much to handle.

Yoongi drinks up every last drop of your cum and when he lifts his head back up to meet your gaze, the sticky white juices coat his lips and chin. Yoongi drags his thumb across his chin to capture the remnants of your arousal to lick up.

“I’m going to miss that taste while I’m gone.”

“You don’t have to miss it if you stay.”

Yoongi gives you a sideways glance and slips off the bed to fetch your nightgown off the floor. He takes the discarded bundle in his hand and gestures you to the edge of the bed. You slowly crawl over, still sore and aching between your legs.

He gives you a look, once again saying a hunt can’t wait, much to your disappointment.

You heave a heavy sigh as you lift your arms for him to slip your dress over you.

“I’ll come home as soon as possible,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “I just have to take care of this vampire first.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

—

Yoongi is eager to see you again. It’s been a week since he left home on a hunt. The vampire hunt went on a little longer than planned, but he managed to kill it. Now all he wants is to be with you. He even bought a dress from the market for you as promised and he’s eager to help you get it on (and take it off).

When he approaches the home you two share, the first thing he notices is the ajar door.

Had you forgotten to close it after going out to hang the laundry? No way. You know better than to leave a door open when there are all kinds of beasts lurking about. An unsettling feeling buries itself in his stomach, but he doesn’t want to believe it.

As he approaches the door a crunch sounds beneath his boots. He looks at the shattered remains of his glass wind chime beneath his shoe. He strung the wind chime up to signal danger and now it’s destroyed. This is the last straw for Yoongi.

Something isn’t right. What else would destroy a wind chime other than a supernatural? All he can think about is you.

Are you okay?

Yoongi throws the door open wider, drawing his dagger, heart pumping wildly in his chest.

“___?” He calls out, scanning the living room which looks unscathed.

“Yoongi?” It’s your voice, but there’s a strange strain to it.

He rushes up the stairs towards the source and barrels into the bedroom to find you standing in the center, slouching and your body trembling. Your dress, one he gifted to you, torn and stained with blood—your blood. Your eyes are not your own. They’re lifeless, cold and empty staring back at him. Darkness stares back at him. The eyes of a demon.

No, no, no, this isn’t real. It can’t be.

“Why?” Your broken voice asks him. “Why weren’t you here to save me?”

“___?” Yoongi whispers, hoping you’re still there and not just a shell filled by evil.

“You let me die,” you scream, gripping your hair and sobbing. “I cried out for you to save me, Yoongi, but you didn’t come. How dare you call yourself a hunter when you can’t even save the people closest to you!”

Your body crumples to the floor, but Yoongi doesn’t react to catch you because you’re not you. He knows that. As much as it hurts to admit, you’re no longer here—no longer his.

This is all just manipulation. All just the demon’s game to get into his head and torture him.

Yoongi’s hands tremble, the knife in his grip burns his skin. He knows what he has to do, but…

“Please, please, Yoongi,” the demon in you sobs, re-enacting your desperate, heart wrenching pleas to taunt him. “Save me! Help me! Please!”

One of the best, bravest hunters in all the seven realms, and he can hardly stand before you. He feels sick.

Yoongi let you down. If he wasn’t gone for so long, could he have been here to save you? If he had given into you, let you convince him to stay, maybe you’d still be alive. Why have the gods cursed him?

“She hated you, Yoongi,” this time your voice takes on a different tone. The demon possessing you no longer wants to keep up with the charade.

Yoongi knows it’s the demon talking, but it’s still your precious face, your sweet voice.

“She hated that she died terrified and alone. Why did you leave her alone for so long, Yoongi? Did you hate her too? Is that why you always left her?”

“N-No!” His voice trembles, eyes burning from holding back his tears. No. He never hated you. This is all a trick.

“You know,” the demon looks up at him from its position on the ground, a devious grin on its face. “She thought you went off to fuck other women sometimes. I mean, why else would the best hunter in the seven realms take so long to finish one measly job other than to have his cock in someone else?”

Yoongi grits his teeth. His head begins to rattle despite his better judgement. Is that really what you thought? Were you really home some nights curled up in bed alone thinking he would do that to you? His heart aches imagining the pain and betrayal you might have felt.

“She couldn’t take the heartache anymore. Some nights she thought of leaving you.” The demon clutches its chest, the smile is wiped off its face and replaced with pain. “Yoongi, I trusted you. I loved you so much. Did you even love me?”

Before Yoongi can tell himself no, he responds, “of course I love you, ___!”

It begins to laugh, a twisted laughter he has never heard from you before. “You’re pathetic, Yoongi! What kind of man can’t protect the woman he loved? Don’t call yourself a hunter.”

It’s true… How can he be a hunter if he can’t even save what matters most to him?

“No, no!” He barks, raising his trembling hand, tightly clutching his blade in fear it might slip from his fingers. “___ loved me and I loved her! You’re just a pathetic lower level demon trying to get into my head.”

“Could a lower level demon break into a hunter’s home and slaughter his lover?” The demon bristles, aggravated by his choice words. “If I’m not in your head already, go ahead and kill me then! Why haven’t you exorcised me yet, Yoongi? Are you afraid of this face?”

The demon’s words echo and rattle in Yoongi’s head.

Gods, he wants to collapse. If he wants to properly exorcise this demon and kill it, he’ll have to cut up your body. Never did he think he’d have to mutilate the skin he once caressed and loved. How is he supposed to hold you down as the demon uses your body to thrash and cry, begging for him to stop?

Please, he begs, whichever merciful gods are listening… please forgive me. Forgive me for not being here when ___ needed me the most. Please tell me she’s resting peacefully now and no longer suffering. Tell her I’m sorry.

—

One month later

Everything in him feels numb. The passion and joy he once felt are nothing but a faint dream. His love for hunting died the same night you did, leaving him empty. After he was forced to carve out the proper symbols into your body, and exorcise the demon, all he could do was hold your corpse and sob for hours.

He’ll never forgive himself. Never.

“Are you ready to hunt again?” The priestesses' soothing voice asks beside him. She crouches down, dipping one slender finger into the pond to watch the waters ripple. She’s in charge of the hunter’s sanctuary Yoongi is currently residing in. He couldn’t stay in the home or sleep in the bed you once shared because every time he closes his eyes images of you flooded with terror when that demon entered the house haunts him.

Yoongi stares into his empty expression reflecting back from the water. He’s been sitting here for hours now, blankly watching the koi fish swim around peacefully.

His silence allows the priestess to press further, “you swore an oath, Yoongi.”

To never run from danger, to stay and fight until your very last breath or die a disgrace.

“We lose people,” she continues, “it cannot be helped. However, a hunter shouldn’t despair over the lives lost. Their only focus should be on the lives that can be saved.”

Yoongi flinches. Her words are so cold, despite her gentle tone.

You weren’t just another casualty. You were the love of his life. Someone he wanted to protect, to put before himself. Someone who, he now realizes, was much more important to him than hunting. It should’ve been you that he put first. Maybe then you wouldn’t be dead.

But there’s nothing left for him now.

Yoongi stays silent, allowing his guilt to fester inside his heavy heart.

“You’re a hunter, Yoongi,” she reminds him. “Your purpose is to slaughter evil. Hunt more demons, ignore the pain you’re feeling, and be a hunter again. That’s an order.”

The priestess stands, her long elegant white gown flutters in the soft winds. She stares down at the sad shell of a man once considered the best hunter in all the seven realms, the faintest hint of annoyance hidden behind her eyes.

Get over it, she wants to hiss. Instead, she turns to leave him behind, trusting he’ll follow through on her orders. He’s still a hunter who swore an oath to serve and protect this kingdom from evil. Turning back on his promise now will only bring severe punishment no hunter ever dreams of.

Yoongi’s mismatched eyes settle on the white and orange koi that swim peacefully in their pond. He pulls his dagger from its sheath. The same dagger you gifted him, the same one he was forced to cut you with.

Ignore the pain. You’re a hunter.

He will never forget you for as long as he lives, but hunting is all he is now. He doesn’t have you anymore to make him whole. He’ll try—for you—to fill that emptiness by hunting every last miserable demon, to make them all suffer.

Yoongi memorizes every detail of the dagger one last time before tossing it into the pond. The fish scatter when it splashes against the surface, swimming for shelter. Yoongi watches it settle at the bottom before he turns his back and strides forward toward another hunt and another day without you.

#bts #bts smut #yoongi smut #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #bts scenarios #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #bts drabble

588 notes · View notes

shadowywerewolfqueen · 3 years

Text

Carry On

For Suptober Day 31

It was a bright and sunny day on a small bridge somewhere near Jericho, California. A large beast of a car, a 1967 Chevrolet Impala named Baby, is parked in the middle of the bridge, four men leaning against her hood. One of the men is younger than the rest, looking to be in his early twenties even though in reality he is only three years old. He’s dressed in a tan jacket, white t-shirt, and jeans. He’s got dark blonde hair that falls into his face and covers his right eye. Jack looks at the three men next to him and can’t help but smile as he takes a sip of Coke.

Standing next to Jack is Sam Winchester. He’s the tallest of the four men at six foot four. His long chocolate brown hair is all the way to the back of his neck and the first few strands of gray are starting to creep in. He’s dressed in a light tan jacket with a gray hood, a bright blue t-shirt, jeans, and an old pair of dark gray sneakers. For the first time in over a decade, his posture is relaxed, and his brown eyes are filled with happiness. He brings the beer bottle he’s holding to his lips and takes a long drag. He looks at Jack and wraps his arm around the kid, glad to have his son next to him.

On Sam’s left side is his elder brother Dean. He’s a couple inches shorter than Sam with dark blonde hair, the sides and front with obvious streaks of gray. He’s wearing three layers of clothes: a dark blue t-shirt, a red plaid overshirt, and a grayish-blue jacket along with jeans and a brown pair of boots. He’s wearing a bright smile, his bright green eyes are full of laughter, and for once he doesn’t bear the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s holding a beer in his right hand while his left arm is wrapped around the person standing next to him. Dean leans over and presses a chaste kiss to Cas’ cheek.

Cas is an inch shorter than Dean and even though he only looks a few years older than Dean, is actually over four billion years old. Castiel was once an Angel of the Lord and was captain of his own garrison of Heaven’s warriors. Now, he is human and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s dressed much more differently than normal, wearing jeans and a red t-shirt although he’s still dressed in his calf length tan trench coat. Like Dean and Sam, his cerulean blue eyes are unusually joyful and a large gummy smile takes up most of his face. He’s holding a Coke in his hands, but it’s still almost full. He’s too busy staring at his family to take a drink. He had never imagined the four of them would be where they are and is still having a hard time believing this is the ending they’re going to get after a fifteen year long journey.

The past few months have been brutal for all of them. After finding out God was planning on destroying the world, they had been searching for ways to kill the man. Chuck had put them through trial after trial, doing his best to break the four men and prevent them from winning. He had nearly succeeded when Dean had become so desperate that he had almost shot Sam and sacrificed Jack just to kill Chuck. If not for Sam talking Dean down and reminding him of the love he had for his family, Chuck would have gotten the ending he wanted. But, he had never been able to control this version of Sam, Dean, and Cas.

They had been thrown for another loop when they realized that they weren’t facing one villain but two. Billie, the new Death, had her own agenda. She wanted Chuck dead but not just because he was destroying the universe. She wanted Chuck dead, so she could become the new God and could set the world back to its original settings. She wanted to send everyone back to their original resting places and make sure that what was dead stayed dead.

The fight with Billie had almost cost Dean everything. After Chuck absorbed Amara and made his little speech about being unable to control them, he popped out of the bunker to places unknown. Dean, Cas, and Sam had dragged Jack to his room and then went to the library, intent on finding a way to save their son. They had been desperate, searching for anything that could keep Jack from imploding on himself. They didn’t care how absurd or farfetched, as long as it would save the Nephilim.

As they were searching, Billie showed up and all of them went on high alert. She was dressed in her usual jacket and dress, all black of course, with her scythe in her hand. Her eyes were twin pools of fire. “You three have ruined my plans.”

“Oh, you mean keeping you from becoming God and from killing us all over again,” Dean barked.

Billie glared at Dean. “You three have broken the natural order of things over and over again. It’s time somebody set things straight, and that means putting you back where you should be. Dean in Hell, Sam in Heaven, and Castiel in the Empty. And every decision and every action that the three of you have caused will be reversed. Order will be restored.”

“So, you lock the demons and the angels up? Close Purgatory and the Empty down? When does it stop Billie? When do you say you’ve interfered enough?” Sam asked defiantly.

“My interference will stop when I’ve made sure to set everything right,” Billie stated, her anger barely contained. “Every demon locked in Hell, every angel caged in Heaven, and every creature that dies stays dead whether it be human, monster, or angel. There will be no more coming back from the dead. Angels and demons will stay in the Empty, monsters in Purgatory, and human souls in Heaven or Hell. That was the way it was always meant to be until Chuck started bending the rules. I will not be so flexible. Now, give me Jack so I can take him to kill God.”

Castiel let his angel blade fall into his hand before stepping in front of the brothers. “You will have to go through me, through all of us before you hurt him!”

Billie let out a short chuckle. “How do you intend to stop me?”

Dean stepped up next to the angel. He pulled his gun from his pocket and pointed it at the reaper. “Like we always do, make it up as we go.” He pressed the trigger and watched as the bullet hit Billie square in the chest.

The reaper looked at the bullet hole before looking back at Dean. The calm mask she had been wearing fell and her face contorted into rage. “Fine! You want to do this the hard way, then we’ll do this the hard way. The plan has changed, I’d like to see you dead!”

Castiel surged forward, brandishing his blade. There was a clang of metal as the angel blade met scythe. While they fought, Dean turned to Sam. “GO! Get Jack, and get the hell out of dodge! We’ll hold her off! Save the kid!”

“Dean, no, there has to be…”

“Dammit Sam! GO! We don’t have time to argue,” Dean cried before pulling the demon knife from inside his jacket and charging at Billie. Sam hesitated, taking in his brother and Cas one last time before running from the room to get Jack.

Dean and Cas were doing their best to distract Billie, but it was obvious they were outnumbered. Dean was just a human, and Billie easily slung him out of the way when he charged her. Cas, even with his angel powers, was nothing compared to the Reaper of Death. He had been thrown against the wall a few times and blood was trickling from multiple cuts. Still, he and Dean kept fighting until Dean cried out in agony.

Cas’ eyes locked on the hunter immediately. Dean was lying on the ground at Billie’s feet, blood pouring from a gash on his side. Billie was standing over him, bright red drops falling from her scythe. “DEAN,” Cas cried.

He grabbed his angel blade and threw it at the reaper. He watched with satisfaction as the blade landed deep in her stomach. He didn’t watch what happened afterwards, instead running over to Dean and pulling him to his feet before hobbling out the library. Dean was leaning heavily on the angel as he held his hand to the gash on his side, blood dribbling out between his fingers.

“Where the hell are we going,” Dean gasped out as Cas practically dragged him down the hallway.

“I don’t know, away from the library,” Cas replied.

Dean grimaced as his side was jarred as Cas continued to drag him. They continued to stumble along the hallway when there was a sudden boom behind them. Dean looked over his shoulder to see Billie storming down the hallway after them, murder in her eyes.

“There is nowhere for you two to escape from me,” she called.

“Cas, we gotta get somewhere and ward the room,” Dean said through clenched teeth.

The very next door they came to, Cas ushered them through. He left Dean leaning against the wall as he used his grace to cut a gash in his arm. He used the blood to start drawing symbols on the door. After he drew half a dozen, he hooked an arm around Dean’s waist and started moving forward again. Cas pulled the two bookshelves from the wall and led them into the dungeon. He dropped Dean in the chair in the middle of the pentagram on the floor before turning back to the shelves.

After closing the shelves, Cas once again used the blood still dripping down his arm to draw even more symbols. Once he was done, he faced Dean. “That will slow her down, but it won’t stop her.” He walked over to Dean and kneeled next to the hunter. He pulled the tattered clothing away and looked at the bleeding gash on Dean’s side. He pressed his hand to it, ignoring Dean’s pained gasp, and sent his grace into the wound.

Dean relaxed as his wound was healed. “Thanks, but you should have saved your grace. What the hell are we going to do Cas?”

Cas was silent for a moment before softly saying, “I’m going to kill her. With Billie gone, all you have to worry about is Chuck.” There was a loud hammering sound, causing both men to flinch.

“Wait, what do you mean you have to worry about Chuck? How are you going to kill her?” Dean asked, his face contorting into a frown.

Cas dropped his eyes. “Similar to what Jack was going to do. I’m going to use my grace as a bomb.”

Dean jumped to his feet. “NO! NO, we can’t lose you! Sam, Jack… me, we need you!” Dean was silent for a second before adding, “I need you! I won’t lose you, Cas, not again.”

Tears were already forming in the corners of the angel’s eyes. “Dean, let me do this. You’ve fought for this whole world. You’ve sacrificed your life and made impossible decisions. All my life, I’ve made the wrong decisions even if I thought I was doing the right thing. The leviathans got out because of me, the angels fell because of me, Lucifer got out the cage because of me. I’ve made so many wrong choices; I need to make one right one!”

During the entire speech, they could hear Billie banging on the door. From what they could hear, she had almost broken it down, meaning they only had minutes left.

“No, please Cas! You haven’t always made the wrong decisions! You pulled me and Sam from Hell, you saved our asses countless times, you made sure Jack came into this world! You’ve done tons of good,” Dean argued.

Cas reached out and placed his bloody hand on the left shoulder of Dean’s jacket. “ I know how desperately you hate the idea of Chuck taking your free will from you, but you’ve always had it. Even Chuck admitted that he could never control us, never able to take our free will from us. You were the one to teach it to me. Let me make this choice. Let this be my free will.

I know how upset you were when you thought you didn’t have that. I know you were only lying to yourself so that you could allow Jack to sacrifice himself. I know you think of him as family and as your son. So do I. You’ve sacrificed for your loved ones so many times. Now it’s my turn. Let me protect the ones I love, Sam, Jack… you.”

Dean let out a shuddering breath. “I never meant what I said about Jack and I never should have held that gun on Sam! I was so angry, so furious and I just wanted Chuck dead. I love Jack and Sam and-and.”

“Hush Dean,” Cas said, cutting the hunter off.

“Cas.”

“I’m a dead man anyway Dean. When Jack died, the Shadow showed up to take him to the Empty. I made a deal to save Jack. I offered to go in his place, but the Shadow won’t take me until I’m truly happy,” Cas explained.

Dean looked at Cas, heartbreak evident in his eyes. “You weren’t happy with us, with me?”

Cas reached his unbloodied hand out and cupped Dean’s cheek. “Of course I was. You’ve always made me happy even when we’re fighting. And Sam and Jack, they bring happiness to me too. But with Chuck looming on the horizon, none of us have been truly happy. Only once he’s dead, will I be truly happy. So you see, that’s what awaits me after this war. Let my death mean something Dean.”

There was the sound of shattering wood and they knew Billie had finally made it through the doorway. “These wardings won’t last very long now that I know how to break them.”

Dean looked over his shoulder, tears swimming in his eyes. He focused back on Cas. “I love you.”

Cas squeezed Dean’s cheek. “From the moment I touched you in Hell, I was lost to you. You have always been my free will.”

“And you’ve always been mine,” Dean whispered before leaning forward and capturing the angel’s lips in a soft kiss.

“I love you Dean. Save Jack. Kill Chuck and save the world. And most importantly, carry on and live for me.” Cas pressed one more tender kiss to Dean’s lips before turning to face the shelves. Dean watched as Cas shed his trench coat, jacket and shirt before once more cutting his arm. He started drawing sigils, this time on his own skin. Dean could feel the power starting to coil inside the angel and he wished they had more time, that there was another option.

They watched as the shelves shattered into hundreds of pieces and Billie walked through the dust. “Well well boys. Did you really think those wardings would stop me?”

Cas glanced at Dean one last time before saying, “No, just delay you.”

Billie snorted. “Delay me for what?”

“For this,” Cas replied. He pushed Dean backwards against the wall as he slammed his hand against his chest.

Dean watched as Cas’ grace exploded from his chest and raced towards Billie. The reaper didn’t even have a chance to put her hands up before the bright blue flames were enveloping her. In the next instant, the scythe fell to the floor along with a pile of ash. Dean looked to where Cas had been, but there was nothing left, only the burned imprints of his wings on the floor and walls. Dean curled up against the wall, tears running down his face as he ran his hands through his hair. He finally dropped his head, letting it rest against his knees as sobs shook his shoulders.

Minutes later Sam and Jack found him, still in the same position. “Dean, what happened? Where’s Cas?” his brother asked.

Dean just shook his head and pointed to the walls. He heard two gasps and knew that Jack and Sam had seen the marks.

“Where’s Billie?”

“Dead, thanks to Cas,” Dean replied to Jack’s question.

Before they could say anything else, they were suddenly standing in a grassy field. “How is it that the four of you manage to ruin my ending every single time?” Chuck shouted. “I didn’t get my brother killing brother ending, so I figured I would let Billie kill you, and then I would just end her. But of course, Dean and that damn broken angel managed to thwart my plans once again! How?”

Dean stood to his feet and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Because you underestimate how strong love is. You stand there and say you’ve never been able to control us, that we’ve always had our own free will. That’s because the bonds between us are unshakeable. I have always protected Sam from every evil that threatened him. Cas and I shared a bond that transcended time and universes and even Hell.” Dean looked at Jack. “And that kid, that kid is family, is our son. If there’s one thing that a Winchester knows, it’s that family doesn’t end in blood. Sam, Jack, Cas, and I, we’re family. Family protects family, and that’s one thing you’ve never understood, and because of that you can’t control it.”

Chuck scoffed. “Oh please! This isn’t some Disney fairytale where love conquers all. Power, power conquers all. How do you think I killed my sister finally?”

“You lied to her… just like I did. I tricked her and told her we needed her help when in reality we were gonna kill her. Amara, if you’re in there, I’m sorry. You offered us your help and instead we planned on killing you. We were wrong, I was wrong,” Dean said, his voice full of remorse.

“Please, she wasn’t exactly hard to lie to,” Chuck spat. “She wanted balance, so all I had to do was promise it to her, and she believed me. After all the times I tried to kill and imprison her, she believed me so quickly. Well, with her power, not even you will be able to stop me. I’ll finally get the ending I want.”

“You can try,” Sam spoke up. “We’ll fight because that’s what we do.”

Chuck laughed. “What are you going to fight with? I’m God boys, how do you expect to stop me?”

Sam and Dean pulled out guns and Jack held his hand out. “I’ve always said I’d go down swinging and that there was a gun at the end of this ugly ass tunnel.”

“Whatever. It’s time to end this story,” Chuck replied as he held his hand up. He threw the three men ten yards away from him. He watched as they all rolled over to look at him as he went to snap his fingers.

“NO,” Dean cried, but it was too late.

Chuck snapped his fingers… and nothing happened. He repeated the motion and still nothing. “What the hell?” Suddenly, Chuck doubled over, screaming in agony. “You’re dead! I absorbed you! How is this possible?”

Sam, Jack, and Dean watched as Chuck screamed and his body slowly started disintegrating. Black smoke trailed from his eyes, his mouth, and even his fingers. It swirled around him until he was completely enveloped in it. There was one last shuddering scream before all went silent. As the smoke settled, they were able to make out a woman standing there.

“Goodbye brother,” Amara said simply. “I tried to offer you a way out, but your own arrogance got in the way. We could have ruled together, but you refused my offer, too concerned with writing your own ending. Well, I decided it was time to write one of my own.”

And so, in the end, God wasn’t defeated by a hunter or an angel or even a Nephilim. Instead, he was beaten by his own sister.

Amara walked over to the three men. She easily healed Sam and Dean of any wounds before going to Jack. She knelt next to him and placed both hands on each side of his head. His eyes glowed a bright gold and the cracks in his skin healed. “Thank you,” he said as Amara helped him to his feet.

“You’re welcome. You know, I think it’s time for a new God. A God who will work with me and rule this universe with balance. Would you be willing to do that?” Amara asked with a smile.

Jack looked to Sam and Dean. Sam nodded. “You’re the best choice.”

Dean walked up to the kid. “Sam’s right, you’re the best choice, but it’s your choice. You get to make that decision without Sam… or me telling you what to do. I’m sorry for what I said. I-I didn’t mean it Jack. I understand if you don’t-if you don’t forgive me.”

Before Dean could say anything else, Jack was throwing his arms around him and hugging the hunter. “I know Dean. I know.” Dean hugged the Nephilim tightly.

When Jack pulled away, he looked back at Amara. “I’ll do it. The world needs balance.”

“It does,” she said as she held her hand out and white clouds spread from her fingers and swirled around Jack.

Sam and Dean watched as Jack absorbed the white clouds into his body. He looked directly at them, his eyes glowing an electric yellow before turning back to his normal blue. “You’ll make a pretty good God Jack,” Sam said.

Sam pulled Jack into a hug while Amara walked up to Dean. “Well, Dean.”

“Thank you. You didn’t owe us anything. You didn’t owe me anything, especially after I lied to you,” Dean said as he watched his family.

“No, I didn’t, but your apology went a long way. My brother lied to me Dean and felt no remorse about it. He refused to bring balance to this world, and so I took matters into my own hands. Together, Jack and I can do great things. Far greater than what my brother and I ever could.” She turned to face the hunter. “You know, I expected you to be happier. You all came out alive and my brother is gone. Your lives are yours now.”

Dean looked at the ground. “We didn’t all make out. Billie was just as much a villain. Cas killed her by sacrificing himself.”

“I see. That does explain a lot. I’m sorry Dean. This version of Castiel was certainly my favorite. He annoyed my brother to no end,” Amara remarked.

“A crack in his chassis. He was the only Cas with free will just as I was the only Dean with free will and Sam was the only Sam with free will. I guess Jack too.”

“Actually, this is the only universe with Jack. It seems the decisions that the three of you made are what lead to him being born. He was a character my brother never wrote.”

“Well, you never do write about your replacement,” Dean said with a huff.

Sam and Jack chose that moment to walk over to them. “So, how are we getting home?” Sam asked.

“I can take care of that. Jack, I will come for you in a few days and we can start your training. Sam, go call Eileen. I’m sure she would like to hear the good news.” In the next instant, the two were gone. She turned to Dean. “And Dean, you gave me what I needed most. I want to do the same for you.”

“What?” Dean asked.

Amara didn’t answer, just smiled at him and sent him back to the bunker. He landed in the kitchen to see Sam on the phone with Eileen. He smiled at his brother before walking out the kitchen and heading to his room. He couldn’t understand what Amara meant. They had defeated Chuck and Billie and they were alive. There was nothing else he needed.

He shook his head and opened his bedroom door. He flicked the light on and gasped. Sitting on his bed was someone he never thought he’d see again. He watched as the trench coat clad angel stood to his feet and faced him.

Dean stared at the man with disbelief. “Cas?”

“Hello Dean.”

Now, five days later, the four of them had decided to take a roadtrip to California to have some fun for the first time in a long time. Cas was now human, therefore nulling his deal with the Shadow. He and Dean had become inseparable, unwilling to be more than a few inches apart. Sam and Jack had teased them but were glad that the two of them got the ending they deserved.

Before they left for Cali, Dean had put the old KAZ 2Y5 license plate on Baby. He had unloaded her trunk of all the weapons and instead packed it full of everything needed to enjoy a weeklong beach vacation for four. Before they reached the beach, Dean had told them there was one stop he wanted to make. Sam had immediately recognized the small bridge in the middle of the forest on the outskirts of Jericho.

“Dude, are you serious? Why are we stopping here?”

Dean got out of the car, the three men following him. He opened Baby’s trunk and then the cooler inside. He grabbed a beer for Sam and himself and Cokes for Jack and Cas. “Well, it all started here fifteen years ago, I figured it could finish here too.”

Sam took the bottle. “I’m pretty sure it started when you broke into my apartment and told me dad had been on a hunting trip and hadn’t been home for a few days.”

The four of them leaned against Baby’s hood. Dean wrapped an arm around Cas’ waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek before looking at his brother. “Yeah, you’re right, but this was where we ended our first case, so close enough. I wanted this to be where we ended our last case. You, me, Cas, we’re officially retired now.” He looked at Jack. “Son, it’s your turn. You and Amara better keep this world straight. The three of us want to enjoy a long retirement.”

Jack nodded, a bright smile on his face. “We’ll do our best.”

“I know you will,” Dean said as he got up to turn the radio on. He grinned as a familiar song came on.

“Carry on my wayward son,” Jack sang.

“There will be peace when you are done,” Sam continued.

“Lay your weary head to rest,” Cas said as he leaned his head against Dean’s shoulders.

“Don’t you cry no more,” Dean finished softly.

A few minutes later, they decided to head out. Cas and Jack were the first to climb into the car while Dean and Sam stood at the side of the bridge. They stood shoulder to shoulder, looking into the distance.

“Well Sammy, we did it.”

“It’s Sam and yeah we did. You were wrong, you know.”

“Oh yeah, about what?”

“There was a light at the end of that tunnel.”

Dean smiled. “I guess there was. C’mon, we’ve got a beach to go lounge on.”

Sam looked at his brother. He hadn’t seen Dean so happy or relaxed in a long time. Now, they would both be able to look like that for years to come. The gray that was starting to appear in their hair would become more pronounced and the aches in their bones would get worse but they would be alive. They would get old but they would be happy. They would get a life they never imagined they could have but always secretly wished for.

“Can I pick the music?”

Dean laughed. “You know the house rules Sammy, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole!”

“Jerk!”

“Bitch!”

The two brothers stood there laughing for a moment longer. They had lost friends and family over the years, but they had also gained some as well. They had fought and killed every monster the world had to offer them including God and Death their selves. Now, they were finally done and they could lay their weary heads to rest. After fifteen long years, their long journey had come to an end. Woop woop! I managed to do all the prompts for this years Suptober! Thank you @winchester-reload for the awesome prompt list and hosting this wonderful event! You are amazing!

#suptober20 #My writing #my OTP #Destiel #temporary mcd #Angst with a happy ending #Can't the show end happy with all 4 of them alive?

65 notes · View notes

kaioken16 · 3 years

Text

Sacrificing your Freedom

Mallek Week 2021 - Day 2

Day 2: Sacrifice Word count: 3020 Rating: Teens and Up Character(s): Mallek Adalov, original background characters

AO3 link

A/N: Set in a canon divergent AU as the previous entry but follows are darker route to rebel fighter Mallek. This will be a angst filled piece, mentions of brief torture, pain, and being enslaved.

Summary: Rebel Hacker codenamed ‘Scorist’ is captured and is then brought before a high ranking Imperial general who reveals his secret and he is forced to sacrifice the most important thing to him for his loved ones.

Mallek is led down the hallway of this vessel, a pair of heavily armored guards on each side of him, each carrying a long spear, the blades were teeming with energy which allowed them to discharge very painful bolts of energy. His head hung down, his face was bruised, with dry blood staining his lip and forehead. His uniform was torn all over, cuts and dirt, stained with his own blood. His arms are tightly restrained behind his back, and his ankles were shackled together. He made no attempt to try and fight the chains as any attempt would result in a swift, merciless reprimand from the guards, as evident by the old scorch marks on his clothing and his skin.

He had been careless, an error on his part. During a mission his role was to disable the alarm system as not to alert the imperial guards at a weapon’s warehouse that they were planning to steal supplies from for the rebels, however, he missed a secondary alert system that had recently been installed after the initial intel that had on the facility. From there, it all went downhill, and they didn't have enough time, and he had to think quickly so he provided cover, transferring a copy of the new weapon data and sending it to his friend, but in the end, only half of his team managed to get away, while the other half was caught.

They had been to a detention station located in some random quadrant of this galaxy that was Empire controlled. There he endured the usual torture and interrogation, he held out but his captured friends…

They weren’t so fortunate.

And now, after weeks of this shit, he had brought onto this ship by order of some high-ranking imperial. What did they want? Was it more questioning? If so, why take him off the detention facility? Many questions raced through Mallek’s head, he wasn’t sure what to expect. And his imagination didn’t help, he knew from first hand experience and from the stories of others just how cruel some of these highbloods officers could be. But what could they possibly do to him that was worse than the treatment he had been enduring…

A grimace look spreads on his beaten face, he didn’t wanna entertain those thoughts.

Finally, they arrive before a giant pair of metallic doors. It was decorated and given gold trimming, very expensive. In fact, everything about this ship was expensive, it was an imperial-class Devastator, part of the X-series which were the latest models and these were the next best ships after the Empress’s personal battleship. Owning a vessel like this could only be someone very high up on the imperial chain of command.

One of the guards approaches the set of doors, he then removes his glove, he had his back to Mallek, so he was unable to the symbol that had been tattooed into his palm, he presses it against the security panel, it scans the logo and then a green light pops on the panel. The doors open, slowly pulling away from each other. The guard places his glove back on and takes a seat back, Mallek’s eyes narrow as a means to get a better look at what was awaiting him on the other side.

The other guard shoves Mallek forward as he’s forced to resume walking, they enter the room. Inside was a long table that could seat 10 people, on the left side of the room was a shelf filled with books, data cards, files, and a set of strange look trinkets. On the right was a set of statues each depicting some kind of troll each carrying an actual weapon, it seemed like the statues were made for the sole purpose of advertising the object they were holding rather than the figures who inspired them.

Mallek’s eyes shifted around the room, scanning everything he could see, no escape routes of any kind except for the doors they entered through. But his eyes did stop at the far end of the room, was a massive view of the vast region of space, and admiring the view was a very tall figure, even taller than the guards who were at least 6ft each. The guards stand to attention, taps their spears on the metal floor, and salutes the figure, clearly, this was the big shot in charge of this vessel. “General Ioktex. We’ve brought the prisoner as you instructed.” One of the guards addresses him by his surname. Mallek’s right twitched, that name was familiar to him.

“Very good… You may leave us, wait outside.” Her voice is disguised but Mallek can tell that it’s a woman. The guards do as they are told and exit the room leaving Mallek alone with her.

“Welcome aboard the Devastator.” She raises her arms out gesturing towards the room, clearly referring to this ship as a whole. She turns to face him, still too far away for Mallek to get a better view but a single red glow catches his attention where one of her eyes should be.

“I must say, it is rather thrilling to meet a male blue caste. Such a rarity.”

She approaches him, her figure coming into his line of vision. He can see another troll, much older than him possibly in her mid-to-late 30s, waist-length black hair that is noticeably curled at the ends despite being otherwise relatively straight with parts of her hair covering her right eye, her left eye was completely red, as if blood and seeped through her pupil and iris, but it wasn’t blind, she could see through it.

Her mouth was covered by a mask that was the source of her altered voice. Her outfit was a long blue dress, but the shoulders were fitted with armor and a chest plate which had a pattern in the shape of crisscross with four points at each end. She wore boots that made a heavy sound each time she took a step on the floor. A high-powered blaster was strapped to her hip. From the colors that donned her attire and her previous statement, it was clear by the colors her outfit adorned, that she purple caste.

“Allow me to introduce myself properly, my name is-”

“Adrani Ioktex. General of the 20th division. Conqueror of the Andrax and Nova systems. Also known as ‘The Empress’s Spear’. I know who and what you are…” Mallek spat out in disgust knowing who she was, remembering the name and her unique features.

“Ah, I see my reputation precedes me.” Her voice is filled with glee that Mallek was aware of who she was. Though Mallek doesn’t react, his face remaining blank and neutral not wanting to show any emotion.

“The same can be said for you, the mysterious hacker and rebel operative responsible for the destruction, theft, and reprogramming of many of our imperial drones for your own cause, the genius who is known simply as the ‘SCORIST’.”

She refers to Mallek by his codename, the alias he went by after joining the rebellion, the handle he used when hacking into the systems and stealing from various targets. He had made a name for himself and used it to hide his name for safety and personal reasons as he had secrets and people to protect associated with his real name. Only his close friends and those he trusted knew his real name, he had made sure to erase any and all records of his name he could find.

“Congratulations, you’ve done your homework…” He responds to her conclusion with a sarcastic tone.

She grins at him. “But of course. I’ve done my research and know full well about your past… Adalov.”

Mallek’s face showed a look of shock, and he immediately returned to a neutral look. How did she know his last name? That wasn’t possible. But unfortunately, the general had noticed the brief change of his expression. “Oh yes, I know your real name… Mallek Adalov.”

“Truly you were quite careful in erasing yourself from the records when you betrayed the Empire and defected. A young information spy killed in a crossfire on a mission, just another body to add to the pile of the dead… Another random troll who no one would miss or consider.”

“But you survived the skirmish, and then used your hacking abilities to erase your records… And then found yourself among the rebels. It was a brilliant move. However, you left footprints and breadcrumbs that most would overlook… So I began my investigation into you, studying your trail, your mark left on the servers and drones.” She starts to walk around Mallek.

“You kept your face hidden, rarely coming out in the open and providing support to your team. So I created a scenario that would bring you out in the open.”

Mallek looks at her, realizing that the factory mission had been a trap for him, she had orchestrated it to lure him out. Which meant his captured teammates deaths were, even more, his fault. Mallek couldn’t hide his anger, gritting his teeth, hands balled into fists.

“The final part was identifying you. You were able to remove yourself from most of the off-world servers and you were still fairly new, and you even stopped wearing your sign which would be an obvious tell.”

“But you can’t access any of the homeworld data after being shipped off… Records of you back home still exist after all.”

His eyes widened, he knew that any trace of him that still existed would still remain on Alternia but no adults could return there, it was heavily guarded and the Empress or her heiress would be alerted if an adult troll was spotted on the planet.

“Once you were captured, got a photo of you and then crossed references across the homeworld data, found your sign and then your real name.”

“What do you want?” He says in a slow, angry tone. He hated this, he hated when he wasn’t in control of a situation but she had all the cards.

“To make you a deal.” Her statement caught him off guard, confused by that.

“It must be hard having to follow the noble traditions of your people. A blue caste such as yourself serving as a mere soldier or spy within Her Imperious Condescension’s army. You would’ve preferred to be an information specialist, but your talents and skill as a genius hacker would never be utilized by her the Empress… It’s no wonder you feel so at home with traitors and rebels, allowing you to express your talents freely.”

“But even I must admit that your talents were wasted as a spy. I admire your work, it’s taken 3 years but you developed into a true specialist. So far from the timid anxious boy who feared being shipped off-world 5 years ago…”

“Shut up.” He demands, not wanting to listen to her words. He didn’t need a reminder, and she didn’t know him. She knew nothing about his struggles or his life.

“So I’m offering you an alternative.”

“You can spend the rest of your days rotting away in my detention facility. Dying in some dark, small cell or being beaten to death by some random prisoner… Or you can work for me, become my personal specialist and gather information on my enemies.” She states her offer to him which makes Mallek look at her with a confused look.

“What? Why would I work for someone like you?” Mallek snaps back, he would rather rot in that prison than work for her. Of course, she was expecting that response from him, which makes her chuckle.

“Your rebel friends. The rest of your group that escaped, and the ones you're protecting. And the reason you chose to use an alias and remove your name from the records…” She leans in close and whispers something into Mallek’s ear.

All the color fades from his face, a genuine look of fear and surprise as she pulls away smirking at him. “Your fate is in my hands Mallek Adalov, and if you want their safety to be ensured along with the safety of your own rebel cell, you will take my offer. I have no interest in small fry like your team, the rebel cells are divided, unorganized and there are more major threats, larger groups, and more important matters to deal with.”

“I will overlook your friends, and keep what’s most precious to you safe.” She informs him as a ringing noise begins to fill his ears, this wasn’t happening? This couldn’t be real? How? How could she have known about them, and how could he have been so careless…

What choice does he have now?

Mallek, with a defeated look in his eyes. Looks down, biting his lower lip.

“Good. Your silence is a reassurance that you’ve chosen wisely.” She smirks before taking the nearest seat at the table. “From this moment on, you belong to me. You are a tool and item, and a piece on my board to help me reach higher and eliminate my enemies and rivals. You will never see your comrades again, you have sacrificed your freedom in exchange for the ones you love, and for them…”

“Yes…” Mallek responds, his voice broken with acceptance.

“Very good. Welcome abroad SCORIST.” She grins, before standing up, she presses a button built into the table, and the doors open once again revealing the guards who had been waiting patiently. “Please take him to his quarters, and get him some new clothes.”

Years later…

The location was a planet in a far-off galaxy, it was the next site for the Empire’s eyes. It was full of valuable resources, from rare minerals, being the center of this galaxy, to serve as another controlled planet, and its people as slaves to help build the new facilities. The first steps of the invasion plan, first a team would be sent to infiltrate and survey the world, and general Ioktex had been dispatched to oversee this mission, and she had sent her team to go in first. A small vessel arrives over the planet and begins to break through the atmosphere. Inside the small vessel. Were four trolls, each dressed in imperial uniforms with their caste colors and general Ioktex’s sign engraved on random spots of their uniform, symbolizing that allegiance to her.

Piloting the ship, was a tall tealblood, his eyes focusing dead ahead to their destination, checking all the system and making their cloaking device was functioning. A slim blueblood and hulking purpleblood armed to the teeth with weapons and armor, both were wearing helmets to cover most of their faces. And sitting in another seat, typing away and looking at the monitor was Mallek. His expression was cold and dead, his eyes barely moving as he shifted through data, and attached to his neck was a collar device that was blinking. He has several holographic screens around his face. He waits for the virus to download into the flash drive he has plugged in, and once the bar fills and 100% appears, he removes it from the port.

“Here.” He tosses the drive to the other blueblood, who catches it.

“Once you get to a server, insert the flash drive in and we’ll access the mainframe. The virus will be uploaded and we’ll have all the information we need.”

She examines the device in her hand “Huh? It’s that simple huh? What about firewalls and security systems or-”

Mallek cuts her off “Don’t worry about it. It’s a multiagent virus, it’ll be infecting too many systems at once to mask what we’re really doing. Just get in, stay hidden, and don’t let anything happen to the drive.”

“Alright, fair enough. You’re the expert. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.” She smiles trying to make small talk but Mallek doesn’t even look at her, not interested in her or any of them.

“We’ll be landing shortly.” The pilot says as he presses some buttons. “Boosting cloaking shield.”

Suddenly a pained groan is heard at the back of the ship. In the generator room, strapped and bound into the ship, by tendrils was a gold caste troll, colorful energy surges through his eyes and then around his body as it is absorbed through the tendrils, powering the ship up. This was the norm for goldblood, but in this one’s case, it was a punishment. He was a rebel agent who had been captured and as punishment, he had been bound to his vessel as a living battery.

The rebels had adapted to using ships powered by alternative means as opposed to the living batteries on gold castes. After all exhaustion and overuse would result in the gruesome, permanent damage or painful deaths of the psionic trolls. But the empire would just replace them with another. Of course like the rebels, the empire did have ships and vessels that were also powered by other non-living energy sources. Only the older models and generation still used living batteries, as a reward by the Empress as goldbloods could last longer than fuel.

Every groan or scream he made was ignored by the crew, the purpleblood, in particular, found it to be soothing and enjoyed the cries of pain. Mallek was forced to endure this, and do nothing. The device around his neck was a precaution that the general had used to further keep him in line. Containing a powerful explosion that would activate at the push of a button or he made any attempt to remove or hack the wiring.

He had sacrificed his freedom, in order to protect what was dearest to him…

And now he was once again a servant to the Empire, an unwilling servant and this would be his life for now until the end of his life. A slave who was no different than that poor soul in the generator, no different from the inhabitants on the planet below who would soon be enslaved and lose their freedom.

He sighs before returning his view to his screen. “Let’s begin…”

#mallekweek2021 #mallekweek #mallek week 2021 #mallek adalov #fanfiction #fanfic #hiveswap fanfiction #hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim #hiveswap act 2 #hiveswap mallek #sci-fi #angst #canon divergent au #au #sacrifice #freedom #mallek week day 2 #my writing

23 notes · View notes

kiatheinsomniac · 3 years

Text

Unwoven Fate IV

[MY MASTERLIST]

(Y/n) had left her horse outside the walls of Florence, making it her priority to rent a room for the night before examining what she had found at her childhood home. The streets of Florence were busting with bards, merchants, artists, guilds and all other civilians of the home city of the Medici.

Well, former home city.

Something was wrong here, the same something wrong that she had missed back in Forlì. These weren't Florentine guards. Their uniforms were red and higher-ranked guards bore the emblem of a bull. It seemed that everywhere she had travelled to in Tuscany thus far had these soldiers patrolling the streets. Something had happened: some form of conflict or siege perhaps?

(Y/n) didn't know a lot about politics; 'it's not a lady's business', her Aunt had always told her. That had always annoyed her. Regardless of the discrimination of her sex, it was the lack of knowledge that irritated her the most, something for her Aunt to lock away right before her eyes, like a child having their favourite toy taken away for their bad behaviour.

These past few days were the only ones in which she was no longer treated as a child for the first time in her life. And it was getting increasingly difficult.

Terracotta rooftops and tall church steeples rose from the ground around her as she made her way to a tavern, paying for her room and having to barter a little with the price, knowing that her money would run out sooner than she would like. Settling down in the bar below, she tore off a piece of bread to wipe around the edge of her soup bowl, mopping up anything that was leftover and leaning over her bowl.

Her bag was settled on her lap, too worried to leave it and its contents alone in her room. She had started using an alias and trying to hide her face as much as possible by now, knowing that her Aunt and Uncle would use their influence to have people searching all over Tuscany. So, now she was Maria: a merchant's daughter attending the communion of her cousin in Venice, only passing through Florence for a time.

"It was a very powerful speech, indeed, but I would have liked to see the stronzo burn." A man grumbled from a table nearby, speaking to his friend between finishing his drink, "He's the one that got the attention of the Borgia and if not for him, perhaps they wouldn't have come to Firenze at all and the Medici would still be here."

(Y/n) could feel her ears perk up almost, turning her head away to listen without suspicion. The name Borgia rang a bell, hadn't her Uncle mentioned travelling to see a Borgia once? She could recall the event: sitting by the open garden doors while embroidering, her Uncle preparing for his journey. He had been gone for two weeks.

But who was this Savonarola? (Y/n) knew of the Medici, of course, but why weren't they here? The Borgia had taken over the city? Had the infamously rich family been executed, imprisoned or exiled?

"I think it's worth listening to Auditore." The other man replied, "He was wanted for a long time so something must have been keeping him busy, Something that motivated his speech, I bet. I was there when his family was killed, you know? I was one of the people that thought they were all guilty of betraying our republic and I saw him calling out in the crowd. He was only a boy, then mind you."

More names: Savonarola, Borgia, Medici, Auditore. She repeated them like a mantra in her mind, engraving them there. She hoped that things would add up as she went along (although, much of that hadn't happened just yet) and these names could come to meet her understanding in time too.

As the men changed their topic, she decided that now was the time to check what she had found back at her childhood home. Travel, shelter and hunger had taken up her priorities until now.

Paying for her meal at the bar, she headed up the creaky stairs to her small room. She'd bought the cheapest one and the price showed: a small section of the loft with narrow walls, a singular bed and a desk with a candle that was on its last hour of light by the looks of things. Stepping outside, she lit it from the one mounted on the corridor wall, heading back into the room and locking the door behind her.

Sitting at the desk, she carefully took out the scroll and the wrapped object, placing them down as gingerly as if they were holy relics. She bit her cheek as she ran her fingers over the mysterious parcel, feeling herself falter as she imagined either of her parents doing the same so many years ago. Taking a breath, she reached for the scroll first, untying the cord around the middle.

Upon opening it, she realised that it had been folded as a letter once, with the wax seal broken on either side of the paper. The ink showed the same signs of age as the paper which was discoloured and fading.

Signore y Signora (L/n)

The Assassins have lost their hold over Firenze. My brother and two of my nephews have been executed by the Templars. There was a traitor in their midst: Uberto Alberti. My surviving nephew has travelled here, to Monteriggioni, with my sister-in-law and niece. Do not try to continue your work in Firenze and do try to get your contacts in the city to safety, if possible. The Assassin stronghold has now been moved here. We need to reinforce our ranks: I am training more mercenaries and slowly introducing my nephew to the ways of the Assassin. Keep yourselves and your daughter safe.

We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins.

-Mario Auditore.

Assassins. Her parents had been Assassins. That name! Auditore. Could Mario be the one that the men downstairs were talking about? No, the man said that a boy had called out to his family from the crowd and Mario mentions a surviving nephew. This nephew must be the Auditore that the two men were speaking of. Folding the letter back up, she reached for the wrapped parcel next.

Her fingers carefully worked on unwinding the string that kept it all together, pulling it away until she could start peeling back the cloth. But she wasn't entirely sure of what she was looking at afterwards.

Some sort of arm guard? It had a form of shaft going along the length of it with very intricate metalwork. Her brows furrowed as she picked it up and turned it so that the shaft was facing downwards. That symbol again, the same one that had been on the mosaic - it was at the base of the arm guard.

She had been hunting with her Aunt and Uncle before and was trained with a bow. This device looked similar enough to the arm guard that she had to wear to prevent her arm from potentially receiving an archer's kiss, a bruise from the impact of the string hitting the arm if your elbow was positioned wrong. Pulling up her sleeve, she attached it to her arm and held the limb out to examine the armour, pushing her wrist back to-

She gasped as the shaft moved with some mechanism, causing a blade to poke out and stop with a noise. Her fingers had instinctually curled in to prevent them from being sliced off.

Examining the device further, she guessed that more of the blade was stuck inside the shaft, what had come out looked too small compared to the size of the arm guard. It hadn't been touched in years, perhaps time had taken its toll on this too? she reasoned. Rolling her wrist to try and trigger it again, the blade shot back into the shaft. She took it off and switched it to her dominant hand instead: this was not armour, this was a weapon.

She put the letter back in the bag and shoved it under the bed, changing her clothes and laying them over the back of the chair of the desk. She could feel as she braided her hair that it needed to be washed and she prepared herself to go to sleep. In the morning, she would set off to Monteriggioni and see if Mario Auditore and his family had any answers for her.

She couldn't help but smile to herself as she looked back at the hidden blade before stashing it back into her bag. Finally, she felt like she was getting somewhere! She had travelled from Forli to Florence now on the hope of finding something and now she finally had. Her parents had been Assassins! Someone in Monteriggioni could have answers! Snuffing out the candle and pulling the woollen blanket over her body, she closed her eyes. Tomorrow morning, she would head out for Monteriggioni.

⚜⚜⚜

She had to get off her horse as soon as the town was in her sights. Tears prickled her eyes as she led the creature by the reigns instead. She always felt two steps behind the world: as if, while living with her Aunt and Uncle, what would have been her life had continued while she was left behind to learn how to play the violin and how to embroider, how to have her whole life planned out for her. Be a lady, marry a man, give him heirs, die. It was the only future she knew but now another one was revealed to her; one that had been taken and she couldn't go back to.

But she would make a new one - she was making a new one - right now.

She left her horse outside the city's walls, looking around at the rubble. The defences had crumbled in many areas, homes showed signs of having been burned down either partially or entirely. The people looked tired, hungry, scared.

The remains of a large villa stood at the far end of the small town, the stairs leading up to it having makeshift paths for the people to cross safely over the damage. (Y/n) reached out to place her hand on the arm of a woman passing by. Her blonde hair was styled up with wisps framing her face, her silk skirts were dirty and she hugged a shawl around her shoulders, her makeup a mess. She had no undershirt, just her corset. She looked cold.

"Excuse me but, what happened here?"

"The filthy Borgias! That's what! They came a few weeks ago and destroyed the place early in the morning. Almost everything is gone and those who can't help to rebuild are leaving." (Y/n)'s eyes were caught by a red and gold flag on the floor, partially covered in debris, that same symbol! The one worked into the blade on her arm and on the mosaic puzzle.

"And that flag? What does the symbol represent?" She pressed further.

"I've always assumed it belonged to the Auditore family, they started flying them shortly after they arrived. The villa was theirs, they ran the town, brought it to prosperity." There! That name again! Things were adding up. (Y/n) had to contain her excitement. Upon seeing the state of the town, she felt that it could be another dead end but this could lead her to the family who knew her parents, this other family of Assassins.

"And where are they now? I need to meet them - I've come a long way." The young woman continued.

"Lucrezia, dai!" The blonde looked over (Y/n)'s shoulder to a group of women dressed similarly to her. Courtesans.

"The family's daughter owns a bordello in Roma now, we are travelling there today."

"Can I come with you?" (Y/n) spoke with a pleading note in her voice, "I won't trouble you, I just need to find these people." The courtesan eyed the woman eerily.

"And why would a lady like you, want to travel with girls like us?" Her eyes became fixed to the strings of pearls around her neck that were poking out from under her chemise.

"Because I'm alone and I've never travelled before recently. Someone wronged my family years ago when I was just a child. My parents died as a result. The Auditore's are the only ones who might be able to help me find out why." She paused, "Please."

The courtesan gave a pitiful smile, "I'm sorry to hear that. . . Come along." She beckoned with her hand as she led (Y/n) over to the group of girls.

As she mounted her horse again, she felt anxious. She didn't know what she was going to find in Rome. Her parents had been Assassins. What if they had been bad people? Who's to say that they had killed for good? She had only told herself this because she wanted to believe it. What if she was wrong?

Either way, she would find this Mario Auditore in Rome and, hopefully, she would find answers with him.

#unwoven fate #assassins creed #ezio auditore #ezio auditore da firenze #ezio auditore x reader #assassins creed ii #ac #ezio x reader #ezio auditore/ reader #ezio collection #ezio auditore da firenze/reader #ezio auditore imagine #Ezio Auditore fanfic #ACB #assassins creed x reader #assassins creed brotherhood #ac II

42 notes · View notes

bottlecaprabbitgames · 4 years

Note

Can we please know about the Wicked Lotus ROs? I need someone new to obsess over 👀

None of the ROs are in the Brigade, purely because MC will not be staying Novassa (for now. I have a base of 6 ROs but it could change), which is where that section of the Brigade is posted and where the common route takes place.

Two ROs are flippable!

The demon IS an RO ;)

One of the ROs is hard to get onto their route, you have to pick pretty specific options to garner their interest and be a certain gender depending on their own gender purely because of who the RO is...

Name: Ishtaraem (Tara)

Age: ???

Pronouns, gender, sexuality: Woman, she/her, demi?

Species/Race: Demon (?)

Height: 5'9

Body Type: Average, muscular legs and arms.

Eyes: Swirling yellow, orange, and red, like liquid fire. Almond shaped and keen.

Hair: Mid-back length dark brown hair. Curly, kept in a braid with beads added in.

Appearance: Tara is inhumanly beautiful, but in a way that sets your teeth on edge and immediately sends the hairs on your neck standing on edge. Her skin is a soft brown. She has freckles all over her nose and cheeks. Her skin has natural moles. Her shoulders and hips are wide.

Job?: ???

Family: Spoilers.

Tara is the demon you make a deal with. She can be vicious and has very little interest in anything but her own goals. Her patience tends to wear thin and she is quite blunt. Her symbol is a blood colored lotus with black leaves.

Name: Killian

Age: ???

Titlements (if any): The Executioner, Tara's bodyguard

Pronouns, gender, sexuality: Man, he/him, bisexual

Species/Race: Demon? (that's what MC guesses)

Height: 6'7

Body Type: Muscular, well-built for strength and power.

Eyes: Very dark blue-violet.

Hair: Chin-length, wavy and auburn.

Appearance: Killian's entire presense demands attention, anxiety and fear, even when he is invisible. His skin is splotched with black and red, randomly white symbols will highlight on his arms and sternum. He is covered in silver tattoos on his chest and upper arms, and a large scarlet lotus with black leaves is in the center of his shoulder blades on his back. He is covered in scars. He has elfish ears and an extra set of canines on both the top and bottom. His nails are usually elongated into black claws.

Job?: Bodyguard for Tara.

Family: A younger half-sister who is only 13 in human years. Father is still alive and kicking, as much as Killian wishes otherwise.

Killian is unable to go out in public much, even in his more "human" form, due to the attention he draws, so he is incredibly touch-starved and sexually frustrated out the yin-yang. So much so that upon meeting MC, he propositions them... Killian is a rather aggressive man and has a tendency to use his fists for talking. His softer areas are guarded with spiked armor so thick that even Tara still gets stabbed by it sometimes.

Name: Roshan

Age: 23

Pronouns, gender, sexuality: Non-binary-Genderfluid, he/him, asexual bi-romantic

Species/Race: Witch, irl he would be Middle-Eastern

Height: 5'2

Body Type: Slim

Eyes: Hazel-blue

Hair: Long, straight black hair. Very frizzy, often kept in a bun.

Appearance: Roshan is a short, thin person with a medium brown complexion. He tend to wear colors that are very vibrant, especially royal blues and purples or shimmery reds and oranges. He has a mole under his right eye and a scar along the left side of his face, from hairline to just under the curve of his jaw. He tends to prefer to dress femininely or very andro.

Job?: Apprentice to the grand witch Lolandra.

Family: Mother and sister located in Haerstrom.

Roshan is quite friendly and is quite eager to talk to MC. He is a little absent minded. He is very open... for the most part.

Name: Lady Adelaide

Age: 34

Titlements (if any): Lady of Babliose

Pronouns, gender, sexuality: She/her, woman, pansexual

Species/Race: Human? IRL she would be French.

Height: 5'7

Body Type: Curvaceous.

Eyes: Startlingly clear green.

Hair: Flame-colored red hair. Kept in tight curls, naturally wavy. Tends to fall around her face to perfectly frame it.

Lady Adelaide is a master at the spoken tongue and dances around forwardness with grace befitting how she moves herself. Her skin is quite pale, thought utterly lacking any freckles or blemishes of any kind. Her features are almost sharp but something softens them just enough to go from prudish to seductive.

Job?: None, her last husband died two years ago, leaving her his wealth.

Family: An ailing twin sister, her mother, her aunt, and a rather expressive barn owl.

Lady Adelaide keeps the lower half of her face covered at all times, along with her hands. She wears very costly fashion.

Name: Eleanora/Elain

Age: 30

Titlements (if any): Captain for the Black Castle Mercenaries

Pronouns, gender, sexuality: Woman, she/her, bi; Man, he/him, bi

Species/Race: Human. IRL they would be Mediterranean.

Height: 5'8/5'10

Body Type: Muscular, well-built, some fat.

Eyes: Hazel-green with gold and bronze flecks.

Hair: Dirty blonde hair kept short. (Eleanora has it with sides shaved.)

Appearance: Heavily scarred. Both have numerous tattoos, some made from scarrification. Skin is darkly tanned, though MC can't tell if it's naturally that color or from sun exposure or both. Hard features.

Job?: Mercenary Captain

Family: None aside from an ex-husband.

E is quite open with their interests in others being... very friendly. Outside of that, they're rather quiet and observant, though they have a streak of being a sarcastic ass when it fits them to be.

I won't talk abt the RO who is very specific to get to, yall will have to find that out yourself...

#wicked lotus #asks #romantic options

31 notes · View notes

beauregardlionett · 4 years

Text

unrationed 2/7

AO3 Link

bluebells (hyacinthoides non-scripta) – constancy

Thunder rumbles around the house, deep and sonorous, and Yasha feels it in her bones.

She has the balcony doors thrown open, propped in place with rocks she lugged down from the rooftop garden. There isn’t much change in lighting over Rosohna, the magical darkness replaced by the hanging cloud layer spread across the city. It had surprised Yasha and the others that it rained here, but they supposed the city needed to get their water from somewhere.

Either way, Yasha enjoys the heavy humidity in the air, the promise of rain on the horizon. Even if the storm doesn’t call her away, it draws her in. She’s not scared of the lightning and embraces the drizzle of rain on her skin as she stretches a hand out of the open doors. It reminds her she’s safe.

A loud roll of thunder follows seconds behind a distant flash, ominous and ear-splitting. Yasha smiles as the windows rattle.

Seconds later, the rain pours, splashing only a little against Yasha where she sits just inside the open balcony doors. The sheets of rain slant away from the opening, so she stays relatively dry. The grey stone of her veranda turns dark and slick in seconds.

The quiet peace hangs.

Her bedroom door bangs open. Yasha doesn’t startle, but twists quickly to look over her shoulder, fingers stretching to reach for her blade where it lays nearby.

Beau stands in the doorway, disheveled and wild-eyed, half awake. Yasha’s reach falls slack as she takes in the monk’s appearance.

“Beau?” Frantic blue eyes flash in the dim and find Yasha’s, and the Aasimar can see the tension release from Beau’s muscles through the dim. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Beau manages, taking a moment to fuss with her clothing so it isn’t so rumpled. It surprises Yasha to see the monk’s hair is down, loose from the intricate topknot Beau wears near every day. Her hair has gotten long, and when it falls like this—tangled and rumpled from sleep—the undercut Beau sports is near invisible. And lacking most of her vestments, Yasha finds that Beau looks so human her chest aches with…something.

“I just,” Beau’s voice draws Yasha from her musing. “I woke up from the thunder, and I was worried you uh…left.”

It’s easy for Yasha to forget how much they all care sometimes. After losing her wife, and then the circus and Molly, Yasha was hesitant to accept the Mighty Nein as her family—as her tribe. But she had given up that fight months ago, had given in to the urge to see them as people she could not lose. She was used to being the protector, used to people feeling they didn’t have to worry about Yasha because she was big and intimidating and strong.

The Mighty Nein always defied every expectation set on them.

“I am still here,” Yasha promises. “Would you like to watch the storm with me?”

This is how she ends up with Beau slumped sideways, head resting in Yasha’s lap and curled under the blanket from Yasha’s bed. The monk’s fingers tangle in Yasha’s tunic and Yasha’s are combing steady strokes through Beau’s hair. She braids a few strands together for the length of Beau’s hair and then carefully unwinds it to smooth it out again. Beau slumbers on, peaceful, as thunder rumbles overhead and the rain patters against the stone.

She watches Beau’s face for a while instead of the storm, and wonders. She knows that Beau’s life has been uprooted a few too many times, knows from Beau’s own mouth that the monk fears losing them all. Yasha sees the way Beau’s mind works, the way she comes up with plans, then back-up plans, and then a third just to be safe. The monk plays herself off as careless, callous; but she calculates every move she makes and rarely takes chances.

For Beau, nothing is set in stone.

Yasha reaches for her bag, careful not to shift the sleeping human against her leg, and drags it closer. From the deeper recesses of her pack, Yasha frees the only two books that she always carries with her. One is her gift from Molly with flowers pressed between the pages. The other is a book, a gift, handed to her on a quiet night. It’s a manual on flora from across the lands of Wildemount—spanning both the Empire and the Dynasty. Within its pages lay names, appearance, color, and common symbolic meanings to almost any flower one came across. She had had little use of the tome before, but she hoped it could come in handy now.

A few days after the storm that pulled Beau into Yasha’s room, the Aasimar visited Caduceus’ rooftop garden. She had spent hours pouring over the contents of her book, trying to find the perfect bloom for what she wanted to say. She wasn’t great with words, so Yasha was banking on this gesture being enough.

There had been quite a few flowers that represented the same thing, and it was all very confusing. But after much deliberation, Yasha finally made a choice.

Perusing the array of flowers that Caduceus somehow continued to coax into life, Yasha felt only mild surprise when she found the exact flower she was looking for. It sat nestled between a bush bearing bright yellow buds and what looked to be a rather healthy crop of mushrooms. The stems grew tall and proud until near the top, where it curved over itself like a shepherd’s crook. From the crook, several bell shaped blooms hung clustered around each other. The petals were long and waxy, curling daintily up at the ends to add to the bell like appearance.

They were perfect and beautiful—a rich indigo that Yasha thought suited Beau impeccably.

She had already spoken to Caduceus that morning and had gotten the okay from him and from the Wildmother to pluck the flowers. The Aasimar selected a handful of stems and tied them together with twine—simple but pretty. Carrying the blooms with delicate caution between her hands back down into the house, Yasha stopped at Jester and Beau’s door, knocking softly. Jester had told Yasha earlier that Beau was spending the afternoon going through her journals in the privacy of their room. She hated to interrupt, but Yasha wanted to do this before she lost her courage.

There was a quiet call from inside, and Yasha took it as her cue to enter, peering around the door to meet Beau’s curious gaze. The monk was cross-legged on her bed, papers strewn around her and a few journals flipped open among them. Yasha hadn’t realized how often Beau must stay up to scribble down things about their adventures each day. Maybe she would ask Beau to recount some things to her, just to see what went on in that wonderful head of hers.

“What’s up?” Beau set her notes aside and gave Yasha her attention. Her bright blue eyes flicked down to the flowers that Yasha immediately held out in her direction once the Aasimar had approached the bed. She stared at them for a moment before reaching out with hesitant fingers to take them from Yasha.

“What are these for?” Beau asked, looking every bit as flustered as she sounded.

“You were worried the other night,” Yasha reminded her, fingers twisting together. “About me leaving. These are uh…a promise. That I won’t leave. Uhm…yeah.”

Beau stared at Yasha, and then down at the flowers. Her lips twitched into a smile, and she laughed, soft and endeared. Yasha’s face flushed, her little courage from before long gone in the face of Beau’s smile.

“Thank you, Yasha,” Beau said as she looked back up at the Aasimar, eyes bright. Yasha was a goner.

“Yeah,” she choked out, awkward as ever. “Uhm, yep.” She fled the room, flustered.

And if Jester’s gushing and squealing about the ‘super pretty’ blue flowers in a vase in their room at dinner later made Yasha blush and duck her head, well that was no one’s business but her own.

purple hyacinth (hyacinthus orientalis) – please forgive me

Yasha still woke up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night sometimes. She never woke up screaming, though, so the only one who clued into her disturbed slumber was Caduceus. He had taken one look at her expression that shifted only a few degrees left of neutral, and next thing Yasha knew, she was sitting under the massive tree of their rooftop garden, being handed a cup of tea.

Caduceus didn’t push her—he never did—just sat with her until Yasha started talking.

“I keep having nightmares, of when I almost killed Beau.”

She would wake with an abrupt start, most times sitting bolt upright and sweating profusely. Her fingers would tremble, lacking the strength to even curl into a fist—to wrap around the hilt of her sword. For minutes after waking, Yasha could taste the salt of her tears on her tongue, smell the coppery tang of Beau’s blood. The blood was always the most vivid detail. It always smelled so harsh, always looked like communion wine creeping over the stones of the cathedral floor. But Beau’s blood was not her father’s wine; it did not wash away Yasha’s sins under the eyes of a god she didn’t believe in. It damned her, and it lingered around her even in the waking world.

“Have you apologized?” Caduceus’ gentle timbre tugged Yasha back to the garden. The herbal tea in her hands washed out the metallic scent from her nightmares.

“What?” Yasha croaked, having not registered what the cleric said.

“Have you apologized to Beau for what happened? Not that you have to,” Caduceus tagged on, making Yasha wince. “Your actions were not your own. But sometimes the mind needs to hear forgiveness it believes it needs, to trick it into moving on.”

Staring at the serene Firbolg across from her as he sipped at his tea, Yasha figured he had a point. Though she did not agree with them, the rest of the Nein seemed insistent that everything she did with Obann was not her fault. Realistically, Yasha supposed she understood that—but it was hard to forgive herself for things she remembered doing.

It was worth a shot, though.

After consulting her book and a well-known flower vendor in the markets of Rosohna, Yasha made her way back toward the house, a small bouquet bundled in her hands. The blooms were lovely, vibrant in their violet hue, the petals waxy and curling in toward one another to make the bushels look fuller. Yasha couldn’t help but to admire them as she walked, tracing reverent fingertips over the delicate flowers.

The seller had mentioned something about a myth behind the origin of the flowers, but Yasha hadn’t been interested in fairytales. The Aasimar cared more about the meaning she had found in her book and asked the vendor to confirm.

Arriving at the house, Yasha hesitated at the walk, her courage suddenly waning.

What if Beau was with someone else and Yasha had to pull her away? She loved her friends, but they were nosy as anything and Yasha didn’t want to handle their curiosity right now. Not when she was trying to apologize to Beau about something that still stung like a vulnerable sore spot.

Fate seemed to be on her side today, though. As Yasha stood outside their house, contemplating the merits of hiding the flowers and waiting until later that night, she heard a noise from around the far side of the house. Following it to the source revealed Beau—alone—working out in the open space of their lawn.

Seizing the opportunity, Yasha made her way over and waited for Beau to notice her. She didn’t have to stand there long before Beau was leaping to her feet to begin another exercise and caught sight of Yasha. Beau visibly brightened, and she opened her mouth to greet the other. Before her nerves crumbled, or she got distracted, Yasha closed the distance between them in a few strides and thrust the purple hyacinth toward Beau.

Blinking, Beau hesitated a moment before taking the bundle from Yasha, offering a confused, “thank you?”

“I got them for you.” Duh. “I wanted to apologize, since I haven’t yet, because I uhm…I hurt you pretty bad. And that makes me feel very, very terrible.” Yasha looked down, twisting her fingers together anxiously now that her hands were empty.

Beau looked up from the flowers, confusion written across her features. Yasha saw the moment it clicked. It shocked the Aasimar to realize that the victim could almost forget something so pivotal that left Yasha so gut-wrenchingly guilty. Nightmares plagued her, and Beau had catalogued it as another scar to her multitude and moved on.

Yasha felt a flash of concern for that fact, but she found herself more stunned by that thought than anything.

“Oh, that, pfft,” Beau waved one hand, eyes flicking downward. She fumbled over her words, trying to sound nonchalant but ending up tongue-twisted. “Don’t-don’t worry about it.”

Yasha stood there, brow furrowed. Don’t worry about it? That was all she had been doing for days on end. She had questioned how she would earn back Beau’s trust – but apparently she had never lost it.

“Still,” Yasha managed, trying to save the situation, trying to get Beau to understand that this apology would be good for both of them. She reached out a nervous hand and laid it overtop where Beau’s was wrapped around the bouquet. Giving the flowers a little push closer to the monk, Yasha felt herself blush a little under her war paint.

“I want you to have those, so you know that I am sorry. That I don’t want – nor do I intend to hurt you again.”

Beau stared at Yasha, quiet, before giving her a slow smile and a simple, “okay.”

sweet william (dianthus barbatus) – grant me one smile

It had been days since their brief stint in Kamordah, and Beau’s attitude did not improve much. It seemed like it had in brief flashes, but she was forcing false bravado with such obvious tells that it made Yasha’s chest ache.

She loved to see her friends’ smiles, and Beau’s was one of her favorites to witness. The monk looked more her age when she smiled, less tense, less angry at the world. It read like magic to watch Beau’s bitterness fade into the curve of upturned lips, a slight scrunch of her nose, and banished by the twinkle in her eyes.

Yasha knew the exact number of days it had been since she last saw Beau’s genuine smile.

They holed up in Nicodranas for the time being. With Veth’s restoration complete, they were now just killing time until the armada left. Yasha spent a night out on the beach, plucking at her harp and making mindless music. Her thoughts wandered to Beau, knowing that the other woman was spending a decent amount of their downtime on her own.

When she wore out her fixation of her harp, Yasha spent some time by candlelight flipping through her book on flowers in the Chateau’s tavern. Nearly three-quarters of the way through the book, she had found what she was looking for. In the morning, Marion had been kind enough to point her in the market's direction.

Now the Aasimar wandered through the thoroughfare of Nicodranas, eyes scanning. Marion had assured her there would be a vendor selling what Yasha was after. If anyone in all of Nicodranas knew which flowers one could get there, it was Jester’s mother.

It didn’t take long at all for Yasha to find a young half-Elf man hawking his massive array of flora. There were two broad carts on either side of the man, each overflowing with vibrant looking sprouts that immediately drew Yasha’s attention. She stood by one cart, mismatched eyes scanning over the various options, as she waited for the vendor to finish his transaction with another customer.

Reaching out, she brushed her fingers across some brightly colored daisies, smiling to herself.

“Can I help you?” The half-Elf’s voice from near her shoulder drew Yasha’s attention. He looked pleasant enough, but the nervous press of his lips served as a harsh reminder of Yasha’s height and appearance. She told herself to give him a tiny smile, trying to ease the tension.

“Yes, please,” Yasha answered. “I’m looking for something specific.”

She found Beau near the surf, the monk’s bedroll and backpack a little ways up the sandy slope so they didn’t get caught in the water. The individual in question had stripped off her boots and socks, rolled her pants to just below her knees, and was standing shin deep in the tide. Her back was to the beach, and to Yasha, facing the open ocean and just…standing.

Yasha hated to interrupt her, but she had been sitting by Beau’s things for almost twenty minutes now. She wanted to wait until Beau saw her, but the monk hadn’t moved at all in that time, save for to shift her feet whenever she sunk too much into the wet sand. At this rate, Yasha would be here the rest of the day. That wasn’t an issue, but she wanted to give Beau the flowers before then at least.

Making an executive decision, Yasha tugged off her boots and hiked her pants up, too. Scooping up the cheerful bundle of flowers she had gotten from the vendor in the market, Yasha carefully made her way down the warm sand towards Beau. Her bare feet catalogued the shift from packed, dry grain to the loose, shifting chill of water-soaked sand. The Aasimar took a moment to revel in the sensation, having never experienced this before.

The sounds of her delighted inhale and her feet against the wet sand alerted Beau to her presence. Beau twisted quickly, feet stuck in the shifting sand from where she had sunk to her ankles. She relaxed almost immediately upon realizing it was just Yasha, alarm fading into fond amusement with just the tiniest uptick at the corner of her mouth.

Not a smile—but a start.

“Sorry,” Yasha said, sheepish, shifting closer to Beau. She held out the flowers without preamble and delighted quietly in the pink that dusted the monk’s cheeks as her eyes widened.

“What are these for?” Beau breathed, cupping the bouquet delicately, like it was Frumpkin the One Ounce Owl. Her eyes scanned over the various, vibrant array of pinks that created the miniature bouquet of a flower Yasha learned was called Sweet William. (She wasn’t sure who William was, but Yasha thought he had excellent taste in flowers.) The petals were smooth and delicate, ranging from a deep, almost purple-pink shade to a paler blush color. A few of the blooms sported a white outlining the fringes of their petals, adding a pop of pattern to an otherwise solid color arrangement.

Yasha watched Beau take it in. What once was barely a smirk, was now a full grin. Her lips tugged up at both corners, lips parting to reveal Beau’s teeth as she turned the flowers this way and that to take them in. She realized recently, that while Beau despised wearing the color pink, the monk still found enjoyment in the strength and vivacity of said color.

“They’re just for you,” Yasha answered after a moment of observing Beau’s delight. “To cheer you up.”

Beau looked up, startled, and Yasha felt a quiet moment of fear that she had messed up. She worried that Beau might try to push down her smile out of self-consciousness, but was rewarded with a more bashful grin. Tugging her ankles free of the sucking sand, Beau worked her way closer to Yasha and reached out to squeeze Yasha’s elbow in a gesture of gratitude.

“Thank you, Yash,” Beau murmured. “They’re beautiful.”

“No problem,” Yasha murmured back, glancing down at her fidgeting hands.

They were quiet a while longer before Beau spoke up again.

“Do you want to stay and watch the sunset with me? It’s pretty nice from this part of the beach—and I know you like color, so you should enjoy it.”

Yasha met Beau’s genuine smile with one of her own.

“I’d like that.”

red tulips (tulipa) – declaration of love blue violets (viola) – faithfulness; I’ll always be true [historically the flower Sappho gave her female lover]

She hates to admit it, but Yasha agonized over this decision for far too long. It had gotten to where she forced herself to swallow her embarrassment so she could recruit assistance from Jester, Veth, and Caduceus. Things went about as well as expected, but the trio had eventually helped Yasha to decide.

Now all that remained was to hope Beau liked it.

Yasha sat on Beau’s bed, perched on the very edge of the mattress and fiddling with the vibrant, voluminous bouquet that Jester had helped put together. The Tiefling had proclaimed that her mother always received extravagant floral arrangements at the Chateau, and therefore she knew the basics of arranging flowers into a stunning array. Given how gorgeous Yasha thought this bundle was, she was inclined to believe Jester.

The bedroom door creaked open and Yasha was on her feet before she even registered moving. She reminded herself to breathe.

Beau blinked with surprise at the sight of Yasha standing in the middle of the bedroom, a half-eaten apple in one hand. Then she seemed to notice the flowers clutched in the Aasimar’s hands. The monk sighed, looking like she was fighting a smile as she shut the door behind her and made her way over to Yasha.

“I was wondering why Veth and Jester were giggling and following me around downstairs. Now I guess I know.” Beau sets the apple down on the table by her bed and faces Yasha, studying her.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Beau asks, coming close enough that she can smooth the waxy, red tulip petals between her fingers. There are a few violets scattered among them, organized carefully by Jester’s dexterous hand, a rich blue that borders on cobalt. Yasha catches Beau eyeing them appreciatively.

“I’m not so good…with words,” Yasha fumbles to begin. She had agonized over her declaration almost as much as she had the flowers. “You know that I like flowers, that they mean a lot to me. I have been letting them do the talking for a while now, so…”

She trails off and passes the bouquet to Beau’s hands. Letting her fingers linger where they cup around the monk’s calloused hands, Yasha focused on keeping them from shaking.

“These are for you, because this is me saying I love you.”

Beau blinks—first at the flowers, then up at Yasha, then back down to the flowers. Yasha can feel Beau’s fingers tighten around the stems bundled together beneath her own hands. The silence stretches and Yasha grows more and more nervous with each passing, thundering beat of her heart.

“You love me?” Beau all but whispers. Her eyes, when they look up at Yasha, are almost as blue as the violets. Those eyes look so vulnerable and hopeful it leaves Yasha breathless.

“I do,” Yasha breathes, afraid to speak any louder for fear of shattering this fragile tension between them.

“Why?”

Yasha doesn’t even hesitate.

“You’ve never judged me for the things I have done, for the person I have become. You have only ever believed in me and have never given up on me. I think you are funny, I think you are smart, clever, and I know you are driven. I admire you, and I’m drawn to how bright you are. I have never seen you give up or stop fighting. You aren’t afraid to ask questions, or find creative ways to get the answers you want when the direct route does not work. I realized that you were always excited to see me come back, but it took me too long to realize why. I hope I’m not too late.”

Beau’s eyes are watering by the end of Yasha’s brief speech. She slowly sets the flowers down on the bed beside them. Her arms wrap around Yasha’s neck in one of the strongest hugs Yasha has ever been on the receiving end of.

Yasha’s arms wind around Beau’s waist before she even has to think about it. The monk’s face presses into the juncture of Yasha’s neck, and Yasha is more than content to tuck her face into Beau’s shoulder.

They stay like that for a few moments that stretch into infinity.

Beau pulls back first, hands sliding against Yasha’s skin so she can frame the Aasimar’s face. Yasha can do nothing but stare back at the woman in her arms, feeling far too many emotions to even begin putting names to them.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Beau says, giving Yasha a moment to process, to reject her. Yasha doesn’t.

Beau’s lips press against Yasha’s, chapped and warm, and Yasha presses into the embrace. She imagined kissing Beau before, but this is nothing like her daydreams. If she is honest with herself, Yasha probably put a little too much of her past experience into those daydreams. She should have known that Beau would kiss the way she fights—just a little reckless and with every ounce of passion in her soul.

They don’t linger long, and before Yasha knows it, Beau is tucked back into her shoulder. She clings to Yasha like she never left the crook of the Aasimar’s neck in the first place.

“Yasha?” Beau’s muffled voice speaks up after a few moments.

“Yeah?” Yasha breathes against Beau’s shoulder, the monk shivering in response.

“I love you, too.”

Yasha doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the week.

ambrosia (ambrosia artemisiifolia) – your love is reciprocated

Her book on flowers had been missing for all of a day and a half before Yasha finds it again. Someone had left it neatly atop her pillow; a clump of tall, yellow blooms tied off with string perched on the cover. The buds are small and golden, looking more like flowers that had yet to bloom, but Yasha recognized the plant from her book easily. Most considered it to be a weed, but it was still rather beautiful all the same.

Yasha scooped up the bundle and smiled as she set them carefully down on the table by her bedside. They were a pop of color in her otherwise monotone room, blending in well with the mural Jester had painted for her.

Curious, Yasha flipped to the page she remembered seeing the flower on to look up the meaning.

She went to kiss Beau mere moments later, cheeks pink for most of the afternoon.

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #beauregard #beauregard lionett #yasha #beauyashaweek2020 #writing #my writing #flowers #vignette

57 notes · View notes

itsuki-minamy · 4 years

Text

“SWORD WITHOUT A SWORD”

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

It was due to the little conversation with his subordinates that Shiotsu thought that it would not be suitable for him on his birthday.

It is the birthday of Minato's twin children, Hayato and Akito.

++++++++++

Minato's children, who will be in high school this spring, said, "I want a sword for my birthday."

"Sword?"

"Yes, "because we are already adults", we want a real sword like the one you are holding."

"Is it a skill control saber?"

Shiotsu's hand touched the handle of his waist.

"This is the equipment loaned to the members of "Scepter 4" under the authority of "Blue King". Just because you have the aptitude, you can't do it alone. Even more, for children…”

Minato nodded with a soft smile.

“Instead of being a hero, he just wanted to imitate an adult. It is not an appropriate treatment.”

"Oh, I see."

Shiotsu's shoulders lost their strength

"Then, as I recall, I can give him a small sword. Boys love those things.”

Minato shook his head slowly.

"Akito said the same thing, but I stopped him. I think those things are still early for our children.”

Minato's wife, Aki Minato, who is also the mother of the twins, is a woman who is part of the "Scepter 4" task force despite being a woman, and is what people in the field say she is "the great woman of Kintama". She often disagrees with her cautious husband.

"I see. If that happens, then it is a home schooling policy.”

Shiotsu bowed.

"Sorry. I told you."

"No... "Holding a knife gives you the responsibility and awareness of an adult". I think there is a reason for such an opinion. Akio also said, "Let's go buy a big one." However, I..."

With a gentle but determined will, Minato said...

"I want them to be ready to harm others a little later."

"I see."

Shiotsu nodded his head. As a single person, he has no idea when a boy is a young minor, an adult, or a child. He is not eligible to make a decision on this matter.

In addition, he regularly trusts the moderate and common sense of the man in front of him.

"So... I'm going to give him something else, not a sword."

"A matching fountain pen."

Minato stopped working on the paperwork and turned the pen around.

"The pen is stronger than the sword." I want you to do that.”

A few days after talking about it, he realized that Habari's birthday was near.

Daily, among "Scepter 4" members, including Shiotsu, there is little awareness of "birthday". Birthdays, birthday parties, birthday celebrations... He remembered after a long time in a conversation with Minato that there were such things in the world.

We look forward to our annual birthday and celebrate with our family members. Such acts belong to a peaceful daily life far from themselves. He behaves differently with sabers and always swaps lives. And a few times a month, he retires after one of his lives suffers. There will be no "happy birthday" on those days. Everyone thinks so out of the box.

But in reality, such "daily life" may be the most important.

The reason "Scepter 4" exists is to protect the everyday life of the general public. If you fight without knowing what to protect, the beast is no better. "Scepter 4", who controls Strains' crimes with his skill, is a law dog, and even a bloodhound is not a wild dog.

Everyday life as a general citizen, life as a person. We should not separate ourselves from such things.

In particular, he wants Habari, the Blue King, to be aware of this. Therefore, it is a "birthday" and a "gift". He wishes his actions could have some influence on what "Scepter 4" is like.

So what to give? It is not wrong to imitate Minato and give him a fountain pen, but he wonders if that is more suitable for Habari.

After hesitating for a few days, she decided on a paper knife.

"Sword" and "Judgment". Knife-shaped stationery. Although Shiotsu wants Habari to keep his society in harmony by exchanging letters and documents with other "kings" without depending on it as a base, he thought it was a tool that symbolized the ideal form of a "king".

Of course, the blade must have beauty and dignity as a sword, even if it is not sharp. In addition, I engrave the "Scepter 4" badge on the handle.

Also, as a result of ordering the materials and so on, the craftsman finished the job to the limit and received it directly on the birthday in the store. It was a bad setup that Shiotsu didn't have.

To make matters worse, there were several emergency dispatches on the crucial day, and not just Shiotsu himself but every member within range who might be called. The only one who was vacant was Zenjo Gouki, who was in the middle of the shift adjustment.

Kikuyodo is a cutlery store in Minokasabashi. They mainly sell kitchen knives and scissors, but he also handles art swords and half orders to artisans.

From Tsubakimon, it takes about 40 minutes by subway and on foot. He goes home, half a day of work.

"Well, don't take a detour. When you receive it, save it, and come directly here.”

Zenjo laughed at Shiotsu, who meticulously said that.

"Haha. It is like a child's messenger.”

"Younger than you."

Shiozu replied half angry.

"If I had another messenger, I wouldn't ask you."

"It is a configuration flaw."

"Yes…"

Zenjo laughed even more at Shiotsu, who was silent when he pointed at him.

"Don't worry like that. It is easy."

"Zenjo."

Shiotsu called out to him when he was walking away.

"This is for personal use. Change your clothes."

"I get it."

"I don't know, but don't take out a saber."

"Is it that bad?"

Zenjo looked back. Hit the saber handle with his hand,

"I will carry it in secret."

"Is there a good reason? Leave it here."

At this point, Shiotsu had made some mistakes. It was not the ultimate mistake, but it was causing an unexpected situation by creating a gap between internal and external routine actions.

An hour later, Zenjo met three members of the enemy clan, the "Purgatory", on the Minogasabashi shopping street.

++++++++++

Minogasabashi is far from the territory of "Purgatory" and is not considered a vigilante area. It was a coincidence that the members of "Purgatory" were there, and that one of them met with Zenjo.

Zenjo was attacked the moment he left the "Kikuyodo" store. One of the three was a strong enemy.

The man is now lying on his back after a fight where the shelves fell and the knives scattered.

A paper knife is stuck between the eyebrows to the base of the handle. Instant death.

"What did you do, Zenjo?"

Shiotsu screams when he arrives on the scene.

"I was attacked, so I decided to defend myself."

Zenjo replied. There are some burn marks on his body, but it is a minor injury.

"We both fought bare-handed, but this one was strong."

Zenjo pointed to the fallen man.

"If I didn't kill him, I was exhausted by this man's flame."

"Ah..."

"Calm down, Shiotsu."

A long-haired man emerged from behind Shiotsu, who was cluttering up his words. The "Blue King", Habari Jin.

Habari kneels beside the body and examines his head.

Sakeku Ryusei. You are an executive in "Purgatory". What do you have on your forehead?”

Zenjo answered Habari's question.

“It is an article commissioned by Shiotsu. It was an emergency, so I used it arbitrarily.”

He uses the fingers of both hands to indicate the length of the blade,

"This is a thin knife. There is no blade.”

"Paper knife? The handle has a small "Scepter 4" emblem engraved on it.”

"That's..."

The moment Shiotsu bets on explaining the situation,

"Oh, today is my birthday."

Habari said.

"But why a paper knife? The twins' birthdays are drawing near. They are high school students and want to stretch, but Minato does not accept it. When I heard it I said, why don't you give him a knife without a blade? It appears to be Shiotsu.”

Habari looked at Shiotsu and smiled coldly.

"The pen is stronger than the sword." I didn't think it was wrong.”

"Everything is my fault."

Shiotsu said.

"It is a boring idea that jeopardizes good articles and creates the cause of a collision with "Purgatory". If they demand a price, give me.”

"No, it's funny, Shiotsu."

Zenjo said.

"I killed this boy. If you gave it to him, it would be my neck.”

"By the way, you're out of proportion to the sake phrase."

"Then instead of changing, cut out a few more people and combine the ends of the book."

"Hahaha."

"That's enough!"

Shiotsu yelled at Habari and Zenjo, who were laughing at each other with unscrupulous jokes.

"I was told that this situation could trigger a large-scale conflict between clans... No, it could trigger the escape of "Red King" Genji Kagutsu.”

"Do you believe that?"

Habari said to control the sword curtain to Shiotsu.

"Purgatory" is the city of the relic, but for the city of the relic, what meaning does this man have?"

"He's an executive! Is it possible for an antisocial group to avoid retaliation if they killed one of its members?”

"No, Kagutsu Genji is not a man who works with both types. Nor is he a man who faces the demands of his subordinates. He is a lonely and uninhabited "King". To be honest, I can't read their behavior."

"That's interesting."

Habari hit Shiotsu's shoulder and asked him to take over.

"Don't worry so much, Shiotsu. Your gift was a last-minute rescue from Zenjo's life, and it also came with the neck of the enemy executive and interesting confirmation.”

Habari put a cross in place and applied a fist to the guy.

"It's a great birthday celebration."

Rather than answer the light talk, Shiotsu instructed his subordinates and began to compile the scene. Things are already beyond individual responsibility.

With a fearless smile and looking at the gap, Habari's brain begins to spin at full speed in an attempt to understand and respond to the situation.

The bomb called Kagutsu Genji may or may not explode right now, with tens of thousands of lives.

If the balance of fate begins to tip toward the worst, the one who can stop it is the power of the "Blue King."

It is impossible that the sword that holds the hand has no blade.

"I will return to base. If there is no profit.”

Shiotsu told Zenjo, that he was trying to start running.

"Use transport vehicles. Hurry up."

#k #k project #k stories #k fan clan #habari jin #shiotsu gen #zenjo goki #SCEPTER 4

38 notes · View notes

dahliawolfe · 3 years

Text

Valkyrie

Loki/OFC

The soil was dry and it crunched under Thor’s boots as he strode over it. “Why are we here?” Sif questioned for the fifth time since Thor assembled his warriors.

“Sif, these are my lands now. I will scour them until their very ends to assure that all Asgardians are well taken care of. It is what the All-Father would have wanted.” Sif sniggered behind him. Odin wasn’t the most loved in his kingdom, but everyone had respected him. It was true that Odin had neglected certain classes among his people, and Thor planned to change that. War had ravaged this part of Asgard, and Thor was doubtful that there would be anyone left, but he’d made it his mission check anyway.

The swift movement to their left had all of them drawing their weapons. Thor motioned for Sif to flank the right side of the boulder ahead of them as he stalked to the left, Mjölnir at the ready. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. Kneeling on the ground in a defensive crouch was a young, blonde girl. Her pale skin was smeared with blood and dirt, and her blue eyes flicked around frantically. Thor held up his hand, dropping Mjölnir back to his side.

“Little One, there is no need to fear,” he soothed, holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture. “I’m Thor. I wish to help you. Can you tell me your name?” The girl drew further into herself, pulling away from him hostilely. “Alright. Alright. No one here wishes to hurt you.” The rags covering her body slid down, revealing the scars across her back, under the curve of her shoulder blades. Deep, ugly scars that were jagged and shiny. Thor contained the urge to recoil, but only barely. Runes ran down the length of her spine, deep russet against her snowy skin. “Valkyrie,” Thor whispered reverently, causing a shocking reaction from the girl, who fell backwards, trying to escape. Sif roughly grabbed her arms, hauling her upright, and anger flared in Thor’s veins. “Remove your hands!” he boomed, gaining a sour yet shocked look from Sif, who relented, releasing the young girl’s arms.

…

The girl skittered away. Thor could see that she was weak. He doubted that she’d had food in a long while, and her lips were dry and cracked. He could see her growing more lethargic the longer they stood there. As much as he didn’t like the answer, Thor knew he would just have to wait her out. “We have food. And water. You can come with us,” he offered, giving her a smile. Jane had always told him that his smiles were magical. But the girl simply glared coldly at him, clutching the rags closer to her body. Calculating his move, Thor darted forward, gently grasping the girl, dragging her to his body. She thrashed violently, screeching loud enough to shatter glass. But Thor could feel her growing weaker. Soon enough, Thor knew she would wear herself out. He did not expect the sharp elbow to his nose, and his grip almost slackened, but he felt her legs give, and he caught her, swooping her into his arms.

…

The healers gathered around the young girl, whispering frantically amongst themselves. Thor stood nervously across the room, determined to not leave the girl’s side. “That will be enough! Stop whispering about her, and heal her!” Thor barked, immediately silencing the room. Thor couldn’t help but be on edge. Valkyries hadn’t been seen in nearly 500 years, and here was one, laying right in front of him. Or, so he suspected. The healers would confirm, but Thor couldn’t imagine any other explanation.

“Your majesty, we will be at work for a long while, I suspect. Would you like to rest and come back once we are finished?” a healer spoke, approaching him.

“No, I will wait here. Is it true? She is Valkyrie?”

The healer nodded grimly. “Yes, I believe so. Sad, she must be the only one left.” Thor nodded, looking back to the young girl.

“Indeed.”

…

Loki strolled the halls of the palace searching for his brother. Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach. How dare Thor call himself king when it was Loki doing all the work! The prince refused to let the injustice stand!

Finally, Loki heard his brother’s voice coming from the healers’ room, so he stormed in, slamming the doors wide open. “Thor!” Loki boomed, startling everyone in the room. Thor looked up to meet his brother’s stormy eyes.

“Loki?” he questioned.

“How….” Loki was cut off with a whimper coming from the healers’ table. His eyes landed on the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. And they were immediately drawn to the runes running delicately down her sides, over her hips, and across the bottom of her abdomen. His eyes widened. Valkyrie? “Thor?” he questioned.

Thor’s eyes snapped to meet his brother. “Brother…”

“A Valkyrie?”

“Yes…”

Loki was unable to stop himself as he stepped toward the girl. Thor stepped into his path. “Loki,” Thor warned. Loki waved him off. The prince reached the young girl and stroked a gentle hand down her side. Her eyes snapped open, immediately filling with fear.

“It’s alright. You’re safe here,” Loki soothed kindly, a trait he didn’t usually exhibit. The girl’s sapphire eyes met his own, and he smiled down at her. “Can you tell me your name, Little One?”

“Ei-Eira,” the girl croaked.

“Eira, I am Loki, Prince of Asgard,” he said, introducing himself with a bow. Bootsteps sounded behind him as Thor approached.

“Odin?” Eira questioned, making her way upright.

“No. I am Thor, son of Odin.” The girl all but snarled.

“He is a pathetic All-Father,” she declared, shocking everyone in the room. “My people are dead because of him.”

“Odin…” Thor began, but Loki cut it.

“Is dead. Thor is now king of Asgard. He wishes to repair the damage done to Asgard.” Rarely did Loki come to his brother’s defense, but he spoke the truth. He really believed that Thor was trying his best to fix their father’s mistakes. Eira looked at them both evenly. Before nodding and standing.

“I should wish to have some food.” She looked down at her naked body. “And clothing.”

Thor snapped his fingers. “Inform the Queen’s maids that Eira will need assistance,” he ordered.

“Until then,” Loki began, removing his cape and draping it over Eira’s shoulders. “I will show you to your chambers.”

…

Eira studied the halls of the Asgardian palace as Loki led her to her room. From the pearlescent walls to the golden hued floors, she’d never seen such opulence. It was honestly wasteful.

“You are Valkyrie, no?” Loki questioned.

Eira snorted. “The Valkyrie are dead. I am no more than a relic. Used, scarred, and worthless.”

“Hardly. You are more valuable than you realize. You are a symbol of hope for Asgard. A symbol that the greatness that we once obtained is more than a distant memory.” Eira sneered harshly, pulling to a stop to face the prince.

“I am no ones hope! I am weak! I do not even have my wings! The gods, they left us long ago! And soon enough, we will all join them!” With a huff, she stormed forward, leaving Loki struggling to catch up.

…

Thor and Loki stood outside Eira’s door waiting. They were to take her to meet their mother and dine in the great hall. Her doors swung open with a whoosh and a creak, and Eira stood before them, the picture of a goddess. Their mother had selected a sapphire silk dress for the girl, and it flowed over her lean body and hugged her curves. The gown was backless, exposing her runic skin all the way to the crest of her hips. Their mother had offered her own golden bangles, themselves inscribed with runes, and they graced her slim arms, from wrist to bicep. Her long, golden hair hung in gentle waves, braids and traditional beads scattered throughout. The hilt of the slim bladed knife that Frigga had insisted Thor offer the girl was prominent against her thigh, the sapphire at the tip making facets in the silk. “Are we not ready to dine?” Eira asked after a few moments of silence.

“Yes, of course.,” Thor agreed, motioning for her to go ahead of them.

…

Frigga stood from her seat at the head of the table, her arms spread wide, and smiled. “Welcome, Eira! I do hope my boys have treated you with kindness.” Eira bowed, her arm over her heart.

“All-Mother, Thank you for your hospitality. It will not be forgotten.”

“Get up, Dear. You shall bow to no one. On the contrary, we should all bow to you.” To emphasize her words, the queen began to kneel, when Eira quickly grabbed the All-Mother’s arm, halting her.

“Please, no. My queen, I am nothing. No one to worship. I am a smear on the history of the Valkyrie.” Frigga gasped, drawing the young girl to her, hugging her tightly. Almost reluctantly, Eira hugged back.

“You are so much more than you say, my girl.” The queen then kissed the girl’s temple and helped her stand. “You look beautiful in sapphire. I had always hoped to clothe my daughter in the hue, but I was only graced with boys.” Frigga rolled her eyes in playfulness. “Now, we eat!”

…

“You showed great respect for my mother. I thought you felt slighted by this family.” Loki probed as the first course was being served. His voice was only loud enough for Eira to hear. The girl looked up sharply.

“No. I despise Odin for what he has done. Why should I blame the wife for the husband’s idiocy? Or the sons for that matter? Queen Frigga is a proud, strong woman. I respect her, and it would be my honor to serve her. I was born a warrior, and if my Queen requires it, I will be so again.”

…

The next morning, Loki made his way to Eira’s chamber to fetch her. Frigga wanted to show their guest the gardens. She met him before he could reach her hall. The night before, she had looked like a princess. Today, she looked nothing short of a warrior. Brown leather pants tucked into the legs of knee-high chocolate boots. Her loose white shirt hung under the leather jerkin covering her chest. Her hair was swept into intricate braids and pinned just above the base of her neck. The knife his mother had given her the night before was strapped around her thigh. And a long, grey cloak hung over her shoulders.

“Good morning, Eira,” the prince greeted with a smile.

“Good morning, Prince Loki. Your mother, she provided mostly gowns for me. This will not displease her will it?” She gestured to her outfit.

“No, I assure you. She will not be displeased.”

“Good. You came to ask me something?”

“Mother. She wishes to show you her gardens. She is quite proud of them.” Eira nodded.

“Of course. Lead the way.”

…

Eira stood watching Thor’s team spar, and she shook her head. “The female needs to spend less time picking up her feet,” she whispered to Thor, who chuckled. Sif, who overheard, snapped her head up.

“Would you like to show me?” she challenged the Valkyrie.

“Indeed.” Swiping a sword from the weapons wall, Eira jumped down from her perch and took guard. In less than a minute, she had the other female pinned, sword to her throat. “If you hadn’t picked up your feet, I would not have been able to take you so easily.”

Sif nodded angrily and took Eira’s outstretched hand and hoisted herself up. “Thank you for the advice,” she snarled, storming from the room.

Thor was leaving the smithy when Loki caught up to him. “What are you up to, Brother?” the prince questioned.

“Eira is quite the swordsman. I am having her one made.”

“A thoughtful gift,” Loki agreed.

“What do you think of young Eira?” Thor asked, slinging his arm over his brother’s shoulders.

“She interests me, I must admit.”

“I….”

The brothers were interrupted by the long, high screech coming from the palace doors. A bloodied Eira emerged, leading Frigga by the hand. “We are under attack!” she bellowed, rushing to Thor and Loki. The sword she had swiped from the armor room dripped with blood. The knife, that she’d no doubt quickly sheathed in order to take the Queen’s hand was also smeared with blood. Thor grabbed Eira’s shoulders to steady her.

“Who is it? How many?” he demanded.

“I do not know. A dozen at the very least.”

Sif appeared, weapon brandished. “Thor?”

“Sif, prepare to attack!” he commanded, calling Mjölnir to him.

end pt. 1

#thor #loki #midgard #valkyrie #king of asgard #asgard

3 notes · View notes

queenmuzz · 4 years

Text

Three Sparda’s and a Baby.... Part II

I’m sorry if you were expecting a cute fluffy story about three grown men attempting to take care of a baby....

Devils Never...

Ao3 link here.

Devils never feel pain. Well, not in this way, they can feel the pain of flesh burning, tearing, ripping, but not the deep cutting pain in his chest, scouring through his nerves like acid, through his shoulder and down his arm, ending at his ring finger…. Or did the pain originate from his finger, and then into his chest? Because on that finger was a slender gold band, a ring connecting him something he valued above nearly everything. Sparda freezes at the sensation. It’s a warning, but of what?

The answer may lay in what he holds in his other hand, dangling, choking, and yet still cackling. He’s heard rumours of hell gates opening up bearing a familiar three pronged symbol, and demons bearing the same sigil. And now, after weeks of searching, he’s finally gotten the culprit in his grasp. But why is there pain?

The three headed demon is down to one functioning head, the left snake one has been decapitated, the right lion one has had his jaw shattered, leaving the central goat one practically giggling in the Dark Slayer’s face.

“Heheheh” it wheezes before it coughs up black ichor, “It seems the Master’s plan has come to fruition, and I” another cough “am honoured to have played my part in your destruction” “Enough with your riddles!” Sparda barks, “Where is he!”

“Your betrayal was enough to keep Him contained, but thanks to your laxness, His servants have found out your greatest weakness.” Its eyes close in pleasure, “I will die knowing that you will lose everything….” it lets a final neighing shriek of delight, before Sparda dispatches the wretch.

Devils never value anything other than their own lives. In the Underworld, each demon looks out for what is most important, themselves. Even when they submit to another demon, it is in order to preserve their own safety, or to gain an advantage against another.

But Sparda knows exactly what this abomination is speaking of, and as the fetid corpse dissolves into ash, he realizes he’s walked into a trap. He’s been led on a wild goose chase (humanity has always found charming turn of phrases, he’s realized), and unfortunately, he’s not going to be the one to pay the price. He needs to get home as fast as possible. But he’s been led so far, that even by flying at supersonic speeds will take him a few hours. If only he had Yamato….but alas, he had given it to his eldest on his eighth birthday, as well as Rebellion to his brother (and of course, they had begged to take it to show-and-tell the next day, much to their mothers exasperation.) So as he reforms into his true state, and unfurls his wings, all he can do is pray to any Divinity that is willing to listen, to keep what he treasures most safe…

The burning pain continues until he’s around halfway the way home, and then the pain abruptly stops, replaced by ice cold. This doesn’t make Sparda feel any better.

*****

Devils never panic. When faced with unexpected circumstances, they automatically react in set patterns, analyzing their opponents and situations, and how to maximize it to their own advantage. No emotion is used, it is all instincts.

He arrives, in the middle of a destructive thunderstorm, to a home that is ablaze, despite the rain. Winds howl and thunder roars, but it’s not enough to drown out his screams of rage. There are a few remaining demons scuttling about, and he slaughters them with the finesse of two millennia of skill. But what of his wife, his children?

He braves the flames and rushes inside, screaming his wife’s name, his sons’ names, but the crackling fire obscures even his sight… surely they must be safe, surely they must have escaped…

And there he sees her, surrounded by runes of protection, keeping the flames at bay. Red and black and gold cloth, cascading like a fountain… except she’s not moving. He rushes forward, to find her collapsed, her eyes open in fear, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her long slender neck, something he used to find beautiful about her, where he placed the perfect amulet of silver and gold and ruby, is at an unnatural angle. Even so, he turns back into his human form, and places two trembling fingers on her jugular, hoping for some movement… There. Is. Nothing.

Devils never value their mates. To a demon, a mate is just a necessary inconvenience to reproduce. Thus, they choose their mates based on who is the strongest, (but not too strong, one does not want to submit to a mate, but not too weak, for the progeny will inherit that weakness). And after the deed is done, both go their separate ways, although sometimes, a last battle, often to the death, happens.

Sparda cradles his beloved wife in his arms, rocking her lifeless body back and forth. She was the light in his life, a beautiful sunbeam that scattered the clouds of his soul. Her voice, clear and sweet, could lull even the insomniac Dark Slayer into a deep slumber.

And now, she was gone, never to smile at him, nor to comb her long fingers through his hair, nor to kiss his nose, nor even to tell him how much she loved him. It was all his fault. He had sworn on the day of his marriage to love and protect her, and he had failed. He’d become too confident, too relaxed, and she had paid the price…

All he could do now was avenge her death. Perhaps it was in Mundus’s plans, but Sparda knew what he must do; rip open the barrier between the worlds and take his revenge against the so called ‘God-Emperor’. He’d either cast him down, or die in the attempt. His demon blood demanded it.

But there was still a matter that stopped him from going on a rampage….his sons. He looked around, terrified he’d find their bodies, but all he could see were the shades of corpses of lower level demons. Each smelled of magic, or gunpowder, signifying that however she had died, she had made it as hard as possible for her enemies. But one corpse, located at the doorway didn’t have the smell of either...it smelled of the blade of Rebellion. That could only mean that little Dante had been here, hopefully attempting an escape And as Sparda attempted to follow the trail, he could only hope that his youngest son had escaped.

Devils never feel terror. They can inflict terror on humans, and in some circumstances, they can feel dread in the presence of particularly strong demons, (Sparda has caused that to infinite numbers of lesser demons) But fear, or terror? No, a demon cannot feel it.

Sparda runs through the driving rain, torn between screaming for his sons, and keeping silent, afraid that it will lure them out, easy pickings for the demons. He’s terrified that they’ve already been killed, or worse, captured. He knows the lengths Mundus has gone to subjugate anyone who has defied him (the Nobodies were once somebodies, before Mundus performed his tortures on them), and what better way to punish his former second in command, if he could not take him himself?

Lightning illuminates the muddy path, showing the corpses of yet more demons, these ones fresher, and not cut by Rebellion. These ones were cut cleaner, if still a bit amateurish….obvious work of Yamato. He stills, straining to hear over the wind, rain, and thunder, and his ears pick up three sounds.

First, Dante’s terrified voice, “How much farther to the safe house?”

Secondly, Vergil’s, hissed “Shhhhh, you idiot! They’ll hear us!”

And thirdly, to Sparda’s horror, the soft sound of what seemed to be blades being sharpened. He takes his true form, striking from the shadows to find the Death Scissor at the base of a tree, skulking for what had to be the twins. It doesn’t even have a chance to fight back, as he dispatches it with one swift slice. All it could do was shriek in protest as it dissipates into mist, its mask all that remains, before it is crushed under his heel. He faces the tree (an old oak that he planted nearly a century and a half ago, when he first built the now burnt out manor), and in the flash of lightning, he sees his boys, both soaked to the bone, flattening their distinctive hairstyles to the point that they’re no longer distinguishable. Although, Sparda can tell it’s Vergil, simply because he attempts to wield Yamato confidently.

“S-stay back!” his eldest says to him, obviously terrified. Dante, equally petrified, clutches his brother’s shoulder. It breaks the Demon’s heart...his sons, while aware of their father’s identity, have only seen his true form rarely. So he retakes his human manifestation, and calls to them.

Dad!

Father!

Both sons run towards him, and he holds them close. They are both safe and unharmed, praise be, and he picks them up, to take them to the safe house, a place that will, be a sanctuary, if only temporarily.

“What about mother?” Vergil questions, and for once, the proud and eloquent Sparda is left speechless. How to tell his sons that their beloved mother will never sing to them, never kiss them goodnight, never tell them how much she loves them?

“Vergil…” Dante says, and their father knows that the younger boy was there when his mother fell, perhaps in order to save him. Does Dante feel guilty? He should not… It is his father who is to blame.

“We have no time, we must move” he says, clutching both sons as he speeds through the forest, leaving the hellscape behind.

Devils never care for their offspring . The males usually leave after mating, and the females almost always abandon their young as soon as possible. If they perish? Then they were weak, and not worth worrying about. That is the way of the Underworld, the weak are winnowed and the strong are considered rivals.

Sparda sits in the cushioned chair in the small cabin, Vergil leans on his left side, Dante, his right. Both have been changed out of their cold wet clothes, toweled off, and now, hours after midnight, they’ve both finally passed out, clutching their swords, as if they are teddy bears. Their father remains awake, alert to any dangers. But, as the storm finally subsides, he senses no danger and allows himself to relax, and to think of the future. Obviously, it is too dangerous to stay here, they must flee. But to where? Sparda has accumulated residences and properties over the centuries, in various states of repair (Fortuna sounds tempting, but he has always been uncomfortable about living in an area that reveres him as a god) He needs to find a place with a good school, yet large enough where he and his boys can live in comfortable anonymity. His sons need new sets of clothing, footwear, books (for Vergil), and toys (for Dante). And Eva….

He needs to go back in the morning, no matter the danger, to retrieve what he can, and to give her an honest burial. She deserves that at least. She’d deserved so, so much more, but he’s failed her. He will have to bring her sons with him, to keep them safe from danger. They would never leave his protection ever again. He must keep her legacy safe, to honour her memory, to give himself a purpose.

Despite the rain finally stopping, he feels wetness on his cheeks. A leak on the roof? Or maybe he had forgotten to dry off his own hair….

Because as everyone knows…

Devils never Cry.

#Devil May Cry #Three Spardas and a Babby #Sparda #dante #vergil #Here be Angst

57 notes · View notes

masterweaverx · 4 years

Text

Me: “I should probably be writing so I don’t get so desperate at the last minute that--”

My brain: “The El Goonish Shive characters as students of Beacon academy MAKE IT HAPPEN GO GO GO!”

Me: “FINE. I’ll draw notes, but I’m not necessarily doing the story!”

So anyway here’s some notes for a story I’m not necessarily doing.

Team SPET (Spectral), led by Grace

Grace Sciuridae:

Faunus, Vale origin. Squirrel tail, “antennae” forelocks, and clawed fingernails/toenails (not actual claws, she just let them grow out.

Emblem: An acorn, generally worn as a pin on her sleeve.

Outfit is a loose long-sleeved shirt in green, black pants, bandoleer belt with a sheathe for her weapon and pouches, and no shoes/gloves.

Beacon uniform adjustments: no shoes, and she doesn’t wear the neck ribbon thing, but otherwise standard girl’s outfit.

Semblance: Extensorary. Grace can extend her aura to feel anything in the area, manipulate objects, or simulate flight.

Weapon: Shade Tail. A zweihander that splits into two bladed whips. Possible Dust effects.

Backstory: Kidnapped as a child by Damien, who in this universe is an absolutely insane faunus-supremacist that thinks he can control the Grimm, Grace lived several unkind years in the forests of Vale before managing to escape and arriving at Beacon academy. Ozpin let her in as a student mostly to provide her the protection of paperwork, since from what she’s describing Damien might be tied to the Bigger Secret of the world. She becomes partners with Tedd during initiation. Her upbringing does leave her mostly the same as EGS prime canon, ignorance of all social norms included, but she has an especial dislike of the creatures of Grimm due to Damien’s madness. Also she doesn’t get racism. Period.

Susan Pompoms:

Human, Argus origin. Appears mostly the same as EGS canon, with exception of single blonde side-braid.

Emblem: Venus symbol, used as a belt buckle.

Outfit is a dark blue longcoat has straps on the back, through which backpack straps are run to hold onto her Big Box O’ Stuff. Wears blue pants held up by belt and going into calf-high boots, black leotard, and black three-finger half gloves. Shoulder armor and a metal backbrace.

Beacon uniform adjustments: Boy’s uniform instead of girl’s, but otherwise standard.

Semblance: Portation. Susan can mark any container as hers and teleport whatever's in it to herself and back.

Weapon: Morrígna. A warhammer that can split into a sword and mallet. The mallet can morph into a one-handed gun.

Backstory: The early parts of the backstory would remain basically the same, but she doesn’t meet Nanase until Beacon and has only a passing familiarity with Sarah as ‘Oh yeah, her family comes to Argus sometimes.’ But she would have a friendship/rivalry with Pyrrha, which might lead to some interesting interactions with Jaune. She winds up partnered with Elliot during initiation. And, upon realizing how completely unaware of social norms sheltered Grace is, would be very vocal about certain people not abusing her.

Elliot Dunkel:

Human, Mantle origin. Literally looks the same as canon, because why break a good look?

Emblem: An oval with some abstract lines, seen as a symbol on his shirt.

Outfit is a White cape and black crop-top, black pants and white shoes, belts in an x-shape over his belly with pouches for carrying things.

Beacon uniform adjustments: he does not wear the white undershirt. That’s it. The jacket’s buttoned up, but he doesn’t wear the undershirt.

Semblance: Soul Fury. Elliot can draw on the negativity of others, such as pain and fear, in order to increase his own physical attack strength. He has trained this to a degree that he is capable of jumping to intense heights.

Weapons: Honor and Justice. Arm-mounted bladed tonfas, capable of shooting grappling hooks from the wrist to either drag himself to a location or to bring a foe to him. Used to be part of the Four Ideals, but leg-mounted equivalents went to Ellen.

Backstory: Saved Tedd from some bullies during one of his visits to Mantle, became close friends. Otherwise standard backstory. Some people might note his childhood doesn’t mention his twin sister, and he’ll say there was a whole money-legality thing until recently. Anybody with a truth-sensing semblance will know he’s lying. The truth, however, is Very Classified. Like seriously you don’t know how classified it is.

Tedd Verres:

Human, Atlas origin. Left half of his hair is the original ‘long hair’, right half is the new ‘pixie cut’.

Emblem: A circle with three lines extending from it, which is placed on his equipment.

Outfit is a light blue longcoat with internal pockets (and everyone is going to comment on that since none of the other characters have pockets), light blue pants, black shirt and boots. Also some purple armor around his chest that is slightly rounded and matching greaves on his legs.

Beacon uniform adjustments: wears the girl’s outfit, but with a tie.

Semblance: Copyscan. Tedd can identify other people's semblances with some observation, and make limited-use copies of them with physical contact.

Weapon: Convergence. A gauntlet with an extendable shield, which also stores copies of semblances. Ted also has an energy pistol called Expedience.

Backstory: Tedd’s dad still works for a coverup agency, but now it’s the RWBY-canon ‘Keep Magic and the existence of Salem an utter secret’ cover-up agency. Tedd was brought into this against his father’s wishes when General Ironwood realized the potency of his semblance, but this also gave him access to a few classified doohickies such as this fused universe’s version of the Dewitchery Diamond. Going to Beacon is meant as a ‘field test’ of Tedd as an agent, at least according to Ironwood, but there’s also his dad wanting him to have friends that aren’t involved in all the top secret drama. Also yes, he does have a copy of Ellen’s gender change spell in Convergence which she willingly refreshes for him, and he will sometimes spend time as a girl. (Possible connection to May Marigold down the line?)

Team STNE (Stone), led by Sarah

Sarah Brown:

Human, Mistral origin. The only real difference is that her hairband now sports fancy curls and flanges and also it’s made of bronze as a sort of informal helmet.

Emblem: a double-sided question mark which is engraved into her arm guards.

Outfit is a pink knee-length dress, belt with four pouches radially aligned. Armored boots, greaves, and with her shoulders, all bronze.

Beacon uniform adjustments: none, but she still wears her headgear.

Semblance: Lookout. Sarah can instantly take in details about her environment to a highly detailed degree, with a range that extends the more aura she pours into it. While she can examine things that might be hidden, i.e. the inside of a closed book, she cannot change anything.

Weapon: Zauberei. Spear/staff that can shift into a rifle and split into a pistol and dagger. It sort of looks like a giant paintbrush?

Backstory: An ordinary Mistral combat student who went up against Pyrrha Nikos and Susan during some combat tournaments and got a case of starry eyes for both of them. Upon hearing they were going to Beacon, she decided to go too because why not? What she doesn’t realize is that she’s going to be put in charge of a team of Secrets and Drama. She winds up partnered with Justin during initiation.

Justin Tolkiberry:

Human, Vale origin. Aside from a very fancy set of earrings in one ear, he looks about the same as his canon counterpart.

Emblem: Abstract fire, which is displayed prominantly on the back of his gi.

Outfit is an open orange gi with lots of red fire patterns and buckled belts around the ankles, thighs, biceps, and forearms. Also sandles. And he does have a belt around the pants with a few pouches.

Beacon uniform adjustments: Wears sandles instead of shoes.

Semblance: Not known, exactly. Justin knows he can ignore damage sometimes, but the details are unclear.

Weapon: Dashing Delver. A rectangle-headed shovel that turns into a tower shield/sled.

Backstory: Basically the same as canon Justin, except that because Remnant is more accepting of LGBT+ people overall he wasn’t bullied and was just very irritated at Mellissa. Also Elliot and Nanase were on entirely different continents so there’s that. He’ll be the snarky rational one when everything about his team is revealed.

Nanase Kitsune:

Faunus, Menagerie origin. Has naturally dual-colored hair to match her naturally dual-colored fox ears.

Emblem: A heart-shaped fox head thing she wears on her shirt.

Outfit is a black jacket, yellow croptop with emblem in red, red skirt with yellow trim, red armbands, black shoes, and a pouch belt that hangs off one hip instead of being used as a belt.

Beacon Uniform Adjustment: She keeps her armbands.

Semblance: Fairy Companion. Nanase can summon fairy companions to herself or anyone she has an emotional connection with. These fairies run off her subconscious unless she deliberately controls them, and can be used to communicate, scout, or detonate as weapons. Their size is controllable, ranging from ‘hold in one hand’ to ‘outright as big as Nanase herself’, though they always appear to be wearing what Nanase is at time of summoning. Larger fairies take proportionally more aura to summon.

Weapon: Faewind. A backpack with four cable-attached fairy wings. Each wing is a bladed arm/leg shield with inbuilt nozzles that serve either as short-range blasters or a jetpack when retracted.

Backstory: The Kitsunes are a very important family in Menagerie, with a lot of political clout, and Nanase is expected to reflect that as her mother sends her to Beacon in order to indirectly represent Menagerie at the Vytal tournament. Nanase, however, is using this first chance to not have to be a Perfect Icon to actually search for her own identity. She becomes partners with Ellen during initiation, and picks up on how Ellen is really not comfortable talking about her own past. There’s a slow gradual growth of trust going on, and Nanase slowly comes to realize she might love this girl.

Ellen Dunkel:

Human(ish), Mantle origin. Looks the same as canon because of course she does.

Emblem: A rectangular mirror with a suspiciously familiar diamond shape in the center, painted on her shirt.

Outfit: Where Elliot wears a cape, Ellen wears an open coat. But otherwise it’s basically the same, if adjusted for female.

Beacon Uniform adjustments: She doesn’t wear the socks. That’s it. She wears the shoes but not the socks.

Semblance: Shift Beam. Ellen is capable of generating a beam of light from her palm. If the target has no active aura, it is impacted with a degree of force relative to the amount of aura input. If a target does have aura, the beam can cause temporary physical alteration; Ellen is still learning the ins and outs of this, but she can usually make other bodies more like hers (i.e. physically female). This is noted to be unusual, since no other known semblance outright shapeshifts people. Consequently, she tries to avoid using it in ways where this can be observed.

Weapon: Courage and Virtue. Leg tonfas. Complete with jump-jets. Used to be Elliot's.

Backstory: Officially she’s just the long-lost twin of Elliot’s who recently got back out of the foster care system. Unofficially, the dewitchery diamond exists in this fused universe and Ellen has to keep her origin a secret because if Salem heard about her hooooo boy! The original plan was for her, Elliot, and Tedd to all be on the same team so they could protect each other but she wound up partnering with Nanase and then on a seperate team and now Ellen is conflicted between explaining her origins to her partner and not wanting people to freak out. But she does slowly start to explain her various quirks, as people (especially Nanase) start to notice stuff about her.

The Plot:

I dunno, team SPET and STNE interact with teams RWBY and JNPR and get involved in the world-spanning conspiracy? My brain is saying this is enough for now.

#RWBY #El Goonish Shive #fanfic idea #Fanfic notes #Grace Sciuridae #Tedd Verres #Susan Pompoms #Elliot Dunkel #Ellen Dunkel #Justin Tolkiberry #Sarah Brown #Nanase Kitsune #Yeah the outfits could probably use a little work

52 notes · View notes